Not the Demons You're Looking For (3/24)
Part 2
Part 3
It was obvious that this wasn't going to be a ten-minute conversation, and so Sam insisted that they get their bags from the car, since Andy made it clear that they would be staying with him. They were still soaked through and chilled from the spring rain, Dean was sniffling and trying to keep his teeth from chattering, shooting death glares in Sam's direction every time Sam so much as had the misfortune to look like he might start worrying. Having Dean sick was ten times as exhausting as having him well. So Sam did what Sam did best and cheated, playing the little-brother card as often and as hard as it took for Dean to change out of his wet clothes. It was a low-down, dirty trick, but it was the only weapon he had in his arsenal that was sure to work with Dean. So out came the Dean-I'm-wet-and-cold-and-I'm-getting-changed-now, which allowed Dean to change his own clothes but still save face. It would have been funny if it hadn't been so goddamned tragic. Not for the first time Sam wondered just what the hell had happened when they were growing up that Sam hadn't noticed that had screwed up his brother this badly. It just wasn't normal to put up with discomfort and pain to that extent without at least wanting to put an end to it. He bit back a huff of annoyance, contented himself simply with making sure Dean was dry and relatively warm. Right now, it felt like a victory.
It was Dean's idea to switch to something with more bite than beer, but Andy didn't seem opposed to the idea, and to Dean's delight he produced an impressively large bottle of Jack Daniel's, which he set out on the table with three glasses. Noticing that Sam didn't seem thrilled, Andy also pulled a two-litre of Coca Cola out of the fridge, probably as some sort of peace offering. Dean snorted and muttered derisively about “sissifying” a perfectly good drink before sneezing wetly into his sleeve, but Sam ignored him, and watered down his whisky with the fizzy drink as much as he could get away with. One of them had to stay relatively sober for this, and by the looks of it it wasn't going to be Dean, and Sam had no idea how well Andy could handle his liquor.
“Okay,” he started once they were settled again. “Start from the beginning.”
Andy gulped down a significant swallow of his whisky, made a visible effort to collect his thoughts. Swallowed more whisky, tried again. “Uh, okay. So things have been pretty up and down since you guys left, you know? Tracy... Tracy isn't too thrilled with the whole, you know, psychic thing,” he made a twirling motion in the air with his free hand, “but I promised I'd never make her do anything she didn't want to do, except, you know, to save her from some other asshole trying to mind-control her. But what are the odds of that, right?”
“Right,” Sam nodded, trying to hide the impatience that made him want to grab Andy, turn him upside down, hold him by his ankles and simply shake him until the story came tumbling out onto the floor in a jumbled pile of words. “So, she's sticking around?”
Dean shifted in his chair, and for a moment Sam thought he was going to tell the both of them to quit dancing around the topic, but instead he wrenched to the side, eyes scrunched shut, his whole body snapping forward with the force of the sneezes. “Hiih... HEPTSCHUH! HEISHOO! HEISHTCH!”
“Gesundheit,” Sam said mildly.
“Uh, bless.” Andy glanced from Dean to Sam, then decided Sam was the safer option. “Yeah, Tracy's sticking around. For now, anyway. She's the only reason I haven't gone nuts, really. This is all pretty intense,” he poured himself another drink, and Sam put out a hand.
“Easy there, Hemingway, I want you sober at least long enough to tell the whole story.”
Andy had the grace to flush. “Right. Sorry. I'm... not really dealing well. See, I thought it would be okay. I tried practicing, too. Not in a bad way,” he added hastily, seeing their expressions, “I mean, just trying to suggest things to people without talking. Good things, I swear! Like, you know, when I was at the bar, I'd get the drunks to give up their car keys and stuff. Hurts, though,” he said quietly.
Sam's hand strayed involuntarily to his temple. “Headaches?”
A nod. “Yeah. Bad ones. The more I try to use the... I don't know what to call it. Skill? Gift? Anyway, the more I use it, the more it hurts. Not if I talk, but if I try to do it only with my mind. It feels like someone's driving spikes through my head. So I don't really use it much.”
“I can understand that.”
“I figured you would,” Andy made a face that Sam couldn't quite get a read on. “I kept thinking of you nearly passing out in the road the night Weber tried to kill Tracy...” he puffed out his cheeks in a sigh. “I like you guys, you know, but my life has seriously sucked since I met you.”
At this Dean gave a sympathetic nod. “We get that a lot,” he said sombrely, then immediately brought the back of his hand to his mouth. “Hhh... HPTSCH! Uh, God! Son of a bitch,” he muttered darkly, and finished off his glass of whisky. Andy refilled it without even asking.
“At first I thought I had a handle on it. Then I got the house, and things kind of started looking up... and that's when people started dying.”
Sam glanced at Dean, but his brother was busy trying to stifle yet another sneeze, so he leaned forward, propped his elbows on the table. “Dying how?”
“That's just it... weird, random deaths.”
“How long ago did it start?” Dean had pinched his nose shut viciously, and was giving Andy his full attention now, unconsciously scrubbing at his nose with the cuff of his sleeve.
“Uh, late February?”
“Which begs the question, dude: why didn't you call us sooner?” Dean's tone wasn't accusing, but Andy flinched anyway.
“I don't know. I keep telling myself I didn't know, that I couldn't know, but mostly I just really didn't want to admit that anything else weird was going on. I mean, twins separated at birth with the powers of mind-control having to face off and kill each other was more than enough weird to last me several lifetimes, you know?”
Sam nodded. “So. The deaths.” This time he didn't stop Andy from having another sip of his drink. The kid had calmed down enough that he wasn't gulping it down like juice anymore, anyway.
“The first one was an electrocution, some guy out in the middle of freaking nowhere. They said it was a freak lightning strike, but there weren't any electrical storms that night. The weather was really nice, actually. We had an unseasonably warm winter,” he added, seemingly irrelevantly.
“And the others?”
“They were all different. One guy collapsed in the middle of the street, blood pouring out of his... well, his whole face. Nose, eyes, ears, mouth. Everywhere. It was horrible. A woman drowned in her bedroom, some guy managed to have his throat slit with fifteen people looking at him, without anyone able to tell who did it. Then another woman caught fire and burned alive.”
“Spontaneous human combustion?” Sam felt his eyes pop out of his head.
Andy shrugged. “What can I say? It's crazy, right? I mean, that kind of stuff doesn't freaking exist, except that six months ago I could have told you for sure that werewolves and vampires didn't exist, and a year ago I would have laughed at the idea that some people had powers of mind-control. So I don't know. It all happened, so something has to be causing it, and from what little you told me, I figured it might be something like that. So I did some researching on my own...”
Dean groaned melodramatically and rested his forehead on his arms. “Oh, God, another research freak!”
Sam punched him in the shoulder. “Shut up. And seriously, dude, stop calling me a freak.” It came out sounding whinier than he'd intended, and he cringed. Way to impress how independent and normal he was. Real authoritative.
“I'll c-call you any-huh... anything I... HKTSCHUH!” Dean's head snapped down abruptly into a cupped palm. Without missing a beat he punched Sam right back with his free hand. It figured that, even sick, Dean's aim would still be flawless. Sam rubbed his shoulder, rolled his eyes, and turned back to Andy.
“I'd apologize for him, but I wouldn't know where to start. So, do us both a favour and tell us about your research.”
Andy was looking at them with a mixture of bemusement and amusement. “Are you two seriously the only thing standing between us and the apocalypse?”
“God, I hope not,” Dean muttered, head still on his arms, and although Sam said nothing to that effect, privately he agreed wholeheartedly.
“No, there are a fair number of other hunters out there,” he assured Andy. “Some of who've been doing this for longer than we've even been alive.” He didn't add that he and Dean had probably seen more action than a lot of them combined in the past few years. That would just be rubbing salt in what must obviously be a raw wound.
“So I did some research,” Andy rolled his eyes, reminding Sam of himself for a split-second, “and the only explanation I came up with that fits all of it is that they've got to be the result of psychic abilities.”
“There was Scott Carey,” Sam reminded Dean. “Remember, in Lafayette? The one who said he could electrocute things?”
“Too bad Gordon st-stabbed the f- HEPTSCHUH! uh...” Dean passed a hand over his face, tried again. “Too bad he kicked it before we could get a chance to t-talk to him... heh... HEISHTCH! Son of a bitch!”
Andy screwed up his face, hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Uh, you sound pretty rough. You maybe want to...” Dean cut him off.
“Just keep talking.”
“Okay, yeah. So I didn't know about this guy in Indiana, but it all ties together, right? Psychokinesis, pyrokinesis, mind control... it all fits. All the deaths were pretty close by, and there've been all those signs of, uh, demonic activity,” Andy stumbled over the word as though he still hadn't quite brought himself to believe it yet. “The ones you were talking about before. So when that woman died today, I figured it had to be significant. So I called, as soon as I could get to a phone.”
Sam's mind was racing, his drink untouched on the table. “Wait. That was today?”
Andy nodded, the colour draining from his face. “I started doing the research last month, after the deaths started coming closer together.”
“So... the woman with the baby...” his mind whirled, and he felt dizzy trying to keep up.
“What baby?” Andy frowned, and Dean sat up.
“Sam... that hasn't happened yet.”
Part 4
Part 3
It was obvious that this wasn't going to be a ten-minute conversation, and so Sam insisted that they get their bags from the car, since Andy made it clear that they would be staying with him. They were still soaked through and chilled from the spring rain, Dean was sniffling and trying to keep his teeth from chattering, shooting death glares in Sam's direction every time Sam so much as had the misfortune to look like he might start worrying. Having Dean sick was ten times as exhausting as having him well. So Sam did what Sam did best and cheated, playing the little-brother card as often and as hard as it took for Dean to change out of his wet clothes. It was a low-down, dirty trick, but it was the only weapon he had in his arsenal that was sure to work with Dean. So out came the Dean-I'm-wet-and-cold-and-I'm-getting-changed-now, which allowed Dean to change his own clothes but still save face. It would have been funny if it hadn't been so goddamned tragic. Not for the first time Sam wondered just what the hell had happened when they were growing up that Sam hadn't noticed that had screwed up his brother this badly. It just wasn't normal to put up with discomfort and pain to that extent without at least wanting to put an end to it. He bit back a huff of annoyance, contented himself simply with making sure Dean was dry and relatively warm. Right now, it felt like a victory.
It was Dean's idea to switch to something with more bite than beer, but Andy didn't seem opposed to the idea, and to Dean's delight he produced an impressively large bottle of Jack Daniel's, which he set out on the table with three glasses. Noticing that Sam didn't seem thrilled, Andy also pulled a two-litre of Coca Cola out of the fridge, probably as some sort of peace offering. Dean snorted and muttered derisively about “sissifying” a perfectly good drink before sneezing wetly into his sleeve, but Sam ignored him, and watered down his whisky with the fizzy drink as much as he could get away with. One of them had to stay relatively sober for this, and by the looks of it it wasn't going to be Dean, and Sam had no idea how well Andy could handle his liquor.
“Okay,” he started once they were settled again. “Start from the beginning.”
Andy gulped down a significant swallow of his whisky, made a visible effort to collect his thoughts. Swallowed more whisky, tried again. “Uh, okay. So things have been pretty up and down since you guys left, you know? Tracy... Tracy isn't too thrilled with the whole, you know, psychic thing,” he made a twirling motion in the air with his free hand, “but I promised I'd never make her do anything she didn't want to do, except, you know, to save her from some other asshole trying to mind-control her. But what are the odds of that, right?”
“Right,” Sam nodded, trying to hide the impatience that made him want to grab Andy, turn him upside down, hold him by his ankles and simply shake him until the story came tumbling out onto the floor in a jumbled pile of words. “So, she's sticking around?”
Dean shifted in his chair, and for a moment Sam thought he was going to tell the both of them to quit dancing around the topic, but instead he wrenched to the side, eyes scrunched shut, his whole body snapping forward with the force of the sneezes. “Hiih... HEPTSCHUH! HEISHOO! HEISHTCH!”
“Gesundheit,” Sam said mildly.
“Uh, bless.” Andy glanced from Dean to Sam, then decided Sam was the safer option. “Yeah, Tracy's sticking around. For now, anyway. She's the only reason I haven't gone nuts, really. This is all pretty intense,” he poured himself another drink, and Sam put out a hand.
“Easy there, Hemingway, I want you sober at least long enough to tell the whole story.”
Andy had the grace to flush. “Right. Sorry. I'm... not really dealing well. See, I thought it would be okay. I tried practicing, too. Not in a bad way,” he added hastily, seeing their expressions, “I mean, just trying to suggest things to people without talking. Good things, I swear! Like, you know, when I was at the bar, I'd get the drunks to give up their car keys and stuff. Hurts, though,” he said quietly.
Sam's hand strayed involuntarily to his temple. “Headaches?”
A nod. “Yeah. Bad ones. The more I try to use the... I don't know what to call it. Skill? Gift? Anyway, the more I use it, the more it hurts. Not if I talk, but if I try to do it only with my mind. It feels like someone's driving spikes through my head. So I don't really use it much.”
“I can understand that.”
“I figured you would,” Andy made a face that Sam couldn't quite get a read on. “I kept thinking of you nearly passing out in the road the night Weber tried to kill Tracy...” he puffed out his cheeks in a sigh. “I like you guys, you know, but my life has seriously sucked since I met you.”
At this Dean gave a sympathetic nod. “We get that a lot,” he said sombrely, then immediately brought the back of his hand to his mouth. “Hhh... HPTSCH! Uh, God! Son of a bitch,” he muttered darkly, and finished off his glass of whisky. Andy refilled it without even asking.
“At first I thought I had a handle on it. Then I got the house, and things kind of started looking up... and that's when people started dying.”
Sam glanced at Dean, but his brother was busy trying to stifle yet another sneeze, so he leaned forward, propped his elbows on the table. “Dying how?”
“That's just it... weird, random deaths.”
“How long ago did it start?” Dean had pinched his nose shut viciously, and was giving Andy his full attention now, unconsciously scrubbing at his nose with the cuff of his sleeve.
“Uh, late February?”
“Which begs the question, dude: why didn't you call us sooner?” Dean's tone wasn't accusing, but Andy flinched anyway.
“I don't know. I keep telling myself I didn't know, that I couldn't know, but mostly I just really didn't want to admit that anything else weird was going on. I mean, twins separated at birth with the powers of mind-control having to face off and kill each other was more than enough weird to last me several lifetimes, you know?”
Sam nodded. “So. The deaths.” This time he didn't stop Andy from having another sip of his drink. The kid had calmed down enough that he wasn't gulping it down like juice anymore, anyway.
“The first one was an electrocution, some guy out in the middle of freaking nowhere. They said it was a freak lightning strike, but there weren't any electrical storms that night. The weather was really nice, actually. We had an unseasonably warm winter,” he added, seemingly irrelevantly.
“And the others?”
“They were all different. One guy collapsed in the middle of the street, blood pouring out of his... well, his whole face. Nose, eyes, ears, mouth. Everywhere. It was horrible. A woman drowned in her bedroom, some guy managed to have his throat slit with fifteen people looking at him, without anyone able to tell who did it. Then another woman caught fire and burned alive.”
“Spontaneous human combustion?” Sam felt his eyes pop out of his head.
Andy shrugged. “What can I say? It's crazy, right? I mean, that kind of stuff doesn't freaking exist, except that six months ago I could have told you for sure that werewolves and vampires didn't exist, and a year ago I would have laughed at the idea that some people had powers of mind-control. So I don't know. It all happened, so something has to be causing it, and from what little you told me, I figured it might be something like that. So I did some researching on my own...”
Dean groaned melodramatically and rested his forehead on his arms. “Oh, God, another research freak!”
Sam punched him in the shoulder. “Shut up. And seriously, dude, stop calling me a freak.” It came out sounding whinier than he'd intended, and he cringed. Way to impress how independent and normal he was. Real authoritative.
“I'll c-call you any-huh... anything I... HKTSCHUH!” Dean's head snapped down abruptly into a cupped palm. Without missing a beat he punched Sam right back with his free hand. It figured that, even sick, Dean's aim would still be flawless. Sam rubbed his shoulder, rolled his eyes, and turned back to Andy.
“I'd apologize for him, but I wouldn't know where to start. So, do us both a favour and tell us about your research.”
Andy was looking at them with a mixture of bemusement and amusement. “Are you two seriously the only thing standing between us and the apocalypse?”
“God, I hope not,” Dean muttered, head still on his arms, and although Sam said nothing to that effect, privately he agreed wholeheartedly.
“No, there are a fair number of other hunters out there,” he assured Andy. “Some of who've been doing this for longer than we've even been alive.” He didn't add that he and Dean had probably seen more action than a lot of them combined in the past few years. That would just be rubbing salt in what must obviously be a raw wound.
“So I did some research,” Andy rolled his eyes, reminding Sam of himself for a split-second, “and the only explanation I came up with that fits all of it is that they've got to be the result of psychic abilities.”
“There was Scott Carey,” Sam reminded Dean. “Remember, in Lafayette? The one who said he could electrocute things?”
“Too bad Gordon st-stabbed the f- HEPTSCHUH! uh...” Dean passed a hand over his face, tried again. “Too bad he kicked it before we could get a chance to t-talk to him... heh... HEISHTCH! Son of a bitch!”
Andy screwed up his face, hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Uh, you sound pretty rough. You maybe want to...” Dean cut him off.
“Just keep talking.”
“Okay, yeah. So I didn't know about this guy in Indiana, but it all ties together, right? Psychokinesis, pyrokinesis, mind control... it all fits. All the deaths were pretty close by, and there've been all those signs of, uh, demonic activity,” Andy stumbled over the word as though he still hadn't quite brought himself to believe it yet. “The ones you were talking about before. So when that woman died today, I figured it had to be significant. So I called, as soon as I could get to a phone.”
Sam's mind was racing, his drink untouched on the table. “Wait. That was today?”
Andy nodded, the colour draining from his face. “I started doing the research last month, after the deaths started coming closer together.”
“So... the woman with the baby...” his mind whirled, and he felt dizzy trying to keep up.
“What baby?” Andy frowned, and Dean sat up.
“Sam... that hasn't happened yet.”
Part 4