When Dean was able to get his mouth to function again he said the first thing that came to mind, "Excuse me?"

Exasperation radiated off Missouri as she gave Dean a look, but he felt fairly justified in his confusion. He briefly wondered if it was too late to just turn around and head right back out the door.

Missouri began to explain patiently, or what passed for patience where Missouri was concerned, what was going on. "I know this is probably quite a shock for you boys, but it's true. He's your brother."

"Well, technically I'm more of a half-brother," the boy spoke for the first time.

Dean's eyes shifted sharply the dark-haired young man, and he sarcastically bit out, without any real questioning in his tone, "Is that right?"

"It is," Missouri said firmly, drawing Dean's gaze back to her. "He's your father's son. I don't have any doubts about that."

"Right, 'cause you've never been wrong before," Dean remarked hotly, remembering when they were last in Lawrence and she had mistakenly pronounced Jenny's house as being spirit-free. Were it not for Sam's burgeoning intuition, Jenny and her kids might have died.

He glanced at Sam then, wondering how his brother was taking the information. Dean saw that his brother was doing his best gaping fish impression complete with furrowed brow. So much for any input from college boy.

"I'm right about this," Missouri returned just as hotly with such vehemence that Dean was swayed slightly toward believing her.

He turned a careful eye on the young man in question, his mind picking out little details that he wished he could ignore. The black hair, the familiar brown eyes, some similarities in bone structure. Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "So, what? You suddenly decided you wanted a reunion?"

The boy's eyes widened slightly at Dean's harsh tone as he hastened to explain, "Well, I only just found out. My mom told me about a month ago that-"

"Well, if you came looking for cash, you're barking up the wrong tree," Dean cut in, not really caring what the boy's story was. He took perverse pleasure in the dramatic way the boy paled. This whole thing rubbed Dean the wrong way and his first thought was resolving the situation as quickly a possibly, the best resolution being to send the kid away.

"Xander, don't mind Dean. He lives with his foot in his mouth," Missouri practically growled. The look she sent Dean held enough heat to melt the paint of the walls, but Dean merely shrugged. It had seemed like a perfectly reasonable response to him.

"Why don't we start with some introductions," Missouri suggested. "Xander?" She turned to the boy on her right, who froze for a moment like a deer caught in headlights. "Don't worry, they won't bite," she assured him as she sent Dean a glance that seemed to say 'you damn well better not.'

The boy shuffled a moment before stretching out a hand to Sam, the closer of the two, and managed to stutter, "I'm Xander. Harris. Alexander Harris. Xander's short for Alexander, but most people call me Xander so I tend to just go by Xander."

Dean blinked in surprise at the torrent of words that came tumbling out of the boy's mouth and wondered if babbling was something that came naturally to him or if he actually had to work at it.

On Dean's left, Sam finally jolted out of his bewildered stupor to the call of social niceties and reached out to shake Xander's hand. "I'm Sam…Sam Winchester." Apparently, Sam had opted for the civil approach.

Xander reached his hand out to Dean next, though his stance and expression suggested physical contact was the last thing he wanted. Dean waited a beat, enjoying making the younger man squirm, before finally taking Xander's hand. He squeezed a little harder than necessary, relished the wince it produced, and gave an ironic grin. "I'm Dean. Nice to meet you," he said insincerely.

As he released Xander's hand, Dean's gaze slid over to Missouri who was glaring at him so fiercely that Dean seriously worried for a moment that she might set his hair ablaze with the fire in her eyes; however, he didn't recall her having any pyrokinetic abilities. No doubt she was just waiting for the right moment to introduce her hand to the back of his head.

Now that Sam's initial shock seemed to have worn off, he was finally able to participate somewhat intelligently in the conversation. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry or anything," he began, showing the politeness you'd use with a stranger, which Dean thought was really more lenient than the situation warranted, "but…I'm more than a little confused about how this all happened. Are you absolutely sure we're talking about the same man?"

Xander nervously wiped his hands on his jeans before offering, "As sure as I can be."

The kid was starting to look like he was wavering between puking, passing out, or possibly making a mad dash for the door, and Dean had to squash down the stirrings of pity.

Xander crossed his arms in front of his chest, the gesture seeming more like protection than an attempt to project a strong image, and his next words came out in a tired, forlorn sounding voice, "About a month ago my mom told me that the man I'd always thought was my dad really wasn't. All she was able to tell me about my real father was that his name was John Winchester, he was from Kansas, and they met at a bar in California."

Sam dragged a hand through his mop of hair. "And when was that?"

Xander thought for a moment. "Well, I was born January twelfth of 1988. So, nine months before that…"

"April of '87," Dean supplied, quickly doing the math. A month before Sam's birthday. Sam was probably too young to remember, but Dean had a vague recollection of his Dad bringing back a California souvenir as a birthday gift that same year. It certainly lent credence to Xander's story. "That would have been almost four years after Mom died," Dean stated.

"And we know Dad wasn't exactly a stranger to bar-hopping," Sam added quietly.

Dean looked again at Xander, unable to dismiss the physical similarities. He still looked tense and pale, still hugged his arms tightly around his chest. Dean didn't want to feel anything for him, didn't want to acknowledge the sympathy that was already creeping into his chest, but it was difficult not to when the kid looked so vulnerable and bore such a strong resemblance to their father.

Dean looked to Missouri. She seemed to be imploring him with her gaze to do something about the situation, but Dean wasn't sure what it was she expected him to do. To be perfectly honest, he still wasn't sure why she had called them in the first place. Xander wasn't the only son looking for John Winchester.

"Well, at least there's one good thing about this situation." Everyone turned to look at Dean, and he shrugged, saying the most relevant thing he could think of. "I'm not the shortest guy in the family anymore." He gave Xander a superior grin.

Missouri gave a fed-up huff. "Boy, I swear, you're about as useful as a toothless man at a pie-eating contest."

Dean's face screwed up in bewilderment as he visualized that image and tried to figure how it could possibly apply to him. Missouri had a special way of making Dean feel like he was her personal whipping boy.

Missouri looked at Xander, and her face clouded with sympathy. He was almost stark-white by now, and if Dean didn't know any better he might think Xander a ghost. The poor kid looked ready to kill over, and for a moment, a very brief moment, Dean felt some slight regret for having treated him so callously.

Missouri seemed as much at a loss as Dean about what to do next, and finally she just said, "Well, I suppose someone should check on the spaghetti."

"I'll do it!" Xander blurted out before bolting from the room.

Despite his growing feelings of guilt, Dean gave a small chortle at Xander's frightened flight. Mere seconds later he regretted it as he found Missouri's face just inches from his own. She pointed a stern finger at him and spoke in a low, dangerous voice that held just a hint of growl, "You better starting behaving, right now."

Dean gulped and tried to muster up a righteously indignant scowl, but it fell flat. Who knew Missouri could pull off scary so well?

"Hmph," Missouri scoffed, and then turned on her heel and walked off toward the kitchen.

Dean turned to Sam now, and all the amusement left his face as he let the reality of the situation really take hold. He knew Sam would read the question in his eyes; after all, 'what the hell is going on?' was a fairly simple question to catch even without words, and if anyone could read Dean's expressions, it was Sam. However, Sam, just as confused as Dean, could only offer up a shrug in answer before he cocked his head in the direction of the kitchen. Dean just nodded and they moved in unison toward the direction in which Missouri had gone.

They didn't know what was going on, didn't know why Missouri was pushing this reunion so hard, but as long as Dean and Sam held a strong front, they had equal odds against whatever was going on with Xander and Missouri.

*****

About five seconds into the meet-and-greet, Xander realized he had made a huge mistake. Another ten seconds after that and Xander was wishing he would just pass out or spontaneously combust or that the floor would open up and swallow him or that he'd wake up to find this was all just a horrible, Hellmouth-induced nightmare. Of course, things like that never happened when you actually wanted them to.

Instead, Xander was left in that room to endure the frosty regard of the older brother, Dean. Xander's heart dropped somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach and his throat closed off from the awkward strain of the situation the moment Dean's eyes had flicked over to him and he'd seen nothing there but open hostility. The situation had gotten worse after that. All those worst-case-scenarios he'd imagined before had nothing on the disaster that the real thing was quickly becoming.

Sam was still largely an unknown, but shock could be delaying that reaction, and all Xander needed was a double-dose of new-brother hostility to really set his panic-meter skyrocketing. It wasn't the first time he'd ever encountered someone's disdain (after all, Cordelia's legendary bitchiness was second to none), but it was the first time that it truly bothered him. He'd been hoping for a much more positive response, and it was much easier to shake off someone else's disregard when their opinion didn't matter to him.

When Xander's opportunity to get out of that room arrived he grabbed on to it like a drowning man grabs on to anything more substantial than water, and he wasn't too proud to admit that he fled, yes, fled, from the room. And if the backdoor had been accessible from the kitchen, Xander probably would have fled out that too.

Xander's overwhelming panic was so familiar to the terror he felt in situations on the Hellmouth that Xander's first reaction was to find a weapon. As he tried not to hyperventilate, Xander eyed the contents of the kitchen for possible weaponry. There was the wooden spoon, but that was probably only useful for killing vampires (which he was reasonably sure they weren't) or stirring the spaghetti (which it probably needed by now), not to mention Missouri probably wouldn't appreciate it if Xander damaged her utensils.

So Xander opted for door number two in the hope that if he just stirred the spaghetti long enough this whole situation would just go away. His mind had digressed to breathe-stir-breathe-stir when he felt Missouri move up beside him.

She craned her neck slightly to look into the pot. "Spaghetti's looking good enough to eat." Xander wondered how she could manage to sound so calm when they were in such dire straits, as Giles would say. "Why don't you let me finish up here?"

Xander's breath hitched, and he turned desperate, pleading eyes to Missouri. If she took his spoon, he was likely to fall apart.

Missouri gave him a smile that was probably meant to be comforting but really only made him wish Willow were there, and she quietly prodded, "Go on."

Dean and Sam entered the kitchen then, and Xander's grip on the spoon tightened till his knuckles turned white. When Missouri noticed them she suggested a bit louder to include the other boys, "Xander, you can help Sam set the table. Plates are in that cabinet," she gestured, "and there's silverware in the second drawer from the left."

Xander considered for a moment fighting Missouri for control of the spoon and making her pry it from his cold, dead fingers if need be, but at last he grudgingly relinquished his hold in favor of beating Sam to the dinner plates. Plates, after all, were shaped like Frisbees and could, therefore, be thrown as projectile weapons if necessary, Xander reasoned.

Xander wandered into the dining room carrying his make-shift weaponry, only now realizing that Sam was likely following with some sharp cutlery of his own that could just as easily be thrown at Xander's unprotected back. He resisted the urge the glance over his shoulder, but just barely.

Xander and Sam went about setting the table in quiet efficiency, avoiding eye contact for the most part, but occasionally sneaking glances when they thought the other wasn't looking. On the one occasion they happened to catch each other's glance, Xander saw Sam's lips twist in an unsure half-smile, or possibly a grimace of distaste, while Xander gave what could be interpreted as a nod of acknowledgement or a jerky, nervous twitch.

Once they were finished, they both stood around, hands shoved in pockets, and stared dumbly at the table until Dean entered, carrying in the spaghetti pot which he set in the middle of the table, followed closely by Missouri, who seemed to be watching him like a child that shouldn't be left unsupervised,.

They all stood around for a few seconds until Missouri prompted them, "Well, dig in."

She took a seat on the far side of the table and Xander quickly took the seat to her right. Sam sat down in the seat opposite Xander, which only left the seat next to him and opposite Missouri for Dean. A thick blanket of silence descended as they took turns scooping spaghetti out of the pot and filling their plates.

Xander stared down at his pasta. He couldn't stomach even the thought of eating right now, especially if he actually wanted the food to stay in his stomach. He noticed that neither of the other men were eating either, instead simply moving the food around with their forks as though the were looking for a prize meatball buried under the noodles. In fact, the only person who seemed to be enjoying the meal was Missouri, who ate her spaghetti as if she hadn't a care in the world.

Lucky her, Xander thought.

While Missouri happily chowed down, the silence was becoming more and more oppressive and awkward. It was like they were playing the quiet game, except without the winning and anything that even resembled fun. Or maybe, Xander thought, it was like the enigma of how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop. Except, in this situation, it was how many minutes of silence until Xander cracks and completely freaks out.

Just when Xander thought the Tootsie-Pop-Xander mystery was about to be solved, Sam finally broke the silence. "So, Xander, um, where are you from?"

Xander coughed, checking to make sure his voice actually worked before finding out it didn't through some unmanly squeak, then answered, "California. Sunnydale to be exact."

"Do you go to school somewhere?" Sam asked.

So far Sam's questions were benign and easily answered. Maybe he wasn't going to be such a bad guy after all. "Actually, I just graduated high school a little over a week ago."

"That must have been exciting for you," Sam commented.

"Nah, it was hellish," Xander answered immediately without thinking, then realizing he might have given himself away (because surely most people would make the irrational leap from hellish to giant, man-eating mayor-snake), he added, "You know, goofy robes, dorky hat, boring speeches. I'm just glad high school's done."

Sam gave him a dismayed look, and Xander wondered if maybe Sam was one of those Willow-types who considered school and all things academic to be sacred. Sam's next question served as a confirmation of sorts. "Well, are you planning on going to college somewhere?"

So much for finding common ground with that brother, Xander thought, then answered, "Nah, I don't think I'm cut out for the college scene. High school was more than enough torture for me." In more ways than one, he added silently as he twirled some pasta around on his fork and managed to choke down his first bite.

"Sammy, here, will be sorry to hear that. He's of the opinion that college life is the grandest thing on earth," Dean told him, and Xander thought his voice was slightly tinged with bitterness. "In fact, he was going college, probably not far from where you were, up in Stanford before I dragged him away on our little road trip."

"So Will was right about that," Xander stated.

Sam eyed him curiously and asked, "Who was right about what?"

"My best friend, Willow," Xander explained. "She's a whiz with computers and stuff; she even got an acceptance letter from Stanford. Anyway, when I found out about," Xander motioned his hand in the classic you-know gesture, "she did some research on the computer and found that you were John Winchester's son and registered at Stanford for a while."

Sam looked surprised. "She must be really resourceful if she managed to track all that down. So has she decided to go to Stanford?"

"Nah, she's going to go to UC Sunnydale. I guess we've all decided to stay close to the He-" Xander coughed suddenly, realizing that the Hellmouth was probably not what he wanted to bring up as dinner conversation with relations he just met, and instead finished with, "happy homestead."

Both Sam and Dean looked at him oddly, so Xander quickly steered the conversation in another direction. "I guess she was wrong about you, though," he gestured with his fork in Dean's direction before getting another mouthful of spaghetti.

Dean frowned. "How so?"

Xander quickly swallowed his food, not wanting to get another earful from Missouri about talking with his mouth full, and said, "She found some information about a guy named Dean Winchester, but he was killed in St. Louis."

Dean just blinked. "Yeah, I guess she was wrong," Dean said flatly, but Xander was momentarily distracted by the choking noises suddenly coming from Sam. Sam coughed a bit, before waving his hands in an "I'm fine" motion and downing half his Root Beer in one swallow.

Xander turned back to Dean, who gave Xander a moment's pause as he suddenly turned on a wide grin and flipped the conversation in another direction. "So, this Willow friend of yours, is she pretty?"

"Uh…" Xander had to think for a moment. The obvious answer to him was yes, but since their ill-fated fling he'd been trying to avoid thinking of his best friend in that light. "I guess," Xander finally answered.

"And she's eighteen, right?" Dean asked with a tilted head and a sly look in his eyes.

Xander's eyes narrowed, and he felt his protective instincts rising up (good impression be damned), but before he could say anything there was a muffled thump, followed by a loud bang as Dean's knee hit the table which left Dean gritting his teeth and alternating between rubbing his knee and shin as he glared across the table at Missouri. Xander suspected that Missouri had kicked Dean under the table though you wouldn't know it from the nonchalant way she continued to delicately eat her pasta.

"So, Xander," Dean gritted out between clenched teeth, and Xander sincerely wished Missouri would stop pissing him off because Xander seemed to be the most obvious choice for Dean's resultant wrath. "Do you…" Dean seemed to have a hell of a time coming up with some small talk. He finally finished his question with, "…play any sports or anything?"

"Not so much," Xander answered despairingly. It certainly didn't seem he was going to get on Dean's good side anytime soon. "I was on the swim team in high school for a while, but then…" Xander trailed off. He'd never really realized until now just how difficult it was to talk about himself without mentioning any of the crazy crap that went on in Sunnydale. And it seemed unlikely that anyone outside the turn-a-blind-eye bubble that enveloped the Hellmouth would hear a phrase like "but then the swim team turned into sea monsters and swam off into the deep blue" and chalk it up to some sudden, hysterical deafness and simply smile and nod politely. So Xander just sighed and finished lamely, "But it didn't work out."

Dean shrugged as if he could care less and returned to eating his spaghetti. Seeing an opening, Xander decided to ask a few questions of his own and try to get to know his half-brothers a little. "So, what do you guys do?"

"We travel," Dean answered shortly and was either oblivious or deliberately ignoring Missouri's glare at the mouthful of pasta he still had in his mouth when he spoke.

It didn't really answer Xander's question, and apparently Sam noticed because he tried to fill in some more, "We kind of move around from job to job."

"Really?" Xander asked, even more interested now. "What kind of work do you do?"

Sam seemed to stall for a second, and Dean shot an annoyed glance at both of them before answering, "We fix things."

"Like run-down houses and stuff?" Xander asked, thinking maybe they were traveling repair-men.

"Yeah, sure," Dean answered, seemingly bored with the conversation as he finished off his plate.

Sam gave Xander that unsure half-smile, half-grimace again, and Xander gave up on getting more informative answers out of either of them.

Missouri stood up then and began gathering empty dishes. Dean stood as well and stretched his arms above his head before he began, "Well, I hate to eat and run, but…"

Xander, getting the sense that Dean and Sam were about to bail, was both relieved and disappointed until Missouri cut in with, "And just where do you think you're going?"

"You know what they say," Dean turned toward her and crossed his arms over his chest in a defiant stance, "time is money. We gotta hit the road."

"Ain't no money to be had at this time of night," she countered. "And there ain't nothing that can't wait till mornin', so you boys might as well stay the night here. Now you go and get the bedding. It's all in the hall linen-closet."

"Well, that's real sweet of you to offer Missouri," Dean said, sounding like he thought it was anything but, "and as much as I'd just love to stick around, Sam and I really need to-"

"Dean Winchester," Missouri broke in, gearing up to a real tirade, "you really try my patience. Would it really be that hard for you to show a lick of sense every once in a while. I'm starting to think Sam and Xander are the only two who managed to inherit any brains."

"Hey!" Dean barked, clearly offended, though Xander wasn't sure if it was because Missouri had called him brainless or because she said he had less brains than Xander.

"Now if I have to tell you again," Missouri finished her rant, "I'm gonna drag you out back and give you what Patty gave the drum."

Dean fumed, and the two seemed to be locked in a staring contest. Finally Dean threw his hands up in disgust. "Hall linen-closet?"

"That's right," Missouri told him once more. Dean turned to stalk off, and although he didn't actually say anything, Missouri called after him, "I heard that! Don't you cuss at me."

Dean didn't turn around, merely waved a dismissive hand behind him as he wandered off through the rest of the house.

"Mmph, that boy," Missouri remarked as she carried the empty plates into the kitchen.

Xander and Sam gathered up the rest and followed Missouri into the kitchen to help her wash the dirty dishes and put things away. "Are you sure you don't mind putting us up for the night?" Sam asked, and Xander sensed he meant the question sincerely rather than as an attempt to get out of the offer. "If it's too much trouble we could always find a motel nearby."

"No, it's no trouble at all," Missouri placated him. "I'm sure I can find room for you all."

"I can crash on the couch," Xander suggested.

Missouri nodded and turned to Sam, "And you boys could take the spare room if you and Dean don't mind sharing the bed."

Sam just shrugged and turned to Xander, "Are you sure you're all right with the couch?"

"Yeah, I can sleep anywhere," Xander confirmed. The couch was certainly better than a sleeping bag in the backyard during a freak, Californian blizzard, which was how Xander had spent his most recent Christmas Eve.

Dean came into the kitchen then carrying a bundle of sheets. "Do you realize all of your sheets have flowers on them?"

"Are you saying there's something wrong with my sheets?" Missouri placed a hand on her hip.

Dean just sighed and shook his head. "Forget I said anything. Here, you get the pink flowers." Dean smirked as he tossed said sheets at Xander who just barely managed to catch them.

"We've got the guest bed," Sam informed Dean of the sleeping arrangements.

"Damn right we do," Dean muttered under his breath. "I'm gonna go put these on," he motioned to the other room with the sheets, "will you grab our stuff from the car?" Sam nodded.

Dean left for the guest room while Sam headed outside, and Xander gave Missouri a nod before taking his sheets and going toward the living room to get himself set up on the couch.

*****

By the time Sam came back in with his and Dean's stuff, Xander was already passed out on the couch. As he watched Xander's sleeping form from the doorway, Sam found himself wishing he could click-off as easily as Xander apparently could, but Sam's mind was always too full of dark thoughts to find the kind of peace that enabled easy sleep.

Missouri sidled up near his right side and peered in the room with him. "Poor kid," she said kindly. "He's had a rough day."

"I know how he feels," Sam said, giving her a knowing and slightly accusatory glance. He wasn't really angry with Missouri, though.

That was more Dean's style, which he made apparent as he came up on Sam's left side and muttered angrily, without bothering to lower his voice, "Well, he's not the only one who's had a rough day."

"Shhh," Missouri shushed Dean, and Sam worried for a moment he might have to dodge her hand if she made to slap Dean.

She turned back to the sleeping figure to see if Dean had woken him, but Xander's breathing was still slow and even and he hadn't even so much as stirred a little at Dean's outburst. Dean craned his neck to peek around the corner and remarked, "Man, that kid sleeps like the dead."

Missouri rolled her eyes and asked Sam, "Are you sure you don't mind sharing a bed with this bozo? I'm sure there's more than enough floor-space for him to sleep on."

Sam chuckled and had to admit that he loved seeing Missouri give his brother a ribbing like few ever could. "I'll manage," Sam told her. The truth was that they'd both slept in much less savory conditions on their many travels, and they had long ago grown accustomed to sleeping at any time in any given situation. "Besides, I don't get much sleep these days, anyway."

Sam saw Dean glance at him from the corner of his eye, but he avoided his gaze. For all Dean's no-chick-flick-moments rules, the guy could be a real mother hen.

Missouri watched Xander for a bit longer before turning to Sam and rubbing his arm. "I'll see y'all in the morning." She smiled at them both. "It's good to see you boys again." And despite having bickered with him all night, she gave Dean's shoulder a squeeze as she passed him on the way to her bedroom.

Sam regarded his brother out of the corner of his eye, watching for a reaction as he carefully said, "Xander seems like a fairly okay guy."

"He's a bit odd, though," Dean added while his expression remained unchanged. He gave a put-upon sigh that Sam thought was probably mostly fake and said, "But I guess he's all right."

Dean turned and made his way to the guest bedroom, and a brief second later Sam followed. Dean had already pulled his shirt off and was stuffing it into his bag when Sam asked, "Do you think Dad knows?"

Dean froze for a moment, then casually began to toe off his boots. "I don't know. I kind of doubt it. I seriously doubt Dad intentionally let something like this happen, assuming we even believe it's true."

Sam canted his head to the side. "You mean you don't?"

Dean turned to face him, "How do we know he isn't lying?"

Sam gave a short, astounded scoff. "Have you even looked at him?" Sam asked. When Dean looked away and didn't say anything, Sam knew he had his answer. Dean had noticed, just like Sam had, the startlingly similar traits that echoed so closely of their father. "Hell, he looks more like Dad than we do."

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything," Dean contradicted, but his argument felt empty.

"Missouri thinks it's true," Sam countered.

"I'm not so sure I'd gamble on anything Missouri said," Dean stated.

"Well, I think she's right."

Dean gave him a look that was somewhere between anger, worry, and annoyance, "Is that some more of your intuition?"

This time Sam looked away. The last time they'd been in Lawrence, Sam had sensed something was still in Jenny's house. Part of it felt wrong, while part of it felt different. Like family…like home. When he saw his mother he finally understood why he'd been feeling that and also realized something that he hadn't noticed until then. He had the same feeling around Dean. With their Dad missing, Dean was the only family Sam had and the closest thing he had to a sense of home, and lately he had noticed that he could almost sense when Dean was around. He didn't know whether it was because they were family or if it was just apart of the new abilities Sam seemed to be developing; either way, it didn't really matter, because Xander, though to a much lesser extent than Dean or their mom, felt a little like family to Sam too.

"I don't know. It might be." Sam quietly answered Dean's question, causing Dean to sigh. If Dean found Sam's new abilities so frustrating, Sam thought Dean should try actually having them for a while and see how he liked them.

Sam pulled his own shirt off and began rifling through his things. He paused for a moment and carefully asked over his shoulder, "Hey, Dean, does it…does it bother you?"

Dean finished shoving his things back into his bag and tossed it in the corner of the room. "Does what bother me?" he asked as he sat on the bed.

"That dad was with a woman other than mom?" What Sam knew about his mother was only from pictures and stories that Dean had told him when they were kids. But Dean could still remember a few things about their mom, certainly a lot more than Sam, who had only been six months old when she died.

Dean was quiet for a long moment before he finally answered in a tired voice, "Look, Sam. Dad's his own man, and he doesn't need permission from me on what he can and can't do."

"That's not what I mean. It's just…you remember more about mom than I do, I thought maybe you'd-"

"Sam, can we not have this conversation?" Dean cut in. "It's late, I'm exhausted, and I have every intention getting out of this town as early as possible tomorrow. Whatever Missouri says be damned." Dean lay back on the bed, moving to face the wall and putting his back to Sam, and effectively ended the conversation.

Sam finished changing and put his stuff away before turning off the light and taking the other side of the bed.

"And don't hog the covers, bitch," Dean warned.

"I hope that's not what you say to all those girls you pick up," Sam commented.

"Shut up and go to sleep," Dean commanded.

"Jerk," Sam muttered, though the word held more humor and affection than it did venom. As Sam drifted off to sleep, hoping like he did every night that tonight he wouldn't fall prey to his nightmares, he thought that, no matter what Dean might say, Missouri was not likely to let them get away that easy.

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