milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The front door opens, and in steps Andrew Wells, hands in his pockets and shoulders slightly slumped.

He's got a note to leave -- but it turns out the intended recepient is already here.

After that conversation, Andrew finds himself in a somewhat better mood -- right up until he reads the note that's been left for him since he was last here.

He's sitting at the bar reading it. Feel free to interrupt him; it's not like the words have changed since the last three times he read it.

[ETA: Mun has gone to bed. Thread is open until it scrolls off the front page.]

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Sam nods.

"Good."

Beat.

"'Cause I've gotta talk to Dean."

A pause, and something like unease flickers in Andrew's eyes.

"Think he'll go for it?"

This time the attempt at a casual tone doesn't come off as well.

Sam shrugs.

"Hard to say."

"...he thinks you're a murderer, and he's afraid that he's going to become one himself, 'cause you're all part of something that's terrible. And I hope to hell that he's wrong, but I'm starting to get a little scared that he might be right."

His glance locks with Andrew's. He doesn't say anything else, not yet.

Andrew looks away.

"I mean, I know I'm not his favoritest person ever."

"He's my brother," Sam says. "And he knows we're friends, and all, it's just--"

"It's just that because of that, with what happened before..."

He doesn't need to explain. They both know what he's talking about.

"... he's my brother."

It's not an apology. It's a statement of fact.

"Yeah." He looks up at Sam. "No, I get it."

"Yeah."

A beat.

"But we've been looking for an answer to this for a while, so."

Andrew nods. "So if it looks like you might get one, he can't afford to be too picky."

It's not bitter; at most, it's a little heavy.

(He refuses to let himself resent anyone for not trusting him, but sometimes he's not that successful at staying off the self-pity.)

Sam gives him a sharp look, at this.

"It's not a matter of being picky."

Flatly said.

His glance flicks up again.

"No, I know it isn't. Sorry. I shouldn't --"

He shakes his head, and sighs. "Sorry."

"You know, I'm not sure you do, but whatever."

Sam shrugs, picks up his Coke, and takes a drink.

Andrew bites his lower lip, hard, and looks down into his own glass.

"Anyway," he says, low, and then can't think of anything to follow that up with.

The silence quickly becomes awkward.

Abruptly--

"Look, you're the only one we told, okay?"

He blinks at him.

"...Well, you said it was secret," he says cautiously after a moment, "and I figured you might not be telling anyone else here...."

"Yes. No. That's not what--"

Sam sounds frustrated now. He shoves the glass away from him with slightly more force than strictly necessary, and stares down at it instead of looking at Andrew.

"A few people know about, about the visions and stuff. Ava, obviously. A couple of others."

Beat.

"The rest of it -- not so much."

And, of course, even Andrew doesn't know everything.

"Me and Dean-- we didn't even tell Dad at first, until-- anyway."

Sam glances up at him again, finally.

"It makes it more complicated. Is all."

We didn't even tell Dad at first; that's what makes him realize just how important this is. How important it is that he understand this.

Which ... he doesn't, yet.

"Complicated how?" he asks, after a moment. Uncertain.

Sam hesitates.

"Ava told you how we met, right?"

"Some of it," he says. "And you told me a little about it yourself."

"Yeah."

Silence again, for several seconds, and then Sam says,

"The dream -- the vision she had about me -- in it she saw me die."

A beat.

"Obviously I didn't. But if she hadn't warned me... who knows. Because she was right. Someone was trying to kill me. Because of -- because of the psychic thing. His name's Gordon Walker."

A beat. He meets Andrew's eyes.

"He's a hunter."

Andrew's opening his mouth to ask -- because of the psychic thing why? -- and, at the last words, closes it.

"So he thought," he starts, and trails off.

"Are you getting it now?"

Sam's tone is frighteningly matter-of-fact.

"Dean and I know Gordon; even did a job with him once, sort of, before he found out. I'm not gonna say we were friends, or anything even close, but -- "

He shrugs, but his gaze remains steady on Andrew's.

"He's been a hunter for a long time. And he's not the only one who'd think like that. Most would, probably, if they knew."

Even Dad did.

"Telling anyone anything about it at all is a risk. Dean and I talked it over before we came back here. We decided you were okay. And then...."

"...and then."

His voice is husky.

"I think I'm getting it, yeah."

"Good."

Sam holds his glance for a moment more, then looks away and reaches for his Coke again.

"So when the yellow-eyed demon told Ava that you guys would hunt her if you knew what she was...."

Andrew swallows. "There's hunters out there who would."

"Yeah."

He flicks a sideways glance at Andrew.

"She'll be fine, I think. No one knows about her."