Warning/Rating: Excessive talking. :) PG.
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Chapter Seven
The words echoed in Dean's mind until he felt a headache coming on. "An empath? You?"
"Yes, and a healer," Jake answered, with a strange little chuckle.
"And you know what I'm feeling?" he asked, voice becoming slightly harder than usual. Strange coming from this little-kid voice.
"Dean," Jake turned to him, scooting around a bit. He took Dean's upper arms. "You're shutting down because you're scared. You're scared of what all this means, but it's alright to be scared. But you can't shut Sam out because of it, understand? The only way to overcome fear is to face it, right? You have to let him back in, Dean."
Dean jerked away, moved off the couch when Jake's arms slipped in surprise. He stood, facing off against the man who was fast becoming his friend. "And what does this mean? Why does it make me scared?" he demanded, too angry now to be embarrassed by the way his voice squeaked.
Jake shook his head, the gesture carrying a trace of sadness. "I can't tell you that, Dean. I think only you can figure it out."
When Dean wouldn't reply, he reached out, taking his arm and said, "I'll give you my cell number. You're going to have to memorize it, okay?" He told Dean, and Dean repeated it back to him. When Jake didn't correct him, he repeated it until it would be stuck in his head forever.
"I'm going to go get something from town," Jake said, rising. "Why don't you get some sleep. You're still looking a little wan."
"Look at you," Dean snapped back, still upset and not really sure why.
Jake chuckled and got to his feet. "I'll be fine." But he swayed a little and blinked a few times before regaining his balance. He had a bad feeling, watching Jake heading away from him.
"Wait!" He ran over and wrapped his arms around the man's legs. And his adult brain didn't even feel the slightest bit humiliated. "Don't go..."
Jake crouched down. "What is it, Dean?" he questioned, taking Dean's arms.
He sniffled, feeling tears coming on. "It feels wrong. Something's gonna happen to you."
"Nothing's going to happen to me," Jake assured him, then pulled him into a hug. Dean felt enveloped, wrapped in warmth and something oh, so familiar. "It'll be okay, you'll see."
"Don't go," he repeated, but Jake drew away and stood. He ruffled Dean's hair.
"Go to sleep, okay? When you come back again, I'll still be here." And he left without a backward glance, closing the heavy, wooden door behind him.
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Dean felt hot tears on his face when he woke up again, lying in an awkward position on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. He sat up, cracked his stiff neck, rotated his aching shoulder. 'Great idea, Dean, sleepin' on the freakin' floor,' he thought, and got to his feet with effort.
He used the bathroom before leaving, looked around for Sam, found him asleep on the bed. He watched him for awhile, chest rising and falling. Jake had told him that only he could figure it out, and not to be afraid of letting Sam in.
He had to try at least, he realized and went and sat next to Sam on the bed. He called out softly, half-hoping Sam wouldn't wake up, "Hey. Sammy."
Sam opened his eyes, sat up, scooted up against the headboard, rubbing away sleepers. "Hey, you finally decide to stop acting like an emo teenager?"
Dean decided not to take offense, shrugging and saying instead, "Jake told me to stop acting like one."
"He your dad now?" Sam wanted to know, bitingly. Even half-asleep he was still better at fighting with words than Dean would ever be.
"Yeah," Dean shocked everyone in the room by answering. "But it doesn't matter because he's sick now. And it's my fault."
Sam sighed, a tired too familiar sound. "Everything's your fault, Dean."
At first, Dean wasn't sure of what he meant, so he just narrowed his eyes, tilted his head, and then he got it. Oh. "Not everything," he tried to joke, "Just the stuff that counts."
Sam frowned, not too thrilled with his sense of humor. "Why were you freaking out earlier?"
"I was so scared, I had to use the bathroom," Dean joked again, then licked his dry lips. "I mean it--I was scared. You were picking at my skin again, and I didn't want you to see what was underneath. I'm just a kid under there, all lost and alone, in some woods, just looking for my daddy. And I can't find him because he's not anywhere anymore--not even in my dreams, Sammy. And I wish to God I could just conjure him out of thin air, but it's not gonna happen. So I keep trying to find some replacement, and they keep disappointing me. 'Cause it's not what I really need in the first place."
To say that Sam was shocked would be an understatement. He was flabbergasted. "Dean... I--" he began.
"Wait, lemme finish, before I lose my nerve," Dean interrupted. "I think I'm going to Jake's 'cause he's an empath. I don't think he realizes it, but he's the one that reached out for me. He's been pulling me over to him while I sleep because of the connection--his wife dying, and Mom dying. He lost his little girl, and I just lost--" His voice broke. "We just lost Dad. So he brought me over, and now he's trying to help me. Because he couldn't do it for them."
"So it'll stop when he's sure you're alright?" Sam questioned, looking stunned. Dean nodded, still not sure if his theory was correct. "And how will he know?"
"He's an empath," Dean said, finding himself grinning a little. "He'll know."
They decided to finish the poltergeist job that night.