Flint walked up the stairs with a withered gait, sighing as his feet inched against the old wood of his home.
It had been a long day.
He drew back his trusty hat, brushing it against his bald spot with a sigh as he neared the beds on the second floor. When the roof entered his vision the man couldn't help but flinch at the small sparks that marred it, travelling quickly before dying on the slightly ashen beams of his father-in-law's house.
He hated how it destroyed the building, but Alec had left it to his son.
His son, who was now whimpering and writhing on the bed with perspiration marring his eternally young face.
"Lucas…" The old man said, edging up to the boy despite the PSI energy flowing and sparking around him. "Lucas, you're having another episode. You have to wake up." He didn't put his arm to his suffering son, despite his urge to. He had scars from years ago to prove that.
Lucas whimpered again in response, tossing and turning in his sleep. The energy flickered and crackled in the air. Sometimes Flint wished it never appeared in his life. In any of their lives.
"Dad…" Lucas whispered, desperately with the prepubescent voice he kept for a little over 20 years. "Dad, help me… It's coming for mommy…"
He was having the dream. Again. Flint knew it well and dreaded it when it came every night.
And it continued for hours.
Flint was powerless.
Sometimes his son let out words, different phrases from the miserable life he lived.
"A boy named Lucas…" So it was this one, tonight. Maybe he'd talk about Claus tomorrow. At least his brother got to die before it got to this.
Morning came all too fast, and the old, withered cowboy was awoken from his sleep from the shriek his offspring let out. He was crying, panting, and looking everywhere like a lost deer.
"Where am I?" Lucas yelled, bringing his arms defensively to his chest. His eyes darted to Flint, blue bloodshot orbs that contained none of the spark of what was there. "Who are you?"
Every time he heard it, Flint's heart splintered a little more. It's been the same for so long, but seeing your son, your only family left… it hurt him. Lucas, like every morning, noticed it.
"What's wrong?" He always said, cautiously, "Are you ok?" It was a sick joke that never ended, a grotesque record played over and over and over until the vinyl warped and the needle dulled.
"I'm your father." The man said, holding his callused hand out to the boy's. He's tried so many different methods to get his son back, but it seemed that nothing would work. So he resorted to the old standby, today. "Name's Flint." His voice was crusted with age, but contained a broken gruff emotion that stirred Lucas' heat in a way he could not understand.
"I'm-" The boy said, staring off into the nothing that his parched brain had left him, "I-I don't know."
"It's Lucas." The old man said, holding back tears that had dried up years ago. "Your name's Lucas." The kid in question made a sharp o with his mouth, the same expression he always used.
"Ok," He said, looking into his father's eyes. "I believe you."
A man named Lucas screamed behind the wall, banging on it. He brought tired fists to the energy, grunting in frustration as he watched his father in anguish.
A man named Lucas started to cry, and his tears leaked through the barrier.
A boy named Lucas started to cry.
AN/ So I have this weird headcannon that PSI users are eternally young and have amazing health from the power, but the mental cost is terrible and they get something akin to alzheimer's but worse. Their mind is split into so many unrecoverable pieces that they can't recover.