Not the Demons You're Looking For (18/24)
Part 17
Part 18
There had been more upheavals in the past year than in the whole of Andy's life put together, and there had been more upheavals in the last day than in the whole year, or almost. At least, that's what it seemed like to him. A year before he'd been just an average guy living out of his van, coaxing hot girls in with a little philosophy and the promise of the best pot available in the area. Then he'd discovered that he could make people do whatever he wanted to just by telling them to do it, and just when he'd been basking in just how cool it was never to get a parking ticket again and to get the occasional free drink, in came the Winchesters like the freaking wrath of God, murder and gruesome deaths hot on their heels. He knew it wasn't them, of course, but he couldn't help but think that his life had really started to go to shit the moment he'd pranked Dean Winchester into “lending” him his Impala for an hour or so.
He sighed, arranged the bowl of chicken noodle soup Sam had prepared on a small tray, and when Sam had gone he made his way carefully up the stairs, trying not to spill any of it and scald himself. He wasn't sure what sort of masochistic impulse had made him offer to stay and look after Dean. Well, as much as anyone could “look after” Dean Winchester. The guy put the “bad” in “badass,” and psychic powers or no, Andy was not ashamed to admit that he scared the crap out of him. Let his guard down for half a second, and Dean could easily hand him his ass, although he was pretty sure he wouldn't. He was pretty cool, for such a freaking scary guy. For all Sam was bigger and probably stronger, Andy felt a lot safer with the younger of the two Winchesters, though he would have been hard-pressed to say exactly why. Maybe because Sam was more like him, what with the whole psychic thing.
He paused at the door to the guest bedroom, feeling a lot more nervous than he knew he should be. It wasn't as though Dean had really given him any reason to be afraid. Sam had made it clear that all his threats were just hot air, posturing to save face, and Andy could sort of understand that. A guy like Dean, his main line of defense was his reputation, the knowledge that other people wouldn't want to mess with him unless they were really keen on getting hurt themselves. Admitting he was sick was tantamount to rolling over and showing his belly to the enemy. In fact, Andy wasn't sure that he wasn't more afraid of the idea of Dean Winchester being out of commission when the big bad -whatever it was- finally struck.
He stuck his head around the door. “Dean? You asleep?” he said softly, balancing the soup bowl carefully.
Dean was definitely not asleep. He was sitting up, hunched over in the bed, sniffling into a handful of tissues, and as Andy edged forward he snapped forward, sneezing fitfully, his shoulders clenching with the effort. “Hih... HEPTSCHUH! HHAISTCH! Huh... HUISHOO! ISHOO! HAPTCHUH!” He finally got the fit under control, breathing hard, blew his nose into the tissues, and Andy saw him grimace with pain.
“You okay?” he slipped into the room, put the soup on the night table next to the box of tissues.
“Whad do you thigk?” Dean tossed the tissues into the rapidly-filling trash can by the bed, rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. Andy ignored the tone, reminded himself that the guy was really sick, which was pretty much guaranteed to put anyone in a bad mood.
“I meant that more in a vein of 'did you need something?' I brought soup. Sam made it, but it's still edible,” he joked, and was rewarded with a smile and a soft chuckle.
“Id thad case, I'b ogkay, thagks.” Dean's eyes fluttered shut, and Andy saw his nostrils flare just before he twisted away toward the wall, sneezing into his sleeve. “ESHTCHUH! Huh-EKSH!”
“Bless. You warm enough?” Andy held out the box of tissues, and Dean nodded his thanks as he pulled another handful out, staring at them for a moment as though he had a fistful of jellyfish in their place before blowing his nose again.
“I'b fide. Where's Sab?”
“He went back to Lesley's place to help her lay down salt and whatever else it is you guys do to keep demons out.”
“Good.” Dean started to cough again, and the sound made Andy's chest ache in sympathy. Tentatively, feeling a lot like a park ranger trying to tame a rabid wolf, he sat on the edge of the bed, held out the half-full glass of water that Sam had left. Eyes streaming, Dean fumbled for a moment before getting a good grip on it, drained the contents.
“I'll refill that for you in a sec, bring back some more tissues, too. At the rate you're going, that box isn't going to last,” he said regretfully. “You really did a number on yourself, there, man.”
“D-dod't believe id d-doig thigs half... hih... ISHOO! halfway,” Dean shrugged ruefully. “Lousy freagkig tibig.”
“Something tells me the timing is never good in your universe.”
“Your udiverse too.”
“Unfortunately. Hey, can I ask you a question?” Andy felt a little bad about pestering Dean while he was sick, but then, he was pretty sure that the brothers would be blowing out of town as soon as this whole mess was sorted out.
Dean held up a hand in a clear signal to wait, the back of his wrist pressed to his nose. “Hih! Gudda sdeeze... hiih... uh!” he pulled away, breath hitching, desperation evident in his features, groped for the tissue box with his free hand. After a few seconds of frantic but useless searching, Andy took pity on him, reached over and handed over the box, and Dean buried his nose and mouth gratefully into a tissue, clutching the box to his chest. “Huh! Huh-ISH-oo! HHEISH! Uh... huh! HUPTSCHH! HEISHOO! ISHOO! Uh... God...” he kept his head in his hands, breathing hard.
“Bless.”
“What'd you wadt to kdow?” Dean hadn't looked up, was leaning heavily on his elbows.
“You know what? It can probably wait until you've had some sleep.”
This time Dean did look up, then carefully lowered himself back onto his pillow. “I'b too busy sdeezig to sleep. Go ahead ad asgk.”
“Okay. It's kind of personal, so, y'know, I'll understand if you don't want to answer, but you and Sam are kind of the only people I know who not only know about this sort of stuff but aren't freaked the hell out by it all.”
“Addy, you're gibig be a headagche. Ad thad's od top of the ode I had before.” Dean let his arm fall over his eyes, blocking out the sickly light coming in through the window.
“Sorry.” He turned the empty water glass over in his hands, jumped up to go refill it in the bathroom, not caring if Dean thought he looked crazy. At least he was doing something useful, he told himself as he ran the water, grabbed a new box of tissues to bring back with him.
“Okay, here's the thing,” he said, sitting back down and perching precariously on the edge of the bed. “Are you looking for a way to get rid our abilities?”
Dean's eyes flew open, and he sat up partway, resting on his elbows. “Whad?”
Andy kept his eyes down. “I just want to know where I stand with you. I've heard how you talk about Sam's visions, I know you don't like it. Hell, I can't blame you, they come straight from a demon if your account of the story is right. The thing is... I kind of don't want to end up on the wrong side of your shotgun, Dean. I don't think Sam would do it, but you?” He paused, chewing on his lip.
“We dod't kill hubads, Addy.”
“Funny how that stops applying once you change the definition of human. Weber's dead, and don't tell me you wouldn't have pulled the trigger if you'd had the chance. I saw the gun.”
Dean didn't answer, but that was all the answer Andy needed.
“Yeah, I thought so. Look... I like you. Both of you. And I don't think I'm flattering myself when I also say that I think the feeling's mutual. I just have to know if I can trust you. So, I need you to tell me the truth. Could you do that for me?”
It had taken Andy a very long time to figure out that he could be more subtle than simply putting the whammy on people. It took more effort, more precision, and more often than not led to a splitting headache, but if he did it just right, a lot of the time he could just give people a gentle nudge in the direction he wanted them to go. He tried to tell himself that this case was an exception, but he knew there wasn't really a justification for it, no real excuse. He just really, really wanted to know. So he lent that extra bit of inflection to his voice, forced the information to the surface.
Dean sighed, rubbed at his face with one hand, and shook his head, obviously agitated. “I dod't kdow, ogkay? You wadt to kdow what I'b pladdig? I cad't tell you 'cause I habe no freagkig clue. D'you kdow whad by dad told be righdt before he died? His lasdt words? He told be I bight have to kill Sab.” He turned his head aside to cough into his elbow. “Sobe freagkig lasdt words, huh? Doh 'I love you,” or sedtibedtal shit ligke that, doh. Dot frob Johd freagkig Widchester. Id's all 'Protect your brother,' as if I had't beed doig that for twedty-two years, ad thed 'You bight habe to kill Sabby, if he turds.' Jesus freagkig Christ!”
Whatever Andy had expected, it wasn't this. He inched forward, put a hand on Dean's arm, tried to undo some of the damage he'd inadvertently wrought. “Okay, take it easy. Easy, Dean, calm down.” Dean twisted aside and doubled over, coughing, and for a minute Andy thought he might have done him irreparable harm, and he wondered just how he was going to explain this to Sam. His stomach twisted in fear, and helplessly he rubbed circles on Dean's back the way he'd seen Sam do before, sick at just how easy it had been to do this. “I'm sorry. Just take it easy. Deep breaths, that's it. Easy, now.”
He waited until Dean's breathing returned to normal, pulled the bedclothes up over his shoulders. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I won't do it again, promise.”
Dean just nodded, eyes closed, folded in on himself.
“I'm going to let you get some rest. I'll re-heat the soup later, if you want. Uh... do you think you'll be able to sleep?”
There was a tired nod. Dean's gaze was already going vacant, eyelids drooping, obviously exhausted, which did nothing to assuage Andy's guilt.
“Okay, then. I'll, uh. I'll come back and check on you. You know, just in case, so you don't have to yell if you need something.”
“Would you jusdt go already? Tryig to sleep, here.” Dean sounded more amused than annoyed, but Andy could take a hint.
“Right. Sleep well.”
Part 19
Part 18
There had been more upheavals in the past year than in the whole of Andy's life put together, and there had been more upheavals in the last day than in the whole year, or almost. At least, that's what it seemed like to him. A year before he'd been just an average guy living out of his van, coaxing hot girls in with a little philosophy and the promise of the best pot available in the area. Then he'd discovered that he could make people do whatever he wanted to just by telling them to do it, and just when he'd been basking in just how cool it was never to get a parking ticket again and to get the occasional free drink, in came the Winchesters like the freaking wrath of God, murder and gruesome deaths hot on their heels. He knew it wasn't them, of course, but he couldn't help but think that his life had really started to go to shit the moment he'd pranked Dean Winchester into “lending” him his Impala for an hour or so.
He sighed, arranged the bowl of chicken noodle soup Sam had prepared on a small tray, and when Sam had gone he made his way carefully up the stairs, trying not to spill any of it and scald himself. He wasn't sure what sort of masochistic impulse had made him offer to stay and look after Dean. Well, as much as anyone could “look after” Dean Winchester. The guy put the “bad” in “badass,” and psychic powers or no, Andy was not ashamed to admit that he scared the crap out of him. Let his guard down for half a second, and Dean could easily hand him his ass, although he was pretty sure he wouldn't. He was pretty cool, for such a freaking scary guy. For all Sam was bigger and probably stronger, Andy felt a lot safer with the younger of the two Winchesters, though he would have been hard-pressed to say exactly why. Maybe because Sam was more like him, what with the whole psychic thing.
He paused at the door to the guest bedroom, feeling a lot more nervous than he knew he should be. It wasn't as though Dean had really given him any reason to be afraid. Sam had made it clear that all his threats were just hot air, posturing to save face, and Andy could sort of understand that. A guy like Dean, his main line of defense was his reputation, the knowledge that other people wouldn't want to mess with him unless they were really keen on getting hurt themselves. Admitting he was sick was tantamount to rolling over and showing his belly to the enemy. In fact, Andy wasn't sure that he wasn't more afraid of the idea of Dean Winchester being out of commission when the big bad -whatever it was- finally struck.
He stuck his head around the door. “Dean? You asleep?” he said softly, balancing the soup bowl carefully.
Dean was definitely not asleep. He was sitting up, hunched over in the bed, sniffling into a handful of tissues, and as Andy edged forward he snapped forward, sneezing fitfully, his shoulders clenching with the effort. “Hih... HEPTSCHUH! HHAISTCH! Huh... HUISHOO! ISHOO! HAPTCHUH!” He finally got the fit under control, breathing hard, blew his nose into the tissues, and Andy saw him grimace with pain.
“You okay?” he slipped into the room, put the soup on the night table next to the box of tissues.
“Whad do you thigk?” Dean tossed the tissues into the rapidly-filling trash can by the bed, rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. Andy ignored the tone, reminded himself that the guy was really sick, which was pretty much guaranteed to put anyone in a bad mood.
“I meant that more in a vein of 'did you need something?' I brought soup. Sam made it, but it's still edible,” he joked, and was rewarded with a smile and a soft chuckle.
“Id thad case, I'b ogkay, thagks.” Dean's eyes fluttered shut, and Andy saw his nostrils flare just before he twisted away toward the wall, sneezing into his sleeve. “ESHTCHUH! Huh-EKSH!”
“Bless. You warm enough?” Andy held out the box of tissues, and Dean nodded his thanks as he pulled another handful out, staring at them for a moment as though he had a fistful of jellyfish in their place before blowing his nose again.
“I'b fide. Where's Sab?”
“He went back to Lesley's place to help her lay down salt and whatever else it is you guys do to keep demons out.”
“Good.” Dean started to cough again, and the sound made Andy's chest ache in sympathy. Tentatively, feeling a lot like a park ranger trying to tame a rabid wolf, he sat on the edge of the bed, held out the half-full glass of water that Sam had left. Eyes streaming, Dean fumbled for a moment before getting a good grip on it, drained the contents.
“I'll refill that for you in a sec, bring back some more tissues, too. At the rate you're going, that box isn't going to last,” he said regretfully. “You really did a number on yourself, there, man.”
“D-dod't believe id d-doig thigs half... hih... ISHOO! halfway,” Dean shrugged ruefully. “Lousy freagkig tibig.”
“Something tells me the timing is never good in your universe.”
“Your udiverse too.”
“Unfortunately. Hey, can I ask you a question?” Andy felt a little bad about pestering Dean while he was sick, but then, he was pretty sure that the brothers would be blowing out of town as soon as this whole mess was sorted out.
Dean held up a hand in a clear signal to wait, the back of his wrist pressed to his nose. “Hih! Gudda sdeeze... hiih... uh!” he pulled away, breath hitching, desperation evident in his features, groped for the tissue box with his free hand. After a few seconds of frantic but useless searching, Andy took pity on him, reached over and handed over the box, and Dean buried his nose and mouth gratefully into a tissue, clutching the box to his chest. “Huh! Huh-ISH-oo! HHEISH! Uh... huh! HUPTSCHH! HEISHOO! ISHOO! Uh... God...” he kept his head in his hands, breathing hard.
“Bless.”
“What'd you wadt to kdow?” Dean hadn't looked up, was leaning heavily on his elbows.
“You know what? It can probably wait until you've had some sleep.”
This time Dean did look up, then carefully lowered himself back onto his pillow. “I'b too busy sdeezig to sleep. Go ahead ad asgk.”
“Okay. It's kind of personal, so, y'know, I'll understand if you don't want to answer, but you and Sam are kind of the only people I know who not only know about this sort of stuff but aren't freaked the hell out by it all.”
“Addy, you're gibig be a headagche. Ad thad's od top of the ode I had before.” Dean let his arm fall over his eyes, blocking out the sickly light coming in through the window.
“Sorry.” He turned the empty water glass over in his hands, jumped up to go refill it in the bathroom, not caring if Dean thought he looked crazy. At least he was doing something useful, he told himself as he ran the water, grabbed a new box of tissues to bring back with him.
“Okay, here's the thing,” he said, sitting back down and perching precariously on the edge of the bed. “Are you looking for a way to get rid our abilities?”
Dean's eyes flew open, and he sat up partway, resting on his elbows. “Whad?”
Andy kept his eyes down. “I just want to know where I stand with you. I've heard how you talk about Sam's visions, I know you don't like it. Hell, I can't blame you, they come straight from a demon if your account of the story is right. The thing is... I kind of don't want to end up on the wrong side of your shotgun, Dean. I don't think Sam would do it, but you?” He paused, chewing on his lip.
“We dod't kill hubads, Addy.”
“Funny how that stops applying once you change the definition of human. Weber's dead, and don't tell me you wouldn't have pulled the trigger if you'd had the chance. I saw the gun.”
Dean didn't answer, but that was all the answer Andy needed.
“Yeah, I thought so. Look... I like you. Both of you. And I don't think I'm flattering myself when I also say that I think the feeling's mutual. I just have to know if I can trust you. So, I need you to tell me the truth. Could you do that for me?”
It had taken Andy a very long time to figure out that he could be more subtle than simply putting the whammy on people. It took more effort, more precision, and more often than not led to a splitting headache, but if he did it just right, a lot of the time he could just give people a gentle nudge in the direction he wanted them to go. He tried to tell himself that this case was an exception, but he knew there wasn't really a justification for it, no real excuse. He just really, really wanted to know. So he lent that extra bit of inflection to his voice, forced the information to the surface.
Dean sighed, rubbed at his face with one hand, and shook his head, obviously agitated. “I dod't kdow, ogkay? You wadt to kdow what I'b pladdig? I cad't tell you 'cause I habe no freagkig clue. D'you kdow whad by dad told be righdt before he died? His lasdt words? He told be I bight have to kill Sab.” He turned his head aside to cough into his elbow. “Sobe freagkig lasdt words, huh? Doh 'I love you,” or sedtibedtal shit ligke that, doh. Dot frob Johd freagkig Widchester. Id's all 'Protect your brother,' as if I had't beed doig that for twedty-two years, ad thed 'You bight habe to kill Sabby, if he turds.' Jesus freagkig Christ!”
Whatever Andy had expected, it wasn't this. He inched forward, put a hand on Dean's arm, tried to undo some of the damage he'd inadvertently wrought. “Okay, take it easy. Easy, Dean, calm down.” Dean twisted aside and doubled over, coughing, and for a minute Andy thought he might have done him irreparable harm, and he wondered just how he was going to explain this to Sam. His stomach twisted in fear, and helplessly he rubbed circles on Dean's back the way he'd seen Sam do before, sick at just how easy it had been to do this. “I'm sorry. Just take it easy. Deep breaths, that's it. Easy, now.”
He waited until Dean's breathing returned to normal, pulled the bedclothes up over his shoulders. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I won't do it again, promise.”
Dean just nodded, eyes closed, folded in on himself.
“I'm going to let you get some rest. I'll re-heat the soup later, if you want. Uh... do you think you'll be able to sleep?”
There was a tired nod. Dean's gaze was already going vacant, eyelids drooping, obviously exhausted, which did nothing to assuage Andy's guilt.
“Okay, then. I'll, uh. I'll come back and check on you. You know, just in case, so you don't have to yell if you need something.”
“Would you jusdt go already? Tryig to sleep, here.” Dean sounded more amused than annoyed, but Andy could take a hint.
“Right. Sleep well.”
Part 19