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

[Aprilcot]

OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

KEEP GOING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THIS IS AMAZING!!!!!!!!

AS IS EVERYTHING ELSE YOU DO!!!!!!!!

*falls to the floor and dies in luxury and impatient wait*

[W.I.N.]

LOL

Careful, or we may have to confiscate your exclamation marks for abuse.

Thank you so much.

~W.I.N.

OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

KEEP GOING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THIS IS AMAZING!!!!!!!!

AS IS EVERYTHING ELSE YOU DO!!!!!!!!

*falls to the floor and dies in luxury and impatient wait*

[Lady Blessington]

I'm grinning my face off. You rock so hard, W.I.N.

Do you know, I don't think I've ever read fic with Andy in it. He makes me happy. You nailed his voice, like, nailed it. Back-rubbing from Dean... concerned, pissy, assessing Sam... getting to see Dean through Sam's eyes as he hovers on that point of almost-sick and then tips over into full-on sick, congested and sneezing his face off and raiding the diner's napkin dispenser, his sentences getting interrupted all over the place by all-consuming, amazingly-spelled sneezes that creep up on him... I'm so glad you decided to take this one up.

Sneezy Dean + mildly concerned Andy + eyerolling, frustrated Sam = love.

Very elegant the way you got Andy into that house. And the Dean/Impala mind meld... just yes.

I love that Andy's a little bit scared of Dean. I'm not sure I would have thought of that. I'm used to thinking of Dean in other terms... where he's... I don't know... where we're seeing him through Sam's eyes or through his own... and I forget that yeah, Dean is a giant badass, Dean can be scary as heck. It's awesome seeing Dean all pissed off and sick and bearlike here, unpredictable, this guy who lives on the edge and who's used to fighting for things and who you really don't want to mess with, even if he's not on top of his game just now. And then there's Sam offsetting him, Sam who knows him inside out and knows not to be scared of him, but Andy doesn't really know him that well.

Also? Hot sneezes.

*grabby hands for more story*

Mod Note: Merged posts ~Mute

[W.I.N.]

I'm grinning my face off. You rock so hard, W.I.N.

Do you know, I don't think I've ever read fic with Andy in it. He makes me happy. You nailed his voice, like, nailed it. Back-rubbing from Dean... concerned, pissy, assessing Sam... getting to see Dean through Sam's eyes as he hovers on that point of almost-sick and then tips over into full-on sick, congested and sneezing his face off and raiding the diner's napkin dispenser, his sentences getting interrupted all over the place by all-consuming, amazingly-spelled sneezes that creep up on him... I'm so glad you decided to take this one up.

Aww, thank you. *beams*

I've never seen a fic with Andy either, but then I haven't been in this fandom that long. Poor kid only ever got to be in two episodes, though, so maybe that's why.

I'm glad I took it up, too. I'm kind of finding out where it's going as I go along.

Sneezy Dean + mildly concerned Andy + eyerolling, frustrated Sam = love.

Very elegant the way you got Andy into that house. And the Dean/Impala mind meld... just yes.

Well, thank you. Given your prompt, I had to figure out a way to have Andy *not* living entirely out of his van.

And yes. Mind meld. Dean and his baby, all the way.

I love that Andy's a little bit scared of Dean. I'm not sure I would have thought of that. I'm used to thinking of Dean in other terms... where he's... I don't know... where we're seeing him through Sam's eyes or through his own... and I forget that yeah, Dean is a giant badass, Dean can be scary as heck. It's awesome seeing Dean all pissed off and sick and bearlike here, unpredictable, this guy who lives on the edge and who's used to fighting for things and who you really don't want to mess with, even if he's not on top of his game just now. And then there's Sam offsetting him, Sam who knows him inside out and knows not to be scared of him, but Andy doesn't really know him that well.

Also? Hot sneezes.

*grabby hands for more story*

I'm writing Part 4 now. And Andy is totally frightened of Dean. At the end of Simon Said, there's this really chilling exchange:

ANDY:

Wh-what am I supposed to do now?

DEAN:

You be good, Andy. Or we'll be back.

Tell me that you wouldn't be freaked out beyond all words if you were Andy. He can't mind-control Sam, and Dean is a scary, scary SOB at the best of times.

So, yeah. Those are my thoughts.

Thank you for all your awesome comments!

~W.I.N.

[W.I.N.]

Well, the story proceeds apace! This chapter is a little short on action or plot development, but I hope you'll forgive me and keep reading anyway.

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 4

Whatever she might have been in life, Holly Beckett hadn't been all that wealthy. She owned her small house outright, which was something, but it was just that —a small house. There was only one guest bedroom, and there was only one bed in it, which Dean scowled at. At least it was a king-sized bed, so there'd be plenty of room for his oversized baby brother to stretch out without knocking Dean off the bed. Small mercies. Sam had called an end to the conversation once it was clear they were going around in circles, and had made a bitchface when Dean had polished off a fourth glass of Jack's, obviously just itching to tell his brother just how bad it was for him to drink while he was sick. Well, screw that. The whisky felt warm going down, and just for a few minutes helped with the scratchiness at the back of his throat. He tossed his duffel on the floor, stripped unceremoniously to his boxers, and waited for Sam to get into bed before crawling in next to him, yanking the bedclothes up over his shoulders.

If he'd been hoping for a good night's sleep —what was left of the night, anyway— he was disappointed. For one, it was really, but really hard to breathe with your nose clogged. He was forced to breathe through his mouth, and that made his throat hurt more, and the air burned in his lungs a bit. For a while he tried not to cough, worried about waking Sam, but it was a losing battle. Shit. Lousy freaking timing. In fact, the timing was absolute ass. This wasn't the time to be getting sick, not with people dying in freaky ways all over Oklahoma.

He buried his mouth and nose in a corner of the bedspread. “HGKFHH!” He'd never been particularly good at keeping his sneezes quiet —that was Sam's specialty— and tonight was no different, except that Sam was right there, apparently sleeping properly for the first time in, God, it had to be weeks, and at this rate he was going to wake him. “HKPFFH!”

Sure enough, he felt Sam stir next to him. “You okay?”

Well, the cat was out of the bag, so Dean let himself sneeze properly. Maybe it'd get rid of the damned tickling once and for all. “Yeah, f-fine... HEISTCH! HISHOO! EISHOO! Huh... HAPTSCHUH!” he curled in on himself, wishing desperately for a tissue, but he wasn't convinced he was done sneezing yet. “Hih... HEISHOO! HEPTSCHUH!” he felt the bed creak and shift, and then Sam was kneeling next to the bed right by his head, holding a handful of tissues. Maybe Sam had developed mind-reading powers and hadn't told him. “Thanks.” He pushed himself upright, blew his nose before his head exploded. “Sorry I woke you.”

Sam's nose crinkled in a wry smile, and he held up a small trash can for the tissues,. “Don't worry about it.” That was what Dean liked about the night: there was no more hovering, no more fussing, just... this. Sam knew when to stop pushing, and he'd always had this weird sort of sixth sense, knowing just what to do. During the day Sam turned into an emo overprotective pussy, but that was all right, too. Just so long as it didn't get in the way of the hunt.

“You'd just have ended up kicking me in your sleep anyway.” Sam ruined the moment.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.” Sam poked him in the arm, then climbed back into the bed, settled under the covers with a contented sigh, and was asleep again in seconds, his back radiating warmth against Dean's side.

For a while Dean managed to doze off in spite of his aching throat. It really was a comfortable bed, way more comfortable than the crappy motel beds they'd been sleeping in, and definitely more comfortable than the Impala. His baby was everything to him, but she sure made a terrible bed. Sam always woke up cramped and in pain, and even Dean was beginning to find sleeping in the car hard on his joints. He wasn't even twenty-eight, and already his body was beginning to act like he was pushing forty. The price of getting thrown around by supernatural badasses. He started awake, his eyes trying to adjust to the pitch darkness of the room. It took a moment to identify what had awoken him, but when he did he felt his heart sink. Sam was curled almost in the foetal position, shaking, sweat trickling from his hairline. He was muttering under his breath, a steady stream of denials and pleas. The luminous red numbers on the digital clock told him it was just past four o'clock, which made it early instead of late. Cold comfort. Dean turned over, propped himself up on his elbow, and rubbed Sam's shoulder.

“Hey, Sam... c'mon, wake up. It's just a nightmare.” When Sam didn't react, he shook him a little harder. “Sam! Wake up!”

Sam's eyes flew open, and for a moment Dean thought for sure that he was going to lash out at him out of pure fear and adrenaline, but his expression cleared, and he relaxed, blowing out an exhausted-sounding breath. “I guess I woke you, huh?”

“Turnabout's fair play, bitch.”

Sam rubbed at his face, trying to clear the last of the nightmare from his mind. “Yeah, well, I'm sorry anyway.”

“Looks like neither one of us is meant to get any real sleep tonight. Uh... was the dream...” Dean hesitated, still uncomfortable with the whole situation.

“A vision?” Sam shook his head. “No, I'm pretty sure it wasn't. Just... the usual stuff.”

Which meant reliving Jess' death, over and over. Maybe with some extra stuff from their hunts thrown in, as far as Dean knew —Sam had stopped telling him anything about the nightmares a long time ago. Sometimes Sam talked in his sleep, and that's how he knew when he was dreaming about Jess, or about Dad, or about anything. Otherwise, he'd be in the dark completely, which alternately made him admire Sam and want to hit him, really hard, until the truth just leaked out like blood. As if Dean didn't have enough to worry about, between being Reason #1 that their father was dead, and his promise to his dying (though he didn't know it then) father that he'd look out for Sam before he turned to the Dark Side, or else... shit. He really didn't need this. He really, really wanted to hit something, but contented himself with patting his brother's stupid, stubborn head instead.

“Think you can go back to sleep?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. It's not so bad.”

Although Dean was convinced he'd never get back to sleep, he managed to doze an extra couple of hours before his lungs seized up, forcing him out of bed before he woke Sam again. He stumbled into the hallway, coughing hard into a clenched fist, the other pressed up against his chest in a futile effort to quell the fit. Not surprisingly, he felt like ten miles of bad road, as Bobby would put it, congested and aching. A glance at his watch told him the night was pretty much done as far as he was concerned, and right now a shower sounded like the most spectacular idea in the world.

The bathroom was really nice. Holly apparently hadn't been one to skimp in that department, and Dean luxuriated in the hot water, turning it on all the way and letting it scour his skin. Good water pressure and lots of hot water were two of the things that made life worth living. He felt his neck muscles start to relax, and the fire in his lungs began to die down. The room filled up with steam, which definitely helped with the congestion. He braced himself against the tiled wall with one hand, breath hitching.

“Huh... HUISHOO! Sniff... huh... HEPTSCHUH! HISHOO! Uh... God... HEISTCH!” he wiped uselessly at his nose with the back of his wrist. “HPKTCHUH! Hiih-HISHTCHOO!” he coughed, gasping for air like a stranded fish, then finally leaned against the shower wall as the fit subsided. “This sucks,” he informed the universe.

He towelled off quickly, goosebumps forming on his skin, then wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror, and stared balefully at his reflection. Sam was going to be a real pain about this, he just knew it. He looked like he'd been hit by a truck —not literally. To hell with it. He opened the medicine cabinet, rummaged among the bottles. There were some old prescriptions, a packet of birth control pills (Andy obviously hadn't cleaned it out yet), but there was also a bottle of NyQuil, a whole lot of Tylenol and Advil, and some generic cold & sinus stuff for daytime use. He snagged the Tylenol and the generic stuff, washed them down with a drink of water directly from the tap, and figured that would at least keep Sam off his case for the next little while. He shaved, brushed his teeth, felt almost like a new man.

By the time he got back to the bedroom Sam was just beginning to stir. He tossed his wet towel at his brother's head, just for the sheer amusement of watching him thrash sleepily. “Rise and shide, Sabby!” he coughed as he pulled clean(ish) clothes out of his duffel bag, annoyed that he still sounded so damned congested. “There are bad guys out there who dod't wait for people to get their beauty sleep. Cobe od, get up! I'b buying breakfast.”

Sam threw the towel back at him and scowled. “For someone who sounds like he's got a clothes pin over his nose, you're sure in a good mood.”

“Found sobe cold pills id the bathroob. Be right as raid id do tibe... heh...” his head reared back, snapped forward again. “HEISHTCH!” He grabbed a tissue from the box Sam had left on the night stand, blew his nose. Sam was watching him intently, as though he was trying to look right through to his core, and Dean flushed with embarrassment. He tugged on his jeans, pulled a t-shirt over his head. “What? Quit looking at be like that.”

“Dean.”

There was s a world contained in just that one word, and not for the first time Dean wondered where Sam acquired the ability to fit fifteen minutes' worth of lecture into exactly one syllable. It just wasn't fair, and it was annoying as hell, and so Dean decided that going on the offensive was his best defense. At least if he goaded his brother into action, he wouldn't have to deal with Sammy acting like a sollicitous stealth helicopter the whole day.

“Let's go, pridcess. Get cleaned up, we'll grab Andy, have sobe coffee, and figure out how we're going to handle this.”

Without waiting for Sam's answer, he strode back into the hall, and hammered on the door of Andy's bedroom. “Up and at 'em, Andy!” he yelled, then immediately regretted it as he doubled over in a fit of coughing. He cursed, pressed a hand to his chest, and spoke more quietly. “Let's go! Tibe's a-wastin'.”

He bounced down the stairs, settled in the kitchen with a glass of orange juice to wait for Sam and Andy. No way was he going to let a freaking cold get in the way of doing his work.

*****

[shygreeneyes]

Ah, Dean being The Man when he feels and sounds like crap. Just what I needed tonight.

[Lady Blessington]

Oh Dean. So delusional about the amount of sick you are.

I love that he has the gall to wake up his host. LOL. And the general congested wonderfulness. Aghghhh.

[W.I.N.]

Ah, Dean being The Man when he feels and sounds like crap. Just what I needed tonight.

I'm glad I was able to provide it, then.

And yeah. Dean is all about walking it off. Best way to deal with colds, don't you know.

Oh Dean. So delusional about the amount of sick you are.

I love that he has the gall to wake up his host. LOL. And the general congested wonderfulness. Aghghhh.

Totally delusional. And of COURSE he's going to wake up his host. Dean has no concept of how normal people function. There's work to be done, and it's not going to get done if they're all asleep, right? He's a very purpose-driven guy.

Of course, this is all going to come back to bite him, you know.

~W.I.N.

[Aprilcot]

LOL!!!!!!!!!

It might bring me back down from heaven to have my exclamation marks taken off of me!! LOL

I love this, it is just too good to describe!

I love this, and, I just repeated that, lol, it's worth saying twice, anyway...

Dean is so annoying, but Sam will hopefully get even with him

I love the night time scene with Sam looking after Dean gently.

NEED MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[iluvsneezes]

This story is totally awesome!!

[W.I.N.]

LOL!!!!!!!!!

It might bring me back down from heaven to have my exclamation marks taken off of me!! LOL

I love this, it is just too good to describe!

I love this, and, I just repeated that, lol, it's worth saying twice, anyway...

Dean is so annoying, but Sam will hopefully get even with him

I love the night time scene with Sam looking after Dean gently.

NEED MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Aww, well, we wouldn't want to bring you down off your high, would we?

I'm glad you're still liking this. Dean is annoying, but in that older-brother way which Sam totally misses now that it's gone. I *miss* the Season 2 boys, they were so innocent...

As self-serving as it sounds to say I like my own writing, I like the night scenes with the boys too: it's when they're on their own and let their guards down, just a little bit.

This story is totally awesome!!

Woo! I'm very glad you like it.

~W.I.N.

[W.I.N.]

The story proceeds! Thank you all for your lovely comments, and for bearing with me as this unfolds. Once again, there is no beta. Alack and alas, for I am beta-less! On the plus side, it *does* mean that I'm posting every day instead of waiting for feedback from someone who'll tell me just how much my syntax sucks. Blame it on my being French. Ahem. (Yeah, I know, it's not fair to pull the I'm-not-a-native-speaker card, but I am a total cheater ).

Thanks for reading everyone! I live for your comments.

~W.I.N.

*****

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.”

*****

[Lady Blessington]

*explodes*

*reconstitutes self*

Beta will strengthen anything but this is gorgeous and sturdy and clean as it is. And it blows me away how quickly the chapters are going up. You SPOIL ME.

Tu es six especes de awesome.

[W.I.N.]

*explodes*

*reconstitutes self*

Beta will strengthen anything but this is gorgeous and sturdy and clean as it is. And it blows me away how quickly the chapters are going up. You SPOIL ME.

Tu es six especes de awesome.

Okay, that last sentence made me laugh REALLY hard.

I'm aiming for about a chapter a day for as long as I can manage. I don't know if I'll be able to keep it up, since each chapter is clocking in just shy of 2,000 words. Whoever said writing isn't a lot of work was a liar.

I'm so glad you're enjoying it! I was really nervous, since it's your prompt.

~W.I.N.

[Lady Blessington]

I'm so glad you're enjoying it! I was really nervous, since it's your prompt.

I really really (really) am. It's like Christmas every day.

[W.I.N.]

I'm so glad you're enjoying it! I was really nervous, since it's your prompt.

I really really (really) am. It's like Christmas every day.

Shucks... you're embarrassing me.

~W.I.N.

[LOSTfreak]

This story is so achingly good and it just gets better and better! I'm waiting on pins and needles for the next part . You're a fantastic writer, I never would have guessed that you're French! I'm jealous, I'm trying to learn French right now. Being a beginner is tough . Anyways, your writing is lovely and you don't even need a beta.

[Fae]

He would look so yummy with a cold, no wonder that woman couldn't resist. I love this stuff, thanks for sharing it with all of us.

[W.I.N.]

This story is so achingly good and it just gets better and better! I'm waiting on pins and needles for the next part . You're a fantastic writer, I never would have guessed that you're French! I'm jealous, I'm trying to learn French right now. Being a beginner is tough . Anyways, your writing is lovely and you don't even need a beta.

Aw, thank you!

French is a beautiful language, it's great that you're trying to learn it. Let me know if you need any help.

He would look so yummy with a cold, no wonder that woman couldn't resist. I love this stuff, thanks for sharing it with all of us.

It's like he said: he's freaking adorable.

Uh, Part 6 is going to be going up tomorrow, folks. Sorry for the delay, but it's not quite finished yet and I keep falling asleep over my freaking keyboard. So rather than give you a half-assed attempt, I am going to take the extra time to make sure it's good.

~W.I.N.

[W.I.N.]

Here we are, faithful readers! A half-day's delay, but I trust that you don't mind too much.

Hope you like it!

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 6

Sam insisted on stopping to buy tissues before they even started investigating, and Dean didn't fight him too hard on it, given that his nose was doing its very best imitation of a runaway faucet. He managed to sneak a few more of the cold meds when he was pretty sure Sam wasn't looking, knowing just how much it would make his brother freak out and insist he go back home and go to bed or something equally as stupid when there was work to be done. Sam bought him a bunch of the travel-sized packets of tissues (the ones with lotion, God bless him) and several packs of throat lozenges. Dean couldn't even bring himself to crack a joke at his expense, just took them and shoved them into the pocket of his jacket.

“We should split up, cover more ground that way,” Sam said as they paused in the doorway of the drugstore, sheltering from the rain that was still pouring down.

“I vote you go chegk out the archives,” Dean said immediately. “Addy here ad I'll go talgk to the Sheriff, ged our hads od the case files.” Poring through articles and using the microfiche machines was definitely more Sam's thing than it was Dean's. He couldn't think of a more boring way to spend the day if he tried, but Sam got all cranked up about that kind of research. Go figure.

Sam's lips quirked as though he was trying not to smile. Hilarious. “Okay, sure. I'll see if I can recognize the woman I saw. Meet back for lunch?”

“HAAISH!” Dean buried his nose in the crook of his elbow, too late to fish out one of his new tissues.

“Gesundheit.”

“Bless.”

Dean would have rolled his eyes if he wasn't worried that they'd fall out of his head. “I hade to breagk id to you guys, but you bay as well gibe up dow. Ad the rate I'b goig, you're both goig to be hoarse by the edd ob the day.” He almost laughed at the identical looks of sympathy he got. “Do goig soft od be dow. Freagging girls, all of you. Sabby, first ode to fidish calls the others, okay?”

Sam nodded. “Okay, fine. Take more of the cold meds.”

“Way ahead of you.” This time he managed to get hold of a tissue as his nose staged another revolt, almost doubling him over. “Huh... HAISHOO! ISHOO! Uh... HEISHH!” He straightened, gave Sam what he hoped was a really stern look, although the massive amounts of snot might have ruined the effect. “Dod't stardt, Sab. It's jusd a cold,” he said through the tissue.

“Fine. I'll call if I find something.” Sam huffed the way Sam always did when he wasn't going to get his way, then commandeered one of the umbrellas and hurried away down the street without so much as a backward glance. For a moment Dean was almost sorry he hadn't argued or been difficult or... well, done anything Sam-like. Then again, this was a gift horse, better not look it in the mouth.

Andy fell into step beside him, holding the handle of the umbrella a bit as though it was the bridle of a skittish horse. He led the way to the sheriff's office, which doubled as the town's jail. “Uh, seriously... you okay?”

He wiped his nose, nodded. “Yeah. Feel ligke crap, but I've had worse. Id's a cold, dothig bore. You kdow the sheriff at all?”

Andy made a noncommittal gesture, the umbrella bobbing dangerously and sending a spray of water down Dean's neck, making him yelp and curse. “Sorry! Uh, yeah, I know him. I mean, it's a small town, right? Everyone knows everyone around here, even if it's not well.”

“Thigk he'd give up the files if we asgk dicely?”

After a moment's pause, Andy shook his head. “Nah. Probably not. He takes his job seriously.”

“Ogkay. L-loogks ligke w-we're... hih... doig id the h-hard... HPKSCHH-uh! the hard way,” he managed.

“Or the easy way, depending on how you look at it. Bless, by the way.” Andy closed the umbrella in another shower of water, eliciting another annoyed yelp from Dean, who was getting really freaking tired of having water spilled down his collar. By way of apology he held the door open, and Dean was a little amused to hear the chiming of bells as he walked in. He halfway expected to see shelves with knick-knacks for sale instead of a lawman's office.

An older man with a greying moustache wearing the brown shirt and beige cargo pants that seemed to be standard issue for every single small-town law office in the entire United States of America was sitting behind a large desk that looked like it had been rejected by Ikea for looking too cheap. He stood up immediately, came to the counter that separated the entrance from the rest of the office.

“Andy Gallagher. Haven't seen much of you around, son. You been keeping out of trouble?”

“Uh, yes, sir, Sheriff Andrews. You know me. Keeping out of trouble, it's what I do best,” Andy smiled nervously.

“Good, good. You know you can call me Bud, Andy, so long as you're not in any trouble. Who's your friend?” Andrews gave Dean a dubious look, and Dean wished he didn't look and feel like a bedraggled rat. Maybe being sick and caught out in the rain wasn't the best way to start an interview. Good thing he had Andy as the ace up his sleeve. He produced one of his fake I.D.'s and for once let someone else do the talking.

“Uh, this is Cliff Williams, Bud. He's a private investigator who's looking into those weird deaths we've had recently.” Andy leaned forward across the counter, lending emphasis to his words. “We need to look at all the reports you have on those cases. Please show them to us now.”

For a moment Bud's eyes lost their focus; Dean saw his pupils dilate and constrict, and then the look was gone, replaced with affable good humour. “Of course, of course. It's no problem at all. Why don't you boys follow me. You want coffee? We just made a fresh pot.” He lifted the mobile part of the counter up on its hinges to let them pass.

This wasn't the first time Dean had seen Andy work his mojo. Hell, he'd been on the receiving end, and he knew what it felt like (which was nothing at all) but it was pretty chilling to watch anyway. He was very glad he'd established ground rules about this right off the bat. Andy was a good kid, as far as he could tell, but mind-control was not something Dean wanted to mess with. He followed the Sheriff into a back room, sneezing wetly into yet another tissue. At this rate he'd be buying out the drugstore in no time. Lousy freaking timing. Well, there was no good timing for getting sick, but this was really lousy timing.

“Hih... HAAISH!” he sniffled, made a valiant if futile attempt to muffle his sneezes, which seemed to bounce of every single wall in the place. “HPFFGH! HPKTSCHH! Uh... HPKRSHH!”

“God bless, son,” Bud was pulling files from a grey metallic filing cabinet in the corner of his office. “Got a cold?”

He tossed his used tissue into a convenient trash can. “Yeah. Does it ever stop raidig aroud here?”

“Oh, eventually it always does. Been getting a lot more rain than usual for this time of year, I don't mind telling you. A man could drown standing up out there if he's not careful.”

“You're tellig be,” Dean muttered.

Andy appeared with two styrofoam cups of coffee, and handed one to Dean. “Uh, is there a place we can sit and look over these without getting in your way, uh, Bud?”

“Sure, you boys can take the spare office. Mabel's out on maternity leave, and I haven't found a proper replacement for her. Last girl was useless —kept burning the coffee. Figured out how to do it myself, saved the county the cost of an extra salary until Mabel gets back.”

He dumped a stack of manila folders into Andy's arms, and waved expansively in the direction of a plain wooden door with a name tag that read “Mabel Spooner.” The office turned out to look a lot like how Dean imagined Mabel: middle-American and cutesy. Motivational posters adorned the walls (“Perseverance: What the mind can conceive and believe, it can achieve!”), as well as an outdated calendar portraying kittens frolicking in what looked like a basket of Easter eggs. There was a wilted pot of African violets on the desk: obviously Bud's loyalty to Mabel didn't go as far as watering her plants.

“All right. Led's get this show od the road before I stab byself id the eye with ode of Baybel's fluffy peds.”

Andy picked up one of the offending articles, a fluorescent green thing that wobbled when he tried to take notes with it. “This is stupid.”

“You're tellig be.” Dean sat in Mabel's rolling office chair and pulled open the top drawer, where he found a bunch of Bic pens held together with a rubber band. “Yahtzee.” He tossed a pen to Andy, stuck another one in his teeth, shoved the drawer closed.

“So what are we looking for?”

Dean spat out the pen, snatched a tissue from the box on Mabel's desk (pink, with bunny rabbits), burying his nose and mouth in it. “HAPTSCHUH! Uh... God. We're lookig for cobbod elebedts. Adythig thad coddegts the vigtibs.”

“Gotcha.”

It was really, really hard to concentrate with a headcold. His head felt like it was filled with wet cement, his eyes itched and watered, his whole body hurt, and his nose would not stop goddamned running. Just freaking perfect. He settled himself as comfortably as he could, propped up on the table on his elbow, scrawling notes on a legal pad as he went. At least there was coffee, but it didn't go very far toward making his throat less sore, or help with the constant coughing and sneezing. After an hour, he was tired of listening to himself, and felt kind of bad for Andy, stuck in here with him. Sure, in the grand scheme of things catching a cold wasn't the worst thing that could happen, but that didn't prevent it from sucking like a hoover.

“Hiih... ISHOO! HAAISH! Sniff... huh-EKSCHUH-uh!” Okay, at this rate his head was definitely going to explode. Or he might spontaneously combust, like that woman, or something. Maybe all the victims had had colds and just didn't want to keep living. It seemed like a viable theory at this point.

Andy kept a steady supply of coffee coming, as it took seemingly forever to work through the files, but even with the hot liquid to keep him going, by the end of it he was hunched over the desk as though he was eighty years old, trying not to shiver.

“Uh... maybe we should call Sam,” Andy ventured finally. “I mean, we've gone through all the files, and I don't think we missed anything...”

Dean nodded, felt his breath hitch for the millionth time, and took another tissue from Mabel's rapidly-dwindling stash. “HEPKTCH-uh!” He wiped disconsolately at his nose, pretty sure that any attempt to blow it would just end up rupturing his sinuses. “Bay as well,” he agreed, wishing he didn't sound as out of breath as he felt. “We bight have to cobe bagk, to double-chegk thigs lader. Is thad goig to be a probleb?”

Andy shook his head. “Nah. Shouldn't be.”

“Ogkay.” He pulled out his cell phone, speed-dialled Sam. “It's be. Shud up, I dod't wadt to hear it. Did you get adythig? … Ogkay. W-we're jusd ab-aboud... hih... dode here. You g-goi... HEPTSCHUH!” he held the phone away from his ear, catching the sneeze in his sleeve. “You goig to beet us? ... Right. See you sood.” He turned back to Andy. “You good to go?”

“Please.”

“Ogkay. Thagk your buddy for his help, ad let's go.”

*****

[LOSTfreak]

So lovely! Poor baby . His stuffy talk is luscious.

[Lady Blessington]

*stumbles out of sexy haze*

The identical looks of sympathy. That's EXACTLY what I was hoping for with the prompt. So frigging CUTE.

*applauds vigorously*

*remembers the Ikea snark and snickers*

*totters back into sexy haze*

[Tari]

OH. MY. GOD!! *wibbles, melts and dies of cute*

[W.I.N.]

So lovely! Poor baby . His stuffy talk is luscious.

Heh. It's still a challenge to do stuffy talk. I'm always worried that if I misspell things too much then people won't understand what I'm writing anymore.

Unfortunately, he's not out of the woods yet.

*stumbles out of sexy haze*

The identical looks of sympathy. That's EXACTLY what I was hoping for with the prompt. So frigging CUTE.

*applauds vigorously*

*remembers the Ikea snark and snickers*

*totters back into sexy haze*

Oh, good. I'm *very* glad I got that right. Uh, things are going to get worse before they get better, I'm afraid, but I promise there will be lots of taking care of Dean at some point.

I love Ikea, but it's so very snark-worthy.

~W.I.N.

Hee! Thank you so much!

I'm really glad you like it.

~W.I.N.

OH. MY. GOD!! *wibbles, melts and dies of cute*

Mod Note: Merged posts ~Mute

[W.I.N.]

I hope people aren't too put off by the changing POVs in this story. I'm trying to strike a balance.

Thanks for bearing with me, folks.

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 7

Trust Dean to leave him alone to dig through the archives. By himself. Alone. Did he mention alone? Sam sighed, then reminded himself that going through all the police reports in the sheriff's office wasn't anymore fun than what he was doing, and that if Dean were in charge of going through all the microfiche documents he'd have given up after fifteen minutes out of sheer boredom. At least this way they would be sure to get whatever information there was to get, and with any luck they might be able to get their hands on the medical reports on the victims, maybe even be present for the autopsy on the woman who'd died the day before. At least this time they'd only have a minimal amount of cover-up to finagle, with Andy there to plant whatever suggestion they wanted in people's minds. As if that wasn't a chilling enough thought.

At least thanks to Andy's insight about the birth notices he had somewhere to start. It still took the better part of an hour to pull together a list of likely women with babies born in the last year. He sat, head in his hands, trying to bring her face to mind, but the vision had been fleeting, the woman standing with her back mostly to him. He'd caught a glimpse of long chestnut-coloured hair, high cheekbones, a thin nose, and that was it. He eliminated the women with very short hair, on the reasonable assumption that it wouldn't have had time to grow out that long in the intervening month, then eliminated all the women who weren't white, since that was about the only thing he was sure of. That still didn't narrow things down all that much, and he was beginning to wonder if there wasn't some sort of freak baby boom in the area in the last year. Eventually he narrowed it down to the ten likeliest candidates, and that was still too many. There was no way they'd be able to interview all these women before whatever it was that was about to happen happened.

He wanted to hit something really hard, frustration seeping from his pores. Instead he started scouring the archives again, trying to find a pattern to all the demon signs that had been cropping up in the area. Not surprisingly, there was a rash of very obvious signs dating from twenty-three years before, around the time Andy would have been six months old. Then nothing, though Sam painstakingly went through every paper published to make sure he wasn't missing anything. Dean would have been bored out of his skull. There had been a spike of activity in January, when he'd had the first vision that had brought them to Guthrie, then nothing until February, when the first death had occurred, and the activity had grown exponentially since then. Judging by the flood-levels of rain that had been falling since the day before, things were coming to a head. What else was new?

His phone rang not quite three hours after he'd first started his research, and he was relieved to see Dean's name pop up on the screen, since it promised a respite from the tedium. “Yeah? Hey. You sound —fine, I'm not saying anything... Yeah, I found a few things, nothing earth-shattering... Gesundheit... Yeah, sure, I'll meet you back at the house, okay?... Yeah, see you soon.”

He made copies of all the articles he'd pulled up, stacked them neatly into a pile, and begged a plastic bag from the receptionist to keep the rain from soaking the paper. He headed back out into the rain, grateful for the unheard-of luxury of an umbrella to supplement his jacket. Winchesters didn't do umbrellas. He was kind of surprised that Dean hadn't put up a fuss about the umbrellas getting in the way if they found themselves suddenly under attack, but then again Dean wasn't exactly at the top of his game, and was probably just as glad not to have to get soaking wet. He splashed through the puddles, the water seeping in through the gaps in his soles and soaking his socks, squelching as he walked. Dean's boots probably weren't in much better shape, which didn't bode well for later. Maybe they could both stand to get a new pair while they were here. Heck, Andy might be able to get them a hefty discount, but Sam wasn't sure if he was comfortable enough to go that far.

“Sam!”

He looked up to see Andy waving frantically at him from the other side of the street, umbrella tilting crazily in his other hand. Beside him Dean smacked him on the shoulder, and immediately the umbrella righted itself. Sam grinned in spite of himself. He liked Andy, and he had the feeling that Dean did as well. The kid was just so easygoing, in spite of all the weirdness and death that taken place over the past few months. Sam had said to Dean that Andy was a killer, when push came to shove, but he was beginning to think that Dean had been right, that it wasn't as cut-and-dried as that. Sure, the kid was more on edge now, but then, who wouldn't be? He made his way across the street, water sloshing around his feet, reaching the two just as Dean bent double in yet another sneezing fit, twisting away with both hands over his nose and mouth.

“Hih... HEISH! ISHOO! Huh-EKSHOO! HUPTSHUH! Huh-ISH-uh! HPKRRSH!” he straightened, cuffed at his nose with his sleeve, wiped his hands on his jeans. “Sabby,” he held up a hand by way of greeting. Sam could hear that his voice was starting to give out, although it probably wouldn't have been audible to anyone who wasn't family. It was just that he knew Dean's voice better than anyone alive, now. The thought depressed him. “How were the argchives?”

“Boring. You holding up okay?”

Dean nodded, but his nose was bright red, the only spot of colour in his otherwise pale face. “Yeah, I'b ogkay. Feel ligke I'be god cebedt id by head, bud bostly I'b ogkay.”

“We should head back,” Sam bit his tongue so as not to harp on about Dean's general state of health. There were only headaches and drama down that particular path. “We can make lunch, figure out our next course of action.”

“Uh... there's still no food at the house,” Andy pointed out. “We can always get groceries, but I don't really cook. It's not like I did much of it while I was living out of my van,” he said, a bit more defensively than Sam would have thought was warranted.

Dean was wrestling with a tissue that had managed to get soaked through with rainwater between his pocket and his face. “HAISHOO! Ugh,” he made a face, squashed the tissue into a soggy tattered ball in his fist. “Sabby cad't coogk either. I tried to teach hib, but id's ligke tryig to teach a badatee to rollerskate. Hilarious, but with really udfortudate resuldts. Hih... HISHOO! Jesus.”

“A manatee, Dean? Really?”

“If th-the shoe f... hih... HETSCHUH! If the shoe fits, Sabby...” Dean grinned.

“So, uh, groceries? Or are we going to stand in the rain?” Andy wanted to know, and was obviously desperate to interrupt them before they started arguing again. The kid had never had a brother, obviously.

“None of the above,” Sam decided. “We may as well give into the inevitable and find a place with hot food.”

“Baybe Dadcy is still worgkig,” Dean said, looking hopeful, and Sam sighed.

“Fine.”

Nancy wasn't working. Instead it was an older woman whose name tag read “Doris,” who smiled at them all in a motherly way, and left Dean looking sulky in the corner of their booth. Sam spread out his photocopied articles on the table while Dean pulled out the notes he'd taken in the sheriff's office, and together they bent over them, trying to piece together what was happening. Dean's cold was getting worse, Sam could hear it in the way each breath whistled quietly, imperceptible if you weren't listening for it, which Sam was. Dean might take care of Sam, but it was Sam who always figured out when something was wrong with Dean and alerted their father. When he bothered to think about it at all he thought of it as having a kind of Dean-radar, but most of the time it was like second-nature, like breathing, like knowing when a patch of cold air was a ghost or just a draft due to crappy insulation.

“Take your decongestants,” he said, not looking up from the notes, knowing better than to try to make a big deal out of this, as Dean twisted away, trying to clamp down on another coughing fit without much success. By the sound of it, this thing was going to settle right down in Dean's lungs, and the last thing either of them wanted or needed was Dean getting bronchitis, or worse, pneumonia.

“Aye aye, s-sir... HEPTSCHUH!”

“The sneezing totally undercuts your sarcasm, Kemosabe,” he remarked mildly.

“Bide be.”

“As does the congestion. Just take the damn pills, already.”

“Bidch.”

“Jerk.”

Dean had already produced the pill bottle from his pocket, pointedly swallowed the correct dosage, then popped a lozenge into his mouth, and that by itself spoke volumes. Andy was shaking his head, as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing, but he wisely chose to keep silent on the topic. Doris brought their food, a cheeseburger for Dean (Sam sometimes wondered if Dean ever ordered anything other than cheeseburger and pie in these places when it wasn't breakfast time), a grilled cheese for Sam, the lasagna for Andy. For the second time in as many days Dean was looking at his burger as though it might lunge out of its plate and bite him if he wasn't careful, and Sam caught Doris before she disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Can I get a bowl of today's soup too, please?”

“Sure thing, darlin',” came the answer, together with a smile.

The soup was already prepared, judging by the speed with which it arrived. Sam made a show of thanking Doris, and when she was gone he deftly switched out the soup for the cheeseburger. Dean looked at him, looked at the soup, blew his nose. Picked up the spoon without a word, and tried to look as though he wasn't wincing as he swallowed each mouthful. Andy buried his nose in his lasagna, tried to look as though he hadn't noticed a thing. Good survival instincts on that one, Sam thought, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Uh, is it me, or do we not have much to go on?” Andy ventured eventually.

Dean grimaced. “Dot you.”

Sam found himself mirroring his brother's expression. “Well, we've had cases with less than this, but not many. Also, those are the ones that didn't go that well, overall.”

“It's so weird, hearing you guys talk about them as 'cases.' As though it was just some detective story.” Andy took another bite of lasagna. “So what do we do?”

It was funny how quickly it had become “we.” Sam and Dean and Andy, instead of Sam 'n' Dean, the way it always was. It was strange, too, but so far Andy was fitting in pretty well, not messing with the rhythm. Then again, Dean's being sick messed with the rhythm, so maybe the situation wasn't exactly typical.

“I don't think doing anymore research is going to help at this point,” Sam said finally. “We should start doing interviews, talking to the friends and family of the victims. See if any of them know something.”

Andy stared. “Uh... why would they know anything about demons?”

Dean decided to field that one. “Sobetibes they dod't kdow that they kdow sobethig. That's why we talk to theb, jog their bebories, see if adythig pops up.”

“You, uh, want me to come with?”

Sam paused, took a good look at Andy's expression. “You feel comfortable doing that?”

A shrug. “Not exactly. But I think this might be important enough that I can maybe try and get over being squeamish about, uh, mind-controlling people into telling me their secrets. About the demon, I mean,” he looked very earnestly at Sam, as though he was worried that they might be thinking something worse, and he didn't look at Dean at all.

Sam wondered if he might not have to stage some sort of bonding thing, so Andy would quit acting as though Dean might put him down like a rabid dog at any moment. Then again, Sam himself had been more than a little worried about Dean putting him down like a rabid dog at any moment, and he could tell from the veiled looks his brother kept shooting at him that Dean was worried about that, too, and just thinking about it made chills run up and down his spine.

*****