Seeing Tomorrow

Summary: Dean Colt is the best Homicide Detective LA has seen. Being a Mind Reader means he can get the job done fast and efficient. He's 26 and life is sweet. He has a girlfriend that he loves and loves him back and he has it planned down to the wire where life will take him. He's got his sweet ride too, a '67 Chevy Impala. What Dean hasn't counted on is crashing, quite literally, into a young man named Samuel Winchester who claims he can see and talk to the dead. Things start to fall apart after that…Eventual Sam/Dean, Dean/Lisa

Rating: PG 13+

Disclaimer: Please note that I do not own any of the characters or places you recognize but there are some places that are made up for fiction purposes.

I also want to warn you guys that this is a WIP (Work In Progress). The chapters after this will be longer.

Chapter 1

"Hey! Hey, nice ass ya got there," Dean leered at Blondie and her redheaded friend that were a couple people ahead of him in line at Starbucks. He slowly got out his wallet from the back pocket without taking his eyes off the two women. The double glares he received didn't deter his determination to try and make some friendly morning conversation. Dean had worse, a lot worse. "Aww come on, ladies, no need to look like that. It was a compliment–seriously, hasn't anyone given you one before? Lighten up now. Sheesh."

"Really? We're supposed to be flattered because a perverted man like you told us we had 'nice asses'? Listen, buddy, that is not a compliment. That's degrading," Blondie huffed, then the two women turned around and moved up to place their orders, Dean left ignored.

He gaped at them, unable to think on how to respond to that. He ran his hand tiredly over his hair and muttered under his breath, "Women these days…son of a bitch."

There was a chuckle from behind him and warily, Dean turned to see a bulky man with a shaved head grin. "Feminists. You just gotta love 'em."

Dean snorted. He turned back around without saying a word, though quietly agreeing with the shared sentiment. When it was his turn to place his order, Dean moved to the counter and ordered a black decaf. He handed the cashier the money and took the cup, along with a straw, and a handful of napkins before leaving the store in a hurry. When he made it to the Impala, Dean sat heavily in the driver's seat and turned on the ignition. Almost instantly classical rock blasted in his ears and Dean caught the sweet smell of morning coffee.

Although he didn't have much taste for coffee, Dean liked going to Starbucks. He went there for the people, not the coffee, but he decided a while back that it would just look plain weird if he went there to sit at a table and not order, instead watch in rapt attention as people went in and out. LA had some interesting people, especially early in the morning where it's filled to the brim with really late owls and early morning people.

'People Watching' has always been a favorite pastime for Dean. He was born a Mind Reader and while it used to freak him the hell out when he was younger, it came with a couple perks, plus it was kind of fascinating delving inside people's heads. Or maybe that was just Dean being a freak. Being psychic tended to bring out the inner freaks in people.

Take Blondie as an example: on the outside she was a bitch that didn't seem to know a compliment if it hit her on the head, but when Dean read her mind in there? Complete opposite thoughts. Not that he hasn't heard any of the things she had been thinking, he just never thought an 'ice princess' was capable of thinking like that. Redhead was just as a bitch on the inside as on the outside though. No charades there.

Sometimes though, Dean stumbled on thoughts he would have been more than OK if he didn't hear them. Like with the bulky dude. Dean didn't mean to read his thoughts. It just sort of happened and when he realized what he was hearing, it was too late to shut it out. The damage was done. Dean would never be able to un-hear:

"Now he sure got a fine ass."

Dean did not have a problem with homosexuals. No sir, he did not. Well, usually, anyway. When it wasn't directed at him. Dean was not gay. He wasn't even bi. Or at least he thought he wasn't. He could be wrong. Possibly. But as far as he knew, not a single man had ever attracted Dean before. And he had Lisa, a woman who loved him and Dean planned on marrying sometime in the future. See, Dean had a structure, a plan of his future and Lisa, well Lisa was in it, and possibly a future son and or daughter.

He drank his coffee in a few large gulps, then put it back down in the drink holder with a contented sigh. His watch read 8:08 and Dean sped off to his office. He didn't have to report in until 9 am but it wasn't like he had much else to do. Due to his secret gift, Dean was the best detective LA had ever seen. He was both fast and efficient and no one had a clue on how Dean was so good at his job. They all just assumed he was some super genius. Although as flattering as it was to be called a genius, Dean really wasn't. He took an IQ test for laughs one day and was disappointed when he only managed to score high in the 'above average' range.

It was on a nearly deserted street when it happened: the accident that changed his life. Dean was too busy looking to the side at the woman debating on whether to chance crossing the street. He was about to slow down for her, still a good few yards away from the crosswalk. Then there was sharp 'thuuump' that made Dean jolt up in his seat and slam his foot hard on the brake. The car screeched loudly to a halt, the sound much like nails on chalkboard that made Dean wince.

He took the key out and unbuckled his seatbelt, then opened the door and clamored out on shaky limps. Dean ran to the front of the car to where he heard the collision. The body on the ground was motionless when Dean knelt down to examine it. It was a young man with unruly dark brown hair and pale skin. He was curled up trying to look small but even at this angle Dean realized if the man stood up, he would be an impressive height. He took another moment to study the face and body, taking in the small rise and fall of his chest, realizing that the man was still alive. Slowly Dean turned the body so that the man was resting on his back instead of his side.

Miraculously there wasn't a trace of blood that was visible. He debated internally for a moment to whether he should pull up the man's shirt to look to see if he was bleeding and it just wasn't serious enough yet to show through the fabric of the stranger's clothes. He sighed and pulled up the shirt to examine the skin to confirm that apart from a few minor scrapes and a bruise or two, the man was not seriously injured.

Dean pulled the shirt back down with a mix of relief and anxiety. There was no way he could leave the guy like this–he probably had a concussion thanks to Dean. He glanced up to see that while Dean had been busy fretting over the unconscious guy, the woman had long since made up her mind about crossing the street. He rose to his feet and hauled the man to the backseat of the Impala, intent on taking him to the nearest hospital. He gave another glance at his watch: 8:22. He had plenty of time.

As Dean drove to the Saint Peterson Hospital that was right across from his building, the man stretched in the backseat gave a low moan and shifted around to get more comfortable. Almost anxiously Dean glanced over his shoulder as he slowed down to the yellow light. He stopped behind a large Van when it changed to red. There was another loud shifting and a pained groan as the man started to rouse awake, hazel brown eyes blinking groggily at him in the rear-view mirror. Dean attempted a friendly smile that came out slightly awkward when they caught eyes.

The chain reaction that issued next went so fast that Dean barely had time to think. The man had stopped shifting, his eyes impossibly huge as he stared into the mirror at Dean and Dean was sure he was mirroring the man's. He looked utterly scared, and Dean could understand that. He was about to attempt to calm the man down before he tried to do anything rash that either one of them would regret later, but then the fear shifted into rage the next moment and before Dean could process what was happening, the man in the backseat rose to a sitting position, shoulders hunched, looking suddenly ready to spring an attack. Dean's heart thumped hard in his chest when the man lunged at him.