"I thought you said you knew how to fix it," Dean complained as he sat behind the wheel of his car, staring past Sam's head at the modest little house.
"I told you I knew someone who might be able to help," the younger man clarified, stepping out of the car and into the cool breeze. He glanced around the familiar neighborhood, memories flooding back as the driver's side door slammed shut.
"You know she hates me."
"She doesn't hate you."
"Hey," Dean argued, joining his brother at the front of the driveway, "who's the empath here? She hates me."
"The last time we were here," Sam began, starting toward the house.
"She threatened me with a spoon," the elder interrupted.
"You put your muddy boots on her table."
"Did not. I just thought about it. Thinking isn't the same as doing, dude."
Sam shook his head. "Whatever. I should have just made you come alone. I could use the time off."
"You know you're worried about me," Dean countered, "and guess what? I know it, too. Besides, we could probably crash here until we get this thing figured out, if you really need that vacation."
"I thought she hated you."
"Me, she hates. You, she adores."
The front door opened just as Sammy raised his hand to knock, revealing a smiling woman. "Dean Winchester," she scolded, "you know I don't play favorites."
Dean felt his face redden as he averted his eyes from the psychic and a bitter thought (you might not, but dad sure did) ran unbidden through his mind.
The smile on Missouri Mosley's face faded as the same thought raced through her own mind. "Come on in," she sighed, stepping aside to allow the boys entrance, "and tell me what brings you here."
The shorter man sighed, stepping quickly into the house and trying to avoid the psychic's face. He really didn't want to be there, didn't want anyone else to find out about the newest chapter in the Winchester Book of Weirdness. Less than a foot into the small sitting room, though, he abruptly changed his mind.
The pleasant mixture of warmth and comfort and safety hit him all at once, harder than it had in the park, completely engulfing him and washing away any doubt or anxiety. He swallowed hard, trying to hide what was going on, trying to make it look like he was all right. He plopped down into a chair, careful to keep his feet planted firmly on the floor, and sighed again as his brother took the chair next to him.
"So," Missouri smiled, her eyes resting on Dean, seeming to know that he was suddenly content, "what brings you back to Lawrence?"
The older man shifted in his seat, still attempting to project an air of discomfort and failing miserably. "Nothing much," he shrugged, "just thought we'd pop by for a visit."
The psychic rolled her eyes. "Boy, you can't fool me. You should know that by now. You came back because it came back and you want some answers."
The brothers exchanged a glance, both a little confused. "I don't know what you're talking about," Sam began, "but Dean-"
"Has been a little overly emotional lately?" she interrupted, "that's why you're here. But I have to tell you boys, this isn't exactly a recent development."
"It's not?" Dean asked, "because I think I would have noticed…"
"Don't question me, boy," the psychic snapped, "just shut up and listen. This new talent of yours, the ability to read people like that, isn't new. You've been able to do it your whole life. You just forgot."
"I'm pretty sure I would remember-"
She reached across the table that separated them, and swatted at him, causing the hunter to jump before leaning back into the soft chair. "I told you not to interrupt me. Don't make me get my spoon."
Dean held up his hands in surrender, not really in the mood to get whacked, and waited for her to continue.
"That's better. Boy's got some sense.
"Anyway, this ability of yours has always been there, just hidden a bit. The first time I met you, when you were about four or five, I could sense it. Never did tell your daddy. Got the sense you didn't want me to."
"Why wouldn't he want you to do that?" Sam asked, realizing that Dean would obviously want to know but wasn't exactly in a good position to ask.
Missouri shrugged. "Damned if I know. But it was important to him. I was pretty surprised when you came back, twenty-some years later, completely shut off from the rest of the world."
"Do you know why?" Sam questioned, glancing over at his brother, who didn't really seem to be paying attention. He was just sitting in the chair, his body relaxed, eyes closed, with a small smile playing across his face. Posture didn't match situation, and it was starting to worry the younger man.
"As far as I can tell," she shrugged again, "he did it himself. Things like that don't just go away on their own. They're chased off."
"Makes sense," Dean muttered, never changing his position, not even bothering to open his eyes, "I mean, who on earth would want to live like this?"
Missouri smiled. "Well, it looks to me like you'll have to, at least until you can figure out what you did last time."
That got his attention. "What?"
"You heard me. I can't do anything to help you out. You're going to have to figure this out on your own."
"But… but…"
She saw the look in his eyes, heard the desperation in his voice, and suddenly knew that it wasn't all about getting things back to normal. It was about wanting to stay, wanting to spend just a few more minutes wrapped in that sense of belonging that had evaded him since he was a child.
"If you want me to help you control it, though," she conceded, smiling as he relaxed, "you could stay."
"Here?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair, his brother eyeing him suspiciously.
"I've got a couple of empty rooms," the psychic nodded, "and if you promise to wipe your feet I'm sure we can work something out."
Relief flooded the hunter's features as he relaxed, running a nervous hand through his hair. "Sounds like a plan," he muttered, turning to his brother, "Sammy, go get the bags from the trunk."
Sam headed out of the room, shaking his head, hair flapping in his eyes, taking the hint that his brother wanted some alone time with the more experienced psychic.
"So," Dean began slowly, looking out the window as his brother neared the car, "you knew I was a freak and didn't tell me?"
Missouri smiled. "You're not a freak, Dean. You're special. There aren't any freaks among freaks. You should know that by now."
He shook his head, finally tearing his eyes from the window and the image of Sam struggling with the bags. "You'd think that's the kind of thing a person would remember."
"You'd think."
"Why now? Why go away for twenty years and then suddenly pop up for no apparent reason? It just doesn't make sense."
"Sure it does," she reasoned, "if you just think about it."
He looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time since arriving, feeling that sense of comfort and belonging wash over him again. "I've thought about it," he admitted, "and I still don't get it."
"How'd you feel after your daddy's death?" the psychic asked suddenly, holding his gaze, "you feel sad? Alone? Angry? Betrayed? You feel like he gave up everything so that you could go on living?"
Dean shrugged. "At first, I guess."
"At first," Missouri nodded, "but then you started thinking. It was awful convenient for him, wasn't it? You can claim that what he did was noble until the cows come home, but you'd be lying. He took the coward's way out. Not out of life, but out of death."
"Sam… is clearly John's favorite."
Dean shuddered. "He didn't want to have to do it himself," he muttered, still staring the older woman in the eyes, "he didn't want to have to murder his favorite son, so he made me do it instead. He didn't even give me a choice."
"That anger built up some more until you finally told Sam, didn't it?" A nod. "And then what?"
"And then nothing. It was gone. I wasn't mad anymore, wasn't even scared. I'm gonna have to kill my brother."
"Yes," she agreed, "but at least now you'll know for sure when the time comes."
Dean stared at her, blinking a couple of times. "What?"
"You heard me, boy. This thing of yours is back for a reason."
"And you think that's it? Because I want to know if my brother's evil or not?"
"That's part of it," she explained, "part of it is you. It's a subconscious thing, Dean. You wanted to know what was going on with Sam and now you do. But at the same time you didn't want to feel like that anymore. You didn't want to be empty like that. You didn't want to feel like yourself anymore, and now you don't have to."
The hunter finally broke eye contact, standing up and stretching before heading for the door to help Sam with the luggage. "That's crazy," he muttered, "how could you know that?"
"Same way I know why you want to stay here so bad," she replied softly, "I'm psychic."