Chapter Six

Christie stared at him, and then stared down at her hand, and then just went around and sat down on the couch. Dean followed her, and started a rambling explanation that was bound to freak her out more than it helped. He had to try, though.

"I think Jake gave me his powers, somehow, before he died," he said, and sat down on the coffee table, facing her. "He was pulling me over astrally to help me, and he healed me a few times. The last time he healed me, it killed him. I'm sorry, Christie. Your uncle's dead because of me."

"I..." she said, and then shook her head, slowly. She rubbed her hand, absently, and asked, "I think I can feel..." She gazed at him, expression thoughtful, then tucked her dark hair behind an ear. "He gave you his powers? And you gave them to me?"

"Not on purpose," he told her, quickly. "But... I think maybe it's what Jake wanted. For you to have them, I mean."

She shook her head, frowned. "Then why wouldn't he just give them to me, in the first place?"

Dean took a moment to think that one through, remembered that they hadn't transferred until she'd touched him, and then remembered that Jake had actually had physical contact with him, in a way, before he'd died. "He couldn't reach you, but I was right there. In astral form." He wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but he thought it might freak her out.

"Okay," she said, and nodded. "Would you like some tea, or something?"

He chuckled, and she giggled. "God, this is... crazy," she said, and asked, "Are you sure I can't just touch you and give them back?"

He smiled sympathetically, but nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure."

She reached out and touched his hand, anyway. When she pulled away, she asked, "Are you okay? It's none of my business, but... you seem really sad."

He nodded. "Yeah, a little."

"Want to talk about it?" she asked.

"I had a... falling out with my brother," he said, reservedly. He tried to smile. "How 'bout that tea now?"

She searched his face. Then, for a moment, looked at him as if she were looking straight through to his heart. She nodded, smiled a little and stood up.

"Sure." When she went into the familiar kitchen, he knew she thought she was never going to see him again. He hoped she was right.

He slipped quietly out of the cabin, but knew she was going to hear the Impala's engine, so he gunned it before she could take a look out the window.

He had to go back--he realized--to Sam. At first, he'd thought he was doing the right thing by leaving. But now he understood that he was just going to spiral deeper and deeper if he stayed away. And if Sam wanted to talk things through when he got there, so be it.

But he wasn't going to be doing any more pushing. He was afraid of losing Sam, but if he didn't try to love him the best he could, then he'd already lost him, anyway.


Sam was this close to giving up, when, out of nowhere, Dean walked into the bar and came to sit next to him. For a week now, he'd been climbing the walls, trying to figure out where Dean had gone, glancing over his shoulder every time a door opened, waiting for it to be him.

And today, when it had happened, he'd had to give a double take because he was so used to looking away again when it wasn't him. Except this time, it was Dean.

"Hey," he said to Sam, and ordered a beer. "How are you?"

"Fine," Sam said, because rational thought had presently escaped him. "You?"

"Awesome. Gave my powers to Jake's niece. I'm good to go."

"Riiight," Sam answered, but he felt himself grinning. Then he wondered, seriously, "They're really gone?"

Dean nodded. "Ask me what you're feeling."

"What am I feeling?"

Dean squinted at him, momentarily, and Sam tried to keep a straight face. "You wanna get laid."

Sam really laughed, for the first time in a long time, and it felt good, great, in fact. He thumped Dean on the back, and his brother smirked and questioned, "I was right, huh?"

"Totally off," Sam answered, goodnaturedly. "You were probably projecting."

It took Dean a moment, but when he got it, he nudged Sam playfully, and retorted, "Jerk."

And it occurred to Sam, then, as he gave the requisite insult, that they were going to be all right.


Extra - "Typo Tale": Here's an IM conversation between my sister and I. Hope you enjoy. (The story and typo being discussed are from a different version of this story. Yes, there were many. -sweat drop- Heheh.)

blueliath: dude... i have the weirdest typo

blueliath: i don't understand what i meant to write

blueliath: It was nighttime and pretty dark until they'd turned their flashlights on, and event then Sam had started at a rat's squeak before the light had caught the end of a tale disappearing around a mound of wooden boxes.

blueliath: ohhhh

blueliath: -gets it- heheh

vespertanmer: lol

vespertanmer: tale

blueliath: oops

vespertanmer: event

blueliath: lol

vespertanmer: lol

vespertanmer: dies

blueliath: it was the "event" one that had me stymied

blueliath: shush

vespertanmer: It just...lends a whole other meaning to it.

blueliath: lol, that is hilarious

blueliath: hahah

blueliath: yeah

blueliath: -dies laughing... calms into giggles-

vespertanmer: A

blueliath: shush... lol

vespertanmer: You are awesome.

A/N: Heheh... Hope you enjoyed. :D