The night before Missouri is set to arrive, all three boys lie awake, staring into the dark, kept up by a terrible sense of foreboding. Sam is snuggled tight between his older brothers, trying desperately to shut his mind off. They're all scared shitless. Each of them knows it, but try to convince themselves otherwise.

They stay awake a long time. Sam eventually clenches his eyes shut, but the twins' stay open, a faint green lighting up the darkness.

No one says anything.

*****

She's already sitting at the kitchen table with Bobby and a cup of coffee when Dean (the first up), shuffles into the room in his pajama pants.

He does a ludicrous double take halfway to the coffee machine, nearly knocking over several pots and pans in his ridiculous display of surprise. But he is. Surprised. For some reason he hadn't expected her until the afternoon. Seeing her now has thrown him off his game.

Dean tries to say something flippant or maybe charming, but Missouri is just staring at him. It's unnerving in every sense of the word. She looks like she's staring right into him; exposing every little secret he's had since he was four years old. Secrets like the one kept back in the bedroom.

Missouri raises an eyebrow.

Dean gulps.

"The other two planin' on joinin' the land of the livin' any time soon?" Bobby drawls, breaking the loaded silence.

Dean jerks before he can stop himself. "Yeah," he says, quickly turning his back to them, busying himself with the pot of coffee, "They should be up soon. I can go wake 'em now, though, if you want."

"I think that'd be a good idea, honey," Missouri says from behind him. The sound catches Dean off guard, not because of what she called him, but the tone. Missouri's voice sounds strained, tired. It's wary and almost defeated.

A terrible feeling bubbles up in Dean's stomach, and in the back of his mind, he hears a slight buzzing.

When he finally goes to take a drink of his coffee, he's shocked to find the cup's contents frozen solid in his grasp.

*****

"Good morning, Sam honey. How are you?"

Sam's brow furrows for a moment before he drops onto the couch next to Dean, across from Missouri. "I'm alright," he says, shifting a little uncomfortably under her scrutinizing eye.

"Any more headaches?"

Sam tries to smile, but fails for some reason. "No ma'am, no headaches."

"Good," she says simply, almost to herself.

Priestly wobbles back and forth on the couch's arm rest, still not fully awake. He's squinting in the bright morning light, constantly running a hand over his hair, trying to get it to lie down. So far, he's failing miserably.

Missouri's eyes flick over to meet his. "And how are you doing, Priestly. Fitting in alright?"

Priestly barks out a sudden and strangled laugh. Both Dean and Sam shoot him dangerous, warning glares. A thousand smutty responses flit through the boy's brain, but the violence Dean is silently threatening him with is enough motive to hold his tongue.

He tries to smother his Cheshire grin.

It doesn't go so well, and Dean sees Missouri's expression change again, as if she knows something.

He prays he isn't blushing. Dean Winchester does not, under any circumstance, blush. Ever.

"As well as can be expected, ma'am," Priestly says finally.

Missouri nods slowly before saying, "Bobby's told me you've got a pretty good handle on your gifts." Her voice goes up at the end, almost like she's asking a question. To Dean, it sounds more like she's asking for a demonstration.

Priestly smiles slowly, as if welcoming the invitation to perform.

Dean feels a familiar hum in the back of his head when Priestly's eyes lighten to a near electric green. His twin's hands rise up off his lap, turning palms up. Nothing happens for a moment, and Dean begins to worry that something is wrong.

His concerns, however, catch in his throat when Priestly begins to fucking levitate off the couch.

Dean hears both Missouri and Sam gasp, while Bobby lets out a reverent curse. All Dean can do is stare. He knows this is the first time Priestly has attempted to use his powers in this way - on himself.

He stops ascending once he's about a foot off the cushions. He just hovers in the air, his legs crossed in a meditative pose. It would almost be funny if it weren't so insane. His eyes glow fiercely with the strain of maintaining his own weight in midair, and his brow furrows in concentration.

Dean can feel the pull in the back of his mind.

He stays in the air for about two minutes while everyone watches, until Dean feels a headache form in his own mind and presses the heal of his right hand into his brow. Priestly's eyes flicker then, and he descends, rather heavily, back onto the couch.

Priestly's eyes are immediately connected with his.

"Sorry," he whispers, pink blooming in his cheeks when he realizes he's spoken out loud.

Dean just nods and rubs his forehead. S'okay, he sends back. He looks up a moment later, connecting his eyes with his twins'. Just don't do anything like that ever again.

*****

"It's not good news, boys," Missouri says after a slow sip of coffee.

"Is it ever?" Dean sighs, running a hand through his short hair. He throws his spare arm over the back of the couch. Priestly leans into it almost immediately without thinking. Dean's eyes flicker briefly, and the hand on the couch slides into the hair on the back of Priestly's head.

Bobby's brow furrows, and his quick hunter's eyes flick between the twins, but he says nothing.

Missouri watches the boys as well with the same look she wore earlier: as if she is seeing right through them; seeing into them. Finally she lets her eyes drop, and she releases a weary sigh.

"Alright," she says, after what seems like forever. "Like I told Sam on the phone," she begins, glancing at the tallest Winchester, "I went to New Orleans and then to Jamaica to chase down a story I'd heard."

"Heard where?" Dean nearly growls, hand tightening in Priestly's hair.

Priestly bites his lip in response to the pull. Sam's gaze flicks sideways, trying to catch Dean's eye, but the oldest Winchester doesn't waver.

To her credit, Missouri doesn't break the stare, even when she answers his question.

"An old witch I know out of the French Quarter."

"Oh you've got to be kidding me," Dean snarls, finally breaking the gaze. "You were gone that whole time because some old crone fed you a story about, what was it? Some whacked out demon prophecy? That's just fucking great."

"Dean," Bobby growls in warning.

Priestly's eyes go bright and the room hushes. Dean's own eyes flicker in response. Sam and Bobby watch quietly, knowing another conversation is being held without them.

Missouri's brow is furrowed and her head is tilted on a slight angle, as if she is trying to listen to something from far off. "Boys?" she says, strain evident in her voice.

Priestly's hand falls upon Dean's leg, and both pairs of eyes return to their original colour. He runs his thumb over the small tear in Dean's jeans. "Ok?" he breathes to his brother, barely above a whisper.

Dean nods.

"Sorry," Dean grinds out, turning back to Missouri. "I've been having a little bit of trouble controlling my… emotions lately. Sometimes they… get the better of me."

"What do you mean, honey?" she says, uncertainty creeping into her voice.

"It's my gift," he continues. "I'm not sure exactly how it works, but it has something to do with my ability to communicate with the dead. Sometimes, if the spirits are particularly volatile, they… take over."

Missouri's expression darkens. "I don't understand."

Dean opens his mouth, but Priestly interrupts. "Sometimes the dead kind of overload him. When that happens, the buildup of energy just kind of explodes. The thing is, the energy doesn't always manifest in the same way. We've seen it present as raw psychic energy and superhuman strength."

"And this morning," Dean cuts in, voice low, "I accidentally froze my coffee solid."

"Jesus Christ," Bobby breathes to no one in particular.

Sam's hand drifts up to grip Dean's shoulder in a reassuring squeeze.

"So tell me, Missouri," Dean says after a moment of silence. "What exactly does this demon prophecy have in store for us? Am I 'destined' to kill my brothers? 'Cause that outcome seems the most likely. I can't get seem to get a grip on these damn powers that I just woke up with one day, and I am Goddamned terrified that one day I'm just going to lose what little control I have. Is that what that witch has seen? Am I going to do something terrible?"

Missouri's eyes are suddenly wet. She shakes her head slowly, a sad smile curling the corners of her mouth. "No, Dean," she says. "You're going to do something wonderful."

*****

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean says, eyes wide and vulnerable. Priestly's grasp is solid on his leg and he feels Sam's hand slides up and down his back, reassuring. He has the terrible urge to throw an arm around each of their shoulders and pull them close. He wishes he could be back in bed, lying between them.

Instead he's here on Bobby's couch, facing down a destiny someone else has laid out for him.

"The prophecy isn't bad news for you, Dean," Missouri explains. "None of you. Boys, a vision was supposedly seen eons ago by demon priests of some kind. They prophesized the downfall of Hell."

"And we're involved, how?" Sam whispers, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"The story goes," Missouri says, leaning forward in her seat across from the boys, "that the 'Destroyers' would be a set of twins with untold power. My friend down in New Orleans told me that on the day Dean and Priestly were conceived, a new and sudden mass of psychic energy sent out a shockwave that nearly put every psychic in the country into a coma. I remembered the day, after she told me. I got this sudden and terrible headache and just fainted. It happened nine months before the twins were born."

"So I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that human psychics weren't the only ones to pick up on the energy bloom," Sam says, already knowing the answer.

"No they weren't," Missouri shakes her head. "From what I've gathered from the accounts of several witches, psychics, voodoo priests and others, forces were mobilized almost immediately. You two were to be found and killed before you became a threat."

"But they didn't," Priestly breaks in. "They split us up. They didn't kill us. Why? Why would they take that risk?"

Missouri doesn't say anything right away. Her eyes fall to floor, as if trying to figure out how to word what needs to be said. Finally, she looks up to meet Sam's eyes.

"What?" he asks, voice shaky.

"It was the Yellow-Eyed Demon, honey," she says softly. "I don't know why, but he changed the orders. He didn't want the twins killed. All he would say, apparently, is that they were more valuable alive. I'm sorry, but I don't know more than that."

Sam quivers in his seat. The memory of being violated by that Goddamn son of a bitch floods his mind. It makes him sick and furious.

"Well," Priestly interrupts again, "if we weren't to be killed, than what the hell is this 'Beast' thing and why is it after us?'

Missouri watches Sam for another second before continuing. "I'm not a hundred percent sure on that either, honey. A few people I talked to had theories, though. Most seem to think that when you killed the demon, the original plan was put back into motion. I mean, the prophecy still stands. You two boys, with your gifts, are meant to destroy Hell. I don't know how. No one does. But as it stands, you are still the greatest threat. I think this 'Beast' you have after you is meant to carry out the original mission."

"To kill us, you mean," Priestly whispers.

Missouri nods solemnly.

Dean suddenly lets out a low, dark laugh. He leans back on the couch and puts a protective arm around each of his brothers. His eyes glow a violent green. He smirks, all teeth, when he speaks.

"Let's see that fucker try."

*****

The first thing that hits it is the rain.

It's cool and clean, and it slides over the Beast's burnt and tattered flesh like the touch of something pure.

The night air is next, curling around the Beast, filling its blackened lungs with light and moisture. It tastes like freedom.

The Beast pulls itself out of the cave nestled deep within Death Valley. It's night and the nocturnal predators are out in abundance, hunting and feeding. The Beast watches silently, but snarls at one when it gets too close, causing the entire pack of creatures to flee.

Running its eyes over the stretching valley, the Beast lets itself indulge in a smile. Finally, after weeks and weeks of clawing its way through the tight channel between Hell and Earth, it has arrived.

A deep rumble of laughter falls from the Beast's mouth, echoing off the rocks and propelling another flock of creatures into the cool night air. I am free, it thinks, smile wide and unchecked. I am finally free.

No longer would the Beast have to grovel at the feet of the upper class. It was on the human plane now, where it had no superiors to answer to. It was free to act as it wanted. Free to carry out the mission the way it was meant to. Now there was no one to hold the Beast back.

It laughed again. All that was left for it was to find and slaughter the Destroyers. It would be simple enough. It had trained for eons for that task alone. The Beast would save Hell. It would spare all the ungrateful demons their obliteration. And when that was done, the Beast would be truly free, no longer shackled to its mission.

Perhaps, when it was all over, the Beast would stay on the human plane and create its own kingdom. It was a tantalizing thought. Finally, it would have something just for itself: a reward for the savior of Hell.

The Beast growled and shook its horned head. It was getting ahead of itself. Its mind had to be on the mission.

The Beast tilted its face to the sky and sniffed the air. It would follow the Destroyers' psychic scent, tracking them over thousands of miles. And when it found them…

The Beast smiled.

Read the next story in the Lost and Found 'Verse The Apology