Occam's Razor Part 8
Missouri was a strong, beautiful, looming presence as the Winchesters made their way onto the porch. She smiled so wide and honest Dean felt Sam relax slightly against him, but the elder Winchester refused to be taken in. He'd never trust a psychic again.
"Sam, Dean...let me look at you!" She laughed. "Last time I saw you, Sam, you were barely two. Running along behind this one, babbling up a storm of nonsense. And you," she turned to Dean, "well, you grew up handsome. You were a goofy looking kid. Ears that would rival an elephant's."
Sam smiled slightly. Dean huffed, indignant. Missouri zeroed in on the younger boy, moving forward. "Sam--"
Dean jerked his brother away. "I don't want you focusing on him."
John stepped closer forward. "Dean, it's okay."
"No offense, sir, but this time I'm not taking your word for it."
"Boy, you watch your tone when you talk to your father," Missouri snapped.
"Look, lady, you're not the first psychic we've met."
"No, but I guarantee I'm the first who could tell your father and brother about what you and Ronda Hurley did while her daddy was picking up her mama's anniversary present."
Dean jerked back in surprise. Sam's eyes widened. "Now, Missouri huffed, "you three get on inside, and let's get this mess sorted."
As they crossed into the foyer, Sam looked up at his brother and whispered, "What'd you do?" Dean flushed and cuffed his head lightly.
In Missouri's living room, she stood facing them once more, a slight frown on her face. "Sam," she said gently, "mind if I see your hand?"
Sam glanced up at Dean. Dean hesitated, then lay a hand on his brother's shoulder and turned his green eyes on her.
"Boy," Missouri barked, "Talk like that again, and I'll shut you in the bathroom with a bar of soap in your mouth."
"I didn't say anything," Dean protested.
"You didn't have to." She turned to Sam and smiled benevolently once more. "Promise I'm not gonna hurt you, sugar. It just helps me focus on where the hurt's coming from."
Sam slowly extended his hand. She pressed it gently between her own, scanning his face--and gasped. Her face went from shock, to horror, to rage, and back to sympathy in a matter of seconds. If Dean hadn't spent so much time reading people, he'd have missed it all.
"Oh...honey," she murmured, her eyes suddenly damp. "I'm so sorry. A real wrong's been done to you." She brought her right hand up gingerly under his chin and made him meet her gaze. "Don't you worry about a thing. I'm going to make this right. I'll need a little time, though. And you boys need a little lunch."
She released Sam and turned to Dean. "You take your brother in the kitchen and help yourself to what's in the fridge. There's a batch roast beef I cooked up for the week, a green-bean casserole, and a cherry pie on the counter. You both eat hardy--you need it. I'm going to have a word with your father."
They both hesitated, glancing from John to each other. "Well?" Missouri said. "Scoot! I want to see at least half my leftovers missing when I get in there."
Dean gave a slight nod to Sam and guided his brother out into the hall. Missouri drew the double parlor doors closed behind them and waited, letting John squirm in the silence that followed.
"I know what you told me, but--"
Missouri brought her palm across his face so fast he had no time to react. "But nothing! That boy--" She whacked him again. "I've a mind to call the authorities about you. What you did--"
John rubbed feebly at his cheek. "He said he could get us a picture of what killed Mary."
"At the expense of what?"
"Nothing, just--"
"You know better than to lie to me, John Winchester."
John's face fell. "I screwed up."
"You did more than 'screw up.'" She stalked away, disgust on her face. "He didn't 'open a window,' John. The wards on his mind don't allow that. He burnt one through. That--that was bad enough." She turned sharply and started back toward him, rage making her seem twice her normal size. "But what's worse -- hat burn he made? It's infected."
"Infected?"
"Psychic wounds ain't no different than any other. They need to be properly treated or they turn to pus and rot. That hole between his unconscious and conscious was a nasty burn. And it went untreated. And it's growing bigger and larger. And all that terror--that feeling of a baby's undeveloped muscles--the inability to speak--it's leaking all over his conscious. It's days away from being a full-blown flood, and then your boy would be a full-blown psychotic. That's what you did, John."
John closed his eyes. "Can you fix it?"
"It ain't going to be easy. And it's going to get worse before it gets better."
"But it can get better?"
Missouri glared. "It won't be a free pass for next time. Your boy isn't ever going to be the same. Dean neither. You've lost some of their trust, John. Was it worth it?"
John swallowed, hard. "I really thought--"
"I know what you thought. And I told you it could lose you a son." She opened the parlor door once more. "I don't want you in my home. You hear? You leave those boys with me. I'm going to need quiet to study, and they need to be left to themselves to heal."
"I'm trying to make things right."
"Then you get in that car and you go find something to kill."
"I need to--"
"No, you don't. You take a few days and when you get back, I'll tell you what you need to do."
"Missouri--"
"Good-bye, John."
He hesitated. Then, glancing between the kitchen and the door, slowly backed away.
She didn't need to be psychic to know she wasn't the first to ask him of it.
***
Missouri found the boys in the kitchen. Sam was hunched on the edge of one of her kitchen chairs, watching his elder brother dump ice and fruit and yogurt into her blender.
"Seriously, dude, I've never seen this much fruit outside of a grocery store," Dean said. Sam smiled.
"When's the last time you went to a grocery store?"
"I shop!"
"For fruit?"
"Despite your best efforts, you haven't starved to death yet," Dean turned so Sam could see his smile. His grin wavered briefly when he saw her in the doorway, then regained its strength as he poured his experiment into a glass for his brother. "Besides, Missouri said to use her leftovers."
"Good that you did," she said. Sam stiffened as she approached, and she reached out and brushed gently at his cheek.
"Here you go, bud," Dean said, overly-cheerful as he set the smoothie down. She admired him: having no idea what he was dealing with, his instincts were still dead-on.
"Now listen," she said, "I've asked your daddy to take a break and leave you with me."
Sam glanced at her, then looked immediately back to his brother. Dean smiled and slumped into the seat beside him, deliberately bumping his brother's shoulder.
"No worries...we've been seeing a lot of that lately. Right, Sammy?"
Sam stared at her, all big brown eyes and deep-rooted fear. "You understand only half what's said these days, don't ya, sugar?" she murmured. The wide eyes grew wider.
"What?" Dean asked, looking between them. "Sammy?"
"Can you still read?"
Sam paled, then lowered his gaze. "Sometimes."
"What's going on?" Dean snapped.
"Your brother gets real quiet sometimes, don't he?"
"Sure," Dean's hand automatically reached for, and found, Sam's shoulder, rubbing gently. "That's fine. It's been a hard few weeks."
Missouri nodded. "I made up the guestroom. First door on left. Has its own bathroom. Only one bed, but it's a big one. I figure you won't mind sharing, but if you do, I can pull out the sofa."
"No, one bed's fine. Thank you."
"You eat before it's warm," she said to Sam, "and you eat before it's cold. I'm going to need a little time to study before we set things straight." She crouched in front of Sam and gently lifted his chin so his dark eyes met hers. "It's going to be all right," she murmured. "Before I do anything, I'll walk you through it all. Tell you what happened and how I'm going to fix it. In the meantime, you boys make yourself at home. Watch some TV, sleep, eat up my whole fridge for all I care. Understood?"
Sam gave her a small, but genuine, smile. She tossed him a wink and left him in his brother's care.
***
Dean made Sammy finish his shake and devoured his own plate, than got them both settled in Missouri's guest room. Though a so-called "bachelorette" pad, the home was stripped of almost anything girly: white walls, dark wood, few, androgynous paintings. Their room had starched white curtains, white bedspread, an old TV, and even plainer bathroom.
Dean wasn't complaining.
With their father gone, Sam was infinitely more relaxed, even if he wasn't back to normal. He was unusually obedient--as he'd been since the start of this mess--and uncharacteristically clingy, but Dean had grown used to these as "normal" symptoms when it came to the post-Julian Sam, and he was relieved to see his brother smile and laugh, however lightly--things he never did when their father was present.
However little he knew Missouri, she seemed to know her stuff--even if her assertion that Sam was losing language deeply disturbed him. Dean settled them in, let the TV play some brainless comedy, rubbed his brother's floppy brown hair and tugged him against his leg, letting Sam curl up in a comfortable little S beside him, and was relieved when he drifted off. Dean inched himself gradually away, yanking the comforter over as he went, leaving his brother burrowed in a soft cotton cocoon before venturing downstairs to the parlor. Missouri had half-drawn the doors to the living room, and Dean paused outside the doors, listening for any sounds or chanting that might clue him in to what the psychic was doing.
All he heard was an indignant huff before Missouri called out, "Lurking in doorways is rude, Dean."
He flushed and stepped into view. She smiled, amused by his discomfort. "I'm afraid you can't have secrets from me, honey. Not under my roof."
"Did you talk to my dad?"
"I gave him a piece of my mind for what he let that man do to your brother."
Dean swallowed, hard. "Can you help him?"
"I'm gonna try."
"What is wrong with him?"
Missouri gestured to the chair across from her. Dean came in slowly and took a seat. Her gaze softened. "When that psychic tried to open a door, he couldn't get through, so he kicked his way in. But he couldn't close it. So we've got a leak directly between an unconscious trauma and your brother's conscious mind."
"That's why--"
"Why he has nightmares, and panic attacks, and from time to time, can't figure out how to speak."
Dean kept his face carefully composed. "But...you can fix it?"
"I'm gonna give it my all."
He nodded slowly. "What can I do?"
"Exactly what you're doing. Looking out for him, taking care of him."
"I haven't helped."
"You've saved him." She sat up straighter, eyes boring into his. "Honey, most people who get this kind of hurt are carted off to the nuthouse in a week or two. You know why he's not?" Dean shook his head. "Boy, you really are stupid. You. You carrying him out of that house is leaking through too. That man may have torn his world down to the foundation, but that foundation is you. And it's solid. And he's hanging on for all he's worth." She smiled. "You boys got something special, I'm telling you. You connect deep, way underneath your conscious. You're pulling him out of the pit, Dean, just by doing all you're doing."
Dean's throat was swollen almost shut. He looked to the floor. Missouri took his hand and squeezed gently. "Missouri..." He took a slow breath, "Sam doesn't have any memories of our mother. Is there...someway you could let...some good ones in? While erasing the bad?"
Missouri's face stayed calm and cool as ever. "No," she said gently, "I can't pick and choose like that. What I'm gonna do, it'll seal off all the ugly, but Sam's still gonna remember that night. He just won't have all the symptoms of what he felt back then leaking all over the now."
"I just--" Dean's throat felt so swollen, he had to almost choke out the words, "It wasn't...all...bad. I don't...I hate to think...his only memory is...her...burning--"
"I know," Missouri soothed, clutching his hands in hers. "I wish I could give you more. But what I can give, will be so much better if I don't give it alone."
Dean swallowed. "What do you mean?"
"I'm going to need your help."
Next
Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII
"Sam, Dean...let me look at you!" She laughed. "Last time I saw you, Sam, you were barely two. Running along behind this one, babbling up a storm of nonsense. And you," she turned to Dean, "well, you grew up handsome. You were a goofy looking kid. Ears that would rival an elephant's."
Sam smiled slightly. Dean huffed, indignant. Missouri zeroed in on the younger boy, moving forward. "Sam--"
Dean jerked his brother away. "I don't want you focusing on him."
John stepped closer forward. "Dean, it's okay."
"No offense, sir, but this time I'm not taking your word for it."
"Boy, you watch your tone when you talk to your father," Missouri snapped.
"Look, lady, you're not the first psychic we've met."
"No, but I guarantee I'm the first who could tell your father and brother about what you and Ronda Hurley did while her daddy was picking up her mama's anniversary present."
Dean jerked back in surprise. Sam's eyes widened. "Now, Missouri huffed, "you three get on inside, and let's get this mess sorted."
As they crossed into the foyer, Sam looked up at his brother and whispered, "What'd you do?" Dean flushed and cuffed his head lightly.
In Missouri's living room, she stood facing them once more, a slight frown on her face. "Sam," she said gently, "mind if I see your hand?"
Sam glanced up at Dean. Dean hesitated, then lay a hand on his brother's shoulder and turned his green eyes on her.
"Boy," Missouri barked, "Talk like that again, and I'll shut you in the bathroom with a bar of soap in your mouth."
"I didn't say anything," Dean protested.
"You didn't have to." She turned to Sam and smiled benevolently once more. "Promise I'm not gonna hurt you, sugar. It just helps me focus on where the hurt's coming from."
Sam slowly extended his hand. She pressed it gently between her own, scanning his face--and gasped. Her face went from shock, to horror, to rage, and back to sympathy in a matter of seconds. If Dean hadn't spent so much time reading people, he'd have missed it all.
"Oh...honey," she murmured, her eyes suddenly damp. "I'm so sorry. A real wrong's been done to you." She brought her right hand up gingerly under his chin and made him meet her gaze. "Don't you worry about a thing. I'm going to make this right. I'll need a little time, though. And you boys need a little lunch."
She released Sam and turned to Dean. "You take your brother in the kitchen and help yourself to what's in the fridge. There's a batch roast beef I cooked up for the week, a green-bean casserole, and a cherry pie on the counter. You both eat hardy--you need it. I'm going to have a word with your father."
They both hesitated, glancing from John to each other. "Well?" Missouri said. "Scoot! I want to see at least half my leftovers missing when I get in there."
Dean gave a slight nod to Sam and guided his brother out into the hall. Missouri drew the double parlor doors closed behind them and waited, letting John squirm in the silence that followed.
"I know what you told me, but--"
Missouri brought her palm across his face so fast he had no time to react. "But nothing! That boy--" She whacked him again. "I've a mind to call the authorities about you. What you did--"
John rubbed feebly at his cheek. "He said he could get us a picture of what killed Mary."
"At the expense of what?"
"Nothing, just--"
"You know better than to lie to me, John Winchester."
John's face fell. "I screwed up."
"You did more than 'screw up.'" She stalked away, disgust on her face. "He didn't 'open a window,' John. The wards on his mind don't allow that. He burnt one through. That--that was bad enough." She turned sharply and started back toward him, rage making her seem twice her normal size. "But what's worse -- hat burn he made? It's infected."
"Infected?"
"Psychic wounds ain't no different than any other. They need to be properly treated or they turn to pus and rot. That hole between his unconscious and conscious was a nasty burn. And it went untreated. And it's growing bigger and larger. And all that terror--that feeling of a baby's undeveloped muscles--the inability to speak--it's leaking all over his conscious. It's days away from being a full-blown flood, and then your boy would be a full-blown psychotic. That's what you did, John."
John closed his eyes. "Can you fix it?"
"It ain't going to be easy. And it's going to get worse before it gets better."
"But it can get better?"
Missouri glared. "It won't be a free pass for next time. Your boy isn't ever going to be the same. Dean neither. You've lost some of their trust, John. Was it worth it?"
John swallowed, hard. "I really thought--"
"I know what you thought. And I told you it could lose you a son." She opened the parlor door once more. "I don't want you in my home. You hear? You leave those boys with me. I'm going to need quiet to study, and they need to be left to themselves to heal."
"I'm trying to make things right."
"Then you get in that car and you go find something to kill."
"I need to--"
"No, you don't. You take a few days and when you get back, I'll tell you what you need to do."
"Missouri--"
"Good-bye, John."
He hesitated. Then, glancing between the kitchen and the door, slowly backed away.
She didn't need to be psychic to know she wasn't the first to ask him of it.
***
Missouri found the boys in the kitchen. Sam was hunched on the edge of one of her kitchen chairs, watching his elder brother dump ice and fruit and yogurt into her blender.
"Seriously, dude, I've never seen this much fruit outside of a grocery store," Dean said. Sam smiled.
"When's the last time you went to a grocery store?"
"I shop!"
"For fruit?"
"Despite your best efforts, you haven't starved to death yet," Dean turned so Sam could see his smile. His grin wavered briefly when he saw her in the doorway, then regained its strength as he poured his experiment into a glass for his brother. "Besides, Missouri said to use her leftovers."
"Good that you did," she said. Sam stiffened as she approached, and she reached out and brushed gently at his cheek.
"Here you go, bud," Dean said, overly-cheerful as he set the smoothie down. She admired him: having no idea what he was dealing with, his instincts were still dead-on.
"Now listen," she said, "I've asked your daddy to take a break and leave you with me."
Sam glanced at her, then looked immediately back to his brother. Dean smiled and slumped into the seat beside him, deliberately bumping his brother's shoulder.
"No worries...we've been seeing a lot of that lately. Right, Sammy?"
Sam stared at her, all big brown eyes and deep-rooted fear. "You understand only half what's said these days, don't ya, sugar?" she murmured. The wide eyes grew wider.
"What?" Dean asked, looking between them. "Sammy?"
"Can you still read?"
Sam paled, then lowered his gaze. "Sometimes."
"What's going on?" Dean snapped.
"Your brother gets real quiet sometimes, don't he?"
"Sure," Dean's hand automatically reached for, and found, Sam's shoulder, rubbing gently. "That's fine. It's been a hard few weeks."
Missouri nodded. "I made up the guestroom. First door on left. Has its own bathroom. Only one bed, but it's a big one. I figure you won't mind sharing, but if you do, I can pull out the sofa."
"No, one bed's fine. Thank you."
"You eat before it's warm," she said to Sam, "and you eat before it's cold. I'm going to need a little time to study before we set things straight." She crouched in front of Sam and gently lifted his chin so his dark eyes met hers. "It's going to be all right," she murmured. "Before I do anything, I'll walk you through it all. Tell you what happened and how I'm going to fix it. In the meantime, you boys make yourself at home. Watch some TV, sleep, eat up my whole fridge for all I care. Understood?"
Sam gave her a small, but genuine, smile. She tossed him a wink and left him in his brother's care.
***
Dean made Sammy finish his shake and devoured his own plate, than got them both settled in Missouri's guest room. Though a so-called "bachelorette" pad, the home was stripped of almost anything girly: white walls, dark wood, few, androgynous paintings. Their room had starched white curtains, white bedspread, an old TV, and even plainer bathroom.
Dean wasn't complaining.
With their father gone, Sam was infinitely more relaxed, even if he wasn't back to normal. He was unusually obedient--as he'd been since the start of this mess--and uncharacteristically clingy, but Dean had grown used to these as "normal" symptoms when it came to the post-Julian Sam, and he was relieved to see his brother smile and laugh, however lightly--things he never did when their father was present.
However little he knew Missouri, she seemed to know her stuff--even if her assertion that Sam was losing language deeply disturbed him. Dean settled them in, let the TV play some brainless comedy, rubbed his brother's floppy brown hair and tugged him against his leg, letting Sam curl up in a comfortable little S beside him, and was relieved when he drifted off. Dean inched himself gradually away, yanking the comforter over as he went, leaving his brother burrowed in a soft cotton cocoon before venturing downstairs to the parlor. Missouri had half-drawn the doors to the living room, and Dean paused outside the doors, listening for any sounds or chanting that might clue him in to what the psychic was doing.
All he heard was an indignant huff before Missouri called out, "Lurking in doorways is rude, Dean."
He flushed and stepped into view. She smiled, amused by his discomfort. "I'm afraid you can't have secrets from me, honey. Not under my roof."
"Did you talk to my dad?"
"I gave him a piece of my mind for what he let that man do to your brother."
Dean swallowed, hard. "Can you help him?"
"I'm gonna try."
"What is wrong with him?"
Missouri gestured to the chair across from her. Dean came in slowly and took a seat. Her gaze softened. "When that psychic tried to open a door, he couldn't get through, so he kicked his way in. But he couldn't close it. So we've got a leak directly between an unconscious trauma and your brother's conscious mind."
"That's why--"
"Why he has nightmares, and panic attacks, and from time to time, can't figure out how to speak."
Dean kept his face carefully composed. "But...you can fix it?"
"I'm gonna give it my all."
He nodded slowly. "What can I do?"
"Exactly what you're doing. Looking out for him, taking care of him."
"I haven't helped."
"You've saved him." She sat up straighter, eyes boring into his. "Honey, most people who get this kind of hurt are carted off to the nuthouse in a week or two. You know why he's not?" Dean shook his head. "Boy, you really are stupid. You. You carrying him out of that house is leaking through too. That man may have torn his world down to the foundation, but that foundation is you. And it's solid. And he's hanging on for all he's worth." She smiled. "You boys got something special, I'm telling you. You connect deep, way underneath your conscious. You're pulling him out of the pit, Dean, just by doing all you're doing."
Dean's throat was swollen almost shut. He looked to the floor. Missouri took his hand and squeezed gently. "Missouri..." He took a slow breath, "Sam doesn't have any memories of our mother. Is there...someway you could let...some good ones in? While erasing the bad?"
Missouri's face stayed calm and cool as ever. "No," she said gently, "I can't pick and choose like that. What I'm gonna do, it'll seal off all the ugly, but Sam's still gonna remember that night. He just won't have all the symptoms of what he felt back then leaking all over the now."
"I just--" Dean's throat felt so swollen, he had to almost choke out the words, "It wasn't...all...bad. I don't...I hate to think...his only memory is...her...burning--"
"I know," Missouri soothed, clutching his hands in hers. "I wish I could give you more. But what I can give, will be so much better if I don't give it alone."
Dean swallowed. "What do you mean?"
"I'm going to need your help."
Next
Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII