When Dean was confronted with Sam's empty room in the morning, the bed looking like someone had held a wrestling tournament under the sheets, his first thought was that Sam must have come looking for him in the night and that somehow he'd missed the kid

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, I love hearing what you guys think! Someone asked about the tarot card meanings – they aren't explicitly explained in this chapter, but they will reappear later in the story ;) And a few people commented on the growing separation between Sam and Dean; they will be reunited, don't worry, but it's not gonna happen in this chapter I'm afraid… I am going somewhere with all of this though, so hopefully you guys will stick with me :) Next chapter will be up same time next week…

Chapter 4

The Fool. The Hierophant. The Hanged Man.

They circled Sam's mind on a constant loop, faster and faster until the colours blurred into a confused mess. He didn't know how long he stood in the centre of the dimly-lit room, staring stupidly at the table.

When someone touched his arm, he almost jumped out of his skin.

"Sam, honey. Sit down." Missouri stood beside him, looking completely out of place in a long flannel dressing gown over her white nightgown. "Sit down." She urged again, propelling him toward the armchair. He sunk into it, his hands reflexively gripping the padded arms.

"What…"

"Did you do this?" Missouri asked, waving a hand at the cards laid out on the table.

He looked up at her. "No? I thought…"

Her forehead creased. "Oh. Oh, honey."

He opened his mouth to ask her what was going on, what was happening, but before he could get the words out a shrill ringing interrupted. Missouri's hand tightened on his arm, her nails digging into the skin.

Dean's cell phone. The older man must have put it down and forgotten about it when he went to bed. It sat on the little side table to the left of the armchair, screen lit up as it rang again, a doleful bleating noise that sounded like a dying bird. Absently Sam wondered when Dean stopped using those ridiculous versions of eighties rock tunes as his ringtones. Probably around the time Sam started scaring the crap out of him with his psychic powers. No time to shop around for funny ringtones when he had a freaky psychic in the passenger seat.

Sam picked it up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Sam? That you? Where's Dean?"

"John?"

"Yeah. Look, I need to speak to Dean. It's important."

Sam bit his lip. "Dean's asleep." He half-hoped John would demand that he go and get the other man. He wanted Dean with him, more than anything. But John just kept talking.

"Did you boys get to Missouri's alright?"

"Yeah, she's right here. Did-did you wanna speak with her?"

"Look, Sam, this is important. I think the demon knows where you boys are."

"What?" Sam sat up straight in the chair, his fingers clutching the cell phone.

"Yeah. I've been tracking the signs, and they all point to Kansas right now. I think it's there somewhere."

"What does it want? Is it after…us?" Me, his mind screamed. It's after me.

"I don't know. But you boys need to be careful, okay? Stay with Missouri. The wards on her house should be enough…" John's voice faded into static. Sam waited, the cell phone pressed to his ear so hard it hurt. But the bleep of the dial tone told him John had been cut off. He fumbled to redial, his fingers numb.

The only answer was John's voicemail message.

"Honey, what is it?" Missouri asked, stroking fingernails through his hair and tucking it behind his ear.

"It was John. He said…he said the demon knows we're here. It's coming after us." Sam said, staring at the dead cell in his hands like he could will a connection to John Winchester.

Missouri's sudden flurry of movement took him by surprise. He looked up to see her sweeping the cards off the table with one hand, haphazardly shoving them together.

"What are you doing?" An ice-cold spike ran through his veins. "Do you…did the demon do that? Did it get in somehow?"

Missouri spared him a glance. "I don't know, sweetie. But if it's here we should be prepared. Come on, you can help me strengthen the wards." She turned to the dresser in the corner, opening drawers and pulling out the bags of herbs and papers he'd seen earlier.

He stood up, feeling dazed and scared. It must have shown on his face because Missouri paused, taking a moment to stroke a hand down his bare arm. The almost-motherly gesture soothed him.

"Come on. There's holy water in the kitchen. You know how to read a blessing, don't you?"

"Yeah, but…shouldn't we wake Dean?"

He frowned as her face blanked, like someone had rubbed out all the emotion. "We don't need to bother Dean. He should get some sleep."

Sam bit on his lower lip. He still wanted the reassurance of Dean's presence, but maybe Missouri was right. One of them should get some sleep tonight, at least. They could bring Dean up to speed in the morning.

It was gone eleven when Dean woke up, his head groggy and dull like he'd been out drinking the night before. He dressed in a fug, stumbling across the hall to Sam's room.

When he opened the door, the bed was empty.

It looked like someone had held a wrestling tournament under the sheets, the pillows tossed to the floor. His first thought was that Sam must have come looking for him in the night and that somehow he'd missed the kid snuggled up beside him in the pile of blankets. Even though he knew it wasn't possible – sleeping beside Sam was a full-body experience, and not just in the naughty way – he still crossed the landing and stuck his head around his bedroom door to check. A quick scan of the room only revealed an empty bed and last night's clothes tossed in a pile in the corner of the room.

Conclusion: Sam wasn't upstairs.

He took the stairs in giant leaps, suddenly wide awake and so tense it felt like his back was one solid knot of muscle. It was stupid, he told himself, Sam wouldn't have done anything without him, not after last night. He ignored the way his heart rate quickened.

The sun was high in the sky, shining through the mottled-glass windows by the front door and casting patterns on the shiny floorboards. Dean cursed himself for sleeping in. It was strange; he was usually a light sleeper. The slightest noise was enough to have him lurching to his feet and stumbling for a weapon. But in addition to having the best food this side of anywhere, it appeared that Missouri also had the best damn pillows in the world, and despite Dean's resolve to stay awake and listen for Sam he'd found himself sinking into a deep sleep minutes after his body hit the mattress.

The sound of muffled tears propelled him toward the closed kitchen door, and he threw it back with a bang.

He was met on the other side by Missouri's now-familiar scowl. "Boy, do you have to charge about the house like your feet are on fire?"

He ignored her, scanning the room for the source of the crying. "Sam?"

But it wasn't Sam's tears he'd heard. Margaret pushed back her chair and stood, her chin raised defiantly despite the blotchy skin around her eyes. Her hair was tied back in a simple ponytail and she was wearing pyjamas.

"Oh." Dean took a step back, feeling a blush darkening his cheeks. "Uh, sorry for interrupting. I was…looking for Sam?"

Missouri glanced back at the younger woman, her mouth pressed into a tight line. There were wiry hairs escaping the rough knot at the back of her neck and curling at her temples. Dean let her take his arm and guide him back into the hall. She turned to face him as she shut the door to the kitchen, her expression harried.

"Sam's gone to run an errand for me. I meant to do it myself, but Margaret showed up…" She didn't look too pleased about her neighbour's tears. Dean frowned, the reaction troubling him for some reason. He looked away, foolishly hoping that Missouri wouldn't catch the thought. His eyes caught on the front door again, and he noticed something odd.

There were sigils drawn around the wood frame that he was certain weren't there the day before. He squinted; they were runes. He only recognised one, familiar from years of watching his dad performing wards and rituals – the fork-shaped Algiz, a protection rune. The others were a mystery to him, and for a second he wished he hadn't always been so stubborn when John Winchester tried to drill knowledge into his head.

He turned back to Missouri, not bothering to try and mask his rising anxiety. "Where's Sam gone?"

She sighed heavily, rubbing at her eyes with a fist clenched tight. "He's picking up some things for me in town. Your father called last night."

Dean cocked his head at the seemingly unrelated topic change. "And?"

"He called to warn us. There're signs that…that the yellow-eyed demon is here. In town. His call was cut off before he could tell us any more."

"What?" Dean took an involuntary step forward, his hand coming up to grip Missouri's upper arm. "When was this?"

"About two this morning."

"Why the hell didn't you wake me up?" He forced the words through gritted teeth and swelling anger, mindful of Margaret on the other side of the door. His hand contracted on the older woman's arm, his knuckles turning white. "What exactly did he say?"

Missouri tugged ineffectually at her arm. "Dean, you're hurting me!"

"What did he say?"

"Dean!" Sam's voice cut through the air, high and shocked. Dean turned to see him stepping through the front door, limned by sunlight and the runes traced around the doorframe. He held a white plastic carrier bag in one hand, and his eyes were wide. "What are you doing? Let her go, you're hurting her!"

Dean looked down at the woman in his grasp, seeing the scene from Sam's perspective. Missouri, grey-faced and pressed up against the staircase, and him towering over her, fingers dug into her arm. He let go abruptly, backing up with both hands held out to his sides.

"What's going on here?" Sam said. Dean bit down at the inside of his cheek as Sam rushed to Missouri's side, his face showing open concern. The expression was replaced by incredulity when he turned to Dean. "What were you doing, Dean?"

"Hey, I wasn't doing anything!" He said, sharper than he meant to. Sam flinched, and instantly Dean felt like a complete bastard.

He took a deep breath, trying to tamp down on the emotion making his heart pound. "I wasn't doing anything," he tried again, calmer. "Missouri was telling me my dad called. I wanted to know why she didn't come and find me."

The kitchen door was opened before anyone could speak, but Dean caught the downward flick of Sam's eyes. He narrowed his own.

Margaret stepped into the hall. "Sorry for interrupting. Um, I can leave if you guys have something important to do…" Her eyes looked sore and red, shiny trails telling of recent tears lining her cheeks.

"Oh no, honey, we're just finishing out here. Right, Dean?" Missouri levelled a look carefully devoid of emotion in his direction. She reached a hand out to Sam beside her. "Sweetie, will you bring that bag into the kitchen for me?"

Sam nodded, allowing Missouri to take his arm. Irritation flared up in Dean's chest as he watched her leaning into him, like Dean had seriously injured her. He tried to catch Sam's eyes, but the kid was resolutely fixated on his feet. His lips looked bitten raw, and as Dean watched he started chewing on the corner of his mouth.

He followed them into the kitchen. Margaret started making a pot of tea, and Sam helped Missouri into a chair and then set about putting away the bag of whatever-it-was. It all looked disturbingly domestic, and Dean felt uncomfortable and out of place shifting on his feet by the door.

"Dean, why don't you sit down. You slept through breakfast, you must be hungry." Missouri's voice was icily polite, like he was an unwelcome stranger in her house. No doubt that was how she saw him, anyway. Dean took the chair beside her, feeling Sam and Margaret's subtle glances behind him like pinpricks at the back of his neck. "Let me make you a sandwich." Missouri began to rise.

Immediately Sam broke in. "No, don't get up. I'll make Dean something, it's fine."

She clucked her tongue. "Sam, you look exhausted already."

Sam shook his head, attempting a wan smile. "I'm good, really. I'll make us all some lunch. You've been up just as long as I have, anyway."

The kid looked almost embarrassed about it, glancing timidly at Dean through his bangs. Dean kept his mouth shut, but his mind was working a mile a minute. What the fuck had gone down while he was sleeping, and why the hell was he suddenly the bad guy?

Ungritting his teeth, he pulled a smile on like a mask. "If it's okay with everyone, I think I'd like to call my dad now."

The dark look didn't leave Dean's face, and Sam felt even worse when he pulled the older man's cell phone out of his back pocket and handed it over.

"Uh, I've been trying to call him back, but it just goes through to voicemail every time." Sam said, trying to avoid Dean's eyes. "I think maybe he's just out of range or something, 'cause I tried to call Caleb and the same thing happened."

"He called on my cell?" Dean stared at the object in his hand as he spoke.

"Yeah." Sam ducked his head. "He, uh, he didn't get a chance to say much. Just that," he glanced over at Margaret, who had her back to them and looked wholly involved in the boiling kettle. Sam lowered his voice to a whisper anyway. "That the signs all pointed to the demon being here. He said we should stay here and that Missouri's wards should be enough to protect us."

"And you didn't think to wake me and tell me this?"

Sam bit down on his lip, hard. It had seemed simpler, made sense, just to let Dean sleep last night. Why wake the whole house when he and Missouri could handle it themselves? But seeing the fear etched in Dean's face hit him like a punch. Of course Dean would want to know about the demon, about his dad.

"I'm sorry." He met Dean's eyes tentatively. The older man was staring at him like he didn't recognise him, and Sam felt sick with guilt and shame.

"What happened to 'no keeping things from each other', Sam?" The worst thing was, Dean didn't sound angry. He wasn't shouting or raging. Instead he spoke in a tiny high voice that multiplied the sickness in Sam's stomach by a hundred. "What if something's happened to…" Dean was on his feet and striding from the kitchen before he'd finished talking, dialling the number with one hand. Sam finished the sentence in his head; what if something's happened to my dad, what if he's in trouble, and you just let me sleep through it? He sank bonelessly into Dean's abandoned chair, staring blankly at his hands. Those three cards suddenly flashed through his mind again. He still hadn't asked Missouri what they meant, but their meaning seemed pretty obvious to him. He was The Fool, the idiot, the guy who made all the mistakes leading up to this moment. The Hanged Man was his future, the result of those mistakes.

Missouri's voice cut through the self-recrimination party he had going on in his head. "Sam, honey." She covered his hands with her own. "Let's make some lunch. Dean'll be hungry when he comes back."

He met her eyes, stupidly grateful to be given something to do.

"This is John Winchester. I can't take your call right now. If it's important, leave a message with your name and number, or call my son Dean on 866-907-3235."

Dean snapped the phone shut without bothering to wait for the beep, clenching his hand tight around it. He'd dialed his dad's number nine times now, and all he got was the damn voicemail message.

He let out a shaky breath, scrubbing a fist through his hair. This was bad. This was bad, and Sam hadn't told him. He didn't know whether he wanted to turn around and yell at the kid or run to the car and drive, just drive aimlessly for hours until he could get his head around it, think up some kind of plan. There wasn't a thing he liked about the entire situation, and it all seemed to be happening so fast; Sam's powers, the demon, whatever mysterious problem Missouri seemed to have with him. And now this.

"Dean? I made you a sandwich." He spun on his heel to see Sam standing behind him in the hallway, holding out a plate like a peace offering.

He grunted and flipped open the cell phone again, pressing redial.

"Dean? Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Really. I didn't…I thought you deserved to get some sleep; you've been driving for days, man. I just…I just thought we could handle it."

"We?" Dean bit out, snapping the cell phone closed on his dad's voicemail message.

Sam's eyes darted to one side. "Yeah. Me and Missouri. There wasn't really anything to do anyway, we just strengthened the wards and waited to see if your dad would call back-"

"So she was in on this too. Was it her idea to keep me in the dark?"

"No! No, it wasn't like that Dean, we weren't trying to-" Sam took a step forward, his eyes wide and imploring.

Dean snorted. "You didn't think I'd want to know my dad called? That you couldn't get through to him?"

"Well, no, but we thought-"

"You thought." Dean said blackly. "You thought that it was more important for me to get my beauty sleep than it was for me to find out what was going on."

Sam looked devastated, close to tears. "Dean, I'm sorry. It-it seemed like the right thing to do last night…"

Dean looked away, fixing his eyes on the framed print hanging in Missouri's narrow hallway. It showed a mountain range, white-tipped spikes and brilliant blue skies. Harsh and desolate. It seemed out of place against the cream wallpaper with its tiny collections of yellow blossoms, the warm oak wood of the banister.

"Yeah. Okay." He took the plate from Sam, pushing past him into the kitchen again. The kid didn't follow.

Margaret was sitting at the table, her eyes empty as she stared into her mug of tea. She fingered the cuff of her pajama top absently and her gaze drifted up to meet his, slow like she'd been drugged. "Missouri's gone to water her garden." She said, like she thought he'd care.

"Yeah? Shame, 'cause I was so hoping for another delightful conversation with her."

"Are you always this much of a bastard?" She said, a spark of the fire he'd seen in her yesterday colouring her words.

Dean shrugged roughly, yanking a chair away from the table and sitting down. The plate of sandwiches was put to one side. For some reason, he wasn't feeling too hungry. "Yeah, pretty much."

A faint smile appeared on her face; not at all the reaction he'd been anticipating. Her eyes fell back to her mug and the smile faded. "Thought so."

He looked at her for a moment, waiting for more. When it became obvious she wasn't going to argue with him he flicked open his cell phone again, pressing redial.

"So what did they do that was so terrible?" Margaret was looking at the cell phone in his hands with something resembling interest. She continued, her voice tinged with sarcasm. "Missouri and your friend, that is. They didn't pass on your phone messages or something?"

"Why were you crying?" Dean countered, his lip curling. "Did all that bitchiness take too much out of you, or are you just a miserable person generally?"

"Actually, I just received a letter from my ex-husband's lawyer, saying he's suing me for custody of my children." Margaret sat back in her chair, her mouth a tight pinch. "I was crying because I don't have the money to hire a defence lawyer. I don't have the money to make rent next month, I don't even have the money to pay for the ballet lessons my daughter's been taking or the goddamn swing set I bought on an overdrawn credit card for my son's birthday next week."

Dean blinked, a cold lick of embarrassment trailing down his neck. "…oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

"Uh, sorry? I…didn't realise."

"Didn't think so." She lifted the mug of tea to her lips, taking a deliberate sip. "So? Are you gonna tell me what's wrong with you, or would you rather trade some more insults?"

He fixed his eyes on the woodgrain of the table, tracing it with careful fingertips. Without looking up, he said, "My dad apparently called me last night with some…bad news, and no one thought to wake me up and tell me. Now we can't get hold of him, and I think something might have happened."

"Huh."

His head snapped up. "'Huh?' That's all you've got to say?"

She shrugged. "Well, maybe they just thought you deserved some rest. If they couldn't get hold of him last night, and you can't get hold of him now, then what would be the point of waking you up in the middle of the night just to tell you that?"

"The point is, I want to know if something happened to my dad! Wouldn't you want to find out as soon as possible if, I don't know, one of your kids was missing?"

"Well, yeah. But it's done now. And they obviously thought they were doing you a favour." She picked up her mug again, cradling it in both hands. "Missouri wouldn't deliberately keep something from you if she thought it might hurt someone. And your friend Sam seems like he cares about you a lot. They thought they were doing the right thing."

Dean opened his mouth to retort. Before he could get a word out his cell phone chimed, loud and obnoxious. He scrambled with it, flicking it open and pressing it to his ear. "Dad, is that you?"

"…ean…there?"

"Dad!" Hardly aware of what he was doing, Dean shoved away from the table and stood, his free hand gripping the wooden back to the chair in a death-grip. "I can't hear you properly, you're breaking up. Where are you?"

The kitchen door opened with a bang, Sam appearing in front of him like an apparition. His eyes were stretched wide and fixed on Dean's.

"Dean...the demon…souri…it's going aft…don't leave…alone…hear?"

"Dad, I can't hear you!"

"Sam's not…Missouri's ward's, they…" There was a long pause, the crackling on the other end telling him his dad hadn't been cut off. Then his dad spoke again, and his words left Dean cold. "…Kansas…hunt this thing…" A loud burst of static filled his ear, and then the beep of a disconnected call. Dean sagged back into the chair, his hand still pressing the phone to his ear.

"Dean! Dean, what did he say? Dean!" Sam's face was in front of his, pale and frightened.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek hard, meeting Sam's eyes. "The demon's in Kansas. I think he wants me to hunt it."