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SPN: The Narrow Way Interlude 1
So I've had this sitting on my hard drive for a while now. Enjoy?
Rating: PG
Warnings for this chapter: None
Chapter summary: Missouri gets more house guests than she expects.
Additional story notes and disclaimers are in the first chapter.
Interlude: Blessed is the Man
Missouri would be lying if she said that her feelings weren't at least a tiny bit hurt by the fact that the Winchester boys didn't stop and say hello to her every once in a while. She had spoken to John quite often, but Sam and Dean seemed to be pretty self-contained, even though they'd apparently rather go to second-rate psychics that didn't know when to back off than to someone with the experience and know how to tell them things that they needed to know without getting the who-knew-what kicked out of them. And getting Sam's number out of Bobby had been like pulling teeth. That man was more protective of them than their father had ever been, and that was saying something. Winchesters. Dumb as bricks, the lot of them, bless their souls.
Missouri went out and weeded her garden for an hour after she made the call to Sam. She had a nice little routine going on these days, and even the excitement of the boys' arrival wasn't going to spoil it for her. She did the dishes, did a little vacuuming, made sure that the guest bedrooms were nice and aired out, although she was tempted to fill them up a little just so she could give Dean a little more work. That kid was hopeless unless he was given something to do. And Sam, from what she'd heard, was useless without Dean.
She heard wheels in her driveway at about four o'clock, which had been a little later than she'd expected, but still in time for dinner; she checked the jambalaya she had simmering on the stove as the doorbell rang. She made them wait a minute while she tasted the jambalaya, and then went over to the door, pulling it open. Sure enough, there were the boys, slouching their shoulders and looking like they'd rather be anywhere else in the world than on her porch. Power poured off of them in waves. Some of it was theirs. Most of it wasn't.
"Sam and Dean Winchester, as I live and breathe." Missouri opened the screen door and came out to greet them. "Come here and give me a hug. No backtalk, now!" Sam gave in first, smiling sheepishly and bending down far enough for her to pat him on the head. Missouri turned to Dean, with her arms held out expectantly and heard the snarky thoughts beginning to coalesce in his brain before he even did. Instead of the hug like she wanted, she whacked him on the back of his head with her open palm. "Don't you start sassing me before we've even said hello, Dean," she scolded.
Dean gave her an injured look. Behind her, Sam hid a quiet laugh. "I didn't even do anything!" Dean protested.
"You sure were thinking it." Missouri set her hands on her hips, giving him the stink eye, and then gave him a big hug before he could get away. "Come in, come in! Leave your shoes at the door. I just vacuumed not that long ago. Are you hungry?" She didn't wait for an answer as she herded them into the kitchen. She gave Sam and Dean a critical once over. "I'll just bet you are. You look like you've been surviving on pie and potato chips."
She patted Dean's stomach, amazed that he managed to keep in such good shape despite his horrible eating habits. Judging by the offended stare she was getting, however, he took it the wrong way as usual. Still, she didn't bother to correct him. If he knew how fond of him she was, there'd be no end to the boy's swelled head.
Missouri pointed to the bathroom off toward the living room. "You two go wash up. I'll make some tea, and then we'll have us a sit down."
They obediently went to go get cleaned up, and Missouri got the tea ready, choosing something nice and fragrant for her and Sam, and a fine, strong black tea for Dean. All three cups were brewing nicely by the time the boys got back, and she watched them as they took their seats. They did it as they always did—across from each other, with Missouri's chair at the head of the table and therefore between them, but their body language was interesting. Sam's body was turned toward Dean, even though his attention was politely on her, while Dean—Dean was all hunched away from Sam, facing her entirely. Missouri gave an internal sigh, wondering how she was going to get them all fixed before something worse happened.
"So, uh," Sam cleared his throat, and she was a little amused that he was the one who broke first. "You called?"
"Yes." Missouri nodded, settling into her chair more comfortably. "And first, let me tell you that I don't much appreciate having to track you down like that. You didn't call me about your father, or when Sam died—oh, yes, I heard about that," she said in answer to Dean's unasked question, "or when the Devil's Gate was opened, or when Dean died—I'm not happy with you. I told you to call me, any time, not to let me find out through the grapevine that things aren't going all that well. Second—" Dean raised his hand, tentatively; Missouri wanted to pinch his cheek. "Yes?"
Dean coughed. "Did you call us out here just so you could yell at us?"
"Yes," Missouri said decisively. "That, and to give you a little advice."
Sam fidgeted. "Couldn't you have told us this over the phone?" At Missouri's look, Sam hastened to explain. "It's just that a lot of things are going on right now, and while I don't mind coming to visit you, like I said on the phone, it was a bad time."
"I'm glad of the interruption." Dean turned to look at Sam for the first time since they'd sat at her table, his face hard and bitter. And that was a whole can of worms that she didn't want to touch. She hated the fact that she had to.
"Is it this nonsense about Sam's powers?" Missouri took a moment to sip at her tea while the boys did their best cod impersonations. "Don't look like that—I've known Sam was psychic ever since you boys cleared the poltergeist out of your old house. Now, look here. I don't condone the use of those demon powers of yours, Sam, but you have to realize that you've got a natural psychic sensitivity. That's why you were such a good target in the first place. But using those powers that the yellow-eyed demon gave you? There's a reason why they say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions." She waved her hand at Sam, trying to encompass the whole of his being. "And it's all over you, honey. That demon that you've allied yourself with. Just remember that you can't never trust them. They've always got their own agendas, even the ones that are trying to play nice. That said, they never play nice unless you're giving them something they want."
Dean scoffed; Missouri shot him a narrow look, but he didn't swallow the sound like she expected him to; he just looked at her defiantly until Sam cleared his throat.
"Thanks," Sam said. "I'll keep that in mind. It's just … I."
"You?" Missouri asked.
"I just feel like these powers," Sam said, struggling to find the right words, and Missouri would have cut him off, spared him the pain, except for the fact that Dean needed to hear it, too. "They were forced on me. And, I mean—Azazel bled into my mouth to make me stronger—"
"How did you know about that?" Dean interrupted, and Sam turned surprised eyes toward his brother.
"How do you know about that?"
"I asked first." Dean crossed his arms over his chest, and Sam shook his head.
"I learned about it about a year ago." There was something apologetic in Sam's face that Missouri couldn't quite read, and she quirked an eyebrow, settling back into her chair. Sam had gotten himself into a pickle this time.
"Oh, so it's something else you weren't going to tell me, was it?" Dean leaned back, his jaw working like he was grinding his teeth.
"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam said. Missouri shook her head and folded her hands around her tea, content to let the boys work out this part by themselves.
"You're saying that to me a lot, lately." Dean half-rose from his seat, slamming his palm down on the table hard enough to rattle his cup. "If you were just honest with me, we wouldn't even be arguing about this in the first place."
"You keep acting like you're the only one that doesn't make mistakes!"
"I'm not even talking about mistakes!" Dean whirled away from the table and threw his hands in the air. That boy was so dramatic. He should have been an actor. "I'm talking about lies, dangerous ones. I'm talking about going around with a demon behind my back! I'm talking about frigging Castiel—" And that was interesting, right there; belief, buried so deep he probably didn't even realize he felt it— "who told me to take care of you or they'll take care of you themselves. I'm talking about all the ways that you can get us killed like this. Again."
Sam opened his mouth as though he wanted to continue arguing but just sighed instead. "I know you don't believe me. There's nothing more that I can say."
"Sit down, Dean," Missouri intervened quietly. "Drink your tea."
Dean made a face but sat down anyway, looking at the tea as though it were a viper just waiting to strike at him.
"Dean Winchester!" she began, but he picked up the tea cup and took a sip before she could work up a good head of steam. She went to check on the jambalaya again to give them both a moment to cool down and found it very nearly ready. Maybe another ten, fifteen minutes tops.
"Now, you, Dean." Missouri returned to her seat, picking up the thread of her monologue as though she hadn't paused it in the middle so that the boys could argue. "My biggest suggestion for you is that you read the Bible. How'd you manage to get angels lurking around you, boy? They must have plans." She sat down in her seat and gave Dean a penetrating look. For once, it felt like she had his undivided attention. "They might be the good guys," she told him, "but the angels never choose a warrior without requiring a sacrifice from their champion. And I feel it shining on you the same way I feel the demons on Sam. They've got something big in mind for you. You need to decide if you're willing to do it."
Dean stared at her, and Missouri stared back, raising an inquiring eyebrow. "That's all I wanted to tell you, Dean. Do you have any questions?"
Dean blinked and shook his head. "Not really."
"Good." Missouri smiled. "Then that means that you can go rake my leaves before dinner's ready. The rake is in the closet in the laundry room."
"Are you freaking k—" Dean began, but Missouri smacked him on the arm.
"What did I say about sassing me?" Missouri drew herself up, just waiting for Dean to start causing trouble, but Dean stood, slinking unhappily toward the laundry room. "And don't think nasty things like that at me!" she snapped at his back as she caught the tail end of something that she didn't have nearly the flexibility to achieve.
Missouri heard the front door close and turned to Sam again. Sam seemed to sense that something else was going to be brought up, because he hadn't made an attempt to leave the table, and just sat there, staring at his hands. "Sam." Missouri sighed and reached for Sam's hand, giving it a squeeze. "You have got to be careful. Those thoughts swirling about in your head—let's just say that they're not like you at all." Sam flushed brightly and nodded. Good. She didn't need to go into details. "Now, I'm not trying to get into your privacy or anything like that—I don't know what you're doing with who. I just know that you're walking a thin line. I don't want you or your brother to get hurt because of that."
"I don't want that, either." Sam turned pained, dark eyes on her. "I remember what it felt like while Dean was gone. I don't want to feel anything like that again."
"Be careful, and I don't think you'll have to." Missouri patted his hand again and released him. "Now go on and help Dean out in the yard. I'll call you boys when dinner is ready."
Sam paused by the door and turned back. "I'm really glad you called, Missouri. We did miss you."
Missouri smiled. "I know. Scat. Go on, now."
*
Missouri was drowsing in her favorite arm chair in the living room, satisfied that the boys had been stuffed full of jambalaya and cornbread. They had both wished her good night and had gone to bed a couple of hours ago, but Missouri had a suspicion that she'd wanted to have confirmed. Two in the morning was incredibly late by her standards, but she would have stayed up a lot longer than that to get some answers.
All the same, she wasn't disappointed. There had been one influence on Dean that was not explained by the angels, and although she hadn't asked the boys at dinner, she knew through the grapevine that Dean had been dragged down to Hell by Lilith's hounds, and that was bound to leave some sort of mark. And for the poor boy to remember everything—that was cruel.
Missouri felt the air in the house change when Dean's dreams began to chase him across his mind; the air didn't so much change as perhaps her perception changed, and she went slowly over to his room, feeling the urge to soothe him. Before she got there, though, another presence came into her home, one she had not anticipated by any means.
When she opened the door to Dean's room, there was a man in a tan trench coat sitting beside him on the bed, unmoving. On a cursory glance, Missouri thought that maybe just the man being there had been enough to calm Dean, and with that, she knew exactly who he was.
He raised his head and looked at her as though she had spoken to him. They stared at each other, and after a moment, he got up and came to her, closing the door to Dean's room and standing in her hallway.
And Missouri, well, she never liked to think she could get intimidated, so she barreled on just as if he were a normal guy. "So I take it you're Castiel?"
Castiel gave her a look, strange and mildly curious. "I am."
"You have better things to do than to perch on Dean Winchester's shoulder, don't you?" she couldn't resist asking.
Castiel tilted his head, still looking at her unblinkingly. "I do, but my brethren are searching for the next seal. They will call if I am needed."
Missouri left the hallway and went into the kitchen, gesturing for Castiel to follow her. "Sit with me for a moment." Castiel took a seat, looking at her as though she were vaguely interesting. "Do you do that every night?" Missouri cocked her head toward Dean's room as she puttered over to her fridge. "Soothe the nightmares of hell away?"
"Not every night."
"If you don't mind me asking, what exactly are your plans for Dean?" Missouri poured two cups of iced tea. She set one in front of Castiel, who didn't bother to look at it.
"I have no personal plans for Dean," Castiel watched her curiously as she took a drink of her tea. He looked at the glass in front of him and mimicked her, taking a sip from his cup. She couldn't tell from his expression whether he liked it or hated it.
"There must be something that you're waiting for him to do." Missouri measured her words, folding her hands in front of her as she watched Castiel. "Or maybe something that God wants him to do?"
Castiel nodded once. "The Lord has plans for Dean. However, I'm not privy to a great many of the details."
"And yet, you keep him safe."
Castiel nodded in agreement. "When I can." He sounded as though he were going to say more, but then he tilted his head as though listening to something far away. "I must go." Castiel looked mildly apologetic and vanished from the table.
Missouri took a sip of her tea before getting up and taking Castiel's mostly full cup over to the sink. She had a feeling that God wasn't the only one who worked in mysterious ways, but she wasn't going to say anything to anyone. Some things were just best when you kept your nose out of them.
*
The next morning, Missouri stuffed the boys full of another meal, this one all eggs and bacon, grits and toast, and smoothed their jackets over their shoulders affectionately.
"Thank you for breakfast," Dean said, and for once he didn't mean anything other than what he said.
"You're very welcome," Missouri said with a smile, and turned to look at Sam, to make sure he knew he was included. "Don't you boys dare go two years without calling or coming to visit, do you hear me? I won't be happy if I'm forced to hunt you down again."
"We got it," Sam said with a grin.
He looked a little better, a little less ragged around the edges. Missouri supposed the good food and a night of actual rest had helped him a little bit. Dean was looking a lot better himself. She tucked some of her strong black tea into his pocket, knowing he wouldn't notice it for miles and would probably throw it out as soon as he realized what it was, but doing so anyway. It would be good for the kid to know she cared at least a little bit, even if not as much as the angel who secretly perched more on his shoulder than he was supposed to.
Sam and Dean waved at her a final time before they got into the Impala, and she watched them until she couldn't see the back lights of the Impala any longer. You had to hand it to those Winchesters, she thought as she went back into her house to watch The Price is Right. When something crazy was happening, you could always count on them to be right smack dab in the middle.
previous / next
Rating: PG
Warnings for this chapter: None
Chapter summary: Missouri gets more house guests than she expects.
Additional story notes and disclaimers are in the first chapter.
Interlude: Blessed is the Man
Missouri would be lying if she said that her feelings weren't at least a tiny bit hurt by the fact that the Winchester boys didn't stop and say hello to her every once in a while. She had spoken to John quite often, but Sam and Dean seemed to be pretty self-contained, even though they'd apparently rather go to second-rate psychics that didn't know when to back off than to someone with the experience and know how to tell them things that they needed to know without getting the who-knew-what kicked out of them. And getting Sam's number out of Bobby had been like pulling teeth. That man was more protective of them than their father had ever been, and that was saying something. Winchesters. Dumb as bricks, the lot of them, bless their souls.
Missouri went out and weeded her garden for an hour after she made the call to Sam. She had a nice little routine going on these days, and even the excitement of the boys' arrival wasn't going to spoil it for her. She did the dishes, did a little vacuuming, made sure that the guest bedrooms were nice and aired out, although she was tempted to fill them up a little just so she could give Dean a little more work. That kid was hopeless unless he was given something to do. And Sam, from what she'd heard, was useless without Dean.
She heard wheels in her driveway at about four o'clock, which had been a little later than she'd expected, but still in time for dinner; she checked the jambalaya she had simmering on the stove as the doorbell rang. She made them wait a minute while she tasted the jambalaya, and then went over to the door, pulling it open. Sure enough, there were the boys, slouching their shoulders and looking like they'd rather be anywhere else in the world than on her porch. Power poured off of them in waves. Some of it was theirs. Most of it wasn't.
"Sam and Dean Winchester, as I live and breathe." Missouri opened the screen door and came out to greet them. "Come here and give me a hug. No backtalk, now!" Sam gave in first, smiling sheepishly and bending down far enough for her to pat him on the head. Missouri turned to Dean, with her arms held out expectantly and heard the snarky thoughts beginning to coalesce in his brain before he even did. Instead of the hug like she wanted, she whacked him on the back of his head with her open palm. "Don't you start sassing me before we've even said hello, Dean," she scolded.
Dean gave her an injured look. Behind her, Sam hid a quiet laugh. "I didn't even do anything!" Dean protested.
"You sure were thinking it." Missouri set her hands on her hips, giving him the stink eye, and then gave him a big hug before he could get away. "Come in, come in! Leave your shoes at the door. I just vacuumed not that long ago. Are you hungry?" She didn't wait for an answer as she herded them into the kitchen. She gave Sam and Dean a critical once over. "I'll just bet you are. You look like you've been surviving on pie and potato chips."
She patted Dean's stomach, amazed that he managed to keep in such good shape despite his horrible eating habits. Judging by the offended stare she was getting, however, he took it the wrong way as usual. Still, she didn't bother to correct him. If he knew how fond of him she was, there'd be no end to the boy's swelled head.
Missouri pointed to the bathroom off toward the living room. "You two go wash up. I'll make some tea, and then we'll have us a sit down."
They obediently went to go get cleaned up, and Missouri got the tea ready, choosing something nice and fragrant for her and Sam, and a fine, strong black tea for Dean. All three cups were brewing nicely by the time the boys got back, and she watched them as they took their seats. They did it as they always did—across from each other, with Missouri's chair at the head of the table and therefore between them, but their body language was interesting. Sam's body was turned toward Dean, even though his attention was politely on her, while Dean—Dean was all hunched away from Sam, facing her entirely. Missouri gave an internal sigh, wondering how she was going to get them all fixed before something worse happened.
"So, uh," Sam cleared his throat, and she was a little amused that he was the one who broke first. "You called?"
"Yes." Missouri nodded, settling into her chair more comfortably. "And first, let me tell you that I don't much appreciate having to track you down like that. You didn't call me about your father, or when Sam died—oh, yes, I heard about that," she said in answer to Dean's unasked question, "or when the Devil's Gate was opened, or when Dean died—I'm not happy with you. I told you to call me, any time, not to let me find out through the grapevine that things aren't going all that well. Second—" Dean raised his hand, tentatively; Missouri wanted to pinch his cheek. "Yes?"
Dean coughed. "Did you call us out here just so you could yell at us?"
"Yes," Missouri said decisively. "That, and to give you a little advice."
Sam fidgeted. "Couldn't you have told us this over the phone?" At Missouri's look, Sam hastened to explain. "It's just that a lot of things are going on right now, and while I don't mind coming to visit you, like I said on the phone, it was a bad time."
"I'm glad of the interruption." Dean turned to look at Sam for the first time since they'd sat at her table, his face hard and bitter. And that was a whole can of worms that she didn't want to touch. She hated the fact that she had to.
"Is it this nonsense about Sam's powers?" Missouri took a moment to sip at her tea while the boys did their best cod impersonations. "Don't look like that—I've known Sam was psychic ever since you boys cleared the poltergeist out of your old house. Now, look here. I don't condone the use of those demon powers of yours, Sam, but you have to realize that you've got a natural psychic sensitivity. That's why you were such a good target in the first place. But using those powers that the yellow-eyed demon gave you? There's a reason why they say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions." She waved her hand at Sam, trying to encompass the whole of his being. "And it's all over you, honey. That demon that you've allied yourself with. Just remember that you can't never trust them. They've always got their own agendas, even the ones that are trying to play nice. That said, they never play nice unless you're giving them something they want."
Dean scoffed; Missouri shot him a narrow look, but he didn't swallow the sound like she expected him to; he just looked at her defiantly until Sam cleared his throat.
"Thanks," Sam said. "I'll keep that in mind. It's just … I."
"You?" Missouri asked.
"I just feel like these powers," Sam said, struggling to find the right words, and Missouri would have cut him off, spared him the pain, except for the fact that Dean needed to hear it, too. "They were forced on me. And, I mean—Azazel bled into my mouth to make me stronger—"
"How did you know about that?" Dean interrupted, and Sam turned surprised eyes toward his brother.
"How do you know about that?"
"I asked first." Dean crossed his arms over his chest, and Sam shook his head.
"I learned about it about a year ago." There was something apologetic in Sam's face that Missouri couldn't quite read, and she quirked an eyebrow, settling back into her chair. Sam had gotten himself into a pickle this time.
"Oh, so it's something else you weren't going to tell me, was it?" Dean leaned back, his jaw working like he was grinding his teeth.
"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam said. Missouri shook her head and folded her hands around her tea, content to let the boys work out this part by themselves.
"You're saying that to me a lot, lately." Dean half-rose from his seat, slamming his palm down on the table hard enough to rattle his cup. "If you were just honest with me, we wouldn't even be arguing about this in the first place."
"You keep acting like you're the only one that doesn't make mistakes!"
"I'm not even talking about mistakes!" Dean whirled away from the table and threw his hands in the air. That boy was so dramatic. He should have been an actor. "I'm talking about lies, dangerous ones. I'm talking about going around with a demon behind my back! I'm talking about frigging Castiel—" And that was interesting, right there; belief, buried so deep he probably didn't even realize he felt it— "who told me to take care of you or they'll take care of you themselves. I'm talking about all the ways that you can get us killed like this. Again."
Sam opened his mouth as though he wanted to continue arguing but just sighed instead. "I know you don't believe me. There's nothing more that I can say."
"Sit down, Dean," Missouri intervened quietly. "Drink your tea."
Dean made a face but sat down anyway, looking at the tea as though it were a viper just waiting to strike at him.
"Dean Winchester!" she began, but he picked up the tea cup and took a sip before she could work up a good head of steam. She went to check on the jambalaya again to give them both a moment to cool down and found it very nearly ready. Maybe another ten, fifteen minutes tops.
"Now, you, Dean." Missouri returned to her seat, picking up the thread of her monologue as though she hadn't paused it in the middle so that the boys could argue. "My biggest suggestion for you is that you read the Bible. How'd you manage to get angels lurking around you, boy? They must have plans." She sat down in her seat and gave Dean a penetrating look. For once, it felt like she had his undivided attention. "They might be the good guys," she told him, "but the angels never choose a warrior without requiring a sacrifice from their champion. And I feel it shining on you the same way I feel the demons on Sam. They've got something big in mind for you. You need to decide if you're willing to do it."
Dean stared at her, and Missouri stared back, raising an inquiring eyebrow. "That's all I wanted to tell you, Dean. Do you have any questions?"
Dean blinked and shook his head. "Not really."
"Good." Missouri smiled. "Then that means that you can go rake my leaves before dinner's ready. The rake is in the closet in the laundry room."
"Are you freaking k—" Dean began, but Missouri smacked him on the arm.
"What did I say about sassing me?" Missouri drew herself up, just waiting for Dean to start causing trouble, but Dean stood, slinking unhappily toward the laundry room. "And don't think nasty things like that at me!" she snapped at his back as she caught the tail end of something that she didn't have nearly the flexibility to achieve.
Missouri heard the front door close and turned to Sam again. Sam seemed to sense that something else was going to be brought up, because he hadn't made an attempt to leave the table, and just sat there, staring at his hands. "Sam." Missouri sighed and reached for Sam's hand, giving it a squeeze. "You have got to be careful. Those thoughts swirling about in your head—let's just say that they're not like you at all." Sam flushed brightly and nodded. Good. She didn't need to go into details. "Now, I'm not trying to get into your privacy or anything like that—I don't know what you're doing with who. I just know that you're walking a thin line. I don't want you or your brother to get hurt because of that."
"I don't want that, either." Sam turned pained, dark eyes on her. "I remember what it felt like while Dean was gone. I don't want to feel anything like that again."
"Be careful, and I don't think you'll have to." Missouri patted his hand again and released him. "Now go on and help Dean out in the yard. I'll call you boys when dinner is ready."
Sam paused by the door and turned back. "I'm really glad you called, Missouri. We did miss you."
Missouri smiled. "I know. Scat. Go on, now."
*
Missouri was drowsing in her favorite arm chair in the living room, satisfied that the boys had been stuffed full of jambalaya and cornbread. They had both wished her good night and had gone to bed a couple of hours ago, but Missouri had a suspicion that she'd wanted to have confirmed. Two in the morning was incredibly late by her standards, but she would have stayed up a lot longer than that to get some answers.
All the same, she wasn't disappointed. There had been one influence on Dean that was not explained by the angels, and although she hadn't asked the boys at dinner, she knew through the grapevine that Dean had been dragged down to Hell by Lilith's hounds, and that was bound to leave some sort of mark. And for the poor boy to remember everything—that was cruel.
Missouri felt the air in the house change when Dean's dreams began to chase him across his mind; the air didn't so much change as perhaps her perception changed, and she went slowly over to his room, feeling the urge to soothe him. Before she got there, though, another presence came into her home, one she had not anticipated by any means.
When she opened the door to Dean's room, there was a man in a tan trench coat sitting beside him on the bed, unmoving. On a cursory glance, Missouri thought that maybe just the man being there had been enough to calm Dean, and with that, she knew exactly who he was.
He raised his head and looked at her as though she had spoken to him. They stared at each other, and after a moment, he got up and came to her, closing the door to Dean's room and standing in her hallway.
And Missouri, well, she never liked to think she could get intimidated, so she barreled on just as if he were a normal guy. "So I take it you're Castiel?"
Castiel gave her a look, strange and mildly curious. "I am."
"You have better things to do than to perch on Dean Winchester's shoulder, don't you?" she couldn't resist asking.
Castiel tilted his head, still looking at her unblinkingly. "I do, but my brethren are searching for the next seal. They will call if I am needed."
Missouri left the hallway and went into the kitchen, gesturing for Castiel to follow her. "Sit with me for a moment." Castiel took a seat, looking at her as though she were vaguely interesting. "Do you do that every night?" Missouri cocked her head toward Dean's room as she puttered over to her fridge. "Soothe the nightmares of hell away?"
"Not every night."
"If you don't mind me asking, what exactly are your plans for Dean?" Missouri poured two cups of iced tea. She set one in front of Castiel, who didn't bother to look at it.
"I have no personal plans for Dean," Castiel watched her curiously as she took a drink of her tea. He looked at the glass in front of him and mimicked her, taking a sip from his cup. She couldn't tell from his expression whether he liked it or hated it.
"There must be something that you're waiting for him to do." Missouri measured her words, folding her hands in front of her as she watched Castiel. "Or maybe something that God wants him to do?"
Castiel nodded once. "The Lord has plans for Dean. However, I'm not privy to a great many of the details."
"And yet, you keep him safe."
Castiel nodded in agreement. "When I can." He sounded as though he were going to say more, but then he tilted his head as though listening to something far away. "I must go." Castiel looked mildly apologetic and vanished from the table.
Missouri took a sip of her tea before getting up and taking Castiel's mostly full cup over to the sink. She had a feeling that God wasn't the only one who worked in mysterious ways, but she wasn't going to say anything to anyone. Some things were just best when you kept your nose out of them.
*
The next morning, Missouri stuffed the boys full of another meal, this one all eggs and bacon, grits and toast, and smoothed their jackets over their shoulders affectionately.
"Thank you for breakfast," Dean said, and for once he didn't mean anything other than what he said.
"You're very welcome," Missouri said with a smile, and turned to look at Sam, to make sure he knew he was included. "Don't you boys dare go two years without calling or coming to visit, do you hear me? I won't be happy if I'm forced to hunt you down again."
"We got it," Sam said with a grin.
He looked a little better, a little less ragged around the edges. Missouri supposed the good food and a night of actual rest had helped him a little bit. Dean was looking a lot better himself. She tucked some of her strong black tea into his pocket, knowing he wouldn't notice it for miles and would probably throw it out as soon as he realized what it was, but doing so anyway. It would be good for the kid to know she cared at least a little bit, even if not as much as the angel who secretly perched more on his shoulder than he was supposed to.
Sam and Dean waved at her a final time before they got into the Impala, and she watched them until she couldn't see the back lights of the Impala any longer. You had to hand it to those Winchesters, she thought as she went back into her house to watch The Price is Right. When something crazy was happening, you could always count on them to be right smack dab in the middle.