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 :)

Thanks, as always, to everyone who reviewed, I love hearing your comments :) The next chapter will be up same time next week!

Chapter 11

"No, Momma, I want Dean to push me!" Kiera said in a shrill voice, grabbing Dean's hand.

Margaretrolled her eyes, waving an exasperated hand in Dean's direction as she seated herself on a wooden bench by the swing set. Charlie immediately fell to the grass beside her, pulling toy cars out from where they'd been stowed away in various pockets. The little boy hadn't spoken a word to Dean on the way, not that Dean had really been in the mood to talk.

It had taken Kiera all of five minutes to get over her shyness around Dean – she'd taken his hand as they entered the park, chattering about pink and rainbows and unicorns, whatever little girls dressed like princesses talked about. Dean couldn't focus on the words.

A pill bottle. A pill bottle, half-full and hidden in Sam's clothing.

Of course, it could mean absolutely nothing. The bottle didn't have a label to tell him whose it was, or what it contained. Maybe Missouri dropped it while she was in Sam's room. She obviously went in there to clean; Dean hadn't missed the disappearance of the vase of pink flowers. Or maybe Sam had found it somewhere, picked it up and put it in his pocket and completely forgotten about it.

"Will you push me high?" Kiera asked, both her tiny hands wrapped around Dean's big one. She tugged on it like she was trying to pull him down to her size.

It dragged Dean out of his head for the moment, reminded him that he was here and Sam was not. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Even though the only thing he wanted to be doing right now was confronting Sam about the mysterious pills, there was a little girl dressed like a princess who was depending on him to push her on the swings. He could do that.

Kiera kept chatting away happily, ignorant of the dark things lurking in Dean's head. "Mommy can only push me a little, she says I'm too big now and I haveta swing myself. But princesses don't swing themselves." She was kind of adorable, and Dean felt an unwilling smile grow as he listened to her talk, resisting the urge to ruffle her hair only because the plastic tiara that was firmly tangled in her curls had some wicked-looking spikes on it.

"Of course not." Dean said, brow creasing in mock outrage. "Princesses have servants to push them on the swings."

She giggled. "You're not my servant. You can be the prince. Cinderella gets saved by the prince, 'cause her mean stepsisters make her scrub the floors and wear dirty clothes. They don't know that Cinderella's s'posed to be the princess and they have to do what she says."

Dean nodded seriously. "Okay, well, if I see any mean stepsisters I'll make sure they know you're the princess."

"Good." She nodded firmly. "Now can you push me? I wanna go really high."

"Okay, but not too high. I think your mommy might be mad if you fell off and got your dress dirty."

Margaret, overhearing, rolled her eyes again. "Mommy might be even madder if she fell off and hit her head on the concrete." She said pointedly.

Kiera tugged on Dean's hand, throwing all her weight behind it. "Come on, I wanna go on the swings!"

"Okay, okay, swings it is." Dean said, letting the little girl drag him toward the concreted area.

He waited for Kiera to climb onto one of the rubber swing seats, pushing her gently to start the rocking. She giggled, kicking her legs back and forth. "Higher! Higher Dean!" He pushed her a little harder, kind of worried that he might end up pushing her off the swing.

He remembered his dad taking him to the park once. He'd been about seven years old, and it had taken two solid hours of begging to get his dad to agree to walk him across the road from the motel. The park hadn't been much; a few trees and a scrubby patch of dying grass, but there'd been a couple of swings and a slide set in the middle, apparently a favourite haunt of the kids in town if the graffiti and candy wrappers littered around the place were anything to go by. Dean had practically skipped over to the swings, jumping on the nearest and looking around for John to push him.

Except John had settled himself on a nearby wall with his journal and a stack of papers. The only acknowledgement Dean got was a periodic glance to check he was still there. It had been a small town, and the other kids at the playground had looked at him funny, their moms holding their hands and keeping them from getting too close to the stranger in the dirty, too-small clothes.

Five minutes later, Dean quietly told his dad he'd had enough, and the rest of the day had been spent in the motel room watching old episodes of Star Trek by himself.

Sam watched from behind Missouri's curtains as Dean disappeared around the corner, holding Kiera's hand. Margaret walked on his other side, Charlie in her arms and a large canvas bag thrown over one shoulder. They looked like any other family going out for a day at the park.

"Sam, would you like some tea?" Missouri's voice drew him away from the picturesque scene in front of him. He turned back, seeing her in the doorway to the living room.

"Uh, no, thanks."

She stepped toward him, a look of concern on her face. "Honey, what's wrong?"

Sam looked down at his feet. "It's nothing. Just, checking the weather was good. Dean's gone to the park with Margaret."

Her face lightened a little. "Well, I'm glad to hear they've made up." She shook her head fondly. "Margaret won't admit it, but she needs a friend."

"Aren't you her friend?" Sam asked, cocking his head.

"Of course." She smiled. It looked plastic around the edges. "But you can never have too many friends, Sam Miller. And once they settle their differences, I think Dean and Margaret will find they have a lot in common." She snorted, and her voice sounded genuine again. "Stubbornness, for one thing."

"Oh." Sam bit the corner of his lip, feeling his chest ache at her words. It was stupid, though. Stupid, because Dean didn't want to be a regular guy. He didn't want a wife, kids, a family. Did he?

Missouri's face softened, and he wondered if she'd caught the passing thought. "You can go with them if you want. The park's just up the street."

He glanced over at the window, as if Dean might reappear, smiling and holding a little girl's hand. "No. I better stay." He turned back to face Missouri, pulling together his resolve to weaken that ache around his heart. "I need to get my powers under control. That's the most important thing."

"Mommy, look at me!" Kiera called, trying to wave and hold on to the chain-link at the same time. Margaret looked up from across the park, waving before going back to helping Charlie lay out his toy cars.

Pushing the little girl back and forth was strangely relaxing, once Dean got over the fear that he might break her somehow. The rhythmic motion meant he didn't have to think, could just rock with the swing's movement, pushing and stepping back, pushing and stepping back.Kiera's curly hair billowed out behind her as she flew through the air, rippling like the waves in the wake of a boat.

"You havin' fun there, honey?" He called, surprised to find he was slightly out of breath.

She giggled in response, throwing her legs in the air and her head back as the swing reached the crest of its motion. Dean's breath caught, his heart stopping for a second, sure she was about to drop right off the seat in the pause before the swing came back down. But she stayed in place, laughing and oblivious to the near-heart attack she'd just caused. Dean caught the chain, slowing the swing down. "I, uh, think that's enough swinging for now."

"Aww, Dean!" She pouted at him, wriggling back and forth in a vain attempt to get the swing going again.

"Let's go sit with your mom and Charlie for a while, huh? Unless you wanna play by yourself for a bit?"

She chewed her bottom lip, obviously torn between using the other play areas and staying with Dean. Finally she let out a dramatic-sounding sigh. "Okay. But you have to push me on the roundabout after."

She grabbed his hand proprietarily as they started to walk back. Dean wasn't able to hold back the grin – apparently cute kids were his weakness. "Deal."

Margaret looked up with a smirk as they approached. "Now you understand why I don't push her high on the swing. I don't need a heart attack before I reach twenty-five."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You're not twenty-five yet?"

"No. My birthday's in three months." She jutted her chin out, daring him to comment.

"Oh." Dean knew when the odds were against him; he chose to sit down quietly instead. Kiera seemed to have forgotten her royal bearing, on her hands and knees in the dirt with her younger brother, crawling around and getting green grass stains all over the pink puffy skirt.

"Kiera's five, if you were wondering." Margaret suddenly started talking again, her voice sharp and blindly accusing, like she wanted to get her hits in now before Dean could start. "I was nineteen when I had her."

Dean held both hands up, shrugging his shoulders easily. "Wasn't wondering a thing."

She snorted loudly. "Right. Of course not. Who are you to judge?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean's head snapped to face her.

"Well, you and your friend back at Missouri's. I get the impression 'friend' isn't quite the right word for it? How old is he again?"

Dean sucked in a breath, his fists clenching. "Shut the hell up, now." He said, his voice low and even. "You talk about him again and I swear, your kids here or not, I will hit you."

There was silence for a long moment, only the birds singing in the trees, the distant sound of the cars driving past on the road across the green stretch of grass. Kiera berated her brother for something; "No, not like that, you've gotta have this one over here," and then she glanced up, her mouth shutting with an audible click like she could feel the tension in the air.

Margaret sighed, loud and long, her entire body sagging forward on the wooden bench. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

Dean nodded tersely, not trusting himself to speak.

"Really, Dean." She reached over, her hand hovering over his where it lay on his thigh, gripping the material of his jeans so tightly the knuckles were white. She didn't touch though; he really might have hit her if she'd tried. "I am sorry. I'm just," she paused, biting the inside of her mouth and looking close to tears suddenly, "it's hard. And everyone said…they said we were too young, and that I'd end up alone, raising the kids. But I didn't listen." She hunched over, clutching her bag to her stomach. Her shoulders shook ever so slightly.

"It's okay." Dean spoke, stiffly, before he knew he was going to.

Margaret stayed in the same position for a second, her hair covering her face. When she finally sat up straight, her eyes were red but no tears wet her cheeks. She wore an expression Dean could relate to; obstinacy and determination. He remembered seeing her after that first night at Missouri's, crying about the father of her children and the bills she couldn't pay.

"What happened?"

She shook her hair back, looking him directly in the eye. "I met a guy. Thought he was the one for me. When I got pregnant with Kiera, my parents told me I should be married, so we got married. I was at school at the time, training to be a teacher." She laughed bitterly. "I loved kids. I thought, what better career could there be, educating children, moulding young minds, all that shit." She lowered her voice as she spoke the last word, glancing over to make sure Kiera and Charlie were still involved in their game. "I had to drop out when I got pregnant though. We stayed together for three years, which was pretty good for a young couple in those days. But when I was pregnant with Charlie, he told me he was leaving. Apparently our children were getting in the way of his life. He took half our savings and wentbackpacking around Australia, and I went crawling back to my parents, begging for a place to live."

Dean bit his lip, trying to suppress the urge to wriggle uncomfortably on the bench. He wasn't good with this sharing and caring crap; he wished Sam was here in his place. The pill bottle poked him through his jeans pockets, reminding him of its presence.

Margaret kept talking, like now she'd started she wasn't going to be stopped, not for anything. "A year ago, I got a phone call from my ex. He has a nice new job, a college degree and a live-in girlfriend who apparently just loves children. He drives a Mercedes now, while I barely have the money to get the bus. He said he wanted joint-custody of the kids, now he was done finding himself, or whatever the hell he left me to do. I said no, so he called in the lawyers to prove I'm an unfit mother." She let out an enormous sigh when she finished talking.

"Oh." Dean said, feeling like an idiot. "I'm…sorry?"

She shot him an unimpressed look. "I wasn't asking for your sympathy, you ass. I just," she threw her hands up in the air, looking frustrated. "No one listens when I try to tell them this stuff. Not even Missouri, and she used to be…we used to be really close."

Dean frowned. "Used to be? You're not anymore?"

"Not really." She shrugged. "I don't…feel like she's really listening when I talk, anymore. I can't really blame her, I suppose, I guess I must go on about this a lot."

"Yeah, but…she's your friend. Isn't that what friends are s'posed to do; listen and be supportive and all that crap?"

She looked at him sidelong. "You sound like you're not sure. Don't guys talk about their problems?"

"I dunno." Dean grinned to hide his awkwardness. "Never really had a proper guy friend before. Until Sam, I mean."

"Huh." Margaret didn't look all that surprised.

Dean chewed on his lower lip. "Uh, since we're sharing, or whatever, do you, uh… Do you know if Missouri takes any medication? Like, pills?"

She looked at him with her eyebrows raised. "Why?"

He turned his head away, staring hard at a man entering the park, his hand clutching the arm of a young girl. She wriggled like a fish, her eyes set on the brightly painted jungle gym. He could just make out a snatch of conversation drifting over on the wind; "Wait a second, sweetheart, your shoelaces are untied…"

"I found some. Pills, I mean." Margaret didn't say anything, and Dean took a deep breath. "They were in Sam's room. I guess… I was hoping they were Missouri's, and she'd just dropped them or something." He pulled out the plastic bottle, holding them out so she could see.

Margaret gently took it from his hand, rolling it about. There was a frown creasing her forehead. "I don't know. I've never seen her take anything, but that doesn't mean they're not hers. Why, do you think Sam's…on something?" She shot a glance at Charlie, and Dean could practically feel her worry for her child.

"No!" It was out before he could think it through.

She looked at him strangely. "So…you don't think he's taking the pills, but you're going to blame him for it anyway?"

"No, I didn't mean-" Dean cut himself off, leaning forward with his head in his hands. "I don't know what I mean. But Sam, I know he wouldn't take anything unless…"

"Unless what? Unless he ran it by you first?" Margaret sighed. "Dean, I can't say I know Sam particularly well, but he doesn't seem like the kind of guy to do anything without thinking it through. I don't know whose pills these are, maybe they're Sam's, maybe they're Missouri's, hell, maybe they're vitamins, but I wouldn't go jumping to conclusions and making accusations until you know for sure."

Dean met her eyes, seeing the tentative smile on her face. "Yeah. You're right." He let out a loud breath, running a hand through his hair before looking at her seriously. "Does this mean we're gal-pals now? Will you braid my hair?"

She punched him in the arm.

Missouri's latest customer was a pretty, nervous-looking woman in her thirties, clutching her tiny handbag like it was a lifeline. She introduced herself to Sam with a weak handshake and a smile that only partially disguised a wet sniffle.

Missouri stuck a warm cup of tea under her nose without being asked, and she took it gratefully.

"Now, Lucy, what did you come here to find out?" Missouri asked, like she didn't already know.

Lucy met her eyes for a second and then looked down at her lap. "Uh, my-my boyfriend. He's always late home from work, and he…he doesn't pay me any attention anymore. And I've…been looking through his briefcase. I think he's mixed up in something bad at work. I-I need to know."

Missouri nodded, her lips firmly pressed together in a show of sympathy. "I'll get out the cards."

She stood and walked to the dresser where the cards were kept. Sam watched her, his own unasked-for cup of tea held loosely in one hand. Before she could even touch the handle of the drawer, Sam's head started to throb. He frowned, pressing the fingers of his free hand to his temples.

"Sam? Are you okay, honey?" He could hear Missouri's words as if she was talking to him from the other end of a wind channel.

"I…" He screwed his eyes up tight.

"Sam! Sam, listen to me!" Missouri calls again. "I need you to-"

Her voice is cut off by the image of a man, brown hair flicked with grey, wearing a charcoal suit and looking furtively around as he opens the door to a room. At first Sam thinks it's a motel room – there's a keycard slot at the handle, and the cheap-looking brown carpet is similar to thousands of carpets in thousands of motels across the country.

But then the vision expands to take in a desk, bulky grey computer sitting on the top and a pile of paperwork stacked neatly in a wire tray by the side. There's a phone beside it, a business card tacked to the handset – Mitchell and Co. Accounting.

The door is opened from the other side, and a brunette woman wearing the typical secretary uniform of crisp white shirt and black skirt meets the man. She smiles, her tongue flirting with her upper lip. "Lucy called for you. Again. When are you gonna leave her, Steven?"

Steven doesn't bother to answer, instead grabbing the girl around the waist and kissing her deeply as he walks them into the room.

Flash. Sam's in a new room, this one made of shiny glass surfaces and white sofas and modern art. Steven, Lucy's boyfriend and the secretary's fuck-buddy, is standing in the centre of the room. The secretary is sitting on the sofa, her arms around herself and her knees pressed tightly together. There's another man standing between them, pointing a gun at Steven's chest.

"Sam! Sam, this isn't real-" Missouri's voice is cut off by the image of Steven, sprawled across a glass coffee table, a hole in his chest that wasn't there before.

"Sam, you've got to listen to me, please-"

And that thing in his head flexes like a snake wrapped around his brain, making his eyes feel like they're bulging out of their sockets.

He can see Dean, Dean sat on a bench in a park, Margaret by his side. The two of them are laughing together while Kiera and Charlie play in the long grass in front of them. Dean reaches out, brushes something off of Margaret's cheek. She ducks her head like she's embarrassed, but she's smiling too. Dean's eyes never leave her face.

Dean's eyes are on Sam, stretched wide. It's dark around them, an alleyway, and the moon is a hollow circle in the sky high above. Tears are coursing down Dean's cheeks unheeded, and that makes Sam think about Missouri's voice, the voice telling him it isn't real. Because Dean doesn't cry, ever. There's a dark shape behind Dean, a bundle that Sam only identifies as a man when he looks closely. The guy's unconscious, his nose bloody, and Dean's holding a gun in one hand.

From somewhere distant, he thinks he hears the personalised ringtone of Dean's phone, a tinny version of Aerosmith's 'Walk This Way' – the original, not the Run-D.M.C. remix, because Dean hates that… Dean answers, and Sam can hear a gruff male voice on the other end; "Hey, Dean. I'm passin' through-"

"Samuel Miller, will you listen to me!" Missouri yells, her voice sharper and more urgent than he's ever heard her before.

He opens his eyes, and he sees her standing over him as Dean was a few seconds ago, only he's on his back in the armchair in her living room, and Lucy is sitting on the sofa staring at him, her hands gripping the cushions either side of her. He looks at Missouri, and something crawls across her face, under her skin, a ripple of dark…

Sam gasped, a huge breath that made his back arch up off the armchair. The cup of tea is on its side on the floor, the brown liquid seeping into the carpet. Missouri's hands were clutching his upper arms, her nails digging into the flesh painfully. "Sam! Sam, talk to me! C'mon honey, talk to me!"

He blinked, and his brain seemed to settle back into the curve of his skull. Strangely, there was no headache, no lingering after-effects like with his previous visions. He brought a hand to his face; no nosebleed either. "What…"

"It's okay, it's okay…" Missouri said, her voice breathy like she'd been shouting. "Just sit back, you just had an…unusually intense vision."

"Uh, I can come back later…" Lucy said, pushing herself to her feet. Her eyes were set on Sam, like she was afraid he might leap up and attack her if she wasn't watching.

"Is your boyfriend called Steven? He works at Mitchell and Company Accounting?" Sam said, ignoring Missouri's restraining hand.

Lucy's face blanched. "Yes? How did you-"

"He's sleeping with a secretary there, a brunette woman? Tell him-you have to tell him he's being set up. She's working for someone, and they're gonna shoot him."

"Sam…" Missouri said, her hand pressing against the centre of his chest. Her eyes flicked over to where Lucy was standing, but after a tiny gasp, the younger woman had run from the room.

"Missouri, you have to tell her!" He strained against her arm, but apparently his energy had been sapped along with the vision and he couldn't push her off. "The guy's gonna-"

"Sam, listen to me!" Missouri said sharply, her face pulled into lines that hadn't been there before. "I saw what you saw, honey."

His body went lax at her words, like she'd drained the last of his adrenaline reserves away. "You-you said…"

"I said it wasn't real. And it wasn't, not all of it. I think the demon's close. It's trying to get to you with false visions." Her hand slipped away, coming to rest on his forearm. He didn't try to get up. "You can't believe everything it sent you."

"But the visions have all come true! What if you're wrong? What if that woman's boyfriend dies?"

Missouri pressed her lips together until they formed a thin white line, a mixture of frustration and sympathy on her face.

The sound of the front door slamming broke their staring matches. A second later, Dean strode into view, his cell phone in one hand. He didn't seem to notice the undercurrents of panic surrounding Sam and Missouri. Instead he shot a grin at Sam that wavered at the end, and nodded politely in Missouri's direction. "Hey, guess what? That Gareth guy called me up, said he's passing through town tomorrow night."