Not the Demons You're Looking For (5/24)
Part 4
Part 5
Dean allowed Sam to convince him to take the cold meds with him as they left for the diner, and promise to keep them with him. It was a small concession, after all, and even though he obviously wouldn't be needing them for long, if it made Sam feel better, well, that was all right. Sam had made noises about maybe having breakfast at home, but after it became clear that Andy basically only had juice, soda and alcohol on hand, without so much as a slice of bacon to his name, Sam got handily outvoted. He looked about as good as Dean felt, and Dean couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety, looking at him. He'd give just about anything for them to get a break, for Sam to get a break, just hole up somewhere for a few days where they didn't have to worry about the goddamned end of the world. Of course, he had better chances of winning a snowball fight in hell than of that happening.
It was still raining. Figured.
They arrived in the diner dripping water on the floor, but at least this time they'd snagged a couple of umbrellas from the house. Umbrellas were an unheard-of luxury in the Winchester world, because they got in the way of hunting. Every now and then Dean was forcibly reminded that Sam was right, that the lives they lived were so far removed from normal that they easily lost sight of things other people took for granted. Andy picked out a corner booth, and before Dean could react he slipped into the seat next to Sam, putting the table between them. Dean didn't know whether to be amused, insulted, or flattered. He settled for sneezing into his elbow and muttering a curse under his breath. Damn cold. He sat on the other side of the table, his ass hitting the seat a little harder than he'd intended, his knees abruptly giving out at the last minute. He glanced up, made sure Sam hadn't noticed, pulled a napkin out of the dispenser, his breath hitching again.
“Hih... HEISTCHUH!”
“Bless,” Andy offered, burying his nose in his menu.
Dean grunted an acknowledgment and prayed for coffee, twisting in his seat to look for the specials menu. Like magic, a waitress materialized at the table, flashing them all a smile full of white, even teeth. She was definitely cute, he decided, with big brown eyes and a small upturn to her nose, freckles scattered across her cheeks.
“Good morning!” she chirped, pulling her pad from the pocket of her apron, pen poised. “What can I get for y'all?”
“Coffee,” came the simultaneous answer, and she burst into peals of laughter.
“Well, that goes without saying, doesn't it?” she teased. “But man can't live on coffee alone. Gotta have some food to go with it, right?”
“Wh-what are your sp... hih... specials? HUPTSCHOO!” Dean clamped a napkin over his nose and mouth in the nick of time, blew his nose again, feeling the congestion ease a little. Maybe the meds were finally kicking in.
“Bless, hon,” she didn't bat an eye. “We've got eggs benedict this morning, and Andy here can vouch that Tony makes a mean eggs benedict, isn't that right, Andy?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.”
She awarded Andy another smile. “Well, aren't you going to introduce me to your friends, Andy? Or are we going to have to stay strangers?”
Dean perked up immediately, and offered the hand that wasn't hanging onto his napkin. “I'm Dean, and this is my brother Sam. It's a pleasure,” he gave her his most winning smile.
“Nancy,” she took his hand, then giggled.
With uncanny timing, his nose twinged, and he pulled away, burying his face in his napkin again. “HETSCHUH! Huh... HISHOO!”
“Gesundheit,” Sam said, for probably the tenth time.
“Bless, hon,” Nancy gave him a commiserating look. “Got a cold, huh?”
Dean managed a dismissive gesture with one hand. “I'm f- HETSCHUH!”
“Uh-huh. Typical guy. Won't admit that you're sick until you can't stand up by yourself, right?”
He grinned, wiping his nose with a fresh napkin. “We lose points otherwise,” he said mock-seriously, and was rewarded with another laugh.
“All right, I'm going to get you coffee before you hurt yourself, and I'm deciding for you that you're going to have the special. No arguing,” she waggled her pen at him. “How about you two?”
Sam started as though she'd stabbed him with her pen. “Uh, I'll have the pancakes, please.” Not that that was a surprise.
“The usual for you, hon?”
Andy nodded. “Please.”
“Be back in a jiffy!” she turned and sauntered off, giving Dean a spectacular view of her backside. He turned back and leered at Sam.
“Hate to see 'em leave, love to watch 'em go.”
Sam rolled his eyes, shook his head, but smiled in spite of himself. “Unbelievable.”
He pinched his nose shut as another sneeze threatened -enough was enough, after all. “Okay, first off, ground rules.”
“Ground rules?” Sam's eyebrows shot up behind his bangs. “What the hell, Dean?”
Dean held up a hand, then stared directly at Andy. “Ground rules, for you. Because you've never worked with us before, except that one time, and you were the case then, not a sidekick. Rule number one: no putting the psychic whammy on me, under any circumstances. Got it?”
Andy squirmed. “'Course not.”
“I bean it,” Dean coughed, feeling the congestion starting to creep back up on him. “No baking be give up by car, no funny stuff. Dothing. Got it?”
Andy fiddled with his fork. “Uh... what if I have to? I mean, if it's to, y'know, keep you safe. Like last time, with Tracy?”
He resisted the sudden impulse to knock his forehead against the table. “Okay. Id the extrebely unlikely circubtsance that sobeone else puts the psychic whammy on be and tries to get be to eat by gun, or sobething, then and only then can you interfere. Got it?”
“Yeah, got it.” Andy slumped in his seat, still fiddling with his fork.
“Jesus, Dean. Lighten up, would you? It's not like Andy's going to take away your precious Impala again.” Sam rolled his eyes.
“Easy for you to say, freak-boy. His mind-bending stuff doesn't work on you.” Dean growled, rubbing at his nose which had begun to tingle again. This was getting very old, very fast. “Hiih... son of... hih... eeh.. EISHOO!”
“Gesundheit.” Sam's face had folded into a scowl, and too late Dean remembered that his baby brother had gotten all sensitive about being called a freak. Not that he could blame him entirely. “You're still being paranoid.”
“Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean there isn't an invisible demon about to eat your face,” he pointed out sourly.
Andy looked up. “Haven't I heard that somewhere before?”
Dean shrugged. “You suggesting it's not the product of my own brand of genius?”
“Uh.”
“Dean.”
He grinned. “Sorry.”
Nancy appeared with food and, blessedly, coffee. “Here you go, hon, and I brought you an extra napkin,” she handed the paper in question to Dean, neatly folded in four, winked, and sashayed back to the kitchen. He glanced at the napkin, caught sight of a number scrawled in pen on it, smiled to himself and tucked it into his jacket pocket. Sam snorted.
“Unbelievable,” he said again. “Even sneezing and full of snot, you still manage to get phone numbers.”
Dean was unrepentant. “Are you kidding? I'm freaking adorable.” He picked up his coffee cup, swallowed gingery as the scalding liquid burned against his sore throat.
Andy was looking at him admiringly. “The only way that would ever happen to me is if I Jedi mind-tricked the girl into giving me her number. Not that I ever did that,” he added hastily. “Totally not cool. I'm all about the Light Side of the Force.”
“You remember the ground rules, right?” Dean said pointedly.
An almost frantic nod. “Yeah, absolutely. Sure. No psychic whammy. Got it.”
“Okay, so what do we know?” Sam wrenched the conversation back on topic, keeping his voice low so as not to attract the attention of any of the other patrons in the diner. “We have four weird deaths, starting in February, and getting closer together as time goes on. Ash tells us there's been a ton of demon-related activity in the area, and it looks as though it's probably got something to do with the yellow-eyed demon. Beyond that... Dean?”
Dean held up a hand in warning, holding a fresh wad of napkins over his nose and mouth, gearing up for what felt like a massive sneezing fit. As it turned out, he wasn't far wrong. “Hiih... HETSCHUH! HEISHH! Heh-HEPTSCHUH! Huh...” he sniffled, gasped, started up again. “HEISHTCHUH! EISHOO! Uh... sniff! HISHOO! HEISHOO!” He kept coughing once the fit was over, his lungs screaming for air. “Uh, God,” he groaned, pressing his free hand to his forehead for a second, just to make sure his head hadn't exploded while he wasn't paying attention.
“Uh, bless?” Andy offered diffidently.
Sam just handed him another handful of napkins to replace the now-soggy ones he'd crumpled in his fist. He took them without a word, blowing his nose, which was beginning to feel as though he'd been scraping at it with sandpaper all morning. He shoved the napkins into his pocket, corralled his thoughts, took another drink of coffee.
“So what we deed to do is figure out if these people are coddected id sobe way other thad their freaky deaths,” he said, impressed with his ability to get out a coherent sentence. If he could manage two in a row, then maybe he wouldn't have to deal with Sam making concerned-looking bitchfaces at him all morning long. “We'll deed to get a look at the autopsy reports, baybe the police records, too, if we cad get theb.”
“Uh, that shouldn't be a problem,” Andy said, and swept his hand from left to right in a classic these-aren't-the-droids-you're-looking-for gesture. “I'm pretty sure I can manage that.”
“Right. Good.” His nose was already running again, and how was it possible for it to be both blocked and running, and how was that even remotely fair? He pulled a napkin from the rapidly-emptying dispenser and tried not to wince as he wiped his nose with it. Real men didn't wince because of that sort of thing. “After that we do sobe interviewing, see if we cad talk to the fabilies. We should try to find that woban id your visiod,” he added, looking at Sam, who shrugged, looking kind of pained.
“I don't know if we can, Dean. I've never had one that was so vague before. I don't know what I saw, I have no idea when it's going to happen. It's going to be hard to find her based just on that.” His face screwed up with frustration, and for a moment Dean wanted nothing more than to give him a reassuring pat and tell him everything would be fine. Except, of course, that that was a big fat lie, and Dean was trying not to get into the habit of lying to his little brother. It always led to bad things. Always.
“Well, baybe we'll luck out. We cad check the local paper archives, see if you recogdize adyode.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“I can ask around, too,” Andy offered. “You said there was a baby, right? Well, then you should check the birth notices. A lot of the time they have pictures of the new mom and baby, and we know that it has to be within the last year, right?”
Dean reached forward and clapped Andy on the shoulder. “Andy, you're a genius.”
Andy started, then grinned. “Thanks.”
Sam nodded, a small smile hovering around the corners of his mouth. “Okay, then, let's get started.”
Part 6
Part 5
Dean allowed Sam to convince him to take the cold meds with him as they left for the diner, and promise to keep them with him. It was a small concession, after all, and even though he obviously wouldn't be needing them for long, if it made Sam feel better, well, that was all right. Sam had made noises about maybe having breakfast at home, but after it became clear that Andy basically only had juice, soda and alcohol on hand, without so much as a slice of bacon to his name, Sam got handily outvoted. He looked about as good as Dean felt, and Dean couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety, looking at him. He'd give just about anything for them to get a break, for Sam to get a break, just hole up somewhere for a few days where they didn't have to worry about the goddamned end of the world. Of course, he had better chances of winning a snowball fight in hell than of that happening.
It was still raining. Figured.
They arrived in the diner dripping water on the floor, but at least this time they'd snagged a couple of umbrellas from the house. Umbrellas were an unheard-of luxury in the Winchester world, because they got in the way of hunting. Every now and then Dean was forcibly reminded that Sam was right, that the lives they lived were so far removed from normal that they easily lost sight of things other people took for granted. Andy picked out a corner booth, and before Dean could react he slipped into the seat next to Sam, putting the table between them. Dean didn't know whether to be amused, insulted, or flattered. He settled for sneezing into his elbow and muttering a curse under his breath. Damn cold. He sat on the other side of the table, his ass hitting the seat a little harder than he'd intended, his knees abruptly giving out at the last minute. He glanced up, made sure Sam hadn't noticed, pulled a napkin out of the dispenser, his breath hitching again.
“Hih... HEISTCHUH!”
“Bless,” Andy offered, burying his nose in his menu.
Dean grunted an acknowledgment and prayed for coffee, twisting in his seat to look for the specials menu. Like magic, a waitress materialized at the table, flashing them all a smile full of white, even teeth. She was definitely cute, he decided, with big brown eyes and a small upturn to her nose, freckles scattered across her cheeks.
“Good morning!” she chirped, pulling her pad from the pocket of her apron, pen poised. “What can I get for y'all?”
“Coffee,” came the simultaneous answer, and she burst into peals of laughter.
“Well, that goes without saying, doesn't it?” she teased. “But man can't live on coffee alone. Gotta have some food to go with it, right?”
“Wh-what are your sp... hih... specials? HUPTSCHOO!” Dean clamped a napkin over his nose and mouth in the nick of time, blew his nose again, feeling the congestion ease a little. Maybe the meds were finally kicking in.
“Bless, hon,” she didn't bat an eye. “We've got eggs benedict this morning, and Andy here can vouch that Tony makes a mean eggs benedict, isn't that right, Andy?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.”
She awarded Andy another smile. “Well, aren't you going to introduce me to your friends, Andy? Or are we going to have to stay strangers?”
Dean perked up immediately, and offered the hand that wasn't hanging onto his napkin. “I'm Dean, and this is my brother Sam. It's a pleasure,” he gave her his most winning smile.
“Nancy,” she took his hand, then giggled.
With uncanny timing, his nose twinged, and he pulled away, burying his face in his napkin again. “HETSCHUH! Huh... HISHOO!”
“Gesundheit,” Sam said, for probably the tenth time.
“Bless, hon,” Nancy gave him a commiserating look. “Got a cold, huh?”
Dean managed a dismissive gesture with one hand. “I'm f- HETSCHUH!”
“Uh-huh. Typical guy. Won't admit that you're sick until you can't stand up by yourself, right?”
He grinned, wiping his nose with a fresh napkin. “We lose points otherwise,” he said mock-seriously, and was rewarded with another laugh.
“All right, I'm going to get you coffee before you hurt yourself, and I'm deciding for you that you're going to have the special. No arguing,” she waggled her pen at him. “How about you two?”
Sam started as though she'd stabbed him with her pen. “Uh, I'll have the pancakes, please.” Not that that was a surprise.
“The usual for you, hon?”
Andy nodded. “Please.”
“Be back in a jiffy!” she turned and sauntered off, giving Dean a spectacular view of her backside. He turned back and leered at Sam.
“Hate to see 'em leave, love to watch 'em go.”
Sam rolled his eyes, shook his head, but smiled in spite of himself. “Unbelievable.”
He pinched his nose shut as another sneeze threatened -enough was enough, after all. “Okay, first off, ground rules.”
“Ground rules?” Sam's eyebrows shot up behind his bangs. “What the hell, Dean?”
Dean held up a hand, then stared directly at Andy. “Ground rules, for you. Because you've never worked with us before, except that one time, and you were the case then, not a sidekick. Rule number one: no putting the psychic whammy on me, under any circumstances. Got it?”
Andy squirmed. “'Course not.”
“I bean it,” Dean coughed, feeling the congestion starting to creep back up on him. “No baking be give up by car, no funny stuff. Dothing. Got it?”
Andy fiddled with his fork. “Uh... what if I have to? I mean, if it's to, y'know, keep you safe. Like last time, with Tracy?”
He resisted the sudden impulse to knock his forehead against the table. “Okay. Id the extrebely unlikely circubtsance that sobeone else puts the psychic whammy on be and tries to get be to eat by gun, or sobething, then and only then can you interfere. Got it?”
“Yeah, got it.” Andy slumped in his seat, still fiddling with his fork.
“Jesus, Dean. Lighten up, would you? It's not like Andy's going to take away your precious Impala again.” Sam rolled his eyes.
“Easy for you to say, freak-boy. His mind-bending stuff doesn't work on you.” Dean growled, rubbing at his nose which had begun to tingle again. This was getting very old, very fast. “Hiih... son of... hih... eeh.. EISHOO!”
“Gesundheit.” Sam's face had folded into a scowl, and too late Dean remembered that his baby brother had gotten all sensitive about being called a freak. Not that he could blame him entirely. “You're still being paranoid.”
“Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean there isn't an invisible demon about to eat your face,” he pointed out sourly.
Andy looked up. “Haven't I heard that somewhere before?”
Dean shrugged. “You suggesting it's not the product of my own brand of genius?”
“Uh.”
“Dean.”
He grinned. “Sorry.”
Nancy appeared with food and, blessedly, coffee. “Here you go, hon, and I brought you an extra napkin,” she handed the paper in question to Dean, neatly folded in four, winked, and sashayed back to the kitchen. He glanced at the napkin, caught sight of a number scrawled in pen on it, smiled to himself and tucked it into his jacket pocket. Sam snorted.
“Unbelievable,” he said again. “Even sneezing and full of snot, you still manage to get phone numbers.”
Dean was unrepentant. “Are you kidding? I'm freaking adorable.” He picked up his coffee cup, swallowed gingery as the scalding liquid burned against his sore throat.
Andy was looking at him admiringly. “The only way that would ever happen to me is if I Jedi mind-tricked the girl into giving me her number. Not that I ever did that,” he added hastily. “Totally not cool. I'm all about the Light Side of the Force.”
“You remember the ground rules, right?” Dean said pointedly.
An almost frantic nod. “Yeah, absolutely. Sure. No psychic whammy. Got it.”
“Okay, so what do we know?” Sam wrenched the conversation back on topic, keeping his voice low so as not to attract the attention of any of the other patrons in the diner. “We have four weird deaths, starting in February, and getting closer together as time goes on. Ash tells us there's been a ton of demon-related activity in the area, and it looks as though it's probably got something to do with the yellow-eyed demon. Beyond that... Dean?”
Dean held up a hand in warning, holding a fresh wad of napkins over his nose and mouth, gearing up for what felt like a massive sneezing fit. As it turned out, he wasn't far wrong. “Hiih... HETSCHUH! HEISHH! Heh-HEPTSCHUH! Huh...” he sniffled, gasped, started up again. “HEISHTCHUH! EISHOO! Uh... sniff! HISHOO! HEISHOO!” He kept coughing once the fit was over, his lungs screaming for air. “Uh, God,” he groaned, pressing his free hand to his forehead for a second, just to make sure his head hadn't exploded while he wasn't paying attention.
“Uh, bless?” Andy offered diffidently.
Sam just handed him another handful of napkins to replace the now-soggy ones he'd crumpled in his fist. He took them without a word, blowing his nose, which was beginning to feel as though he'd been scraping at it with sandpaper all morning. He shoved the napkins into his pocket, corralled his thoughts, took another drink of coffee.
“So what we deed to do is figure out if these people are coddected id sobe way other thad their freaky deaths,” he said, impressed with his ability to get out a coherent sentence. If he could manage two in a row, then maybe he wouldn't have to deal with Sam making concerned-looking bitchfaces at him all morning long. “We'll deed to get a look at the autopsy reports, baybe the police records, too, if we cad get theb.”
“Uh, that shouldn't be a problem,” Andy said, and swept his hand from left to right in a classic these-aren't-the-droids-you're-looking-for gesture. “I'm pretty sure I can manage that.”
“Right. Good.” His nose was already running again, and how was it possible for it to be both blocked and running, and how was that even remotely fair? He pulled a napkin from the rapidly-emptying dispenser and tried not to wince as he wiped his nose with it. Real men didn't wince because of that sort of thing. “After that we do sobe interviewing, see if we cad talk to the fabilies. We should try to find that woban id your visiod,” he added, looking at Sam, who shrugged, looking kind of pained.
“I don't know if we can, Dean. I've never had one that was so vague before. I don't know what I saw, I have no idea when it's going to happen. It's going to be hard to find her based just on that.” His face screwed up with frustration, and for a moment Dean wanted nothing more than to give him a reassuring pat and tell him everything would be fine. Except, of course, that that was a big fat lie, and Dean was trying not to get into the habit of lying to his little brother. It always led to bad things. Always.
“Well, baybe we'll luck out. We cad check the local paper archives, see if you recogdize adyode.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“I can ask around, too,” Andy offered. “You said there was a baby, right? Well, then you should check the birth notices. A lot of the time they have pictures of the new mom and baby, and we know that it has to be within the last year, right?”
Dean reached forward and clapped Andy on the shoulder. “Andy, you're a genius.”
Andy started, then grinned. “Thanks.”
Sam nodded, a small smile hovering around the corners of his mouth. “Okay, then, let's get started.”
Part 6