Not The Demons You're Looking For - (24 Parts)

[W.I.N.]

Title: Not The Demons You're Looking For

Author: Me (sheesh: talk about a copy/paste error!)

Fandom: Supernatural

Disclaimer: I think it's probably pretty clear by now that I don't own anything remotely connected with Supernatural, right?

Summary: Premonitions and a phone call bring the boys back into Andy Gallagher's neck of the woods. As if that wasn't bad enough, Dean's feeling under the weather... Set between "What Is And What Should Never Be" and "All Hell Breaks Loose." Spoilers pretty much for all of Seasons 1 and 2.

Authors Notes: This was originally a prompt from an LJ community which was taken up by someone else. Still, a little plot bunny sprang up in my head, and so I pinged mads3rv3r (who originally posted the prompt) and she was amenable to my using the prompt for my own story. I'm posting it here so that it won't conflict with the challenge on LJ.

A/N 2: This is unbeta'd, so please be gentle.

A/N 3: Oh, uh, emetophobes may want to beware this first part. Sorry. *cringe*

A/N 4: I know NOTHING about Guthrie, Oklahoma, but that's where the fic has to be set. Anyone from there, please PLEASE don't be offended, I am MAKING IT ALL UP.

A/N 5: (Dear God, W.I.N. shut UP already!) This was a beast of a story to write, but it's finished now and stands at 49,718 words. Thank you SO much to everyone who encouraged me to get it done!

Okay, enough rambling. On with the story!

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 1

“Dean, we've been driving for a million hours. Are you ever going to stop?” Sam could hear the petulant whine in his own voice and hated it, but couldn't quite help himself. His legs were cramped, his back hurt from being in the same position since God knew when, he was hungry and had to pee, and Dean looked like death warmed over. That was what bothered him the most, if he was honest with himself, and not the fact that Dean once again had insisted on leaving right away and kept them going at a frantic pace.

“It hasn't been a million hours. More like eleven. And quit being such a pussy. We're almost there, so keep your pants on.” Dean coughed into the back of his wrist.

“You look like crap.”

“Is that your medical opinion?”

“Dean, you barely got away from that djinn. You should be resting, not driving halfway across the country chasing after demon signs.”

“Sammy, I am not in the mood for a lecture.” Dean's face scrunched up for a moment, and he scrubbed at his nose with an irritated expression.

Sam huffed. “It's not a lecture. Why can't you just accept that I'm right about this?”

“So it's not your medical opinion. What, did you have some sort of freaky psychic premonition about not driving to Oklahoma?” Dean snapped.

“I don't need to be a psychic freak to tell that you're not feeling well,” Sam snapped right back, feeling his cheeks heat up. It was bad enough feeling like a damned freak without having his older brother rub it in. It had been weeks of this, of talking around the subject, pussyfooting around it, as Dean would say —if it were about anything other than Sam. Whenever Sam brought it up, Dean brushed it aside with varying levels of impatience, but it was obvious something was eating at him, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what that was.

“I'm fine.”

“Well, I'm not,” Sam cheated, shamelessly. “I'm tired and sore, and if we don't stop soon you're going to have to replace your precious baby's original leather interior.”

His brother growled low in his throat, but shook his head. “Fine. We're going to be reaching Langston soon. Can you hold it or do you need a bush?” he asked sardonically.

“Shut up and just get us there.”

By the time they were seated in the diner (and Sam had finally been able to make a break for the men's room), Dean was slumped in his seat, staring listlessly at his cheeseburger. Sam slid into his own seat, and began methodically tucking into the club sandwich he'd ordered, carefully separating the top layer of bread in order to spread mayonnaise on it with a flimsy plastic knife.

“Dude, how much mayo do you need on that thing?” Dean managed to look disgusted. “You manage to be a freak of nature even about your sandwiches.”

“I wouldn't talk if I were you. You're the one who puts ketchup on his Kraft Dinner.” Sam looked over at him, trying to be casual about it. Dean sounded congested, his voice rougher than usual. Sam sighed. If Dean was getting sick it certainly explained why he was so damned touchy, but it was going to make their trip a whole lot more difficult.

“It enhances the f-flavour.” Dean turned his head aside suddenly to catch a violent sneeze in the lapel of his coat. “HEHKRRSH!”

“Bless you.”

Dean grunted something that might have passed for thanks, reached for a napkin to wipe his nose. “You about ready to go?”

Sam gestured at his sandwich. “Uh, no? We just sat down, and you haven't even touched your food. You're sick, you need to eat something other than coffee. It doesn't count as a food group. Neither does whisky.”

Dean's breath was hitching. “Hh... HEPKSCHUH! HAAISHH!” he sneezed into his napkin, crumpled it into a ball, shoved it into his pocket. “I'm not sick. Would you stop?”

“Uh huh. Definitely not sick. People who aren't sick always sneeze that much.”

“HHEISHH-uh! It's fine. Just dusty in here, or something.”

“Denial is not a river in Egypt, Dean.”

“Just eat your dabbed sandwich, and let's go over the case.” Dean glowered, blew his nose into another napkin from the dispenser thoughtfully left on the table.

Sam leaned back in his seat, took a bite of his sandwich. “Fine. So from the stuff Ash gave us, we're heading right into demon central. There have been all sorts of the usual thing: weird weather patterns, lightning storms, unexplained livestock deaths, the whole nine yards.”

“You think it... huh...” Dean's eyes fluttered, and he pressed the back of his wrist to his nose to stave off the sneeze that threatened. “You think it's our yellow-eyed friend?”

Sam shrugged, uncomfortable. “Hard to say. From the outside, one demon looks pretty much like any other.”

“No freaky visions?” Dean scrubbed at his nose with another napkin, turning it bright pink.

“Have you noticed me passed out from excruciating pain any time recently?” Sam rolled his eyes, debated calling Dean on the “freak” nomenclature, decided against it when he saw the expression on his brother's face.

“Okay, you h-have a p-poi... HESTSCHUH! Uh,” Dean groaned, rubbed his face with both hands. “So, we have exactly no information.”

“Well, my keen powers of deduction tell me you've come down with a cold.”

“Shut up, Sherlock. I'm fine. Quit trying to analyse me, or whatever.”

Sam blinked at him. “Dude, how did that sentence even make sense?”

“Shut up.”

“I don't know why I even talk to you when you're like this.”

He finished his sandwich slowly, as well as his fries, watching surreptitiously to make sure Dean had at least a few bites of his cheeseburger. When he was done, and Dean hadn't so much as touched his plate, he stood up, pulled a couple of bills from his wallet. “I'll be right back.”

“Dude, I swear you have a bladder the size of a walnut.”

He didn't bother answering, headed to the men's room to wash his hands clean of the remnants of his sandwich. This was exactly the kind of thing Dean enjoyed ribbing him about (“OCD much, Sammy?”), and he was decidedly not in the mood for it. He was watching the water run clear and cold over his fingers when the pain struck like knives being plunged into his temples, and he grabbed hold of the sink to keep from falling, his knees buckling as the vision took over in a series of flashes: a woman, holding a baby —flash— a window breaking —flash— the woman screaming —

“Hey, Princess, what's the hold-up?”

—flash— the baby crying —flash— blood pooling beneath the windowsill —flash—

“Sam?”

The next thing he knew, Sam was on the floor, the cold seeping from the tiles through his jeans, the heels of both hands pressing against his eyes. Slowly he pulled his hands away, blinked painfully at the sharp light coming from the overhead bulb, watched Dean's worried face swim into focus.

“Talk to me, Sam.” Dean was tilting his head back, looking at his eyes, then he leaned into one of the stalls, pulled a wad of toilet paper free, and it was only when he lifted it to Sam's face that Sam realized that his nose was bleeding. He took the paper from Dean, pinched his nose shut, kept his head tilted back, concentrated on breathing. In and out. “Sam?”

“A... a woman. I think. And a baby. Someone died.” He struggled to find the right words, his head throbbing in time with his pulse. “There was a window, and blood.”

“Do you know where?”

He shrugged helplessly, setting off more flares of pain in his head, clutched at his eyes with his free hand, grateful that Dean was there to prop him up. “I couldn't tell. I could hear the baby crying...” His stomach lurched as images of blood surged back behind his eyelids. “Gonna be sick...”

Dean was on his feet in seconds, dragging him to the nearest toilet. “Okay, Sammy, take it easy,” he rubbed Sam's back, up and down, between his shoulder blades, as all of Sam's dinner came back in a hurry. “I got you. Take it slow.”

For a few minutes Sam thought he might never stop. Even when there was nothing left his body kept trying to turn itself inside-out, choking and coughing, until he was simply spitting up strings of bile and saliva, burning his throat and mouth. When it finally subsided he dragged in a shuddering breath, pushed himself shakily to his feet. Dean kept hold of his elbow, steered him back to the sink so he could rinse out his mouth and have a drink of water, kept rubbing his back.

“They're getting worse, aren't they?” he asked quietly.

Sam nodded, didn't have the energy to answer just yet. He splashed water over his face, washed away the remnants of blood, tried to get the trembling in his limbs under control. Took another shuddering breath. “I guess that answers your earlier question.”

Before Dean could reply, Sam's cell phone chirped. He fumbled in his pocket, flipped it open. “Yeah?”

“Uh... Sam? That you?”

“Andy?” He straightened, Dean's hand at his back. They hadn't heard from Andy Gallagher in months, not since the day they'd met him and he'd been forced to kill his twin brother. If he was calling now, it had to be bad.

“Uh, yeah, yeah it's me. Uh, how you doing?” Andy sounded nervous. Definitely something bad.

“Don't ask. What's wrong?” He flapped a hand impatiently at Dean's questioning expression.

“Uh, well, I think... something weird's happening. I don't suppose you're anywhere near me?”

Sam rubbed at his eyes. “Actually, we're about an hour and a half away. What's going on?”

“I'm not sure. Look, a woman died, and... I don't know. Look, I think it's bad. Can you come?”

“Of course. We'll be there as soon as we can.”

The relief in Andy's voice was unmistakeable. “Thank you.”

Sam flipped the phone shut, looked over at Dean. “Looks like we're going back to Guthrie.”

*****

[Zane]

AWSOME!!!! More?

[W.I.N.]

Hee! Thank you.

Patience, grasshopper. I have to actually write the rest first. I *do* have other stories posted up, though, to tide you over.

~W.I.N.

AWSOME!!!! More?

[telltale]

Oh, mannn, this looks like it's going to be so GOOD. I mean, it's already good, but I'm so intrigued to find out where you're taking this.

I also love that this is set post "What Is And What Should Never Be." It's such a great ep and Dean was already so vulnerable at the end of it.

[Zane]

haha. Love the patience grasshopper thing! I guess I'll have to check them out then!!! whahahaha!!!

[kilala]

Wow this is awesome so far, can I please have Sam and Dean? I promise to take good care of them! as always your writing is completely amazing, love it and can't wait to read more

[shygreeneyes]

Oooh, this IS an interesting start. Another plotful W.I.N. fic, just the thing to make my night. And I love stories focusing on Sam's psychic stuff, too.

[ID2006]

You are so good at adding in plot with sneezy fluff. I'm so lazy when it comes to that. Gah, why can't they make these into real episodes.

[W.I.N.]

Oh, mannn, this looks like it's going to be so GOOD. I mean, it's already good, but I'm so intrigued to find out where you're taking this.

I also love that this is set post "What Is And What Should Never Be." It's such a great ep and Dean was already so vulnerable at the end of it.

Well, the prompt was pretty specific about it being set toward the end of Season 2, and I figured that if Dean was going to succumb to stress-induced illness, it WOULD be right after that episode. That ep just about broke my heart. That bit where he just leans into his mother's touch with his eyes closed as though he never wants her to let go? GAH! I'm tearing up just thinking about it.

haha. Love the patience grasshopper thing! I guess I'll have to check them out then!!! whahahaha!!!

Hee! Looking at your age, I now realize that you're WAY too young to remember Kung Fu, the TV series, even in re-runs the way I saw it. I suddenly feel old.

Wow this is awesome so far, can I please have Sam and Dean? I promise to take good care of them! as always your writing is completely amazing, love it and can't wait to read more

Alas, they are not mine to give.

Thank you for the lovely compliment!

Oooh, this IS an interesting start. Another plotful W.I.N. fic, just the thing to make my night. And I love stories focusing on Sam's psychic stuff, too.

I tried writing this without a plot, and it wouldn't let me.

I am a sucker for the psychic stuff too.

You are so good at adding in plot with sneezy fluff. I'm so lazy when it comes to that. Gah, why can't they make these into real episodes.

Thank you! I actually kind of find it hard to write without a plot, although usually I'm just kind of winging it as I go. It's an interesting study in contradictions.

~W.I.N.

[crazy_cat_girl]

OOoooh, I remember this prompt and I am very excited to see where you take this. Thanks for the warning at the top, I get kind of squeamish reading parts with bodily fluids. :-P But I was prepared!

I love the way Dean keeps inadvertently calling Sam a freak and how Sam picks up on it every time. It's a very foreboding vibe considering the turn their relationship takes. I like how subtle it is, but still there...nagging away at Sam's confidence.

I also love the way that Dean is there for Sam when he needs him. The quiet observation about the headaches getting worse was so great at showing how Dean really cares about Sam and notices these things.

And, of course, you write Dean's sneezes like a work of art.

I have to say, when I saw a new fic from you, I was soooooooo happy. Thanks for posting and giving me something to look forward to!~

[mr.moosey]

w00t! This is fabulous! I need to find these prompts... But first I have to get some time to write...hmmm... Anyway, I loves it and can't wait for more!

[W.I.N.]

OOoooh, I remember this prompt and I am very excited to see where you take this. Thanks for the warning at the top, I get kind of squeamish reading parts with bodily fluids. :-P But I was prepared!

I love the way Dean keeps inadvertently calling Sam a freak and how Sam picks up on it every time. It's a very foreboding vibe considering the turn their relationship takes. I like how subtle it is, but still there...nagging away at Sam's confidence.

I also love the way that Dean is there for Sam when he needs him. The quiet observation about the headaches getting worse was so great at showing how Dean really cares about Sam and notices these things.

And, of course, you write Dean's sneezes like a work of art.

I have to say, when I saw a new fic from you, I was soooooooo happy. Thanks for posting and giving me something to look forward to!~

Oh, are you on LJ too? Small world.

I try to be good about warnings, as I have been caught off-guard a few times myself.

Yeah, poor Dean and Sam. They have a highly dysfunctional relationship, poor bunnies.

Thanks for the lovely compliment! You're turning me into a big gooshy pile of mush.

w00t! This is fabulous! I need to find these prompts... But first I have to get some time to write...hmmm... Anyway, I loves it and can't wait for more!

There are only a couple of cold/sneezing-specific prompts, alas. It's a hurt/comfort challenge. Still, if you're interested I can forward the link to you. The challenge is closed, but I don't think there's anything preventing you from taking inspiration. (Maybe telltale could weigh in here?)

There will be more as soon as I write it.

~W.I.N.

[W.I.N.]

Thank you for all the lovely comments, folks! As promised, here is part 2. Not beta'd, heck, I haven't even re-read it, so please be forgiving of the occasional lapse in grammar/syntax/spelling. If you do spot glaring errors, please let me know so I can fix 'em.

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 2

By the time they drove into Guthrie Sam's headache had finally begun to fade, although he felt like a wrung-out dishcloth. Dean was right: whatever was going on with the visions, it was getting worse exponentially. The first nightmares had been bad enough, and then the pain had started when they'd happened while he was awake, but now they were all but crippling, and he could feel the aftereffects for hours, leaving him limp and all but useless. The nosebleed was new, but then the pain had been a lot worse this time, and the vision not nearly as clear. If things continued like this... well, it wasn't something he enjoyed contemplating. Blinding pain, confusion and death. Such cheerful companions. Through the heavy rain that had begun to fall, Sam caught a glimpse of the clock tower in the centre of Guthrie, reading 12:20.

He scrubbed at his face with one hand, wondering if it would be too much to ask of Dean for them to find a place to sleep for what was left of the night. First, though, they had to meet up with Andy, find out just what the hell was going on in these parts. Dean was looking pretty much how Sam felt: like death warmed over. He'd been coughing and sneezing intermittently ever since they'd left the diner, growling like an old dog whenever Sam so much as tried to mention anything about it. Andy had given them a street address to find, and Dean was cursing under his breath, trying to find his way in the dark and the pouring rain.

“Son of a bitch... couldn't give us a place we al-alrea... HGGFFHH!” he raised his elbow in front of his face, eyes watering.

“Sixteen.”

“What?” Dean turned to glare blearily at him, then tapped the break pedal as another sneeze welled up. “HAPTSCHUH!”

“Seventeen.”

Dean sniffled, cuffed at his nose with his wrist. “Dude, are you counting how many times I've sneezed? That's taking the OCD a little far, don't you think?”

“I figured a little empirical evidence might go a long way to convincing you that you're maybe not as not sick as you claim.”

“I'm fine. Or I will be, as soon as we f-find this da- hiih... damned... HEISTCH-uh! damned address Andy gave us. Why couldn't he just meet us? He's got wheels of his own.”

Sam shrugged. “It's past midnight. Makes sense he'd want to meet somewhere sheltered. Besides, I don't know if you noticed, but it's pissing rain.”

“That your keen sense of deduction at work again, genius?”

“Damn straight.”

“Huh... HHKSCHH!” Dean almost knocked his forehead against the steering wheel, then directed a glare at Sam. “Not. A. Word.”

Sam raised his hands in an I-didn't-say-a-thing gesture, scanned the area. “There,” he pointed. “Next on your right.”

Dean swerved, and for a moment Sam thought the Impala would lose all traction on the road and fishtail, crashing them all into the nearest phone pole, but that was him not reckoning with Dean's driving skills and his bizarre mind-meld with his precious baby. The car cornered beautifully, and a few moments later they cruised to the side of the road. Dean threw the car into park, sneezed into his cupped hands. Sam dug a napkin out of his pocket —he'd stocked up at the diner— and his brother took it without a word, blew his nose, elbows on the steering wheel.

They were soaked to the skin seconds after getting out of the car, but at least the house to which Andy had directed them looked pretty nice. The street was mostly dark —it was a residential neighbourhood after midnight— but the porch light was on, and a couple of lamps had been left lit in the living room, glowing warmly behind what looked like yellow curtains.

“Grab the gear or leave it?” he asked. God only knew what Andy had in mind, and it was useless to bring their stuff with them if they'd only have to go back out in search of a motel.

Dean pulled his jacket closer to him, and shook his head, reminding Sam a bit of a wet dog. “Nah, leave it. We'll come back for it if we have to,” he echoed Sam's thoughts. “Come on, let's go before we drown standing up!”

Sam trotted up the stairs to the front porch, made sure Dean was right behind him, then rang the doorbell. They waited a few minutes while the rain hammered down around them, though the porch roof was keeping them as dry as they were going to get at this point. A moment later the door opened a fraction, and a pair of anxious eyes peered out at them. Then the gap in the door widened, and Andy was standing there, looking much as he had four months earlier, a bit dishevelled, wearing jeans and a denim jacket, and in need of a shave and a good amount of shampoo. His delighted grin was unfeigned, though, and to Sam's surprise he suddenly found himself on the receiving end of a bone-crushing hug.

“Uh, Andy, hey... oof!” he managed, as Andy almost head-butted him in the solar plexus, effectively cutting off anything else he had to say.

“I'm so glad you're here!” Andy cried, his voice a little muffled from having his face buried in Sam's shirt.

Dean doubled over with another ear-popping sneeze. “HEPKSCHUH! You going to let us in, or are we going to stand out here all night?” he asked petulantly.

“Oh, uh, right.” Andy pulled away from Sam, gave Dean a doubtful glance. “I take it you're not the hugging type?”

Dean gave him a wry look. “Not so much, no. How 'bout a manly handshake and back-pat?”

Andy grinned. “Sure.”

Formalities dispensed with, he led them into the house. Dean whistled appreciatively. “Nice house, dude. You've moved up in the world. What happened to your wheels?”

“Oh, I've still got the van,” Andy assured him. “I, uh, still spend most of my time there. Truth is, being here... in this house... it makes me a little uncomfortable.”

The décor certainly didn't fit with with what Sam knew of his psychic counterpart. Andy was a really bright kid (and it was funny that he thought of Andy as a kid, when they were almost exactly the same age). Scarily bright, really, when it came down to it. Sam had gone into pre-law at Stanford, but by contrast Andy was entirely self-taught, and had a predilection for reading really really difficult philosophy books. Sam had meant to ask him about Kant, in particular, but somehow between the mind-control, the evil twins, and the multiple forced suicides, there had just never seemed to be a good time to bring it up. Go figure. Still, the house was a comfortable suburban thing, decorated all in pastels and bright colours, with quaint lamps and picture frames on the walls. There were also photographs that very obviously weren't Andy's interspersed with some of his.

“Uh... how did you come by the house?” he asked diffidently, feeling a knot starting to form in his stomach.

Andy stiffened. “I didn't Jedi mind-trick anyone into giving it to me, if that's what you're asking.”

Sam raised both hands in a peace gesture. “I'm just wondering, is all.”

Andy looked embarrassed. “Sorry. It's just... my mother left it to me. My birth mother, I mean.”

“Holly Beckett?” Sam felt his eyes widen.

“Yeah,” Andy shrugged, uncomfortable. “Well, she left it to both of us —my brother and me. Only Webber... or Ansem, or whatever the hell his name is —was— isn't exactly around to share. She didn't have any family, you know. I thought that was kind of sad, that she died not ever knowing that her kids were okay. Well, that I was okay. Uh... you guys want a beer or something?”

“God, please.” Dean peeled off his jacket, pressed the back of his wrist to his nose, his face crumpling. “HPTSCHUH!”

“You okay?” Andy was rummaging in the fridge.

They answered at the same time, though predictably Dean's answer was “Yes,” while Sam's was “No.” Dean glared, and Sam shrugged.

“What? It's true. Admit you've got a cold, already.”

“Sam, last I checked, you were studying pre-law at Stanford, not pre-med. Enough with the Doogie Howser act, okay?”

Sam rolled his eyes, went back to the original subject. “It was nice of your... biological mother to give you her house.”

Andy set out the beers on the round wooden table in the kitchen, motioned to them to sit. Dean flipped his chair around and straddled it, arms crossed over the back, chin resting on his forearms, holding his beer bottle by the neck between his thumb and index finger.

“Yeah, it was real nice,” Andy agreed. “Weird, but nice. Having a home all of a sudden... it kind of made me re-think some stuff. I'm thinking of getting a degree, maybe trying for an actual career instead of just impressing the chicks with my rudimentary understanding of philosophy.”

Sam smirked. “Very kantian of you.”

Andy laughed outright at that. “Shit, when do you even find the time to read?”

“Sometimes I don't sleep well,” Sam shrugged, glancing away, at the kitchen clock, anywhere.

Dean broke the awkward silence a moment later, his breath hitching. “Hih... sniff... son of a —HEPTSCHUH!” he kept a death-grip on the beer bottle, which impressed Sam. Trust his brother to keep his priorities straight. He dared Sam to say anything with a quelling look, turned to Andy. “So, dude, not that we don't like you and all, but how about giving us an idea of why you called us out of the blue at night and in the pissing rain?”

“Oh, uh, right. Yeah.” Andy got up, chair scraping against the blue and white tiles of the kitchen floor. He started pacing, seemingly unaware that he was doing it. “I wouldn't have called, you know, if I didn't think it was important. I mean, I know you guys are busy, and that there are bad things —really bad things— out there, and...”

“Dude, spit it out already,” Dean snapped, his temper already frayed by the hour, the fact that he was wet, and by his steadily worsening cold.

Andy made an effort to pull himself together. “You said we were connected, right?” he said to Sam. “Because of this yellow-eyed demon. The one that set fire to my house. You said the demon had plans for us, right?”

“Yeah, that's right.” Sam nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“And you said that there were more people out there like us, right? People our age, with abilities, right?”

“Dude.” Dean made an impatient 'hurry-up' gesture with one hand.

Andy raked a hand through his hair. “I think I've found more of us.”

Sam sat bolt upright in his chair. “You have?”

He nodded, looking pale and uncertain all of a sudden. “Sam... I think something bad is coming.”

*****

[shygreeneyes]

Andy moving ahead in life? Nifty.

And just what is it that he's afraid to talk about?

I love the sneeze-counting, too!

[aggedy_ann]

Mmm...

Something tells me Sam now has his hands full, both with whatever is going on, and with Dean. And even though he's stopped counting out loud, you just *know* he's keeping track in his head

Looking forward to more whenever you find time

[LOSTfreak]

You have the characters down perfectly, I can picture everything so vividly! Your stories have definitely been occupying my need for a sicky episode. Although if they don't film one soon, I may have to tie some writers up and stuff them in my closet until they come to their senses.

[Cerulean Flower]

You've made me SO happy! I love sick Dean. All sniffily, sneezy and defensive. Your writing style is absolutely amazing. I love every bit of this and I can't wait for more. ^^

[telltale]

Oh! Oh, oh, the counting of the sneezes, and cranky!sick!Dean, and the COLD DENIAL (loooove) and Sam's "Sometimes I don't sleep well," (oh, Sammy!) and haha, just thinking about Kant fills me with loathing from my uni days, but your dialogue is so spot-on! Can't wait to read more.

[Aprilcot]

Don't stop there!!!!!!!!

This is amazing!!! You are definitely spoiling us!

Thank you!!!

Please continue!!!

This is great!!

[crazy_cat_girl]

W.I.N. I seriously want to live inside your story. This is so great. I love how you pace yourself. Reading as Dean gets slowly sicker is an amazing tease. :-P

[kilala]

You are way too good to us, thank you for all of your amazing stories

[W.I.N.]

Andy moving ahead in life? Nifty.

And just what is it that he's afraid to talk about?

I love the sneeze-counting, too!

Well, Andy's trying, anyway. Since this is set *right* before All Hell Breaks Loose, we all know how well that works out for him, poor boy. Too bad, 'cause I really liked the character.

As for what he's afraid to talk about, well, wait and find out!

Sneeze-counting is a trope I really like and don't get to use nearly as often as I'd like.

Mmm...

Something tells me Sam now has his hands full, both with whatever is going on, and with Dean. And even though he's stopped counting out loud, you just *know* he's keeping track in his head

Looking forward to more whenever you find time

Sam is *totally* keeping track in his head.

And yes, he is definitely going to have his hands full.

Thanks for reading!

~W.I.N.

You have the characters down perfectly, I can picture everything so vividly! Your stories have definitely been occupying my need for a sicky episode. Although if they don't film one soon, I may have to tie some writers up and stuff them in my closet until they come to their senses.

I checked very carefully, and apparently tying up writers in your closet without their express consent is frowned upon. More's the pity.

I'm glad you like it!

(Who is that in your icon, btw?)

You've made me SO happy! I love sick Dean. All sniffily, sneezy and defensive. Your writing style is absolutely amazing. I love every bit of this and I can't wait for more. ^^

Gosh, thanks!

I'm working on the next part right now.

And yeah, Dean is all sorts of defensive. Winchesters don't *get* sick, after all!

Oh! Oh, oh, the counting of the sneezes, and cranky!sick!Dean, and the COLD DENIAL (loooove) and Sam's "Sometimes I don't sleep well," (oh, Sammy!) and haha, just thinking about Kant fills me with loathing from my uni days, but your dialogue is so spot-on! Can't wait to read more.

Hee! I know. The boys are SO silly about these things. Makes them extra-cuddly.

I'm glad you like the dialogue. I'm trying very hard to keep it in character.

I have fond memories of philosophy class, but I never took it at a university level, so maybe that's why...

W.I.N. I seriously want to live inside your story. This is so great. I love how you pace yourself. Reading as Dean gets slowly sicker is an amazing tease. :-P

Wow, that's a HECK of a compliment! Thank you.

You are way too good to us, thank you for all of your amazing stories

No, thank you. You guys are a HUGE motivation to keep writing.

~W.I.N.

Mod Note: Merged posts ~Mute

[W.I.N.]

Here we go, folks! Unbeta'd, as usual, so be nice! The pointing out of glaring errors is always appreciated, however.

~W.I.N.

*****

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 practising, 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.”

*****

[LOSTfreak]

Oh, Deano.... . Hooray for chapter 3! What I love about your stories is that they're not just sneezefic, they're complete, mind capturing casefics. With sneezing. Also the fact that it's Supernatural, what could be more enjoyable? You're a fantastic writer, I'll be anxiously awaiting the next part. *stares an you with insane, wide-eyed creepiness*

I checked very carefully, and apparently tying up writers in your closet without their express consent is frowned upon. More's the pity.

I'm glad you like it!

(Who is that in your icon, btw?)

\

Oooops....I guess I'll have to return them. As long as they agree to my terms of course...

My icon is of Jensen as Alec (X5-494) from Dark Angel. I love him in this role. Well, really, I love him in any role.

[W.I.N.]

Oh, Deano.... . Hooray for chapter 3! What I love about your stories is that they're not just sneezefic, they're complete, mind capturing casefics. With sneezing. Also the fact that it's Supernatural, what could be more enjoyable? You're a fantastic writer, I'll be anxiously awaiting the next part. *stares an you with insane, wide-eyed creepiness*

I don't know what it is about Supernatural, but it makes me want to write and write and write. There are SO many stories that could be told around the boys. *happy sigh*

I don't know why my original intent of random sneezy fluff turns into casefics. I really don't. I start out with the best of intentions, and then the story insists on having a plot. Insists, I tell you!

Thank you for all the lovely compliments!

My icon is of Jensen as Alec (X5-494) from Dark Angel. I love him in this role. Well, really, I love him in any role.

It is him! I thought I recognized him, but I wasn't sure, because he looks so young! Aww... *pets the boy*

Umm...

That came off really creepy, didn't it?

I'd forgotten he was in that show! I really liked it when it aired, I'll have to pick it up now. All sorts of incentives to do so now... *whistles innocently*

I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

~W.I.N.