FIC: Distant Relations (5/?) (Buffy/Supernatural)
Happy Labor Day all! :) I should really get a Buffy or Supernatural icon/avatar. If only I didn't suck so much at that artsy crap. *sigh*
*****
Xander stared at the white, two-story house from his car across the street. Aside from the gnarled tree next to the driveway, the home looked inviting and well-kept. Xander wondered what it would have been like to grow up there. Had John and Mary Winchester been a happy couple? Was he the type of man to play ball with his sons in the front yard?
Xander's curiosity was warring with his anxiety as he tried to gather his courage. He'd been anxiously awaiting this moment since he left Sunnydale, and suddenly he couldn't make himself get out of the car. He couldn't even decide which possibility was more troubling, finding a lead or finding a dead end.
This was when one of Willow's pep talks would have come in handy. He looked out the passenger window, up the walk to the front door. He hadn't come this far just to chicken out. He felt sure Buffy wouldn't have been afraid, and surely he'd faced scarier things during his tenure on the hellmouth than whatever was behind that white door.
Xander took a deep breath, calmed his nerves as best he could, and opened the driver's side door. He by-passed a few children's toys on his way up the walk, and, in what seemed both too brief and too long an amount of time, he found himself shuffling nervously on the doorstep.
He took another deep breath, held it for a moment, and as he exhaled he raised a fist and gave a few quick, sharp knocks before his nerves could get the best of him. There was a few, brief seconds of silence, followed by some scuffling and voices, and then the door opened. At first he didn't see anyone and was puzzled, but then lowered his gaze to the young, dark-haired girl looking back up at him. "Hello," she said, as she regarded him curiously.
Xander hadn't known what to expect when the door opened, but he didn't think it was this. "Hi," Xander returned as he tried to sort his thoughts. It didn't seem likely the young girl could answer his questions. "Um…is your mom or dad home?"
At that moment the door was pulled back wider to reveal a pretty, blonde woman with a toddler balanced on her hip, "Sari, sweetie, you know you're not supposed to open the door without me here." She placed her free hand on the girl's shoulder and moved her further back into the safety of the house before turning her gaze on Xander, "Can I help you?"
"I'm not sure," Xander told her honestly, the moment of truth having finally arrived. "I'm looking for John Winchester."
She looked vaguely surprised, "I'm sorry, but he hasn't lived here in several years."
"No, I know that," Xander affirmed, "but I thought maybe you might know where he lived now, maybe he left a forwarding address or something. We're sort of family, well, I mean, we've never met, but I recently found out we were related and I had some spare time on my hands so I thought I'd see if maybe I could find him. All I know is that he used to live here, and I thought it couldn't hurt to ask…" Xander trailed off, stopping himself before he managed to spill his entire life story to the woman in front of him.
The toddler on her hip chose that moment to declare loudly, "Juice," while shaking an empty sippy cup in Xander's direction.
"Sorry," the woman gave him an apologetic smile. "Richie's a bit of a juice junky."
"Just wait till he discovers moon pies," Xander joked, forcing a chuckle through the suspense that was currently choking him.
She gave him a warm smile before continuing, "I've never met John, but Sam and Dean came by not too long ago to see their old place," her eyes glanced away then briefly before coming back to meet his, "I think they left town though."
"Do you know where they were heading?" Xander asked, clinging desperately to what little hope he had left.
His desperation must have shown on his face because the woman's expression was distressed when she told him, "No, I'm sorry, I don't."
Xander glanced down as though he might see the last bit of his hope sinking into the ground. "Well, it was worth a try," Xander looked back up at her and tried to smile but at this point it may have come out closer to a grimace. "It was nice meeting you…"
"Jenny," she supplied, and held out her free hand.
Xander shook it and said, "I'm Xander. Xander Harris."
"If I see them again, would you like me to tell them you're looking for them?" Jenny asked. "I don't know whether they'll be back or not. I kind of got the impression that they travel a lot."
Xander shrugged, if they traveled a lot it could be a long while before they came back, if they ever came back at all. It also meant it would be more difficult to track them down if they never stayed in one place for any long amount of time. "If you see them," Xander agreed, but added, "though they won't really know who I am."
"Well, it was nice meeting you Xander. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help."
Xander gave a half-shrug and a bitter-sweet smile, "That's okay. It was a long-shot, anyway."
Xander gave the family a wave before turning and making his way back down the front walk, his shoulders drooping in a disheartened slump. When he was half-way to the curb, Jenny's voice called out to him, "Xander, wait."
He turned to find Jenny approaching him. "There's this woman in town, a friend of the family, she might be able to tell you where to find them."
Xander grasped on to the possibility like a lifeline. "Do you know where I could find her?"
"Of course," Jenny complied.
Xander managed to dig a pen and a scrap of paper out of his pocket and copied down the directions Jenny gave him.
"Thank you," Xander told her sincerely, and this time managed a genuine smile.
He waved again, Richie sending back a sippy-cup wave of his own, before Xander turned and headed toward his car again, his steps much lighter this time.
*****
People often thought having a psychic connection to the world would provide an exemption or at least some foresight to the surprises that no one else could seem to avoid. And while Missouri Mosely often knew more about what was going on in the world than most people, some days even she was caught off-guard by those curve-balls that life seemed so fond of throwing. Today was going to be one of those days.
It started off like any normal day, but days like that usually did because you never really suspected the wild turns till you were right upon them without any possibility of slowing down. She had just finished counseling a young woman who wanted to know if she was making the right decision in marrying her fiancé. Missouri thought the young man in question was likely the only man who had enough patience to put up with the girl's constant criticisms and complaints…though Missouri found a nicer, more flowery way of telling the girl that she and her boy were meant to be. After all, the girl was a paying customer.
She ushered the girl to the sitting room and saw her to the door, and then turned to greet her next client. Her eyes widened the moment she saw the dark-haired, sad-eyed boy sitting on her couch, and she was barely able to contain a gasp. No, she certainly hadn't seen this coming. "Oh my," she whispered, brining a hand to her mouth.
The boy stood up gingerly, looking around the room as though there had to be someone else that had elicited such a response from her; after all, she hadn't even heard his story yet. "I'm Xander," he offered. "I came to-"
"To find your father," she beat him to the chase.
This time, Xander's eyes widened dramatically as he gaped open-mouthed at her. She sometimes had that effect on people. "Goodness, but you're just the spittin' image of him, aren't you?" Xander seemed at a loss for words, and as he had never seen his father, he couldn't really comment on their likeness. But there was a definite resemblance.
The same thick, black hair, same soulful, brown eyes. He looked just like John only younger and less careworn. He lacked that air of despair that had cloaked John since the moment Mary had died.
Xander finally seemed to find his tongue, "How did you know?"
"Well, you came to a psychic. What did you expect?" she said, as if it should be obvious. Apparently Xander didn't have a response for that either. "Well, come on. Let's get you something to eat." She didn't give him a chance to protest, simply wandered into the house and left him no choice but to follow her if he intended to get any answers.
She entered the kitchen, pulled out a chair at the table, and commanded, "Have a seat," before she began fixing Xander a sandwich. She knew how he liked it before she even had to ask. Turkey, with lettuce, tomato, and extra mayo. Xander could only sit and watch with a dumbfounded expression.
It was a habit Missouri had developed right along side her psychic abilities, treating strangers like people she'd always known. The truth was, after spending a few minutes with most people, she probably knew them better than they knew themselves. That wasn't to say she knew everything about them. She didn't get an entire history and she didn't automatically glean all their secrets, but she could get a general impression of a person's character and usually had a pretty good idea of what they were thinking at any given moment.
Missouri finished the sandwich and placed it in front of him, along with a cold can of Root Beer. "Well, go ahead," she urged. "These talks are no good on an empty stomach."
Xander shrugged, as though finally shaking off his confusion and dug into the sandwich. He seemed to be taking the situation in stride, like he had grown accustomed to dealing with the strange and surprising. Or maybe he just couldn't turn down food when it was offered to him. Growing boys always had a soft spot for food.
Xander turned to her, his mouth full of sandwich, and she scolded him before he could even form the question, "Boy, don't talk with your mouth full."
He blinked at her, swallowed the food in one painful gulp before it was even fully chewed, and then asked, "So you know my father?"
Missouri sighed and shook her head; he was definitely a Winchester. "Yes, I know him. I haven't talked to him in a while though." Xander looked discouraged at that and Missouri hastened to placate him before he lost his tenuous grasp on his new-found hope, "But that doesn't mean I won't be able to help you find him.
"John and the boys came through here a while back," she explained, "but they didn't stay long."
"Did they say where they were going?" Xander asked, his mouth still partially full of food. At Missouri's glare he quickly blushed and closed his mouth.
"I'm not sure," Missouri replied anyway. "They tend to travel all over the place." Missouri could sense Xander's curiosity at what it was that took his blood-family all over, but that was a question better answered by his father or brothers, so Missouri quickly continued, "I can call them though, ask them to come here." Or at least she'd be able to get a hold of Sam and Dean, as John was so often out-of-pocket that any calls to him might not yield results.
Xander stilled then and gulped the last of his sandwich down in one large swallow. "I don't know," he hemmed. "I mean, what if they're busy or something. I don't want to drag them away if they're right in the middle of something. Besides, they don't even know about me. I'm not so sure springing this on them is such a good idea. Maybe I should wait, or just let this go altogether."
Missouri frowned at him, thinking now that stubbornness must be a genetic Winchester trait now that it was a proven characteristic in all four men. "Well, boy, you didn't come all this way for nothing."
Xander glanced away and his hands toyed nervously with his soda can, "It's just…what if…what if they…"
Missouri placed a comforting hand on his forearm, understanding his hesitancy even if he wasn't able to voice his concerns. "Honey, you'll never know until you meet them."
The words weren't exactly reassuring, but that didn't make them any less true. Xander could only sigh and nod, "Okay. But only if they're not busy. I don't want to be any trouble."
Missouri smiled widely, thinking to herself that she'd tell Dean and Sam whatever she had to in order to get them there. Good family was too scarce a commodity for all parties involved to let an opportunity like this pass them by. Even if she had to scare up a ghost, she was determined to get them there.
*****
Sam had his head propped against the passenger-side window, eyes closed and soaking up the sunshine, as he tried to get what little shut-eye he could. Most nights, and days even, he was plagued by dreams and nightmares whenever he closed his eyes. Whatever unhindered rest he could manage was considered precious.
His current endeavor, however, was being seriously thwarted by Dean's ranting from the driver's seat. His older brother had been in a tizzy since they'd left the latest town and their most recent job behind some twenty minutes ago, and it seemed unlikely that his ire would calm anytime soon.
"I mean…you try to help someone," Dean gave the steering wheel an indignant thump, "and this is the thanks you get."
"Dean, man," Sam mumbled a complaint without bothering to open his eyes, "just let it go."
"Who the hell uses a haunting as a means for an insurance scam?"
Sam groaned and angled his body more toward the passenger-window in a vain attempt to block out his brother's incensed tirade.
"A wacko, that's who," Dean answered his own question. "Like it really would have worked."
Sam burrowed his body further in the car seat wishing he had a pillow to cover his head with and drown out his brother's voice…or simply to smother his brother with. Sam understood his brother's anger, it was justified…Sam just didn't see any reason to dwell on it.
They'd come across a small town in central Nebraska with his very own haunted house. Thinking it was their civil duty, being privy to the darker side of life as they were, to protect society and rid the world those things which sought to harm the innocent, they offered their services to the home's latest owner. But the owner, a cantankerous old man pushing seventy-two who had purchased the house only a week ago, would have none of it.
Dean and Sam assumed that he, like most other people, couldn't quite grasp the idea that ghosts and other things really did exist, and, rather than argue with the old man, they decided to take matters into their own hands.
How were they to know that the man had bought the house knowing full-well it was haunted. He paid for the house at a price half its value due to its reputation and then invested a load of insurance on the house with the intention of stirring up the ghost, letting it do its worst damage on the house, and then cashing in on the insurance money. So it was with great surprise that Sam and Dean banished the ghost, leaving the crotchety, old man with a near-pristine (though un-saleable) home only to have the old man go into a furious rage about how Sam and Dean had ruined his perfect scam as he chased them around the yard with a shovel.
"And I can't believe that old son-of-a-bitch had the nerve to touch my car," Dean raved. During his tantrum, the old man had kicked the Impala as he yelled for them to get off his property. Sam had damn-near had to tackle Dean to keep him from pulling his sidearm and wasting the old man right then. It was a close call, but finally Dean had relented in favor of getting his beloved car as far away from the old man as quickly as possible. "You should have let me shoot the bastard," Dean reproached him.
Dean had been raging since the moment they sped off and showed no indication of letting up anytime soon. Sam spent about five minutes trying to calm him before finally giving up and leaning against the door with the futile intention of getting some sleep. As Sam desperately wished for some peace and quiet, a shrill noise filtered through his brother's angry tones, and Sam squinted his eyes open against the sun.
"I just don't know how he thought he was going to convince anybody, the damn fool."
Sam finally placed the sound and twisted in his seat toward Dean, "Dude, your phone."
"You know, we should have let that ghost nail his ass," Dean ignored him. "It would have served him right."
Sam gave an exasperated sigh, "Damnit, Dean, would you answer your phone?"
Dean finally seemed to register the offending sound and dug his cell out his pocket, bringing it to his ear. "Yeah," he yelled, voice still tinged with fury.
Sam rolled his eyes and hoped whoever was on the other end of line didn't value their hearing.
"Missouri?" Dean's voice had lost some of its heat, replaced instead with confusion.
Sam turned to regard his brother as he watched the somewhat stilted conversation take place.
"Why are you-… We're in Nebraska, why? What's-… I don't know, several hours at least, look, what's this abou-… Look, we can't just-… Fine! Geez, we'll get there as quick as we can, but you better have a good explanation when we- Hello…?" Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and glared at it as though he just might throw it out the window.
"What was that about?" Sam asked.
"Hell if I know, but it looks as though we're headed back to Lawrence." Dean jammed the phone back in his pocket, his previous anger now focused in a new direction. "That woman irritates the crap out of me."
"Well, did she say why?" Sam prodded.
"She wasn't exactly forthcoming with the details," Dean said, his gaze menacingly focused on the road as he maneuvered the car toward the exit for a south-bound highway.
"You don't think Jenny and the kids are in trouble again, do you?"
"I don't know," was Dean's clipped response.
"I mean…we were sure there was nothing else in that house. Do you think it could have something to do with Mom or the thing that killed her?"
"I don't know," Dean repeated, the words coming out even sharper this time.
Sam thought of another possibility, "We still don't know where Dad is, do you think it could be about him?"
"I don't know!" Dean yelled and turned to give Sam a heated glare before looking back at the road, his jaw clenched tightly.
Sam backed off and gave his brother a considering look, "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
Sam guessed that was the most he was likely to get out of Dean. Sharing wasn't in Dean's nature, and when he could get away with it, he played things close to the chest.
Dean had been less than thrilled with their first homecoming to Lawrence. Sam had really been too young to remember their mother or their childhood home, but going back there had been a difficult experience, and if it was difficult for Sam, who had only the vaguest of memories, then it must have been twice as painful for Dean who had been older and could still remember details about their life before their mother's death.
Dean wouldn't talk about it though, and he wouldn't talk about their father's glaring absence in a situation where he should have been present. Sam figured he'd have better luck pulling his own teeth sans-anesthetic than getting Dean to participate in a heart-felt conversation.
"I guess we'll find out when we get there," Sam commented.
"Guess we will," Dean returned. His voice had lost some of its edge, but he didn't offer up any further conversation.
Sam had a feeling they had several long hours ahead of them.
*****
Xander felt like he'd been on a roller-coaster all day. He had bounded back and forth between hopeful and hopeless in his search for his father, and now it seemed he was just hours away from a possible meeting.
Missouri was quite a character. Xander had seen a lot of bizarre things and met some strange people, but Missouri was the first psychic he'd ever met. He guessed that maybe psychics, as a general rule, had enough foresight to steer far clear of a hellmouth. It was a novel experience for Xander, although it was a little disconcerting that Missouri knew so much about him without even being told. She hadn't yet tried to strangle or dismember him though, so he was chalking this new acquaintance up to a positive experience.
In fact, Xander was almost thankful for Missouri because without her encouragement Xander may have backed out of the whole thing. Still, she had convinced him to make the call. Xander didn't know what she had told them to get them on their way; he knew she hadn't told them about him thinking it was a conversation best had in person. All he knew is that they had been in Nebraska and were now headed towards them.
Shortly after the phone call, another client came to call on Missouri and she left Xander to his own devices in the kitchen. It was more than enough time for Xander's thoughts turn against him as he pictured all the things that could possibly go wrong. He was only marginally comforted by the fact that Missouri seemed to be an ally of sorts in this endeavor of his. If he had to face them alone, he was certain he couldn't go through with it.
In between customers seeking Missouri's guidance, she would check on Xander trying keep him occupied with a magazine to read or an offer of watching television. His reprieves were always short-lived, however, and his mind quickly found its way back to playing out scenarios where meeting his father and half-brothers went catastrophically wrong. Xander had always considered himself a fairly laid-back and likable guy. But what if they didn't like him.
By now his anxiety had pushed him so far that he spent his time pacing, or sitting at the table drumming out endless rhythms with his hands, or tearing Missouri's paper napkins to shreds. And that was how Missouri found him after she dismissed her last client of the day, making a paper-snow mess on her table.
She grabbed what was left of the napkin out of his hand and scooped up the shreds, dumping them in the trash as she admonished, "You keep tearing up all the napkins and we won't have anything to wipe our hands on."
"Sorry," Xander said, but his nerves had progressed to the point that his voice sounded edgy on the verge of panic rather than apologetic.
"Sweetie, you need to relax," she told him, and while it sounded like solid advice, Xander didn't see it happening anytime tonight. "Things could be worse," Missouri confided. "That poor man's wife has gone from banging the gardener to banging the pool boy."
Xander raised his eyebrows, "How'd he take it?"
"What, and break that poor man's heart?"
"So you didn't tell him?" Xander questioned.
"He came here for reassurance, not for the truth."
"How do you know that?" Xander asked. He received the same look she always gave to someone whenever he or she asked how she just knew anything. "Oh, right."
"He's a good man who deserves better," Missouri told him sadly. "I tell you, if I ever run across that skinny tramp of his, I have some choice words I'll be sharing with her."
Xander got the impression that he never wanted to get on Missouri's bad side.
"Now, come on," she motioned at him to stand. "I think it's about time we get some dinner on the stove. Do you know how to cook spaghetti?"
Xander stood with an alarmed expression, "I know how to boil water and that's about the extent of my knowledge."
Missouri waved off his trepidation, "You've got the first step then." She went to the sink and washed her hands before instructing Xander to do the same.
Missouri then pulled out a pot and gave it to Xander, who filled it with water and set it on the stove before turning the heat on under it. She pulled a package of hamburger meat out of the fridge, opened it, and dumped the meat into another bowl. Xander watched as she pulled various seasonings out of the cabinet and added them to the hamburger meat before sticking her hands in and mixing it around.
He made a disgusted face and Missouri warned him, "Don't turn up your nose, I expect you to help me with this." She finished scrambling up the meat and placed the bowl midway between them. Taking out a small handful, she rolled the meat between her hands till it formed a ball, and then she placed it in a nearby skillet.
Xander eyed the meat with dismay for a moment, before grabbing up his own handful and following Missouri's example. Apart from being slightly squishy, it wasn't as bad as Xander thought it would be. Certainly far better than cleaning up demon guts.
"So, are you able to predict the weather and lottery numbers?" Xander asked they continued to roll the meat.
"You think if I could predict the lottery I'd be living here making a living by counseling people too lost to keep their life together on their own?"
"No, I guess not," Xander conceded.
As they continued to work on dinner, Xander felt some of his tension ease away, enough that he was able to ask about the people he was soon to meet, "So, what are they like?"oHo
"Stubborn, hard-headed…often times more trouble than they're worth," the words were less than glowing but the affectionate smile on her face belied her true feelings for the family.
"Sam probably has the most sense of the bunch, I reckon he tends to take after his mother in that. Dean would argue the color of the sky just for the sake of argument, except when it comes to his father. He'd blindly follow that man into hell, no questions asked, if John told him to. And John, he's probably the most stubborn of them all."
Xander smiled, trying to put together an image of them in his head.
"He loves those boys, though," she told him. "He has his own way of showing it, but he's always trying to do what he thinks is best to protect them."
Missouri paused for a moment as she moved the meat pan to the stove and poured the pasta into the now boiling water.
She came back and sat at the table, and from the expression on her face Xander guessed what was coming next was not of the light, happy variety. "When John lost Mary it almost broke him. He was so lost…if it hadn't been for his boys needing him, I'm not sure what he would have done."
Xander looked down at his hands where they rested on the table and felt a surge of sympathy for a family he had yet to even meet.
Realizing they had strayed into a heavier topic, Missouri tried to steer the conversation in a lighter direction. "All the more reason why this is a good thing," she lightly patted Xander's hand. "You can never have too much family."
Xander's family back in Sunnydale seemed more likely to make him disagree, but he thought of Willow, Buffy, and Giles back home and figured, if he could consider them family, then the more the merrier in his book.
Missouri looked out the window to the darkening sky outside. "Shouldn't be too much longer before they get here," Missouri told him as she stood and moved to the stove.
"So, seeing as you're psychic and all, think you could give me a clue as to how this is all going to go down?"
Missouri gave him a coy look, "Well, now, that would be telling, wouldn't it? You shouldn't worry too much, I think this is all going to work out just fine."
Xander had sidled up next to her at the stove and was about to stick his finger in the pasta sauce for a taste when she thwacked his hand with a wooden spoon. Xander jerked his hand back to a safe distance and pouted. "So, how does that work anyway? Do you see the future or the past?"
"A little of both," Missouri hedged, trying to explain something that was not easily put into words. "It's more like having an extended sense of the present. I just get a little more information about things than most people are able to see. I get impressions about people and places."
Xander nodded and asked, "Can you read minds?" He tested it out before she even gave him an answer, "I'm thinking of a number between one and-"
"Seven," she answered, before his question was even out.
Xander startled and glanced at her, "But you can't do that all the time, right? I mean, you don't know what I'm thinking all the time at every second." Xander was having bad flashbacks to Buffy's short stint as a mind-reader. As a young, hot-blooded male, sex had had a constant occupation in his thoughts and that had lead to a rather humiliating experience for Xander that had sent him fleeing from Buffy's sight.
Missouri gave him a sly look, and Xander almost made a run for it right then, before she chuckled and shook her head. "Not quite," she assured him. "It's not like tuning into the radio. I only get a general sense of a person's thoughts, and that's usually only thoughts with strong emotion behind them."
Xander sighed in relief, "So how did you know what number I was thinking of, because anyone can tell you that numbers and I have never had a close, personal relationship. I don't think there were any warm fuzzies there."
"People always pick seven," Missouri said.
Xander stared at her for a moment before simply saying, "Huh. So do people who are kind of like space-cadets come across like the static on those snow channels on TV?"
Missouri laughed, "Sometimes." She stirred the pasta a couple times before scooping up a spoonful. She picked a spaghetti strand out and held it out to Xander, "Go ahead and sling it…see if it's done."
Xander just stared at her. "Uh…what?"
"You throw it at the fridge, and if it sticks, it's done," she explained.
Xander eyed the noodle warily as though he suspected it and Missouri were both conspiring to pull one over on him. "Go on," she shook the string at him.
"Okay," Xander took the string with no little amount of skepticism. Aiming as best as he could with a floppy string of pasta, he flung the noodle at the refrigerator's face. Xander's skeptical look melted into one of surprise when the noodle stuck to the appliance's cold surface.
Xander turned and grinned at Missouri. His first foray into the world of cooking (that didn't involve a microwave) was proving to be quite amusing.
"Looks like it's ready," Missouri informed him.
At that moment the sound of the front door opening could be heard and a loud voice called out from somewhere in the front of the house, "Hey, Missouri? Are you in here?"
Xander had gotten so involved in the cooking of the spaghetti that he had completely forgotten what it was they were waiting on. As the realization suddenly struck him that the voice more than likely belonged to someone in his distant family, he froze up; the tension and apprehension that had faded came back so forcefully that he was worried for a moment that his heart might actually stop.
Missouri gave his arm a vigorous rub before telling him to "take a deep breath."
She turned and headed out of the kitchen and it was all Xander could do to make his feet follow.
The moment the new arrivals were in sight Missouri jumped to scolding, an action that seemed to be second nature with her. "Didn't anyone ever to you it's polite to knock?"
As Xander moved around to stand off to the side and a little ways back of Missouri, he was finally able to get his first good look at the newcomers. There were two young men, both taller and several years older than Xander. The taller and younger of the two looked contrite at Missouri's outburst, but the older, slightly shorter one, looked wholly unapologetic.
"We're here. Now do you want to tell me what the hell was so important that it had me breaking the speed limit to get here?" the older one griped before turning a critical eye on Xander.
The younger one was watchfully eying Xander now too, and Xander was suddenly reminded of all the disastrous scenarios that had beset his mind earlier.
Missouri, seeing where the men's attention had been drawn, decided to jump right into the situation headfirst. Without any sort of build-up, no lead-in whatsoever to soften the blow of such a bombshell, Missouri gestured at Xander and looked both men in the eyes, before spilling the revelation that would send the room into silence.
"Dean, Sam…I'd like for you to meet your brother."
*****
Xander stared at the white, two-story house from his car across the street. Aside from the gnarled tree next to the driveway, the home looked inviting and well-kept. Xander wondered what it would have been like to grow up there. Had John and Mary Winchester been a happy couple? Was he the type of man to play ball with his sons in the front yard?
Xander's curiosity was warring with his anxiety as he tried to gather his courage. He'd been anxiously awaiting this moment since he left Sunnydale, and suddenly he couldn't make himself get out of the car. He couldn't even decide which possibility was more troubling, finding a lead or finding a dead end.
This was when one of Willow's pep talks would have come in handy. He looked out the passenger window, up the walk to the front door. He hadn't come this far just to chicken out. He felt sure Buffy wouldn't have been afraid, and surely he'd faced scarier things during his tenure on the hellmouth than whatever was behind that white door.
Xander took a deep breath, calmed his nerves as best he could, and opened the driver's side door. He by-passed a few children's toys on his way up the walk, and, in what seemed both too brief and too long an amount of time, he found himself shuffling nervously on the doorstep.
He took another deep breath, held it for a moment, and as he exhaled he raised a fist and gave a few quick, sharp knocks before his nerves could get the best of him. There was a few, brief seconds of silence, followed by some scuffling and voices, and then the door opened. At first he didn't see anyone and was puzzled, but then lowered his gaze to the young, dark-haired girl looking back up at him. "Hello," she said, as she regarded him curiously.
Xander hadn't known what to expect when the door opened, but he didn't think it was this. "Hi," Xander returned as he tried to sort his thoughts. It didn't seem likely the young girl could answer his questions. "Um…is your mom or dad home?"
At that moment the door was pulled back wider to reveal a pretty, blonde woman with a toddler balanced on her hip, "Sari, sweetie, you know you're not supposed to open the door without me here." She placed her free hand on the girl's shoulder and moved her further back into the safety of the house before turning her gaze on Xander, "Can I help you?"
"I'm not sure," Xander told her honestly, the moment of truth having finally arrived. "I'm looking for John Winchester."
She looked vaguely surprised, "I'm sorry, but he hasn't lived here in several years."
"No, I know that," Xander affirmed, "but I thought maybe you might know where he lived now, maybe he left a forwarding address or something. We're sort of family, well, I mean, we've never met, but I recently found out we were related and I had some spare time on my hands so I thought I'd see if maybe I could find him. All I know is that he used to live here, and I thought it couldn't hurt to ask…" Xander trailed off, stopping himself before he managed to spill his entire life story to the woman in front of him.
The toddler on her hip chose that moment to declare loudly, "Juice," while shaking an empty sippy cup in Xander's direction.
"Sorry," the woman gave him an apologetic smile. "Richie's a bit of a juice junky."
"Just wait till he discovers moon pies," Xander joked, forcing a chuckle through the suspense that was currently choking him.
She gave him a warm smile before continuing, "I've never met John, but Sam and Dean came by not too long ago to see their old place," her eyes glanced away then briefly before coming back to meet his, "I think they left town though."
"Do you know where they were heading?" Xander asked, clinging desperately to what little hope he had left.
His desperation must have shown on his face because the woman's expression was distressed when she told him, "No, I'm sorry, I don't."
Xander glanced down as though he might see the last bit of his hope sinking into the ground. "Well, it was worth a try," Xander looked back up at her and tried to smile but at this point it may have come out closer to a grimace. "It was nice meeting you…"
"Jenny," she supplied, and held out her free hand.
Xander shook it and said, "I'm Xander. Xander Harris."
"If I see them again, would you like me to tell them you're looking for them?" Jenny asked. "I don't know whether they'll be back or not. I kind of got the impression that they travel a lot."
Xander shrugged, if they traveled a lot it could be a long while before they came back, if they ever came back at all. It also meant it would be more difficult to track them down if they never stayed in one place for any long amount of time. "If you see them," Xander agreed, but added, "though they won't really know who I am."
"Well, it was nice meeting you Xander. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help."
Xander gave a half-shrug and a bitter-sweet smile, "That's okay. It was a long-shot, anyway."
Xander gave the family a wave before turning and making his way back down the front walk, his shoulders drooping in a disheartened slump. When he was half-way to the curb, Jenny's voice called out to him, "Xander, wait."
He turned to find Jenny approaching him. "There's this woman in town, a friend of the family, she might be able to tell you where to find them."
Xander grasped on to the possibility like a lifeline. "Do you know where I could find her?"
"Of course," Jenny complied.
Xander managed to dig a pen and a scrap of paper out of his pocket and copied down the directions Jenny gave him.
"Thank you," Xander told her sincerely, and this time managed a genuine smile.
He waved again, Richie sending back a sippy-cup wave of his own, before Xander turned and headed toward his car again, his steps much lighter this time.
*****
People often thought having a psychic connection to the world would provide an exemption or at least some foresight to the surprises that no one else could seem to avoid. And while Missouri Mosely often knew more about what was going on in the world than most people, some days even she was caught off-guard by those curve-balls that life seemed so fond of throwing. Today was going to be one of those days.
It started off like any normal day, but days like that usually did because you never really suspected the wild turns till you were right upon them without any possibility of slowing down. She had just finished counseling a young woman who wanted to know if she was making the right decision in marrying her fiancé. Missouri thought the young man in question was likely the only man who had enough patience to put up with the girl's constant criticisms and complaints…though Missouri found a nicer, more flowery way of telling the girl that she and her boy were meant to be. After all, the girl was a paying customer.
She ushered the girl to the sitting room and saw her to the door, and then turned to greet her next client. Her eyes widened the moment she saw the dark-haired, sad-eyed boy sitting on her couch, and she was barely able to contain a gasp. No, she certainly hadn't seen this coming. "Oh my," she whispered, brining a hand to her mouth.
The boy stood up gingerly, looking around the room as though there had to be someone else that had elicited such a response from her; after all, she hadn't even heard his story yet. "I'm Xander," he offered. "I came to-"
"To find your father," she beat him to the chase.
This time, Xander's eyes widened dramatically as he gaped open-mouthed at her. She sometimes had that effect on people. "Goodness, but you're just the spittin' image of him, aren't you?" Xander seemed at a loss for words, and as he had never seen his father, he couldn't really comment on their likeness. But there was a definite resemblance.
The same thick, black hair, same soulful, brown eyes. He looked just like John only younger and less careworn. He lacked that air of despair that had cloaked John since the moment Mary had died.
Xander finally seemed to find his tongue, "How did you know?"
"Well, you came to a psychic. What did you expect?" she said, as if it should be obvious. Apparently Xander didn't have a response for that either. "Well, come on. Let's get you something to eat." She didn't give him a chance to protest, simply wandered into the house and left him no choice but to follow her if he intended to get any answers.
She entered the kitchen, pulled out a chair at the table, and commanded, "Have a seat," before she began fixing Xander a sandwich. She knew how he liked it before she even had to ask. Turkey, with lettuce, tomato, and extra mayo. Xander could only sit and watch with a dumbfounded expression.
It was a habit Missouri had developed right along side her psychic abilities, treating strangers like people she'd always known. The truth was, after spending a few minutes with most people, she probably knew them better than they knew themselves. That wasn't to say she knew everything about them. She didn't get an entire history and she didn't automatically glean all their secrets, but she could get a general impression of a person's character and usually had a pretty good idea of what they were thinking at any given moment.
Missouri finished the sandwich and placed it in front of him, along with a cold can of Root Beer. "Well, go ahead," she urged. "These talks are no good on an empty stomach."
Xander shrugged, as though finally shaking off his confusion and dug into the sandwich. He seemed to be taking the situation in stride, like he had grown accustomed to dealing with the strange and surprising. Or maybe he just couldn't turn down food when it was offered to him. Growing boys always had a soft spot for food.
Xander turned to her, his mouth full of sandwich, and she scolded him before he could even form the question, "Boy, don't talk with your mouth full."
He blinked at her, swallowed the food in one painful gulp before it was even fully chewed, and then asked, "So you know my father?"
Missouri sighed and shook her head; he was definitely a Winchester. "Yes, I know him. I haven't talked to him in a while though." Xander looked discouraged at that and Missouri hastened to placate him before he lost his tenuous grasp on his new-found hope, "But that doesn't mean I won't be able to help you find him.
"John and the boys came through here a while back," she explained, "but they didn't stay long."
"Did they say where they were going?" Xander asked, his mouth still partially full of food. At Missouri's glare he quickly blushed and closed his mouth.
"I'm not sure," Missouri replied anyway. "They tend to travel all over the place." Missouri could sense Xander's curiosity at what it was that took his blood-family all over, but that was a question better answered by his father or brothers, so Missouri quickly continued, "I can call them though, ask them to come here." Or at least she'd be able to get a hold of Sam and Dean, as John was so often out-of-pocket that any calls to him might not yield results.
Xander stilled then and gulped the last of his sandwich down in one large swallow. "I don't know," he hemmed. "I mean, what if they're busy or something. I don't want to drag them away if they're right in the middle of something. Besides, they don't even know about me. I'm not so sure springing this on them is such a good idea. Maybe I should wait, or just let this go altogether."
Missouri frowned at him, thinking now that stubbornness must be a genetic Winchester trait now that it was a proven characteristic in all four men. "Well, boy, you didn't come all this way for nothing."
Xander glanced away and his hands toyed nervously with his soda can, "It's just…what if…what if they…"
Missouri placed a comforting hand on his forearm, understanding his hesitancy even if he wasn't able to voice his concerns. "Honey, you'll never know until you meet them."
The words weren't exactly reassuring, but that didn't make them any less true. Xander could only sigh and nod, "Okay. But only if they're not busy. I don't want to be any trouble."
Missouri smiled widely, thinking to herself that she'd tell Dean and Sam whatever she had to in order to get them there. Good family was too scarce a commodity for all parties involved to let an opportunity like this pass them by. Even if she had to scare up a ghost, she was determined to get them there.
*****
Sam had his head propped against the passenger-side window, eyes closed and soaking up the sunshine, as he tried to get what little shut-eye he could. Most nights, and days even, he was plagued by dreams and nightmares whenever he closed his eyes. Whatever unhindered rest he could manage was considered precious.
His current endeavor, however, was being seriously thwarted by Dean's ranting from the driver's seat. His older brother had been in a tizzy since they'd left the latest town and their most recent job behind some twenty minutes ago, and it seemed unlikely that his ire would calm anytime soon.
"I mean…you try to help someone," Dean gave the steering wheel an indignant thump, "and this is the thanks you get."
"Dean, man," Sam mumbled a complaint without bothering to open his eyes, "just let it go."
"Who the hell uses a haunting as a means for an insurance scam?"
Sam groaned and angled his body more toward the passenger-window in a vain attempt to block out his brother's incensed tirade.
"A wacko, that's who," Dean answered his own question. "Like it really would have worked."
Sam burrowed his body further in the car seat wishing he had a pillow to cover his head with and drown out his brother's voice…or simply to smother his brother with. Sam understood his brother's anger, it was justified…Sam just didn't see any reason to dwell on it.
They'd come across a small town in central Nebraska with his very own haunted house. Thinking it was their civil duty, being privy to the darker side of life as they were, to protect society and rid the world those things which sought to harm the innocent, they offered their services to the home's latest owner. But the owner, a cantankerous old man pushing seventy-two who had purchased the house only a week ago, would have none of it.
Dean and Sam assumed that he, like most other people, couldn't quite grasp the idea that ghosts and other things really did exist, and, rather than argue with the old man, they decided to take matters into their own hands.
How were they to know that the man had bought the house knowing full-well it was haunted. He paid for the house at a price half its value due to its reputation and then invested a load of insurance on the house with the intention of stirring up the ghost, letting it do its worst damage on the house, and then cashing in on the insurance money. So it was with great surprise that Sam and Dean banished the ghost, leaving the crotchety, old man with a near-pristine (though un-saleable) home only to have the old man go into a furious rage about how Sam and Dean had ruined his perfect scam as he chased them around the yard with a shovel.
"And I can't believe that old son-of-a-bitch had the nerve to touch my car," Dean raved. During his tantrum, the old man had kicked the Impala as he yelled for them to get off his property. Sam had damn-near had to tackle Dean to keep him from pulling his sidearm and wasting the old man right then. It was a close call, but finally Dean had relented in favor of getting his beloved car as far away from the old man as quickly as possible. "You should have let me shoot the bastard," Dean reproached him.
Dean had been raging since the moment they sped off and showed no indication of letting up anytime soon. Sam spent about five minutes trying to calm him before finally giving up and leaning against the door with the futile intention of getting some sleep. As Sam desperately wished for some peace and quiet, a shrill noise filtered through his brother's angry tones, and Sam squinted his eyes open against the sun.
"I just don't know how he thought he was going to convince anybody, the damn fool."
Sam finally placed the sound and twisted in his seat toward Dean, "Dude, your phone."
"You know, we should have let that ghost nail his ass," Dean ignored him. "It would have served him right."
Sam gave an exasperated sigh, "Damnit, Dean, would you answer your phone?"
Dean finally seemed to register the offending sound and dug his cell out his pocket, bringing it to his ear. "Yeah," he yelled, voice still tinged with fury.
Sam rolled his eyes and hoped whoever was on the other end of line didn't value their hearing.
"Missouri?" Dean's voice had lost some of its heat, replaced instead with confusion.
Sam turned to regard his brother as he watched the somewhat stilted conversation take place.
"Why are you-… We're in Nebraska, why? What's-… I don't know, several hours at least, look, what's this abou-… Look, we can't just-… Fine! Geez, we'll get there as quick as we can, but you better have a good explanation when we- Hello…?" Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and glared at it as though he just might throw it out the window.
"What was that about?" Sam asked.
"Hell if I know, but it looks as though we're headed back to Lawrence." Dean jammed the phone back in his pocket, his previous anger now focused in a new direction. "That woman irritates the crap out of me."
"Well, did she say why?" Sam prodded.
"She wasn't exactly forthcoming with the details," Dean said, his gaze menacingly focused on the road as he maneuvered the car toward the exit for a south-bound highway.
"You don't think Jenny and the kids are in trouble again, do you?"
"I don't know," was Dean's clipped response.
"I mean…we were sure there was nothing else in that house. Do you think it could have something to do with Mom or the thing that killed her?"
"I don't know," Dean repeated, the words coming out even sharper this time.
Sam thought of another possibility, "We still don't know where Dad is, do you think it could be about him?"
"I don't know!" Dean yelled and turned to give Sam a heated glare before looking back at the road, his jaw clenched tightly.
Sam backed off and gave his brother a considering look, "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
Sam guessed that was the most he was likely to get out of Dean. Sharing wasn't in Dean's nature, and when he could get away with it, he played things close to the chest.
Dean had been less than thrilled with their first homecoming to Lawrence. Sam had really been too young to remember their mother or their childhood home, but going back there had been a difficult experience, and if it was difficult for Sam, who had only the vaguest of memories, then it must have been twice as painful for Dean who had been older and could still remember details about their life before their mother's death.
Dean wouldn't talk about it though, and he wouldn't talk about their father's glaring absence in a situation where he should have been present. Sam figured he'd have better luck pulling his own teeth sans-anesthetic than getting Dean to participate in a heart-felt conversation.
"I guess we'll find out when we get there," Sam commented.
"Guess we will," Dean returned. His voice had lost some of its edge, but he didn't offer up any further conversation.
Sam had a feeling they had several long hours ahead of them.
*****
Xander felt like he'd been on a roller-coaster all day. He had bounded back and forth between hopeful and hopeless in his search for his father, and now it seemed he was just hours away from a possible meeting.
Missouri was quite a character. Xander had seen a lot of bizarre things and met some strange people, but Missouri was the first psychic he'd ever met. He guessed that maybe psychics, as a general rule, had enough foresight to steer far clear of a hellmouth. It was a novel experience for Xander, although it was a little disconcerting that Missouri knew so much about him without even being told. She hadn't yet tried to strangle or dismember him though, so he was chalking this new acquaintance up to a positive experience.
In fact, Xander was almost thankful for Missouri because without her encouragement Xander may have backed out of the whole thing. Still, she had convinced him to make the call. Xander didn't know what she had told them to get them on their way; he knew she hadn't told them about him thinking it was a conversation best had in person. All he knew is that they had been in Nebraska and were now headed towards them.
Shortly after the phone call, another client came to call on Missouri and she left Xander to his own devices in the kitchen. It was more than enough time for Xander's thoughts turn against him as he pictured all the things that could possibly go wrong. He was only marginally comforted by the fact that Missouri seemed to be an ally of sorts in this endeavor of his. If he had to face them alone, he was certain he couldn't go through with it.
In between customers seeking Missouri's guidance, she would check on Xander trying keep him occupied with a magazine to read or an offer of watching television. His reprieves were always short-lived, however, and his mind quickly found its way back to playing out scenarios where meeting his father and half-brothers went catastrophically wrong. Xander had always considered himself a fairly laid-back and likable guy. But what if they didn't like him.
By now his anxiety had pushed him so far that he spent his time pacing, or sitting at the table drumming out endless rhythms with his hands, or tearing Missouri's paper napkins to shreds. And that was how Missouri found him after she dismissed her last client of the day, making a paper-snow mess on her table.
She grabbed what was left of the napkin out of his hand and scooped up the shreds, dumping them in the trash as she admonished, "You keep tearing up all the napkins and we won't have anything to wipe our hands on."
"Sorry," Xander said, but his nerves had progressed to the point that his voice sounded edgy on the verge of panic rather than apologetic.
"Sweetie, you need to relax," she told him, and while it sounded like solid advice, Xander didn't see it happening anytime tonight. "Things could be worse," Missouri confided. "That poor man's wife has gone from banging the gardener to banging the pool boy."
Xander raised his eyebrows, "How'd he take it?"
"What, and break that poor man's heart?"
"So you didn't tell him?" Xander questioned.
"He came here for reassurance, not for the truth."
"How do you know that?" Xander asked. He received the same look she always gave to someone whenever he or she asked how she just knew anything. "Oh, right."
"He's a good man who deserves better," Missouri told him sadly. "I tell you, if I ever run across that skinny tramp of his, I have some choice words I'll be sharing with her."
Xander got the impression that he never wanted to get on Missouri's bad side.
"Now, come on," she motioned at him to stand. "I think it's about time we get some dinner on the stove. Do you know how to cook spaghetti?"
Xander stood with an alarmed expression, "I know how to boil water and that's about the extent of my knowledge."
Missouri waved off his trepidation, "You've got the first step then." She went to the sink and washed her hands before instructing Xander to do the same.
Missouri then pulled out a pot and gave it to Xander, who filled it with water and set it on the stove before turning the heat on under it. She pulled a package of hamburger meat out of the fridge, opened it, and dumped the meat into another bowl. Xander watched as she pulled various seasonings out of the cabinet and added them to the hamburger meat before sticking her hands in and mixing it around.
He made a disgusted face and Missouri warned him, "Don't turn up your nose, I expect you to help me with this." She finished scrambling up the meat and placed the bowl midway between them. Taking out a small handful, she rolled the meat between her hands till it formed a ball, and then she placed it in a nearby skillet.
Xander eyed the meat with dismay for a moment, before grabbing up his own handful and following Missouri's example. Apart from being slightly squishy, it wasn't as bad as Xander thought it would be. Certainly far better than cleaning up demon guts.
"So, are you able to predict the weather and lottery numbers?" Xander asked they continued to roll the meat.
"You think if I could predict the lottery I'd be living here making a living by counseling people too lost to keep their life together on their own?"
"No, I guess not," Xander conceded.
As they continued to work on dinner, Xander felt some of his tension ease away, enough that he was able to ask about the people he was soon to meet, "So, what are they like?"oHo
"Stubborn, hard-headed…often times more trouble than they're worth," the words were less than glowing but the affectionate smile on her face belied her true feelings for the family.
"Sam probably has the most sense of the bunch, I reckon he tends to take after his mother in that. Dean would argue the color of the sky just for the sake of argument, except when it comes to his father. He'd blindly follow that man into hell, no questions asked, if John told him to. And John, he's probably the most stubborn of them all."
Xander smiled, trying to put together an image of them in his head.
"He loves those boys, though," she told him. "He has his own way of showing it, but he's always trying to do what he thinks is best to protect them."
Missouri paused for a moment as she moved the meat pan to the stove and poured the pasta into the now boiling water.
She came back and sat at the table, and from the expression on her face Xander guessed what was coming next was not of the light, happy variety. "When John lost Mary it almost broke him. He was so lost…if it hadn't been for his boys needing him, I'm not sure what he would have done."
Xander looked down at his hands where they rested on the table and felt a surge of sympathy for a family he had yet to even meet.
Realizing they had strayed into a heavier topic, Missouri tried to steer the conversation in a lighter direction. "All the more reason why this is a good thing," she lightly patted Xander's hand. "You can never have too much family."
Xander's family back in Sunnydale seemed more likely to make him disagree, but he thought of Willow, Buffy, and Giles back home and figured, if he could consider them family, then the more the merrier in his book.
Missouri looked out the window to the darkening sky outside. "Shouldn't be too much longer before they get here," Missouri told him as she stood and moved to the stove.
"So, seeing as you're psychic and all, think you could give me a clue as to how this is all going to go down?"
Missouri gave him a coy look, "Well, now, that would be telling, wouldn't it? You shouldn't worry too much, I think this is all going to work out just fine."
Xander had sidled up next to her at the stove and was about to stick his finger in the pasta sauce for a taste when she thwacked his hand with a wooden spoon. Xander jerked his hand back to a safe distance and pouted. "So, how does that work anyway? Do you see the future or the past?"
"A little of both," Missouri hedged, trying to explain something that was not easily put into words. "It's more like having an extended sense of the present. I just get a little more information about things than most people are able to see. I get impressions about people and places."
Xander nodded and asked, "Can you read minds?" He tested it out before she even gave him an answer, "I'm thinking of a number between one and-"
"Seven," she answered, before his question was even out.
Xander startled and glanced at her, "But you can't do that all the time, right? I mean, you don't know what I'm thinking all the time at every second." Xander was having bad flashbacks to Buffy's short stint as a mind-reader. As a young, hot-blooded male, sex had had a constant occupation in his thoughts and that had lead to a rather humiliating experience for Xander that had sent him fleeing from Buffy's sight.
Missouri gave him a sly look, and Xander almost made a run for it right then, before she chuckled and shook her head. "Not quite," she assured him. "It's not like tuning into the radio. I only get a general sense of a person's thoughts, and that's usually only thoughts with strong emotion behind them."
Xander sighed in relief, "So how did you know what number I was thinking of, because anyone can tell you that numbers and I have never had a close, personal relationship. I don't think there were any warm fuzzies there."
"People always pick seven," Missouri said.
Xander stared at her for a moment before simply saying, "Huh. So do people who are kind of like space-cadets come across like the static on those snow channels on TV?"
Missouri laughed, "Sometimes." She stirred the pasta a couple times before scooping up a spoonful. She picked a spaghetti strand out and held it out to Xander, "Go ahead and sling it…see if it's done."
Xander just stared at her. "Uh…what?"
"You throw it at the fridge, and if it sticks, it's done," she explained.
Xander eyed the noodle warily as though he suspected it and Missouri were both conspiring to pull one over on him. "Go on," she shook the string at him.
"Okay," Xander took the string with no little amount of skepticism. Aiming as best as he could with a floppy string of pasta, he flung the noodle at the refrigerator's face. Xander's skeptical look melted into one of surprise when the noodle stuck to the appliance's cold surface.
Xander turned and grinned at Missouri. His first foray into the world of cooking (that didn't involve a microwave) was proving to be quite amusing.
"Looks like it's ready," Missouri informed him.
At that moment the sound of the front door opening could be heard and a loud voice called out from somewhere in the front of the house, "Hey, Missouri? Are you in here?"
Xander had gotten so involved in the cooking of the spaghetti that he had completely forgotten what it was they were waiting on. As the realization suddenly struck him that the voice more than likely belonged to someone in his distant family, he froze up; the tension and apprehension that had faded came back so forcefully that he was worried for a moment that his heart might actually stop.
Missouri gave his arm a vigorous rub before telling him to "take a deep breath."
She turned and headed out of the kitchen and it was all Xander could do to make his feet follow.
The moment the new arrivals were in sight Missouri jumped to scolding, an action that seemed to be second nature with her. "Didn't anyone ever to you it's polite to knock?"
As Xander moved around to stand off to the side and a little ways back of Missouri, he was finally able to get his first good look at the newcomers. There were two young men, both taller and several years older than Xander. The taller and younger of the two looked contrite at Missouri's outburst, but the older, slightly shorter one, looked wholly unapologetic.
"We're here. Now do you want to tell me what the hell was so important that it had me breaking the speed limit to get here?" the older one griped before turning a critical eye on Xander.
The younger one was watchfully eying Xander now too, and Xander was suddenly reminded of all the disastrous scenarios that had beset his mind earlier.
Missouri, seeing where the men's attention had been drawn, decided to jump right into the situation headfirst. Without any sort of build-up, no lead-in whatsoever to soften the blow of such a bombshell, Missouri gestured at Xander and looked both men in the eyes, before spilling the revelation that would send the room into silence.
"Dean, Sam…I'd like for you to meet your brother."