Dean grumbled under his breath, hoisting his duffle out of the trunk and tossing it to the ground with more force than was really necessary
Disclaimer – Not my characters, I just use them improperly.
You like? You don't like? Review and tell me why! (Constructive criticism only please, if you don't like the subject, don't read the story.) If you haven't read Full Moon, Fast Cars and Cracks in the Glass yet, you'll probably want to read those first or this probably won't make sense… Betaed by the wonderful Phx :)
Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the first chapter! I hope you guys enjoy this one, and the next chapter will be up same time next week :)
Chapter 2
Dean grumbled under his breath, hoisting his duffle out of the trunk and tossing it to the ground with more force than was really necessary. "Get the bags Dean, drink your tea Dean, no funny business in the house Dean." He mimicked Missouri's voice, half an eye on the front door. He had a feeling he wasn't going to enjoy this trip.
He slammed the trunk down, hissing as his thumb nail bent the wrong way with the pressure. He stuck it in his mouth, fumbling one-handed with bag straps and blinking rain from his eyes.
A loud bang drew his attention to the house next to Missouri's. A young woman with coffee-coloured skin stood in the driveway eyeing him suspiciously as she tossed a black bag into the garbage can by the fence. "You alright there?" She called over, one hand still holding the metal lid like a shield.
"Fine, thanks." He gave her a big fake smile and bent to untangle the bags.
The woman was undeterred. "You a relation?"
He cocked his head in question as he stood upright, yanking Sam's bag over his shoulder.
"Missouri. You her nephew or somethin'?" She elaborated, nodding at Missouri's neat little house. "She's like family to us around here, y'know."
He got the uncomfortable feeling he was being warned off. Instead of cowing under the scrutiny, he stood straighter with a frown. "Nope." He picked up the other bags and started up the path, deliberately turning his back to her.
"So you're here for a reading then?" She followed him on the other side of the fence, apparently unperturbed by his rudeness.
"A reading?"
"Yeah. Y'know, a psychic reading. That's what she does." The woman cocked a hip, pouting at him with an attitude that might have been intimidating had she not been a foot shorter than him. And soaked to the skin. She didn't seem to realise that he could clearly see the outline of her white bra through her now-translucent top, and he smothered a grin.
"No, we're old friends. Just dropping in for a visit. Might be here a while, got a lot of catching up to do." He said, his amusement rising as her scowl deepened.
"Hmmm." She didn't sound as if she believed him. "Well, you tell Missouri that I'll drop by later. The kids made some cookies for her."
"I sure will." Dean said, flashing his teeth. "And who should I tell her will be stopping by? Because she hasn't mentioned you at all. I wouldn't want to allow a stranger over without Missouri's permission."
The woman's jaw clenched visibly. "Margaret. She knows who I am."
"Good friends, huh? Well, I'll make sure she'll be expecting you." He said, letting a hint of smarm slip into his voice. He stepped onto the porch, turning to waggle his fingers at her around the handle of the bag. She snorted hard enough that a wet rattail of black hair whipped away from her mouth, landing on her cheek with a splat.
Dean closed the door behind him, grinning to himself. His wet boots landed on top of Sam's as he kicked them off, the laces dripping muddy water. Imagining Sam's face as he stuck his feet into those boots and found them damp with dirt made the grin even brighter. Maybe staying here wouldn't be so bad after all.
Sam sat at the kitchen table holding his hot mug in both hands. Missouri wouldn't elaborate on how she was going to help him, but Sam felt a tiny niggling whisper of hope. It was more than he'd expected.
Dean was banging around upstairs, sounding like a herd of elephants even in socked feet. Sam thought he was probably doing it on purpose and stifled a smile. Dean liked to let everyone in on his mood swings. Missouri tutted over a saucepan of good-smelling food, but obviously decided that yelling wouldn't accomplish anything. Instead she ladled out a generous bowlful of beef casserole and placed it on a blue woven mat in front of Sam.
"Since Dean is apparently having so much fun moving the bags, we won't disturb him." She winked at him and picked up an oven mitt, scooping out two misshaped rolls of warm bread from a tray cooling on the counter. "Now you eat up, Sam Miller. You need some meat on those bones of yours."
"Thank you." Sam smiled, tearing one of the chunks of bread. Steam rose from the fluffy white centre, a warm scent that made Sam's mouth water. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't eaten a full meal in over a week. His stomach growled in agreement, and before he realised it half the bowl was gone.
"Hey, didn't you save me any?" Sam looked up into Dean's mournful face.
"If you're done stamping those big feet round my house, you can sit down and I'll bring some over for you." Missouri said, using a wooden spoon to gesture at the seat opposite Sam's.
"Yes ma'am." Dean nodded quickly, sitting down and looking expectantly over at the countertop full of food. Sam hid a grin behind a mouthful of gravy-soaked bread.
"What did I say about calling me ma'am?" Missouri said, placing a bowl in front of Dean all the same. "And am I gonna get Margaret's message or not?"
"Oh." Dean blushed, his hand pausing on the way to his mouth. "Uh, Margaret said she'll be coming by later with cookies."
Missouri nodded like she hadn't known what Dean was going to say already. Sam cocked his head quizzically and Dean leaned in when Missouri's back was turned. "Some woman who lives next door. She didn't seem too happy about us staying here." He looked positively gleeful about it. "Seemed like a real bitch if you ask me."
"No one asked you, Dean Winchester." Missouri said with a sharp look, sitting herself down between them at the table. "And no elbows on the table."
Dean mumbled something under his breath and moved them. Missouri sighed and turned to Sam like she didn't hear. "How's the casserole, Sam? Not overcooked, I hope?"
"It's fine. Good. Thanks." Sam said, busying himself with another spoonful.
"Good. After you're done eatin', you can come sit with me. I have a few customers due any minute now."
"Customers?"
"For readings. The two I'm expecting usually ask for their cards to be read, so you can see how it's done and get a handle on that first."
"S'you c'n help 'im?" Dean said through a mouthful of bread.
Missouri let out another sigh. "I can help Sam, but it'll take a lot of work. You'll be here for a few weeks, maybe a month or more."
Sam spoke before Dean could swallow his mouthful. "Card readings? I'm gonna have to learn that? I thought it would be more...y'know, psychic-y."
"We'll start you off slow." She smiled at him. "The cards give you a way to focus your energies on one particular thing, in this case reading a person's future. John said the first manifestation of your powers were visions?"
"Uh huh." Sam nodded, the chunk of bread in his hand forgotten.
"Well, this should be a simpler way of training that ability. Once you know how to focus, the rest should come a little easier. Hopefully."
Sam didn't like the way the corners of Missouri's mouth turned down on the last word, but she was on her feet again before he could question it. Under the table Dean's foot found his, the back brushing against his ankle bone in a repetitive motion.
"Now you boys eat up. My first customer seems to be having some car trouble, so you'll have time to settle in a bit before we start."
"Hey, you okay kiddo?" Dean asked. Sam paused at the top of the stair, turning. His mouth was pulled tight and he was squinting like his eyes were hurting again, an expression that had become familiar over the past week. Dean's hands twitched by his sides and he clenched them into fists.
"I'm fine." Sam said, a smile appearing like a light had been switched.
"Sammy. You're not fooling me." He leaned in closer, resisting the urge to hug the kid. "She said she can help."
Sam sighed like his entire body was aching and the mask slipped away. "She said hopefully she can help."
"She can, okay? She wouldn't be letting us stay here if she couldn't."
"Yeah, well maybe she's wrong, Dean! Maybe…maybe I'm…"
"Maybe nothing, Sam. She said she can help you and she will, alright? So stop worrying." Dean said, reaching out to squeeze Sam's forearm. Sam pulled away sharply before he could get close enough to touch.
"Yeah. Okay." Sam said, his eyes set on the floor between them. "Which room's mine again?"
Dean swallowed, trying not to feel rejected. He didn't think his shaky masculine pride could take any more girly emotions right then. "It's that one." He waved his arm at the closed door. "I left your bag on the bed."
"Thanks." Sam disappeared into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Dean stood dumbly on the landing, staring at the closed door. Had he said something wrong?
Sam leaned back against the door, fisting his eyes with both hands. They hurt, a spike of fire that made his teeth grit and his forehead bead with sweat. He dragged a breath in through his nose, making himself exhale slowly and quietly. Dean was probably still outside the door, wondering why the fuck Sam was shutting him out all of a sudden. He resisted the urge to whimper, knowing that would only have Dean kicking the door in to get to him. It felt like a stab wound through both eye sockets, a double flash of agony that hit and echoed through his head. And it only started when…
When Dean reached out to touch him. Dean's hand had been moving toward his arm, and suddenly, pain.
He bit down on his lower lip, feeling hot tears escaping the corners of his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and meeting under his chin.
Gradually the pain faded to a dull throb behind his eyeballs, and Sam angrily scrubbed the tear-tracks away with the cuff of his hoodie. It was still there though, pulsing in time with his blood, and every pulse felt like an omen.
Missouri knocked on the door, opening it and stepping inside without waiting for a reply. Sam lifted his head from the pillow, a feat that seemed to take far more effort than usual. He'd been curled up into himself on the floral-print bedspread for the past half hour, determinedly keeping his mind blank of everything as he traced careful fingertips over the fine stitching of the daisies by his nose.
"Honey, you okay there? I felt…" Missouri trailed off, closing the door behind her and taking a step toward the bed.
"It's nothing." Sam mumbled. "Jus' m'eyes. They've been hurtin' since…"
"Since the demon?"
He nodded.
Missouri let out a long breath, sitting on the bed beside him. Her long skirt brushed the polished floorboards in a shhing sound and she took care to arrange them about herself, giving him a moment. When he looked up at her, her eyes were sympathetic. "It can be hard, believe me, I know. When your powers first manifest. But it'll get easier once you know how to use them. Once you realise what you're capable of."
"What am I capable of?" He said, his voice cracking. "'Cause, the more I find out about this stuff, the less I think I want to know. I was happier…" He stopped himself, frowning. Happier when? Without Dean? With his dad? If being with Dean had been what led to these…these powers, did that mean he wished he'd never met the older man? He shook his head, for once relishing the ache that flared to life again, dispelling the thought before it could fully form.
Missouri reached over, stroking his bangs away from his face with a gentle hand. It felt good, like summer rainshowers, soothing away the pain. He closed his eyes. "I know it's difficult now. And I won't lie to you, it's gonna be harder still once we get started. But your powers, they're a part of you. They're not gonna go away." She smiled, her gaze turning distant as if some memory had seized her. "Once you've learned all I have to teach you, they won't seem like such a burden. You'll be able to do things you never thought were possible. And you'll be strong. I can feel it in you."
"What if I don't want that? What if I just want to be me?" Sam said in a small voice.
Missouri's smile focused on him again, kind and motherly. "Honey, no one can ever be anything other than who they are. It's what you decide to make of yourself that matters. In your case, you just have a little extra to deal with."
Her words were bizarrely reassuring. Sam tried a wobbly smile.
"We have about thirty minutes before my first customer arrives. Why don't you take a nap and I'll call you down then?"
Sam nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted. He closed his eyes, listening to the soft sweep of Missouri's skirt on the floorboards as she got up to leave. He was asleep before she closed the door.
Dean sat quietly on the single armchair in Missouri's living room, a cookie in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. Margaret had been good to her word, stopping by with two covered plates, one containing chocolate chip and one with raisin-oatmeal cookies. Both plates sat on the coffee table in the centre of the room, half of their contents gone. His belly felt pleasantly full and he held the cookie up in consideration. Maybe he should put it back.
Margaret chose that moment to glare at him from her seat beside Missouri on the couch, and he bit a chunk off the cookie in reply, smiling at her around the raisins stuck between his teeth.
Missouri had told him that Sam was resting up before her mysterious 'customers' came and he should leave him undisturbed. It had pissed Dean off to be told how to look after the kid – he'd been doing it just fine for the past half a year without her guidance – but after a sharp look he'd settled for thinking bad thoughts in her direction and staying out of the way. Plus, there was the fact that the plush armchair he was currently occupying seemed to be sucking him in and consuming him with big puffy cushions and throw rugs. He didn't think he could get up without considerable effort.
Margaret didn't appear to like him any more now that she'd confirmed he was actually supposed to be there. She sent him narrow-eyed looks every time he shifted position in the chair, or cleared his throat, or otherwise did anything to draw attention to himself while she was in the room.
He frowned and made the chair squeak, just for the hell of it.
She sniffed loudly and clunked her mug of tea down on Missouri's coffee table, pointedly turning away to face the older woman on the couch. "Keira wanted to come round with the cookies herself, but she's at dance class at the moment. Her recital's coming up on Friday, I know she'd love it if you could come?"
Missouri's brow creased for a second before evening out. She reached over and patted Margaret's hand. "I'd love to, but I don't know if I'll have the time, what with Dean and Sam staying with me. But you send her over afterwards if she's not too tired, maybe she can give us the highlights." The news evidently didn't endear Dean to Margaret, and she waited until Missouri busied herself with pouring more tea to scowl at him.
"So how long are Dean and Sam going to be staying with you, Missouri?"
"Oh, I don't know." Missouri said, taking a sip of her tea. "Sam's here for…training, I guess you'd say, so as long as it takes."
Dean tensed, earning a look from Missouri. "Dean, don't get so upset now. Margaret's a friend. She knows what goes on in this house."
"Me, upset?" Dean forced a smile through gritted teeth. "Not at all."
He made sure to brush cookie crumbs onto her thick cream rug.
The doorbell chimed, breaking into the palpable air. "Oh, that'll be Mrs Hopkins." Missouri said, standing and bustling out to answer the door.
Dean was left with Margaret and her apparently permanent frown. He faked a smile and stuffed the last of the cookie into his mouth, making sure to chew as messily as possible. "Good cookies." She sniffed and looked pointedly away.
Mrs Hopkins didn't look like the type to consult a psychic. Actually, in Dean's opinion the woman didn't look like the type to consult anyone, for anything. She strode into the living room like she owned it, wearing a black business suit and shiny stiletto heels so painfully sharp he could see indentations in the hardwood flooring as she walked. Her hair was tied back in a sleek bun at the nape of her neck, and the expression on her face was so dour that even Margaret blinked a few times. She scanned the room, her lip curling at the sight of Dean slouched in the armchair.
"Mrs Hopkins, these are friends of mine." Missouri said, smiling like she hadn't noticed the dampener her new guest had put on the already tense mood.
"I hope they won't be staying for my reading." The woman's voice was as severe as her face.
Dean rolled his eyes, addressing Missouri. "If Sam's gonna be here, I'm staying."
"Excuse me?" Mrs Hopkins whirled to face him, her mouth pulled into a pursed crinkle Dean likened to a cat's ass. He glanced at Missouri and was surprised to find her looking at him, her own mouth pressed thin to hide a smile. "I don't think so. This is a private reading. I won't allow anyone else in the room."
"Dean, honey, why don't you and Margaret join me in the kitchen for a second? Mrs Hopkins, please make yourself comfortable." Missouri said, the tiny smile still flirting about her lips.
Margaret got to her feet first, pushing a polite smile onto her face with what looked like an effort. "It was very good to meet you, Mrs Hopkins." The sour-faced woman didn't acknowledge the nicety.
Dean heaved himself from the armchair, snagging another cookie before trailing after Missouri and Margaret.
He found Missouri brewing a fresh pot of tea in the kitchen. "Hey, so I hope you're gonna set that woman straight in there. If Sam's gonna be there, so am I."
Missouri looked over at him with the first real sign of kindness he'd seen from her so far. "I can't force her to let you listen in, Dean. And besides, this is something Sam needs to do alone. You being there might distract him."
"But-"
"I know, you want to be there." She nodded as if she understood. "And it's admirable, the way you care for him and look out for him. But this isn't something you can help with, honey."
He screwed his hands into tight fists, feeling impotent and stupid. Why the hell was he here then, if not for Sam? A careful hand on his arm surprised him into looking up, and he met Missouri's dark eyes.
"Sam'll need you, Dean. What we're gonna do, it's gonna be hard on him. But right now, the best thing you can do for Sam is to stay out of the way." She smiled, gently easing him toward the kitchen table. He sank into a chair, looking up at her and feeling like a lost puppy. "It'll be okay, I promise. I'll make sure he's okay."
Dean chewed on his lower lip, nodding reluctantly. He didn't like it, not at all, but this was what Sam was here for. "Shall I go and get him then?" He half-stood, stopped by Missouri's restraining hand.
"I'll do it, honey. You stay here and keep Margaret company." He'd almost forgotten the other woman was still there, and he glanced over at her. Surprisingly, she wasn't glaring in his direction. Margaret was watching him instead, her eyes narrowed in thought.
The sound of the kitchen door being firmly closed drew his attention back. Missouri had left to get Sam while his back was turned. Shutting him away, like an unnecessary hindrance. He dropped his head into his hands.
Sam shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny of the stern-faced woman sat on the couch. Although the living room was a cosy area, filled with soft furnishings and warm colours, Mrs Hopkins seemed to exude an aura of hardness that made the back of his neck prickle.
Missouri had moved an armchair over to the opposite side of the low coffee table, sitting herself down and looking perfectly unaffected as she shuffled a deck of oversized cards. Despite the edgy feeling in his gut, Sam leaned in to get a better look, curious.
"Now, I'm just going to do a simple three-card reading before we get into specifics." Missouri started, smiling at Sam. "I'll lay the cards and explain what each of them means. Sam, you don't have to do anything right now, just watch."
Beside him on the couch, Mrs Hopkins huffed loudly.
Missouri put the deck down on the table, indicating to Mrs Hopkins, who reached over to split the deck. The top three cards were put face down on the table.
"This is called a three-card spread; the first card represents the past, the second is the present and the third, the future." Missouri said, turning the first card over. It showed a picture of a king sat on a throne, a large brown staff in one hand with leaves growing from the top. At the bottom of the card was a tiny black lizard. Sam blinked, frowned at it.
"The king of wands, reversed." Missouri announced pointedly, her eyes on him. Sam started, realising that in his intrigue he'd moved forward, blocking Mrs Hopkins' view. He blushed and sat back. "This card suggests an impatient, sometimes reckless man, perhaps short-tempered and bullying. It could also mean you've attempted to take on too much in your past."
Mrs Hopkins hmmmed noncommittally. Missouri waited for a moment as if she was expecting more, but when the other woman didn't speak, turned over the second card.
"The five of cups."
The card was plainer than the first, dominated by a figure in a long black robe. Sam could see a snatch of red covering the figures eyes. In front of the figure, three large yellow cups lay on their sides, their contents spilled, while behind two cups sat upright. A headache began as a niggling sore spot in the centre of Sam's forehead.
"This card represents grief for the past. It suggests that in order to move forward with your life, you should allow yourself time to grieve and heal." Beside him, Mrs Hopkins' back straightened almost imperceptibly. Missouri glanced at her with concern. "Shall I go on?"
"Please." Mrs Hopkins spoke through her teeth, as if the reading was a trial she had to endure.
The last card portrayed an angel, and Sam's breath caught in his throat without reason. He could see, logically, that the card was supposed to promote peace and balanced emotions, but his eyes caught on the face of the angel, the circle on its head that spoke too much of judgement and omnipotence, and the deep red wings that surrounded the figure. His headache flared to life suddenly like a struck match.
"Temperance reversed. This card..." Missouri's voice wavered. He thought he heard her take a sharp breath. "This card represents haste. You need to gain perspective and consider the ramifications of your actions before you take any steps-"
"Thank you. I've heard enough." Mrs Hopkins spoke before Missouri could finish, breaking the spell that held the three of them. "I have another appointment to get to, if you don't mind. Here," She stood quickly, dropping a roll of bills on the table. "I'll let myself out." The hard staccato of her footsteps sounded like hailstones as she left the room, and a second later a door was slammed.
"What-" Sam started to speak. His eyes caught of the figure of the angel again, the figure of temperance. In the background was a yellow oval that he'd taken, at first, to be the sun. A narrow path led away from the angel, upwards, up to the tip of a mountain and into that yellow explosion.
He closed his eyes, pressing thumbs into them to try and stop the ache. Except it seemed to make it worse, seemed to make it flare…
…he saw a young girl hiding under the covers of her bed, trying to stifle tears as the footsteps of her father stopped outside the bedroom door. He felt the denial that locked that terrified little girl away in the heart of an always-angry woman. And he saw her walking away from the angel, up the mountain path.
"Sam!"
He opened his eyes to see Dean's face inches from his own. Behind Dean, he could see a pretty woman – Margaret, his disjointed thoughts told him, although he wasn't sure how he knew – holding a towel stained with red, concern in her eyes.
"Sammy, oh Christ, are you okay? God, you're still bleeding…" The woman handed Dean the towel and he wiped gently at Sam's nose. "What happened? What did you see?"
"She's…she's gonna die, isn't she?" He whispered, lifting his head with what felt like unbearable effort.
In the armchair, Missouri sat with her hands in her lap, unreadable as the night. "It's not certain. It's the future. You of all people should know the future can be changed."
"We need to stop her!" Sam tried to push himself to his feet, Dean's hands more obstructing than helping. "We have to…have to try and-"
"Sam." Missouri's voice stopped him in place. "This isn't a demon that can be killed. We can't change people's minds for them."
"But we have to do something!"
"I've called her husband. He's going to go out and find her. Hopefully it will be enough." The older woman sagged in the chair suddenly. Margaret rushed to her side, a glass of water in hand. "Hopefully."