Chapter 8

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"I'm sorry, but I don't think it's a good idea," Andrea said as we stood in the living room of the Barr household.

"I just need to talk to him," Dean said, almost pleading. "Just for a few minutes."

I hung back, taking in the situation. I wanted to step in, but this felt like more of Dean's deal, so I stayed silent, observing.

"He won't say anything. What's it going to do?" Andrea asked. I could tell she was wary of letting Dean talk to him, but I had a pretty good hunch that Andrea was going to let him talk to Lucas.

"Andrea, we think more people might get hurt. We think something's happening out there," Sam said, trying to further our case and get her to let Dean talk to Lucas.

"My husband, the others, they just drowned. That's all," Andrea said, but I could tell that it was more for her benefit than ours.

"If that's what you really believe, then we'll go. But if you think there's even a possibility that something else could be going on here, please let me talk to your son," Dean pleaded. I could see all the resolve in Andrea's face fall.

"If you think it can help..." she started. Dean nodded, and Andrea gestured for us to follow her up the stairs.

We followed her up to Lucas' room, where he was coloring, a few little green army men lying next to his place on the floor. Dean immediately went in and kneeled down next to the youngster, whom didn't even look up.

"Hey Lucas. Remember me?" Dean asked tentatively. He still didn't look up.

"You know, I, uh, I wanted to thank you for that last drawing. But the thing is, I need your help again," Dean said slowly. He took out the picture of the Carlton's house from his pocket and set it down in front of Lucas.

"How did you know to draw this? Did you know something bad was gonna happen? Maybe you could nod yes or no for me," Dean suggested, but still, Lucas did not look up, did not even acknowledge the presence of Dean in front of him. "You're scared. It's okay. I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw something real bad happen to my mom, and I was scared, too. I didn't feel like talking, just like you. But see, my mom—I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day. And I do my best to be brave. And maybe, your dad wants you to be brave too."

I stared in awe at Dean. I'd never heard him speak like that, not even to Sam. And here he was, talking to some boy he barely knew as if it were a regular occurrence. As if he always talked to kids about his mom's death.

Dean's confession seemed to get a reaction out of Lucas, who set down the crayon that was currently in his hand. He hesitated a moment before ruffling through a pile of papers and producing another picture. He handed it to Dean, and I eyed the image over his shoulder. It was a picture of a white church, a yellow house, and a boy with a blue baseball cap and red bicycle in front of a wooden fence.

"Thank you Lucas," Dean said while standing from his kneeling position. The young boy just went back to his coloring.

Dean made his way into the hallway with the picture in his hand. "Thanks. I have a feeling this is gonna be really useful," he said to Andrea. She nodded solemnly. I could tell she was slightly scared at what we were insinuating could happen.

"Good luck," she said, and Dean began to walk down the stairs. Sam and I followed suit, but as I passed by Andrea, I grasped her forearm. She gave me a small, watery-eyed smile and nodded towards me. I released her arm and followed Sam and Dean down the stairs.

We showed ourselves out, and hopped in the impala.

"So Andrea said that the kid never drew like that until his dad died," Sam said when we'd gotten on the road.

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