I couldn't stop crying after my phone call with Sam. It was like parts of my heart and soul had turned rotten in his absence. Ever since I was little I had been prone to separation anxiety. Dean began to go on more hunts and training trips with Dad around the time I was six years old, which left me in the care and company of Sam.
We became more attached to each other during this period and around that time, he also gave me the nickname Shadow, because I used to follow him at his heels. I was no longer Shadow, because I had no host to cling onto.
After returning my cell phone back into my jeans pocket, I brought my knees to my chest as I continued to sniffle.
"I'm sorry for any ladies in here, it's just that I'm worried about my baby sister who's been in here, like forever," came Dean's voice. "Chrissie, I'm coming in. My eyes are closed."
It was only me in the rest room, because I believe no woman would walk into a stink hole like this, not without rubber gloves and air freshener that is. I hoped my brother wouldn't wander blindly into a cubicle and then trip over, which would result in him sticking his head down one of the toilets. Then again, that would be friggin' hysterical. He opened his eyes and found me standing outside the cubicle I had been hiding in.
"Chrissie, why are you crying?" he asked. His expression softened as I could feel my face crumpling. I was then pulled into a comforting and warm hug. "Awww, stop it. C'mon, tell me why you got a bug up your butt."
I hate that saying. Bug up your butt?! Really? That's one nasty image to conjure up. That would be horrible, having a million legged, four eyed bug up your crapper. Yuck! As my brother held my in a protective embrace, he began to sing Hey Jude. When I say sing, I actually mean brutally murder a classic.
"Do you want me to stop crying or not? If that's the case then I'd stop with the singing," I remarked with a sniff, tears still rolling down my cheeks. "Your singing makes my ears bleed. No offence."
My brother raised his eyebrows at me.
"Whoa, whoa, my singing is way better than McCartney, Lennon, Elvis and any other singer put together," he stated, whilst kneeling down at my level.
Yeah, in his dreams. My brother sounds drunk when he sings, and to which he tends to sing ABBA songs.
"Look, the old man will be kicking in the door any minute now. He won't be covering his eyes like I did, since he'll be wielding his double barrel sawn-off and blasting rock salt at us," Dean added with a smirk. "I don't feel like getting blasted with salt unless its by a stripper named Margarita, and in that case, she can salt me all she wants."
I sniffed noisily as I wiped my running nose with my sleeve. Even at eleven years old, I knew what an innuendo was and was used to my brother's frequent use of them within conversation. I cocked my head and narrowed my eyes as I gazed up at him.
"Why am I related to you?" I asked with a sigh.
We then returned to the car, to which Dad had been waiting on us with limited patience but his expression soften when he noticed my red rimmed eyes. Dad pulled me to the side while my brother sat inside the Impala.
"Dad, I'm sorry," I sighed, as Dad knelt down at my level. "I don't mean to be this way."
Dad chuckled at me, gazing deep into my eyes as he tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear.
"What way? The stubborn Winchester way?" Dad said, with a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You gotta talk to me, baby."
Stubbornness seems to be a family gene, one that has been passed down all generations, including me.
"Is it a bad thing to have doubts and worries?" I questioned, returning my father's gaze.
Okay, this has to be the dumbest statement I have ever made so far in my eleven years of life. I had my reason for saying it though, I simply wanted to hear my father's answer.
"Of course not!" replied Dad sincerely. "A human being has those everyday, especially parents. Is this about what we talked about earlier?"
When it comes to my family, they can read me like a damn book. If I was a book, I'd be a book on mental health probably. I nodded.
"A parent knows deep down when their child is unable to cope with pressure and i can assure you, Chris, you are ready," added Dad, cupping my face with his hands. I'm willing to bet our lives on it as well. I love you and need you. You've always been my brave girl."
My nose wrinkled as I chewed on the inside of my cheek, pondering my father's words.
"How do you know that I'm ready?" I asked curiously.
Dad smiled as he tucked another strand of loose of my wavy hair behind my ear. The rest of my hair remained secure within braids, for now anyway.
"Well, first of all, you're questioning yourself and we've all been there at some point. Secondly, I've seen your research. It's detailed and very precise," said Dad. "Lastly, I've seen you in action with your weapon training and you're doing real good. I just know these things because I can feel them in my heart. I'm your Dad."
Dad then pulled me into a quick hug, which radiated both warmth and security.
Dark clouds began to gather overhead and then news came in from the car radio that a storm was heading our way. This news resulted in us leaving the Impala behind until further notice. The storm began, causing us to take a detour on the way to our destination. Dad's truck couldn't cope with the bumpy road and mud, and the huge wheels ended up becoming lodged in the thick brown sludge.
While Dad called a contact which was most likely the guy who was being haunted by the suspected poltergeist, my big brother leaned over towards me.
"Feeling better?" he asked, his voice a whisper. "You want me to sing to you? I can do a mean Master of Puppets?"
I rolled my eyes as I leaned against him for support. Why offload all you're body weight onto a seat or pillow, when you have another human being sitting next to you.
"He'll make you go out and push the truck out the mud," I remarked with a smirk. "Plus it's raining and blowing a gale strong enough to take us all to the Merry Old Land of Oz."
It would be funny as Hell if Dad forced Dean outside to push the truck. I would be tempted to throw a mud ball at him just to see the expression on his face.
"Aww, touché. You sound a lot like Sammy." Dean snorted. "Except for one fact, you're way, way shorter."
I slapped him playfully across the chest because of that comment. For years I've bore the brunt of the short jokes, just like Sam get's picked on for being freakishly tall.
"Not my fault that I got the short straw from the gene pool," I said. My nose then wrinkled as I sniffed. "Could've been worse. I could've ended up like you."
I shudder at that very idea and thought. Can you imagine? Ewww!
"Well, I would say that you would be damn lucky to be a female version of me," chuckled my brother. "However, there can only be one truly awesome person on this Earth, so you lose."
He thinks he's so hilarious, when in fact his sense of humor sucks compared to mine. Don't tell him that, he would totally kick my ass various shades of black and blue.
"I'll say it again," I remarked with another eye roll. "Why am I related to you?"
What did I do so wrong in my past life to end up with this moron for a brother?
"Dad thought how amazing it would be to have someone else look up to me," smirked Dean. "Another Winchester to idolize me. I'm like the superhero of this family."
Oh please, this again? Ugh! I always have the same comebacks every time this topic comes up.
"Aquaman?" I commented with a snigger.
My brother looked horrified at my remark, in which he gently punched my arm.
"What?" Dean snorted. "He's like the gayest one, like Sam. I'm definitely Batman, so that makes you Robin."
Robin?! That dumbass bulls-eye target?! Hell no! I opened my mouth in protest.
"Why am I Robin?" I demanded, folding my arms. "Besides Batman isn't a real superhero. He only has gadgets. He doesn't even have any powers. Therefore, not a superhero."
Dean gasped in mock horror and disgust, delivering another tame punch on my arm.
"Bite your tongue heathen! He is the most epic amazing hero of all and I will not have my own sister speak against that," he laughed. "Anyway Robin is short and geeky, so if the tiny shoe fits."
Dad then finished his phone call and then ordered Dean to get out and try to push the truck while he figured out our next move. The rain was still pouring down hard and the wind was very strong.
"Dad, I could steer if you get out and pushed too?" I suggested, trying to be helpful.
Dad grinned at me as he clapped a hand on my shoulder, which was another way of him showing praise.
"That's a great idea," he said. "This is another step on what makes a great hunter. You came up with a fast and accurate plan to cope and deal with an unusual situation, thinking fast on your feet. I admire that a great deal."
His hand then moved in order to pet the back of my head, as if I was an obedient puppy.
"Pushing a truck outta the mud makes a good hunter?" I asked with a raised eyebrow, my focus on my Dad. "For the record, getting trapped in an elevator with a goat and chicken, that's unusual."
Dad laughed at my statement, before planting a quick peck on my forehead.
"You've been hanging around Dean way too much," he said. "And it also reminded me of Sammy. Alright, Miss Winchester, what is the first thing you're gonna do once you get into the driver's seat?"
Ah! Now I've discovered a single tiny flaw in that so called awesome plan of mine.
"About that. Yeah, you see there is one tiny problem," I stated, swinging my skinny legs which dangled a good few inches above the pedals. "I can't reach. I'm too small."
Dad paused, thinking over the situation and trying to come up with a easy solution.
"Hmmm, you make a good point," said Dad "Well, I guess that means you better get out and push then."
Thankfully, I managed to escape certain humiliation and strain. I was soon sitting on my father's lap and in charge of controlling the steering wheel, whilst Dad controlled the pedals. We could both hear Dean kicking up a fuss outside as Dad commanded him to push. The left side window of the truck was open.
"Why don't you get one of your epically cool gadgets to help you push the truck, Batman?" I called, poking my head out of the window, yet only to squeak when my hair got wet because of the rain.
My brother laughed sarcastically as he pushed the truck with all his might, the wheels shrieking against the pressure.
"Yeah, smart ass. Mock all you want since you're dry and…," Dean's words were interrupted as the truck suddenly took off, leaving him completely covered in mud from head to toe. "Son of a bitch!"
This was the moment I had been waiting for. Oh my God, it was such a sweet sight to see. I had literally morphed into a hyena as I was wheezing with hysterical laughter.
"That's freakin' funny as Hell," said Dean sarcastically, as he stood next to the truck. The rain began washing the mud off of him. "Must be friggin' nice to be warm and dry! I even have mud in my damn ass crack!"
Oh God! That is one image I don't wanna picture. Yuck! I continued to cackle at the sight of my big brother, looking as if he had just crawled up a sewer pipe.
"Hey, baby, there is a towel under the seat if you wanna hand it to your brother," said Dad, nudging me slightly. "It's somewhat clean, just like him."
I leaned over carefully, before grabbing hold of the towel. I gave my big brother a mischievous smile as I handed it over to him.
"Oh wow, you gave me a semi-clean towel. Aren't ya all heart, thanks Chris!" Dean mocked, cleaning himself off as best he could with the towel. "Well, that friggin' poltergeist better watch it's ass, coz I'm pissed off!"
The grin on my face slowly vanished. A strange buzzing sound began ringing in my ears. It sounded like a voice. Wait a minute? There wasn't just a single voice, but several. What was going on? As the strange voices continued to get louder and louder each second, my mind and imagination slowly began to dissolve into a stupefied daze.
The wonderful kissacazador once again helped me with this chapter, and also within the upcoming chapters. She really is awesome!
Thanks again to all those who have reviewed and favourited both the story and myself.
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