SPN | R | Can't Find My Way Back Home | (1/2)
Title: Can't Find My Way Back Home
Words: 10,500
Rating: R - swearing
Warnings: Minor Sam/OFC, err, it's kinda a big deal that they like each other, but nothing happens. Minor references to things aired before S5.
Summary: When Andie has visions of Sam in rough shape and Dean loses track of his brother, they team up to (to Dean's reluctance) get him back. But things get complicated when Andie is drawn into the situation and is actually a key piece of the pie.
Notes: Was written before S5, so a few things have totally jossed me out of order, so it's sort of become an AU within the SPN Universe. Follows Long Train Running and Double Trouble. Title from Blind Faith's song of the same name.
When Andie Carson woke up that morning, she had only a few things on her mind. Getting into work, finishing up her massive client report, and then trying to chill the hell out. The last week and a half had been murder with long hours and longer documents that strained her eyes and brain. She hopped onto the train that morning, and as always, thought of Sam (and maybe a little bit Dean, but only because where Sam was, Dean was just behind). Ever since the ridiculous David Fletcher-Dan Lewis fiasco with the trains, she couldn’t see the Metra and not think of the brothers. But mostly Sam. Which really wasn’t so bad. She really wished she could see Sam again, but like, in person, because having random visions of him hanging out in hotel rooms or chasing down black-eyed demons really wasn’t working so well for her.
But either way, she thought of him instantly and for the first time in a few weeks, let her mind wander to that spectacle and what all she had seen that crazy day. An angry spirit terrorizing people, trying to kill her and Dean, and then bursting into flames. When she thought about it - really thought about it - it was kind of cool because she had always pegged the strangest thing in the world to be the fact that she had these premonitions. But then she learned that Sam and Dean Winchester’s lives were about a hundred times worse. Which became even stranger in her head because while they were absolutely dysfunctional and had no real availability to be with anyone but each other, she continued to text and email Sam and try to will herself to find the scene when they finally meet up again and something happened. Because she had already seen an endgame of her and Sam together. She just wanted to get to the good stuff already.
Andie speed-walked her way through all the commuters in Union Station and then up Adams, heading straight for her building. Her iPod blasted Electric Light Orchestra’s “Mr. Blue Sky,” which always put her in better moods. She needed this energy to get through the 152-page report waiting to be submitted later that day. She and a few coworkers had spent numerous near-20-hour days getting through it all and now it was just the final touches and she was so entirely thankful to be so close.
In the elevator, she bopped her head enough that she could see it in the mirrored walls. And then as infectious as it all was, she began mouthing the words. A celebration, Mister Blue Sky's up there waiting. And today is the day we've waited for. But then the elevator dinged and let her off on her floor and she was halted in the elevator lobby, feeling her eyes burn and vision go shaky. The music continued pounding through her ears even while everything blurred and then she saw Sam, huddled in the corner of some unknown room, red paint everywhere, flickering lights. And his hands and feet were bound together. He barely moved, she couldn’t even tell if he was breathing, but there were edges of mean eyes - dark with evil but the colors were bright - and it scared the crap out of her. She focused enough to catch bruises and cuts and blood across his face, one eye nearly swollen shut.
As her sight came back, Andie stared at the office door before her and kept still. She wasn’t even sure what to do, but knew there were options. She just couldn’t get on board with any of them because none gave her the distinct answer of where Sam was and what was going on.
*
Dean had not had a good year and a half. There was that whole being pulled from hell and answering to Castiel and Uriel and Zachariah and that crazy cast of angels that he could never seem to trust. Sam went crazy with Ruby and fucked her, drank her blood, released Lucifer. And then they had a major battle against the Devil and came out anything but unscathed, Sam’s mental scars far outweighing anything else - considering he was the one who jumpstarted the war. It was seriously not a good time in his life.
So, yeah, Dean was finally sorta-kinda past all that and they had decided to lay low for a while. Castiel was eliminated, so to speak, by Chuck’s archangel, and then all the others vanished just after the war, and they had no connection to anyone else at the time. He and Sam stayed in western Iowa, holed up in one of their typical little shacks of a hotel. They only left for food and beer, an occasional night at a local bar, and that was pretty much it. Aside from all the bickering and wrestling they were suddenly experiencing thanks to close quarters and shared air, it was going pretty okay, he supposed. All things considered.
But, he was fucking done with it all and had been for the last three days. Ever since he bitched Sam out. Sam then gave him the typical Sam face and acted all high-and-mighty about not being a little kid anymore. When Dean returned later that night, Sam was gone and had left his phone in the room.
*
Dean swore the room smelled of rotting flesh mixed with blue cheese, and he had had it already. But there was no way he’d leave that hotel room if there was a chance Sam would return.
Bobby had just stepped out for fresh air, literally, that room was so rank. But when he came back in, he just crossed his arms and watched Dean go to town on Sam’s two bags, ripping each piece of clothing out and checking every pocket. “Boy, you need to calm down.”
Dean threw one more shirt for good measure and turned towards the older man. “Bobby, he left everything. Where the hell he go without clean clothes?”
“It’s possible he just left. You’ve been pretty hard on him.”
He made a face. “Oh, come on. It’s no worse than anything I’ve ever said before.”
“Maybe he’s finally had it with you.”
Dean started going through all the compartments of the duffel bag. “Impossible.”
“Really?” The way Bobby said it was not quite humorous but he definitely was goading Dean, who then turned around and eyed him sharply. “You’re one of the most reprehensible human beings I’ve met. I’m amazed Sam put up with you this long.”
“Screw you,” he muttered, finally tossing the bag against the wall.
Bobby’s voice slipped into one of an angry parent. Because at that time that’s exactly what he felt like - watching over a boy be pissy about his brother. “Excuse me?”
Dean’s face faded from anger into slight guilt but he didn’t say anything.
“That’s what I thought.”
“You know, he could’ve just said ‘I need a break. I’m leaving.’ I would’ve let him go.” Bobby snorted in response and Dean settled enough to get the emotion into his voice. “I really would. If it meant he wouldn’t run off again, I would.” Dean kicked at a pair of Sam’s jeans on the floor. “He always finds trouble when he runs off like this. Kid’s gonna get himself killed.”
Bobby laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed enough but not so much to be too soft. They were demon hunters after all; they didn’t do a whole lot of crying and bonding. Well, unless you were Sam facing his possible future as a demon or Dean recounting his time down under … okay, fine they did their fair share of crying. “It’ll be fine. We’ll ask around again.”
*
Even while Andie’s brain was preoccupied by Sam’s gruesome appearance, she settled herself into her cubicle and hadn’t moved except for very few bathroom breaks. She coursed through the electronic documents. She was doing her best to not obsess over her phone, or the fact that her text to Sam checking to see if everything was okay hadn’t been answered.
An hour or so later, her cell rang and she anxiously picked it up when the caller ID gave his name. “Sam, hi,” she said hushed, and a little excited, glad that at that moment he was there and available.
“Andie?”
She paused and felt her stomach drop. So not Sam.
“It’s Dean.”
And then she cursed because this could not be good. “Is Sam okay?”
“Don’t know? What did you see?”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” he stressed, tense as hell. And if anyone on that phone call knew what that was like, it was him. “What did you see?”
She huddled away from her cubicle opening and cupped a hand at the cell phone. She knew she looked ridiculous, but that was way better than being overheard that she had visions and was now detailing Sam tied up in a dark room. But she did just that and tried to keep it as succinct and yet descriptive as possible.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What else is going on?”
“I don’t know,” she gritted back the same way he had moments earlier.
Her attitude was exactly why it took him 97 minutes to call her. But, he had to see what she meant by the early text. Dean grumbled, “Bitch.”
“Jackass.”
He huffed. “Alright, what else have you seen?”
Andie internally blushed and externally huddled in tighter, even though he couldn’t see her. Over the last few months, she was getting better at seeing Sam - which she attributed to the constant contact with phone calls and texts. And she was seeing a lot of him, figuratively and literally. Him and Dean in the car travelling, doing research, chasing down ghosts, showering. So yeah, she didn’t think she needed to tell him about all that. “Nothing.”
“Shit.” Dean huffed a bit then
Her voice went worried. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. He just left.”
“What’d you do?”
Dean steamed. “Why is it my fault, huh?”
“Because you’re an asshole of a brother and Sam’s pretty normal.”
“Hah,” he laughed bitterly. “Sam is anything but normal. He used to drink demon blood, he tell you that?”
She muttered uneasily. “Yeah, I saw that.”
“How long you been watching him?”
And it was then she had to be honest with herself, and unfortunately Dean. She really didn’t like helping him out, but if it would help Sam then she’d do it. “For a while. I don’t know when exactly.”
“Never bothered to mention this before?”
“I didn’t always know it was him!” she hissed. “I just saw someone and then a demon with him, and after a while I realized it had been him all along.”
Dean huffed again and tried to get back on track. “So you don’t know where he is?”
“No,” she crabbed. “If I did, I’d just go there myself. Jesus.”
“You see anything else, you call me immediately.”
She barked a laugh at his pushy nature. “Yeah, okay, boss.”
He slapped the phone shut and huffed. “My God, this is absolute torture.”
*
As soon as she got home from work, she had yet another vision, but this one was a bit more telling. She saw, or more like sensed - which was totally new for her and about the weirdest sensation she’d ever had, and she’d once been choked by a ghost, so yeah, this was pretty bad - whatever was keeping Sam. She saw them using a corner entrance that was covered in a mural, but the darkness of the evening kept her from making it all out. She saw a few faces and lots of rich jewel-toned paint but nothing else right there.
She saw the figures rising up the stairs, silent of words, but a distinct, yet low, screech was following them. They marched down a hallway, took a left, and passed through an empty, long room, before coming upon another hallway. And then it stopped. She rested her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Because now the visions were bringing headaches and her eyes burned more than before.
Minutes later, she heard the screen door sweep open and hard knocking at the front door. As she came closer, she spotted Dean and another man on her stoop. She opened the door and he rushed in right past her. “Wow. Dean. So nice to see you,” she managed with a light voice.
“Did you see anything else?”
“What? No ‘hi, Andie, nice to see you.’”
“Whatever.” He grumbled, amazingly comfortable enough to sort through her fridge and come out with a beer. When they both eyed him, he shrugged. “What? I need this to deal with her.”
She turned to Bobby with an awkward smile. “Hi. Andie,” and she shook his hand.
Dean waved his bottle towards her. “Yeah, that’s Bobby. He’s helping.”
Andie planted hands on her hips. “You are such the gentleman. Glad to see Lucifer didn’t mess with your tact.”
He pushed his bottle towards Bobby this time. “You see why I didn’t want to come?”
“Let’s just sit down and figure this out, okay?” Bobby suggested.
As she settled in an armchair, he eyed her. “You look like shit.”
She was sure she did, given the most recent headache and how the day had gone, but it didn’t make it any easier. “You don’t look so GQ yourself.”
Bobby gave Dean a tired look then turned to Andie, noticing how pale she was and the dark rings below her eyes. “You okay?”
With a sad smile, “It’s been a long week.”
“You been seeing things all this time?”
“No, it was work. We had this huge report to get out and - ”
“Yeah, okay, great,” Dean interrupted. “What do you know?”
“I saw the building.”
“When?”
“Just a little while ago. Before you showed up.”
Dean’s face screwed up in annoyance. “And you neglected to tell us because?”
She took on his same look and tone. “Because you just got here, dumbass.”
Dean made a face and Bobby sat forward with anticipation. “Where is the building?”
“I don’t know. I just saw the outside.”
“What does it look like?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It was really dark. Maybe some green paint? Yellow?”
“Did you see anyone?”
Another shrug. “It was all dark shapes. I don’t know.”
Dean sighed. “You are absolutely no help.”
“Really? Because as it stands, I’m your only help, so maybe you could be a little nicer.”
Bobby shot Dean an ugly look to shut up. Surprisingly, he did.
Andie spoke up. “What happened anyway?”
“Nothing. I came back and he was gone.”
“Why doesn’t he have his phone?”
“I don’t know.”
“He didn’t leave any clues?”
Dean was tiring so quickly of her questions. He rose, stalking closer to her. “This isn’t a fucking scavenger hunt. He’s gone and you’re seeing shit and my brother’s in trouble.”
Her voice rose to his. “Like I don’t realize that?”
“Hey!” Bobby yelled. “Y’all are worse than a bunch of little kids. Now why don’t you both sit in a corner and shut the hell up?”
*
Andie offered Bobby and Dean another beer and then sat with them in her living room, trying to calm down. “So you see things?” Bobby asked.
“Yeah.”
“And you can control it?”
“Sam gave me a book for readers and mediums.”
Dean grumbled into the top of his beer bottle. “But don’t call her a psychic.”
Bobby and Andie threw him annoyed glances. “I’ve been testing it out in spurts. I don’t think I could handle it all at once.”
“But it’s never the past, just the future?”
Her voice went easy. She liked Bobby. He was nice and got Dean to shut up. “Yeah. And it hasn’t really ever been the near future. I don’t even know when stuff is really going to happen, but it’s different this time.”
“How?”
“It seems a lot clearer. And it hurts this time.”
Dean was suddenly interested, remembering how Sam reacted whenever he saw something. “Like what?”
“My head throbs. And my eyes burn. Like they’ll bleed or something.”
Bobby and Dean exchanged a glance, secretly sharing a thought but not telling her. They’d seen this sort of thing before, and it wasn’t really a good thing. Pamela lost her vision from seeing Castiel and then was killed when she provided further help. They’d have to watch Andie closely.
“Do you know if he’s there right now?”
She shook her head. “No, but it just feels so strong. It has to be sometime soon.”
*
Sam wasn’t even sure what was going on. All he knew was that the hotel he’d been staying at smelled like salad dressing and the lower level of a funeral parlor. Not like the scent of spices and beef then filling the air. And was that cheese? He wasn’t even sure where he was, so things weren’t going so well. That all hit him before he could even open his eyes - check that, eye. The other was closed solid and he reached up to feel the equivalent of a plumb under his left eyelid. He was immediately grateful he didn’t remember how that happened. It had to hurt like a bitch.
He tried to look around, but there was so much darkness, there wasn’t much to make out. And as he struggled to his feet, he just as uneasily fell back down with his feet restricted. Tied together, and his wrists, too.
“Dean?” he whispered. There weren’t many times that he was caught up somewhere without his brother close behind. “Dean, you in here?”
There was a distinct click-clack noise on the other side of the wall he leaned on. Sam pressed his ear against the cool painted drywall and listened as closely as he could. There were murmurings, but he couldn’t make out much more.
He slumped back into the corner and watched as his right eye became a bit accustomed to the darkness and he could make out a crucifix, large and mighty for the size of the room, which was no bigger than any hotel room they’d had. It loomed before him and he shot a quiet prayer to God, hoping to find a way out of this. Whatever it was. And that Dean was okay, because last he remembered was his brother berating him for insisting they take on a possible possession in eastern Iowa to break out of the boredom of hiding. Not to mention Dean ordering extra onions on his Philly steak sandwich (stinking up the room with burps and farts a mile long), and Sam drinking the last beer and refusing to go for more. That he did in retaliation of all the gas.
Either way, he promised to never fight with Dean over his flatulence again, to always let Dean have the last beer, and most of all, to never leave the hotel room for a soda in the middle of the night. Without his cell phone.
*
Sam’s good eye popped open when he heard the door to his room creak. He still couldn’t see much through the darkness, and even what he could see appeared in double and sometimes triple views without the aid of a second eye and depth perception.
He saw shadowy figures, leering in close and a feathery hand reached forward, pressing against his swollen face. Sam cursed and shrunk back, tight into the corner. It moved closer, and he kicked his feet out at it, surprised to feel mass beyond the fog. It then pushed its hands against him and he felt heat run from his face down into his neck, to his shoulders and arms, down to the very tips of his fingers. It was white hot and tingling and he couldn’t move away. As still as he was, the heat travelled down his chest to his legs, prickling heat through each nerve. He cried out in pain, fighting against the thought that this was some of the worst pain he’d ever experienced. As the heat boiled inside, he felt veins rolling up to the edge of his skin, burning lines just beneath the surface.
A door opened and it stopped, the shadowy figures taking one step back in unison. Sam’s breathing was loud and ragged. He tried to move, and he tried to tell himself the burning wasn’t so bad as he felt it slowly edge away. His voice was gruff as he whined and panted. Struggling to figure out what was going on and how in the hell he would get out of it. If he could.
“Sam, we are so glad to have you here,” he heard a man say from far in the room.
The figures moved in again, but refrained from touching. He fought to see beyond them for the voice, but it was all blurry and black. “Where'm I?”
“In God’s house, no need to fear. My friends here are a little cautious after the fight you put up when you came in.”
The words were so creepy and yet said so happily that Sam fought to really understand what was happening. “Where am I?” he asked again with a fierce tone, wanting to know what state, town, church, anything more.
“Shh,” it hushed and he felt the presence draw near, but couldn’t make out the face. Just a tall, three-piece suit and a bright white shirt beneath it. “You are safe.”
Sam flinched when another hand reached near him. It billowed out then back in when he pressed into the wall again. “This don’t feel too safe.”
“You were not … cooperative. We needed to restrain you.”
“A little excessive wouldn’t you say?”
“I’m sorry. They’re a little excitable. It’s like they’re meeting John Lennon for the first time.”
Sam shook his head, a little confused. “He’s dead.”
“Not where we are.”
“Where’s my brother?”
“That seems to be the question of the day,” the voice humored him.
*
Andie splashed water on her face, keeping her eyes from the mirror. She did not want to see how worn out she really was, after getting the major report out, taking in no more than four hours of sleep each night for the past ten, and now this. She worked on the exercises from Sam’s book and tried to see more of him. But she just kept seeing the same two visions. Maybe she was trying too hard. Maybe she was too exhausted. She didn’t know.
Her fingers pressed against her face, running up and down, doing their best to get as much tension out of those muscles.
“You’re the Andie?” Bobby asked from the doorway.
She flinched and grabbed a towel to dry off. She didn’t really want him to see her so upset right then. “Which Andie?” she smiled carefully.
“Sam’s? He mentioned you once or twice.”
“What’d he say?”
“That you saw them safe together. That you two were together.”
Her smile weakened and she turned to hang the towel back up. “Yeah, I guess.”
“What’s that story?” When she faced him again, he narrowed his eyes at her. “I’ve known these boys forever. Since Sam was scrambling on the floor. You got something else?”
Ordinarily, as she did to Sam so many times on this subject, she would lie. But considering the situation, and Sam’s safety, she had to be honest. “They’re not together. When the war’s over. I see just me and Sam. I don’t know about Dean.”
Bobby seemed to skate over the not together part. “When it’s over? It’s been over for months.”
She shook her head easily but was a bit confused. “No, it’s not. This is the last part.”
“Dean!” Bobby called out, and went in search of him. He found him on the couch, tapping his way through Sam’s phone, trying to find a clue for anything.
Andie hesitantly followed into the room, scared to face Dean’s reaction to the truth. She didn’t hear Bobby speak, though she did see Dean’s eyes widen, his nostrils flare, as he turned towards her. But she was all too consumed by the piercing tone in her ears. She flinched and put a hand up on the wall. “Ah, shit.”
Bobby turned to her and saw as she slid further down the wall, a hand to her ear and the other pushing the other side of her head. He grabbed her arms before she moved too far down. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Andie whimpered through the pain forming in her head. In her ears, her forehead, and then her eyes. “No, no, no,” she nearly cried as the building popped into view, clearer than before, with a bit more light and so fewer shadows.
Dean moved in fast with an arm around her back, holding her as she moved closer to the ground. “Andie?” he nearly yelled, trying for her attention. “What is it? Andie?”
Her hearing finally returned and her whimpering stopped, but she couldn’t stop wincing against the pain. “It’s the building. A red door. A bird.”
“What about it?” Dean asked with slight panic. She just shook her head in return.
Bobby’s hands grabbed her face to look up at him. “Where is it?”
“I don’t know.” She heard them both sigh, but it wasn’t as angry as Dean had been earlier. She was a bit surprised by that. Uneasily, she said, “But I’ve seen it before.”
*
Growing up in and loving Chicago had never seemed to be such a great tool until that very moment. She had plenty of coffee table books on the town, and she collected any Chicago calendar she came across. A majority of the walls in her cubicle were covered in pages from those calendars, and in her home, she had numerous framed photos from travelling throughout the City to different landmarks with friends. Dean thought it was a little much, but at that moment, he was trying to trust her memory on these kinds of things.
Dean’s voice was tight as he kept his eye on the late night traffic into the city. “Why didn’t you tell us we’re not together?”
“Hmm?” she sounded, her attention taken to the items in her lap as she tried to find that building.
“In the end, you told Sam you two were there. But you never said I didn’t make it.”
She looked to him and kept a stoic face. “It’s not that you don’t. I just can’t see you.”
“About the same thing, no?”
“I never see you.”
Dean’s voice sounded a little offended. “Why not?”
Her eyebrows furrowed and she tried to focus on the last few pages of her book. “Contrary to popular belief, not every woman focuses herself on you.”
“You focusing on Sam?”
She didn’t answer, but her lips quirked to the side.
“Right, because he’s a perfect little boy.”
“He’s a lot better off than you are. And nicer. And tall.”
He grumbled. “I am not short.”
“Okay, shorter.”
Andie’s vision played lightly in her head as she began flipping through some postcards. In it, she saw more of the painted brick - a bright, vibrant green and yellow. And the faces on the mural made more sense to her this time. She thought she saw that artist that Salma Hayek played in that one movie (Dean said it was Frida, disappointing movie because she was fairly covered through most of it and had an unfortunate unibrow). And she definitely spotted Che Guevara. Which she suddenly found in the three-year-old set of postcards she had snatched up from her house.
“Here!” she called out excitedly. She saw the building just as it was in her brain. Green and yellow stripes, three faces on either side of the red door. She smiled triumphantly, almost thinking that the last headache/earache/painful experience was worth it to get this piece of information. She flipped the postcard over. “Latino Cultural Center.”
Dean’s voice was still tight and serious, but he almost sounded excited, too. “Where is it?”
“676 North LaSalle.”
“Where is that?” She repeated the address quietly. “Where?” he harped at her.
“I’m thinking … shit. LaSalle and Illinois?”
“That’s a question?”
Andie eyed him quickly and then tried to count out the streets and what numbers corresponded to what. “No, wait, I think it’s Hubbard? It’s right around there.”
“You sure?” Dean asked forcefully.
She nodded slightly and kept thinking. “It’s north of the river.”
“You sure?” he asked again.
“Yeah. For sure.”
*
As soon as they pulled around the corner of the building, Andie hopped out of the car and stared at the building. Suddenly, her stomach flipped and she started to get nervous. Realizing how this was all coming together was a little freaky in her mind. But then she had to remember this was Sam and Dean Winchester she was dealing with. Freaky had no real meaning here. And to punctuate that, she heard a gun being cocked from behind the trunk, then metal on metal.
She moved next to Dean and saw the trunk full of their hunting arsenal. “Are you kidding me?”
“What?” he asked, giving her a weird look.
From her visions, she’d seen some of the weaponry they used to terminate ghosts and demons. But to see it all together in one place, tucked away like tools in a shed with each item having its own place? It was beyond freaky. “I really shouldn’t be surprised.”
Bobby came up behind them. “This it?”
She looked at the building again and even higher at the windows of the second and third floors, completely dark. “Yeah. I think it’s the second floor? I’m not sure. But I know there were stairs.”
“Alright,” Dean started after waving Sam’s cell at her. “You see anything, you call. Immediately.”
“Wait a minute,” she argued, taking a few steps along with them. “I’m going in there, too.”
Bobby gave Dean a look before he spoke carefully. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with here. This isn’t a place for you to be.”
“I’m the only one who’s seen any of the rooms or hallways. You need my eyes in there.”
Dean chuckled humorlessly and became patronizing. “Yeah, okay. Look, you stay out here and stay out of trouble while we go save my brother. Then you can have a cute little slow-mo reunion on the curb, okay?”
With very little thought, Andie raised her hand and slapped him hard on the cheek.
His head flipped fast with her swing and he took a deep breath before looking back at her with a smirk. “You hit like a girl.”
She curled her fingers in and punched him well, right on the cheekbone. “Fuck,” she complained, holding her knuckles while he scrambled away.
“God damnit! Crazy bitch.”
Bobby pushed Andie a few steps away and tried to hide his grin (he was thankful for the fullness of his beard right then). “Alright, guys. Stop it now.” He looked to Dean. “She’s coming with us.”
Dean rubbed at the raw skin, crossing his eyebrows. He grumbled at Bobby. “No way man. She’s fucking psycho.”
When Bobby moved closer to Dean to explain, Andie took off around the building and quickly tugged the front door open.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean cursed, running after her.
He and Bobby split the first landing at the stairs, Bobby going to the third floor and Dean going after her. “Hey,” he loudly whispered to get her to stop. He grabbed onto her elbow and shoved a gun into her hand. “Here.” She looked down to the weapon in her hand. “You know how to use one of these?”
Her voice came out as low and condescending as he had been. “I seem to remember saving your life with one before, so yeah, I think I’ll be okay.”
He rolled his eyes and continued to follow her through the hallway. When they reached another fork in the way, she started to move right. Then they heard rumblings to the left and he grabbed at her arm. “This way.”
“No, he’s this way,” and she nodded to the right.
Beyond her, he could see a long meeting room and another door there. To his left, he continued to hear voices, but couldn’t make out the words. When he looked back, she was already moving into the room. “Andie!” he whispered as loudly as possible, but she kept on going.
It was then that the voices became louder and he swore he could make a few of them out, and possibly recognized them. So he went left and hoped she’d be okay.
What he found was one of the only lit rooms on the floor, full of the same dark shadowy figures that visited Sam, and one lone man in the center of it all. His tall frame and balding head stood out among them all. Dean was mostly horrified in that moment and froze, watching the shadows part to fully reveal him. “Zachariah,” he spoke with fear and wonder.
“Dean,” he smiled slowly. “We were beginning to wonder if you were going to show.”
His instincts said to raise the gun, and he started to, but then he stopped, remembering. This was an angel, albeit a pretty evil, manipulative one. It was an angel nonetheless, and they didn’t react to rock salt in any particular fashion. His voice came gravelly, the best way he could hid his fear. “Who’s we?”
“Well, Sam I’m sure. But all of us,” and he spread his hands out to the room, as if Dean could tell what each figure was.
His finger tucked into the trigger of the gun on instinct. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Where’s my brother?”
Zachariah tried to smooth. “He’s okay. A few dents and scratches, but nothing a mechanic can’t fix.”
“Where is he?” he gritted louder.
“He’s here. You came for him, like the good brother you are.”
“Let him go. Your problem is with me.”
“Oh, Dean,” he happily sighed. “It’s so much more than that.”
Next
Words: 10,500
Rating: R - swearing
Warnings: Minor Sam/OFC, err, it's kinda a big deal that they like each other, but nothing happens. Minor references to things aired before S5.
Summary: When Andie has visions of Sam in rough shape and Dean loses track of his brother, they team up to (to Dean's reluctance) get him back. But things get complicated when Andie is drawn into the situation and is actually a key piece of the pie.
Notes: Was written before S5, so a few things have totally jossed me out of order, so it's sort of become an AU within the SPN Universe. Follows Long Train Running and Double Trouble. Title from Blind Faith's song of the same name.
When Andie Carson woke up that morning, she had only a few things on her mind. Getting into work, finishing up her massive client report, and then trying to chill the hell out. The last week and a half had been murder with long hours and longer documents that strained her eyes and brain. She hopped onto the train that morning, and as always, thought of Sam (and maybe a little bit Dean, but only because where Sam was, Dean was just behind). Ever since the ridiculous David Fletcher-Dan Lewis fiasco with the trains, she couldn’t see the Metra and not think of the brothers. But mostly Sam. Which really wasn’t so bad. She really wished she could see Sam again, but like, in person, because having random visions of him hanging out in hotel rooms or chasing down black-eyed demons really wasn’t working so well for her.
But either way, she thought of him instantly and for the first time in a few weeks, let her mind wander to that spectacle and what all she had seen that crazy day. An angry spirit terrorizing people, trying to kill her and Dean, and then bursting into flames. When she thought about it - really thought about it - it was kind of cool because she had always pegged the strangest thing in the world to be the fact that she had these premonitions. But then she learned that Sam and Dean Winchester’s lives were about a hundred times worse. Which became even stranger in her head because while they were absolutely dysfunctional and had no real availability to be with anyone but each other, she continued to text and email Sam and try to will herself to find the scene when they finally meet up again and something happened. Because she had already seen an endgame of her and Sam together. She just wanted to get to the good stuff already.
Andie speed-walked her way through all the commuters in Union Station and then up Adams, heading straight for her building. Her iPod blasted Electric Light Orchestra’s “Mr. Blue Sky,” which always put her in better moods. She needed this energy to get through the 152-page report waiting to be submitted later that day. She and a few coworkers had spent numerous near-20-hour days getting through it all and now it was just the final touches and she was so entirely thankful to be so close.
In the elevator, she bopped her head enough that she could see it in the mirrored walls. And then as infectious as it all was, she began mouthing the words. A celebration, Mister Blue Sky's up there waiting. And today is the day we've waited for. But then the elevator dinged and let her off on her floor and she was halted in the elevator lobby, feeling her eyes burn and vision go shaky. The music continued pounding through her ears even while everything blurred and then she saw Sam, huddled in the corner of some unknown room, red paint everywhere, flickering lights. And his hands and feet were bound together. He barely moved, she couldn’t even tell if he was breathing, but there were edges of mean eyes - dark with evil but the colors were bright - and it scared the crap out of her. She focused enough to catch bruises and cuts and blood across his face, one eye nearly swollen shut.
As her sight came back, Andie stared at the office door before her and kept still. She wasn’t even sure what to do, but knew there were options. She just couldn’t get on board with any of them because none gave her the distinct answer of where Sam was and what was going on.
*
Dean had not had a good year and a half. There was that whole being pulled from hell and answering to Castiel and Uriel and Zachariah and that crazy cast of angels that he could never seem to trust. Sam went crazy with Ruby and fucked her, drank her blood, released Lucifer. And then they had a major battle against the Devil and came out anything but unscathed, Sam’s mental scars far outweighing anything else - considering he was the one who jumpstarted the war. It was seriously not a good time in his life.
So, yeah, Dean was finally sorta-kinda past all that and they had decided to lay low for a while. Castiel was eliminated, so to speak, by Chuck’s archangel, and then all the others vanished just after the war, and they had no connection to anyone else at the time. He and Sam stayed in western Iowa, holed up in one of their typical little shacks of a hotel. They only left for food and beer, an occasional night at a local bar, and that was pretty much it. Aside from all the bickering and wrestling they were suddenly experiencing thanks to close quarters and shared air, it was going pretty okay, he supposed. All things considered.
But, he was fucking done with it all and had been for the last three days. Ever since he bitched Sam out. Sam then gave him the typical Sam face and acted all high-and-mighty about not being a little kid anymore. When Dean returned later that night, Sam was gone and had left his phone in the room.
*
Dean swore the room smelled of rotting flesh mixed with blue cheese, and he had had it already. But there was no way he’d leave that hotel room if there was a chance Sam would return.
Bobby had just stepped out for fresh air, literally, that room was so rank. But when he came back in, he just crossed his arms and watched Dean go to town on Sam’s two bags, ripping each piece of clothing out and checking every pocket. “Boy, you need to calm down.”
Dean threw one more shirt for good measure and turned towards the older man. “Bobby, he left everything. Where the hell he go without clean clothes?”
“It’s possible he just left. You’ve been pretty hard on him.”
He made a face. “Oh, come on. It’s no worse than anything I’ve ever said before.”
“Maybe he’s finally had it with you.”
Dean started going through all the compartments of the duffel bag. “Impossible.”
“Really?” The way Bobby said it was not quite humorous but he definitely was goading Dean, who then turned around and eyed him sharply. “You’re one of the most reprehensible human beings I’ve met. I’m amazed Sam put up with you this long.”
“Screw you,” he muttered, finally tossing the bag against the wall.
Bobby’s voice slipped into one of an angry parent. Because at that time that’s exactly what he felt like - watching over a boy be pissy about his brother. “Excuse me?”
Dean’s face faded from anger into slight guilt but he didn’t say anything.
“That’s what I thought.”
“You know, he could’ve just said ‘I need a break. I’m leaving.’ I would’ve let him go.” Bobby snorted in response and Dean settled enough to get the emotion into his voice. “I really would. If it meant he wouldn’t run off again, I would.” Dean kicked at a pair of Sam’s jeans on the floor. “He always finds trouble when he runs off like this. Kid’s gonna get himself killed.”
Bobby laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed enough but not so much to be too soft. They were demon hunters after all; they didn’t do a whole lot of crying and bonding. Well, unless you were Sam facing his possible future as a demon or Dean recounting his time down under … okay, fine they did their fair share of crying. “It’ll be fine. We’ll ask around again.”
*
Even while Andie’s brain was preoccupied by Sam’s gruesome appearance, she settled herself into her cubicle and hadn’t moved except for very few bathroom breaks. She coursed through the electronic documents. She was doing her best to not obsess over her phone, or the fact that her text to Sam checking to see if everything was okay hadn’t been answered.
An hour or so later, her cell rang and she anxiously picked it up when the caller ID gave his name. “Sam, hi,” she said hushed, and a little excited, glad that at that moment he was there and available.
“Andie?”
She paused and felt her stomach drop. So not Sam.
“It’s Dean.”
And then she cursed because this could not be good. “Is Sam okay?”
“Don’t know? What did you see?”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” he stressed, tense as hell. And if anyone on that phone call knew what that was like, it was him. “What did you see?”
She huddled away from her cubicle opening and cupped a hand at the cell phone. She knew she looked ridiculous, but that was way better than being overheard that she had visions and was now detailing Sam tied up in a dark room. But she did just that and tried to keep it as succinct and yet descriptive as possible.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What else is going on?”
“I don’t know,” she gritted back the same way he had moments earlier.
Her attitude was exactly why it took him 97 minutes to call her. But, he had to see what she meant by the early text. Dean grumbled, “Bitch.”
“Jackass.”
He huffed. “Alright, what else have you seen?”
Andie internally blushed and externally huddled in tighter, even though he couldn’t see her. Over the last few months, she was getting better at seeing Sam - which she attributed to the constant contact with phone calls and texts. And she was seeing a lot of him, figuratively and literally. Him and Dean in the car travelling, doing research, chasing down ghosts, showering. So yeah, she didn’t think she needed to tell him about all that. “Nothing.”
“Shit.” Dean huffed a bit then
Her voice went worried. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. He just left.”
“What’d you do?”
Dean steamed. “Why is it my fault, huh?”
“Because you’re an asshole of a brother and Sam’s pretty normal.”
“Hah,” he laughed bitterly. “Sam is anything but normal. He used to drink demon blood, he tell you that?”
She muttered uneasily. “Yeah, I saw that.”
“How long you been watching him?”
And it was then she had to be honest with herself, and unfortunately Dean. She really didn’t like helping him out, but if it would help Sam then she’d do it. “For a while. I don’t know when exactly.”
“Never bothered to mention this before?”
“I didn’t always know it was him!” she hissed. “I just saw someone and then a demon with him, and after a while I realized it had been him all along.”
Dean huffed again and tried to get back on track. “So you don’t know where he is?”
“No,” she crabbed. “If I did, I’d just go there myself. Jesus.”
“You see anything else, you call me immediately.”
She barked a laugh at his pushy nature. “Yeah, okay, boss.”
He slapped the phone shut and huffed. “My God, this is absolute torture.”
*
As soon as she got home from work, she had yet another vision, but this one was a bit more telling. She saw, or more like sensed - which was totally new for her and about the weirdest sensation she’d ever had, and she’d once been choked by a ghost, so yeah, this was pretty bad - whatever was keeping Sam. She saw them using a corner entrance that was covered in a mural, but the darkness of the evening kept her from making it all out. She saw a few faces and lots of rich jewel-toned paint but nothing else right there.
She saw the figures rising up the stairs, silent of words, but a distinct, yet low, screech was following them. They marched down a hallway, took a left, and passed through an empty, long room, before coming upon another hallway. And then it stopped. She rested her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Because now the visions were bringing headaches and her eyes burned more than before.
Minutes later, she heard the screen door sweep open and hard knocking at the front door. As she came closer, she spotted Dean and another man on her stoop. She opened the door and he rushed in right past her. “Wow. Dean. So nice to see you,” she managed with a light voice.
“Did you see anything else?”
“What? No ‘hi, Andie, nice to see you.’”
“Whatever.” He grumbled, amazingly comfortable enough to sort through her fridge and come out with a beer. When they both eyed him, he shrugged. “What? I need this to deal with her.”
She turned to Bobby with an awkward smile. “Hi. Andie,” and she shook his hand.
Dean waved his bottle towards her. “Yeah, that’s Bobby. He’s helping.”
Andie planted hands on her hips. “You are such the gentleman. Glad to see Lucifer didn’t mess with your tact.”
He pushed his bottle towards Bobby this time. “You see why I didn’t want to come?”
“Let’s just sit down and figure this out, okay?” Bobby suggested.
As she settled in an armchair, he eyed her. “You look like shit.”
She was sure she did, given the most recent headache and how the day had gone, but it didn’t make it any easier. “You don’t look so GQ yourself.”
Bobby gave Dean a tired look then turned to Andie, noticing how pale she was and the dark rings below her eyes. “You okay?”
With a sad smile, “It’s been a long week.”
“You been seeing things all this time?”
“No, it was work. We had this huge report to get out and - ”
“Yeah, okay, great,” Dean interrupted. “What do you know?”
“I saw the building.”
“When?”
“Just a little while ago. Before you showed up.”
Dean’s face screwed up in annoyance. “And you neglected to tell us because?”
She took on his same look and tone. “Because you just got here, dumbass.”
Dean made a face and Bobby sat forward with anticipation. “Where is the building?”
“I don’t know. I just saw the outside.”
“What does it look like?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It was really dark. Maybe some green paint? Yellow?”
“Did you see anyone?”
Another shrug. “It was all dark shapes. I don’t know.”
Dean sighed. “You are absolutely no help.”
“Really? Because as it stands, I’m your only help, so maybe you could be a little nicer.”
Bobby shot Dean an ugly look to shut up. Surprisingly, he did.
Andie spoke up. “What happened anyway?”
“Nothing. I came back and he was gone.”
“Why doesn’t he have his phone?”
“I don’t know.”
“He didn’t leave any clues?”
Dean was tiring so quickly of her questions. He rose, stalking closer to her. “This isn’t a fucking scavenger hunt. He’s gone and you’re seeing shit and my brother’s in trouble.”
Her voice rose to his. “Like I don’t realize that?”
“Hey!” Bobby yelled. “Y’all are worse than a bunch of little kids. Now why don’t you both sit in a corner and shut the hell up?”
*
Andie offered Bobby and Dean another beer and then sat with them in her living room, trying to calm down. “So you see things?” Bobby asked.
“Yeah.”
“And you can control it?”
“Sam gave me a book for readers and mediums.”
Dean grumbled into the top of his beer bottle. “But don’t call her a psychic.”
Bobby and Andie threw him annoyed glances. “I’ve been testing it out in spurts. I don’t think I could handle it all at once.”
“But it’s never the past, just the future?”
Her voice went easy. She liked Bobby. He was nice and got Dean to shut up. “Yeah. And it hasn’t really ever been the near future. I don’t even know when stuff is really going to happen, but it’s different this time.”
“How?”
“It seems a lot clearer. And it hurts this time.”
Dean was suddenly interested, remembering how Sam reacted whenever he saw something. “Like what?”
“My head throbs. And my eyes burn. Like they’ll bleed or something.”
Bobby and Dean exchanged a glance, secretly sharing a thought but not telling her. They’d seen this sort of thing before, and it wasn’t really a good thing. Pamela lost her vision from seeing Castiel and then was killed when she provided further help. They’d have to watch Andie closely.
“Do you know if he’s there right now?”
She shook her head. “No, but it just feels so strong. It has to be sometime soon.”
*
Sam wasn’t even sure what was going on. All he knew was that the hotel he’d been staying at smelled like salad dressing and the lower level of a funeral parlor. Not like the scent of spices and beef then filling the air. And was that cheese? He wasn’t even sure where he was, so things weren’t going so well. That all hit him before he could even open his eyes - check that, eye. The other was closed solid and he reached up to feel the equivalent of a plumb under his left eyelid. He was immediately grateful he didn’t remember how that happened. It had to hurt like a bitch.
He tried to look around, but there was so much darkness, there wasn’t much to make out. And as he struggled to his feet, he just as uneasily fell back down with his feet restricted. Tied together, and his wrists, too.
“Dean?” he whispered. There weren’t many times that he was caught up somewhere without his brother close behind. “Dean, you in here?”
There was a distinct click-clack noise on the other side of the wall he leaned on. Sam pressed his ear against the cool painted drywall and listened as closely as he could. There were murmurings, but he couldn’t make out much more.
He slumped back into the corner and watched as his right eye became a bit accustomed to the darkness and he could make out a crucifix, large and mighty for the size of the room, which was no bigger than any hotel room they’d had. It loomed before him and he shot a quiet prayer to God, hoping to find a way out of this. Whatever it was. And that Dean was okay, because last he remembered was his brother berating him for insisting they take on a possible possession in eastern Iowa to break out of the boredom of hiding. Not to mention Dean ordering extra onions on his Philly steak sandwich (stinking up the room with burps and farts a mile long), and Sam drinking the last beer and refusing to go for more. That he did in retaliation of all the gas.
Either way, he promised to never fight with Dean over his flatulence again, to always let Dean have the last beer, and most of all, to never leave the hotel room for a soda in the middle of the night. Without his cell phone.
*
Sam’s good eye popped open when he heard the door to his room creak. He still couldn’t see much through the darkness, and even what he could see appeared in double and sometimes triple views without the aid of a second eye and depth perception.
He saw shadowy figures, leering in close and a feathery hand reached forward, pressing against his swollen face. Sam cursed and shrunk back, tight into the corner. It moved closer, and he kicked his feet out at it, surprised to feel mass beyond the fog. It then pushed its hands against him and he felt heat run from his face down into his neck, to his shoulders and arms, down to the very tips of his fingers. It was white hot and tingling and he couldn’t move away. As still as he was, the heat travelled down his chest to his legs, prickling heat through each nerve. He cried out in pain, fighting against the thought that this was some of the worst pain he’d ever experienced. As the heat boiled inside, he felt veins rolling up to the edge of his skin, burning lines just beneath the surface.
A door opened and it stopped, the shadowy figures taking one step back in unison. Sam’s breathing was loud and ragged. He tried to move, and he tried to tell himself the burning wasn’t so bad as he felt it slowly edge away. His voice was gruff as he whined and panted. Struggling to figure out what was going on and how in the hell he would get out of it. If he could.
“Sam, we are so glad to have you here,” he heard a man say from far in the room.
The figures moved in again, but refrained from touching. He fought to see beyond them for the voice, but it was all blurry and black. “Where'm I?”
“In God’s house, no need to fear. My friends here are a little cautious after the fight you put up when you came in.”
The words were so creepy and yet said so happily that Sam fought to really understand what was happening. “Where am I?” he asked again with a fierce tone, wanting to know what state, town, church, anything more.
“Shh,” it hushed and he felt the presence draw near, but couldn’t make out the face. Just a tall, three-piece suit and a bright white shirt beneath it. “You are safe.”
Sam flinched when another hand reached near him. It billowed out then back in when he pressed into the wall again. “This don’t feel too safe.”
“You were not … cooperative. We needed to restrain you.”
“A little excessive wouldn’t you say?”
“I’m sorry. They’re a little excitable. It’s like they’re meeting John Lennon for the first time.”
Sam shook his head, a little confused. “He’s dead.”
“Not where we are.”
“Where’s my brother?”
“That seems to be the question of the day,” the voice humored him.
*
Andie splashed water on her face, keeping her eyes from the mirror. She did not want to see how worn out she really was, after getting the major report out, taking in no more than four hours of sleep each night for the past ten, and now this. She worked on the exercises from Sam’s book and tried to see more of him. But she just kept seeing the same two visions. Maybe she was trying too hard. Maybe she was too exhausted. She didn’t know.
Her fingers pressed against her face, running up and down, doing their best to get as much tension out of those muscles.
“You’re the Andie?” Bobby asked from the doorway.
She flinched and grabbed a towel to dry off. She didn’t really want him to see her so upset right then. “Which Andie?” she smiled carefully.
“Sam’s? He mentioned you once or twice.”
“What’d he say?”
“That you saw them safe together. That you two were together.”
Her smile weakened and she turned to hang the towel back up. “Yeah, I guess.”
“What’s that story?” When she faced him again, he narrowed his eyes at her. “I’ve known these boys forever. Since Sam was scrambling on the floor. You got something else?”
Ordinarily, as she did to Sam so many times on this subject, she would lie. But considering the situation, and Sam’s safety, she had to be honest. “They’re not together. When the war’s over. I see just me and Sam. I don’t know about Dean.”
Bobby seemed to skate over the not together part. “When it’s over? It’s been over for months.”
She shook her head easily but was a bit confused. “No, it’s not. This is the last part.”
“Dean!” Bobby called out, and went in search of him. He found him on the couch, tapping his way through Sam’s phone, trying to find a clue for anything.
Andie hesitantly followed into the room, scared to face Dean’s reaction to the truth. She didn’t hear Bobby speak, though she did see Dean’s eyes widen, his nostrils flare, as he turned towards her. But she was all too consumed by the piercing tone in her ears. She flinched and put a hand up on the wall. “Ah, shit.”
Bobby turned to her and saw as she slid further down the wall, a hand to her ear and the other pushing the other side of her head. He grabbed her arms before she moved too far down. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Andie whimpered through the pain forming in her head. In her ears, her forehead, and then her eyes. “No, no, no,” she nearly cried as the building popped into view, clearer than before, with a bit more light and so fewer shadows.
Dean moved in fast with an arm around her back, holding her as she moved closer to the ground. “Andie?” he nearly yelled, trying for her attention. “What is it? Andie?”
Her hearing finally returned and her whimpering stopped, but she couldn’t stop wincing against the pain. “It’s the building. A red door. A bird.”
“What about it?” Dean asked with slight panic. She just shook her head in return.
Bobby’s hands grabbed her face to look up at him. “Where is it?”
“I don’t know.” She heard them both sigh, but it wasn’t as angry as Dean had been earlier. She was a bit surprised by that. Uneasily, she said, “But I’ve seen it before.”
*
Growing up in and loving Chicago had never seemed to be such a great tool until that very moment. She had plenty of coffee table books on the town, and she collected any Chicago calendar she came across. A majority of the walls in her cubicle were covered in pages from those calendars, and in her home, she had numerous framed photos from travelling throughout the City to different landmarks with friends. Dean thought it was a little much, but at that moment, he was trying to trust her memory on these kinds of things.
Dean’s voice was tight as he kept his eye on the late night traffic into the city. “Why didn’t you tell us we’re not together?”
“Hmm?” she sounded, her attention taken to the items in her lap as she tried to find that building.
“In the end, you told Sam you two were there. But you never said I didn’t make it.”
She looked to him and kept a stoic face. “It’s not that you don’t. I just can’t see you.”
“About the same thing, no?”
“I never see you.”
Dean’s voice sounded a little offended. “Why not?”
Her eyebrows furrowed and she tried to focus on the last few pages of her book. “Contrary to popular belief, not every woman focuses herself on you.”
“You focusing on Sam?”
She didn’t answer, but her lips quirked to the side.
“Right, because he’s a perfect little boy.”
“He’s a lot better off than you are. And nicer. And tall.”
He grumbled. “I am not short.”
“Okay, shorter.”
Andie’s vision played lightly in her head as she began flipping through some postcards. In it, she saw more of the painted brick - a bright, vibrant green and yellow. And the faces on the mural made more sense to her this time. She thought she saw that artist that Salma Hayek played in that one movie (Dean said it was Frida, disappointing movie because she was fairly covered through most of it and had an unfortunate unibrow). And she definitely spotted Che Guevara. Which she suddenly found in the three-year-old set of postcards she had snatched up from her house.
“Here!” she called out excitedly. She saw the building just as it was in her brain. Green and yellow stripes, three faces on either side of the red door. She smiled triumphantly, almost thinking that the last headache/earache/painful experience was worth it to get this piece of information. She flipped the postcard over. “Latino Cultural Center.”
Dean’s voice was still tight and serious, but he almost sounded excited, too. “Where is it?”
“676 North LaSalle.”
“Where is that?” She repeated the address quietly. “Where?” he harped at her.
“I’m thinking … shit. LaSalle and Illinois?”
“That’s a question?”
Andie eyed him quickly and then tried to count out the streets and what numbers corresponded to what. “No, wait, I think it’s Hubbard? It’s right around there.”
“You sure?” Dean asked forcefully.
She nodded slightly and kept thinking. “It’s north of the river.”
“You sure?” he asked again.
“Yeah. For sure.”
*
As soon as they pulled around the corner of the building, Andie hopped out of the car and stared at the building. Suddenly, her stomach flipped and she started to get nervous. Realizing how this was all coming together was a little freaky in her mind. But then she had to remember this was Sam and Dean Winchester she was dealing with. Freaky had no real meaning here. And to punctuate that, she heard a gun being cocked from behind the trunk, then metal on metal.
She moved next to Dean and saw the trunk full of their hunting arsenal. “Are you kidding me?”
“What?” he asked, giving her a weird look.
From her visions, she’d seen some of the weaponry they used to terminate ghosts and demons. But to see it all together in one place, tucked away like tools in a shed with each item having its own place? It was beyond freaky. “I really shouldn’t be surprised.”
Bobby came up behind them. “This it?”
She looked at the building again and even higher at the windows of the second and third floors, completely dark. “Yeah. I think it’s the second floor? I’m not sure. But I know there were stairs.”
“Alright,” Dean started after waving Sam’s cell at her. “You see anything, you call. Immediately.”
“Wait a minute,” she argued, taking a few steps along with them. “I’m going in there, too.”
Bobby gave Dean a look before he spoke carefully. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with here. This isn’t a place for you to be.”
“I’m the only one who’s seen any of the rooms or hallways. You need my eyes in there.”
Dean chuckled humorlessly and became patronizing. “Yeah, okay. Look, you stay out here and stay out of trouble while we go save my brother. Then you can have a cute little slow-mo reunion on the curb, okay?”
With very little thought, Andie raised her hand and slapped him hard on the cheek.
His head flipped fast with her swing and he took a deep breath before looking back at her with a smirk. “You hit like a girl.”
She curled her fingers in and punched him well, right on the cheekbone. “Fuck,” she complained, holding her knuckles while he scrambled away.
“God damnit! Crazy bitch.”
Bobby pushed Andie a few steps away and tried to hide his grin (he was thankful for the fullness of his beard right then). “Alright, guys. Stop it now.” He looked to Dean. “She’s coming with us.”
Dean rubbed at the raw skin, crossing his eyebrows. He grumbled at Bobby. “No way man. She’s fucking psycho.”
When Bobby moved closer to Dean to explain, Andie took off around the building and quickly tugged the front door open.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean cursed, running after her.
He and Bobby split the first landing at the stairs, Bobby going to the third floor and Dean going after her. “Hey,” he loudly whispered to get her to stop. He grabbed onto her elbow and shoved a gun into her hand. “Here.” She looked down to the weapon in her hand. “You know how to use one of these?”
Her voice came out as low and condescending as he had been. “I seem to remember saving your life with one before, so yeah, I think I’ll be okay.”
He rolled his eyes and continued to follow her through the hallway. When they reached another fork in the way, she started to move right. Then they heard rumblings to the left and he grabbed at her arm. “This way.”
“No, he’s this way,” and she nodded to the right.
Beyond her, he could see a long meeting room and another door there. To his left, he continued to hear voices, but couldn’t make out the words. When he looked back, she was already moving into the room. “Andie!” he whispered as loudly as possible, but she kept on going.
It was then that the voices became louder and he swore he could make a few of them out, and possibly recognized them. So he went left and hoped she’d be okay.
What he found was one of the only lit rooms on the floor, full of the same dark shadowy figures that visited Sam, and one lone man in the center of it all. His tall frame and balding head stood out among them all. Dean was mostly horrified in that moment and froze, watching the shadows part to fully reveal him. “Zachariah,” he spoke with fear and wonder.
“Dean,” he smiled slowly. “We were beginning to wonder if you were going to show.”
His instincts said to raise the gun, and he started to, but then he stopped, remembering. This was an angel, albeit a pretty evil, manipulative one. It was an angel nonetheless, and they didn’t react to rock salt in any particular fashion. His voice came gravelly, the best way he could hid his fear. “Who’s we?”
“Well, Sam I’m sure. But all of us,” and he spread his hands out to the room, as if Dean could tell what each figure was.
His finger tucked into the trigger of the gun on instinct. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Where’s my brother?”
Zachariah tried to smooth. “He’s okay. A few dents and scratches, but nothing a mechanic can’t fix.”
“Where is he?” he gritted louder.
“He’s here. You came for him, like the good brother you are.”
“Let him go. Your problem is with me.”
“Oh, Dean,” he happily sighed. “It’s so much more than that.”
Next