A/N: Hi again! 'Nother chapter, and I was off by one. So there are actually two more chapters after this one. (Maybe more.) It's kinda short huh? Hope you don't mind. L.
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Chapter Ten
Dean was pretty sure he knew why Sam had the vision. He just didn't want to tell Sam why he'd had the vision. He'd even gone so far as to distract his brother by bringing up "issues." It'd been a dumb-butt move, but he'd been desperate.
If Sam knew that Chris was probably a psychic, too, then there would be no telling how much he'd distrust the guy, then. Look at Andy--he'd thought Andy was a murderer. Andy.
And it all boiled down to Sam not trusting himself, really. He thought that he was going to turn into some sort of monster, and so he turned that fear on every other psychic, when it was really himself he was the most scared of. And now that Dean could get inside his head and see that, it was starting to freak him out too."You're up early."
Dean practically jumped out of his skin and looked up, seeing Chris standing there in the doorway to the kitchen. He'd been sitting at the table, staring into his bowl of Life, the only thing he could find to eat for breakfast in the guy's cupboard.
"Um... yeah," he replied, and Chris sat down to his right.
"Okay," he said, out of nowhere, "I'm a drunk; your dad's right. You shouldn't trust me--all I'm good for is a place to stay for awhile, and then you'll just hit the road again and disappear. Am I right?"
Dean averted his eyes, then realized too late that it was a dead giveaway. He sighed, and told Chris, "He doesn't trust you, but he's not my dad. He's my older brother."
That admission was met with complete silence. But inside, Dean felt a strange, sinking sensation that wasn't really his own. He looked up, and saw that Chris was looking pretty green around the gills. "You okay?"
"Fine," he answered, "Does your brother hit you?"
"No!" Dean retorted, vehemently. If anyone hit anyone, it'd be him hitting Sam. He'd done it more than once over the years. Twice, recently, actually...
"Then what's with the broken arm?" Chris asked, and Dean rolled his eyes.
"Okay, the truth is... weird. That's why we lied about it. You wouldn't believe us," Dean said, and shrugged.
Chris frowned, eyes narrowed suspiciously, then he asked, "Are you even really a kid? Or are you some sort of special midget?"
Dean burst into laughter, then stopped himself when he saw that Chris was serious. "I'm really a kid--physically. But mentally, I'm a twenty-seven year-old man."
"Okay, whoa, whoa, whoa," Chris said, and leaned back in his chair and waved his hands in a "stop" motion. "Hold it right there. Is that some sort of brainwashing your big brother gave you so that he could, you know... do some hanky-pan--"
"Whoa!" Dean interrupted, "Dude! Don't even go there." He shuddered. Chris let out a relieved sigh.
"Okay, then you're being very literal, right?" he asked, and Dean nodded, carefully.
"You got turned into a child, somehow?" Chris went on, looking skeptical but somehow open to the possibility.
"Yeah, I think your brother did it," Dean replied. "He could somehow bring me over in astral form to him, but as a little kid. I know it sounds weird, but that's how we met."
Chris stared at him for a moment, but then asked, very calmly, "So you met my brother in astral form and...?"
"And he wanted to help me with... my emotional junk," Dean said, then cleared his throat.
Chris stared at him, then abruptly rose from his chair, muttering, "I need a beer." He opened the refrigerator and got one out then returned to his seat, and popped the top, while Dean gave him a look.
"Don't you have work?"
"I'm suspended," Chris answered, flatly.
"Should've known," Dean retorted, under his breath, and Chris frowned.
"I get it," he said, while practically grinding his teeth. "I'm a piece-of-crap drunk, right? Just like my father?" He rose from his seat again, but this time he crossed over to the sink and poured out the beer's yellow, urine-like contents. "I can quit," he said, crunched the can in his hands and tossed it in the overflowing garbage. "I just don't have a freakin' reason to, kid. There's no point."
Dean felt a hollow ache, like a deep empty pit somewhere inside. And for a moment, he couldn't find his way out of it because it was just as bad as, if not worse, than his own loneliness and pain. Finally, he blinked away tears, pushed his soggy cereal away and got out of his seat.
"Hey, I'm the last guy to tell you it's worth it, but that doesn't mean you should go blowing your brains out or keep killing yourself slowly with alcohol." He drew closer to Chris as he spoke, but sensed that the man didn't want him anywhere near, and stopped halfway to where Chris leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.
Dean had heard somewhere that it was a self-protective gesture. Who knows, maybe from Sam, since he'd been into that method acting once.
Jake's brother stared at him for the longest time, and then he asked, "You're for real, aren't you? This is..." He laughed, almost hysterically, looking around as if his old house held some sort of answer that hadn't been there the other million times he'd seen it. "This is crazy. Astral-projecting, adults becoming little kids... Maybe the drinking's finally fried my braincells."
"This isn't a hallucination," Dean told him, sternly. "But you do have to snap out of it, or I'm going to stay a little brat..." He wanted to add "forever," but he'd probably grow up again, wouldn't he? And that was another thing he had to worry about--Sam ending up taking care of him, having to look after him all the time, make sure he didn't get hurt during hunts-- Heck, knowing Sammy, he probably wouldn't even let Dean hunt.
And Dean couldn't live that way. Not with hunting being the second only thing left for him. And Sam knew well enough that he was the first.
Chris nodded, slowly. "I need to get help, is that what you're saying? Counseling? AA?"
Dean started to smart off, "You need to stop being so freakin' selfish--" He stopped. One, because it felt like an echo of something he'd once said to Sam, and two, because he'd just had an idea. "I think I can help," he said, and stepped forward.
Chris jerked back against the counter, demanding, "Hey, what are you--?" Dean grabbed hold of his wrist, closed his eyes and concentrated.
Before he could even think about the process, it'd already started--the warmth that made its way from his center and out through his hand. It left him, and it must've gone into Chris because a second later, he gasped and relaxed back against the counter as if he'd just been immersed in a warm, soothing bath.
Dean let go and gave the guy some space. Heck, if someone had just done that to him, he'd sure want some freakin' space. "I healed you... of the alcoholism. At least," he shrugged, "the physical part of it."
Chris lifted a shaky hand to his hair and ran his fingers through it. "That felt... beyond description. Tingly and warm, but..." he swallowed, "Beyond description."
Dean grinned, and just then they both glanced toward the doorway to the kitchen. Sam stood there, looking slightly out-of-it, yet still alert enough to be suspicious. "What's going on?"
"Your brother just healed me," Chris stated, regaining some of his usual obnoxious bluntness.
"He--?" Sam glared at Dean, and Dean shrugged, but inside, he was cringing. Sam was angry because they hadn't consulted first.
"He's suicidal, Sam," he said--almost begged, "What did you want to do? Wait until he was drunk enough to off himself?"
Sam sagged a little, motioned toward Chris, "So you healed his...?"
"Yeah," Dean answered, and just then the relief he felt over Sam no longer being angry sort of sunk in, and he had to take a deep breath and head for the closest chair.
Sam's eyes widened, and he hurried to Dean, crouching in front of him and taking his shoulders. "You okay?"
He nodded, but he was seeing spots in front of his eyes. "I think it's just the usual after-healing special."
"Right," Chris said, sarcastically, "So you got your energy drained or something, is that it?"
"You'd know," Dean answered, before he could stop himself, and Sam froze.
He slowly turned and looked at Chris, then he turned back to Dean and asked, very deliberately, "What?"
"Chris has a power," Dean said, "Don't know what, but I'm pretty sure he's got one."
As Sam stood up, and turned toward Chris as if he was getting ready to face off against an opponent, Dean looked toward the older man and pleaded, silently, 'I'm really sorry, man. It just slipped out... Now Sammy's gonna rip you a new one. Wish I'd kept my big mouth shut.'