Chrissie happily hummed to herself, as she dawdled around inside the little play-house, which stood by the music corner. The four-year-old loved play-houses. It was always her first choice in every single day care she visited. The little girl was kneeling by the door, with a small plastic cup in her right hand. With her tongue poked out in concentration, she waddled awkwardly in a squatting position, pretending to pour the cup around the ledges of the play-house walls. She puffed her cheeks out, as returned to the door, before standing upright. Her nose twitched, whilst shaking the content of the empty cup. The twitch was an adorable quirk that the little girl displayed whenever she was either deep in thought or troubled. It resembled a rabbit, to the point she was given the nickname Bunny by her family. The small child huffed dramatically.
"No more salt!" she sighed. "Daddy's gonna have to buy more."
Chrissie instantly turned around, and focused her attention on the small bed in the corner. She sighed loudly, and wandered over to the source of her annoyance. Goober, her bizarre looking patchwork teddy bear, was propped up by a pillow, with a maroon blanket over him.
"Goober, you're supposed to be sleeping! Bad bear!" she scolded, before her expression suddenly changed. "Oh no! You had a nightmare?"
The little girl scooped up her teddy and held him close. She rocked her stuffed bear in her skinny arms, as if it was a baby. An unimpressed scowl soon appeared across her face, when little Freddie wandered in, followed by Sally.
Chrissie had always been quite contented in playing on her own. She really didn't mind solitary activities, as she preferred the peace. Other children would often charge in and ruin her fun, and she didn't like being told what to do. However, the little girl still played with the other children. It had to be on her terms, and it always depending on what mood she was in. Today, she wasn't in the best of moods.
"This is my house!" stated the four-year-old, in a very bossy tone. "Go away! You didn't say the password!"
Chrissie glared at the intruders, as confident Freddie picked up the toy phone, and started to have a conversation on the imaginary other end. Sally pretended to do the dishes in the sink. Chrissie stomped up to Freddie, with Goober still in her arms.
"My house!" she complained, getting upset. "Get out!"
Freddie blinked in surprise, with the phone by his ear. Confused at first, he scratched the top of his dark curly hair, before he shook his head.
"No" replied the three-year-old boy.
Chrissie didn't like that, and stomped her feet. Freddie then snatched the plastic cup in his free hand, before plonking himself down on the chair in the other corner. He then started to use the toy phone like a TV remote.
"Out!" Chrissie whined. "My house!"
Little Sally, with a red ribbon in her hair, appeared behind Chrissie, and gently tapped on her shoulder. Pouting, Chrissie turned around. That was another thing she didn't like. She hated it when unfamiliar people entered her personal space, especially if they touched her. It was as if Chrissie got an electric shock from the intruder, as her reactions where often unpredictable.
"It not your house," Sally pointed out. "We have to share."
Much to Chrissie's dismay, two more children made their way into the play-house. It was too crowded now, and her alone time was ruined. Chrissie stomped her feet again, before bursting into tears. The little girl wailed into her teddy, as she shuffled out of the play-house, only to be consoled by Miss Mendez.
"Aw. What's wrong, Christina?" asked Miss Mendez as she knelt to her level, whilst rubbing her back.
The distraught four-year-old wept and hiccupped into Goober's patch-work lining. Tears rained down her cheeks, and her bottom lip trembled. The day-care assistant soon figured out the cause of the child's upset. She guided Chrissie away, and grabbed the box of tissues that sat on top of the arts and crafts storage drawers.
"Honey, the play-house is for everyone, remember," she reminded her, as she dabbed at Chrissie's face with a tissue. "I know you like the play-house, but we have to share. Look, you're Daddy gonna be picking you up very soon, so why don't you draw him a nice picture? I bet he'll like that."
Chrissie nodded reluctantly, an adorable pout on her face. She slumped into a chair, and reached for a sheet of plain paper. Miss Mendez moved the small tray of colourful crayons closer. The little girl rubbed her teary eyes, as she tried to stop crying. Chrissie was exhausted. Miss Mendez had noticed this too. It was odd because they had not long since had nap time.
The child's father had warned her, and her co-worked Maxine, that Chrissie would get tired if she was overwhelmed. This would often be the result of her emotional outbursts. Strangely, Chrissie would even get angry or upset over something she wasn't involved in. She took a bad reaction yesterday, when Louis pushed Abigail in the playground. Chrissie had been close by with her cherished teddy bear, smelling and admiring the flowers that had been planted in old wooden barrels. The incident interrupted Chrissie's peaceful moment, and caused an severe emotional reaction, that matched that off Abigail, who came away with a scuffed elbow. The staff were concerned about this unusual behaviour. It was decided that once the child's father returned, they would speak with him about it.
Chrissie was still sniffling as she scribbled on the piece of paper. It didn't take her long to finish her picture. That was another thing that would be brought up in their meeting with John. The staff were curious and worried about the odd drawings the little girl would often create. Angels and biblical themes seemed to be a favourite artistic subject matter, along with a black car and her odd teddy bear. Yet, it was the inappropriate ones that were raising eyebrows. Pictures of a burning house and scary shadow creatures surrounded by fire, weren't the typical things one would expect a small four-year-old little girl would be drawing.
Chrissie pushed the paper and crayons away, before burying her face into her teddy again. Miss Mendez rubbed her back, trying to comfort her. She gazed at the picture. It was a crude drawing of Chrissie herself, with different coloured scribble marks around her. Miss Mendez raised a quizzical eyebrow, before clearing her throat.
"Christina? What does this drawing mean?" she asked, in a soft tone. "Why are you sad? You look very sad in the picture."
The little girl gazed up forlornly at the day-care assistant, her big green eyes glittering with unshed tears.
"My head hurts," she pouted, looking both adorable and miserable at the same time. "I wanna go home. I want my Daddy"
Miss Mendez consoled the small child the best she could, as she started to cry again. Compared to the frustrated tone from before, the little girl's cries were more distressful. Mrs Berry ventured over towards the pair, after being beckoned by Miss Mendez. Chrissie was unaware of the concerned expressions the older women shared as they inspected her drawing. As usual, she was in her own world. Maxine Berry raised an eyebrow and shook her head slightly. She had encountered various children and challenges in her ten years of working at the day care, but little Christina was something different.
"Lucy, can you keep hold of that, and take it through to the office," instructed Maxine. "We'll have a talk with Mr Winchester when he comes in."
Hearing her father being mentioned snapped the child from her thoughts.
"Have I been bad again?" she asked, with a troubled look.
As Lucy Mendez quickly gathered the drawing and walked in the direction of the office, Chrissie's eyes followed her. Maxine gently rubbed the back of her curly greying hair, before kneeling to the child's level. Chrissie had her arms crossed on the table.
"No, honey," she replied. "We're just going to have a talk with your Daddy about a few things. It's nothing for you to worry about."
Chrissie stuck her bottom lip out as she settled her chin against her folded arms. She knew her father wouldn't be happy about that. It hadn't been the first time John had been summoned about his daughter's behaviour.
"Daddy says it's bad to lie. You don't like my pictures," mumbled the small girl. "That's why you and Miss Mendez made funny faces."
Maxine was startled by the response from the young child. That was another unique trait that Chrissie had obtained due to her empathic ability. Nobody could tell a lie in front of her, as she would detect it automatically. Sensing Maxine's discomfort, the little girl bowed her head, and squeezed her teddy close to her chest.
"Okay, why don't you go and play," suggested Maxine, as she cleared her throat. "Your Daddy will be coming to collect you soon."
Chrissie sighed heavily, and melodramatically slid off the chair. She then turned, with her face buried in Goober's patchy chest.
"When? I wanna go home now!" she grumbled, now in a bad mood.
Maxine kept her patience, as she levelled herself with the child, before pointing at the clock above the playroom door.
"Your Daddy told me he would come and get you when the big hand is at the number twelve, and the little hand is at number two. That's two o'clock" Maxine explained.
Chrissie looked up at the clock.
"I know that" she answered back, impudently.
The four-year-old proceeded to wander around the playroom, with the other children not so subtly avoiding her. Even at her tender age, Chrissie knew she was different. Her unpredictable outbursts and odd habits alarmed most children. Defeated, she ended up sulking by the book corner with Goober.
"I'm gonna read you a story, Goober" whispered Chrissie, into the bear tiny left ear, in stark contrast to the larger right ear.
She mumbled away to her teddy bear, as she browsed through the small collection of colourful books, before settling for The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Reading eased her stresses and offered her knowledge at the same time. The child became so contented, that she was unaware of the passage of time and that her father had arrived. Before John could call for his daughter, Maxine quickly guided him into the staff office.
"Is something wrong? Has something happened?" he demanded.
John was then instructed to sit down. He was aware of a drawing in Maxine's hand. This hadn't been the first time he had been called into an office about his children. He was already used to it know, as Dean was a smartass.
"Can I see?" asked John, without letting Maxine explain the reason for this meeting.
Maxine handed John the drawing, with a concerned look on her face. John examined the picture carefully, his hand shaking ever so slightly.
"Has Christina experienced any recent trauma? Children at her age are very visual. I was thinking she was projecting anything she saw onto paper," queried Maxine. "Has she witnessed a house fire of any kind?"
John frowned slightly, before shaking his head.
"No," he replied. "Well, there was a house fire some years ago. My wife."
John paused mid-sentence. His throat tightened at the mention of Mary. Chrissie reminded him so much of her. The only thing that was missing was the blonde hair. He wouldn't be able to look at her if she wasn't brunette like him.
"Anyway, Chrissie was just a baby," he continued, regaining his manly composure. "She couldn't remember anything. Babies don't have memories. Right?"
Maxine remained silent for a moment. She had wrongly assumed that the little girl would be running into the arms of a mother as soon as she went home. Sympathy now rested with this lost looking single father. Yet behind his stubble and dark eyes, she could see a man of great inner strength and fearlessness. Maxine encouraged John to remain seated, as he was ready to leave. She could now she where Christina got her grumpy sigh from.
"There's more, isn't there?" quizzed John, as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
Maxine nodded, causing him to grunt. He returned his gaze to the drawing. There was no doubt Chrissie was creative, but this was different, and it scared the hell out of him. John knew he would have to contact Missouri Mosley again. He had visited her twice before. First, was right after the fire that claimed Mary. It was Missouri who informed him of the dreadful truth about hunting and the supernatural. The second, was when he couldn't handle a then two-year-old Chrissie's violent temper tantrum anymore. Missouri once again told him life changing news. His daughter was an empathic psychic. He needed her help again.
Maxine cleared her throat, bringing John out of his thoughts.
"Christina doesn't seem to be settling," remarked the older woman. "She's very bubbly but I've noticed some challenges."
John gazed up from the picture. He knew what was coming next, as he had heard the same speech numerous times, and would always answer back the very same way.
"Look, I know she's different from some of the other kids," he retorted defensively. "I've told you before about the way she is. I can't change that. It's who she is. My daughter just like any other little girl. She just more expressive that's all."
Maxine lowered her head, and briefly glanced at her aging hands.
"Alright," she replied, backing down. "None the less, Christina is a joy, but we will continue to monitor her, and if there's any more causes concern, we'll need to have another talk. We're only looking out for your daughter's welfare, Mr Winchester."
John grunted, offended. He hated it when strangers questioned his parenting or made comments about his children. He stood up from his chair.
"My little girl is perfect the way she is," he stated, defiantly. "Nobody can change that."
Maxine held her hands up defensively.
"That's not what I said" she stuttered.
Meanwhile, Chrissie could sense a familiar energy nearby. A smile appeared on her face, as she scooped her bear into her arms, after tossing the book down. The energy grew more powerful the closer she got to the office. Chrissie impatiently knocked on the door and tried to reach for the handle. Suddenly, the door opened, causing her to fall forward.
John braced his daughter's fall. How long had she been there? Had she heard anything?
"Daddy!" beamed the little girl.
John scooped up his daughter, plus her teddy, into his strong arms. Delighted, Chrissie wound her arms around her father's neck and hugged him tightly.
"Hey sweetie," smiled John, as he squeezed back. "Did you have a good day?"
Chrissie scowled for a moment.
"No!" she glowered. "Mrs Berry didn't like my picture and took it away, and Sally and Freddie wouldn't get out of my house. Freddie kicked the salt away, Daddy. That's bad. It's bad not to have salt in the house."
John consoled his stressed daughter by rubbing her back. He knew that if she had a rough day, then that would mean himself and the boys were in for a rougher night. Still, the boys would always cox Chrissie out of her moods. Chrissie continued to cuddle into her father. John carried her over to the cubbies, to collect her coat and bag pack.
"I know, but you're a good girl for remembering that," smirked John. "Not everyone knows that, but you can teach them. They might not know why, but it's safe."
Chrissie tilted her head in confusion, like a puppy.
"Why?" she asked.
John sighed, as he tried to smooth down his daughter's wild wavy hair. He secured the cute bumblebee hair clip, that was hanging by her temple. Her overgrown bangs were getting ridiculous, hence the hair clip. Time for a hair cut.
"Not now, honey," he replied. "I'll tell you another time. Just not now. Okay?"
The four-year-old nodded, unaffected by the lack of answer to her question. Normally she would keep pestering until she was given a satisfying enough answer to whatever she had asked. Chrissie gazed at him adoringly, gently patting his five o'clock shadow.
"You had a beard this morning," she commented. "Why did you cut it off? I don't like it. You look funny."
John chuckled. He expected this response from her, as she was very observant and extremely honest. Typical four-year-old behaviour. Nothing wrong with speaking your mind, as John believed, as it was a shared trait that he had with his daughter. He just hoped it wouldn't result in another smart mouthed child. She was already picking up on her eldest brother's bad habits.
"I just wanted to shave," he answered back, as he fixed the hood on her red coat. "You still think Daddy's a handsome guy, right?"
Chrissie blinked, as she thought for a moment.
"No," she said. "You're Daddy."
John smirked, before giving his daughter a quick peck on the forehead, before guiding her out of the day-care centre.
A:N Sorry for the long breaks in the updates guys. My work pattern holds me back from updating on a regular scale. I'll try to update as soon as I can.
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