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Having a third person in the Impala was disquieting, Sam mused, glancing at the rearview mirror. Andy sat in the backseat, one arm wrapped around his middle, the other propping up his head as he gazed listlessly out the window. He looked awkward, like a little kid forced to go to the dentist but too polite to complain about it. Sam might have been projecting, though. The backseat had exclusively been his domain for a decade and a half, much of it spent sulking. The association never really faded, apparently.
Dean cast a glance over his shoulder. Nodding to himself, he reached between Sam’s feet, grabbing a fistful of tapes. He sorted through the selection quickly before shoving Heaven and Hell into the cassette player. Behind them, Andy perked to life.
“Sabbath! Dude, nice,” he exclaimed. Sam arched an eyebrow. Half the time Dean pretended anything past the Ozzy years didn’t exist. “Skip to Lady Evil.”
Dean’s hand automatically drifted towards the console. Sam slapped it away. “Andy!”
Andy flushed. “Sorry. Uh, do what you want.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the permission, pal.” Andy winced. “You always that careless with your Jedi Mind Trick?”
“Ah, not really. It usually takes more focus,” he explained. “I’m just, I dunno, tense.”
Sam exchanged looks with his brother. Despite Andy’s innocence in the two murders, the potential of Andy’s powers still left Sam cold. The possibility, no, the likelihood of abuse was enormous. Dean, as if sensing his thoughts, pursed his lips. Before he could open his mouth and defend Andy again, Sam jumped in.
“Say, Andy,” Sam began. “When we first got into town this morning we saw you leaving someone’s place. A woman’s.”
Andy’s brow furrowed in thought. “This morning?” His expression brightened. “Oh, yeah! Leila. She’s great. So hot.”
“Yeah, we noticed,” Sam said with an eye roll. “Look, no offense, but she looked kind of out of your league.”
Andy frowned. “How is that not offensive?”
“I’m just asking how you know her,” Sam barreled on. “You old friends or something?”
“Me and Leila? Nah, we met a few days ago.”
Dean stiffened. He’d picked up on what Sam was implying. “Sam--”
“So you two meet and just, what, click?” Sam continued, cutting Dean off.
“Huh? Yeah, you could say that.”
“Come on, man,” Dean hissed. Sam ignored him.
“That happen a lot with you and girls? Just... clicking?”
Andy blinked once, twice. Then his eyes grew wide as dinner plates and he shoved himself into the opposite corner of the backseat as if trying to escape Sam’s accusing stare.
“What the-- No, no, man, no, that’s not how it was!” he cried. “I didn’t whammy her into sleeping with me!”
“You’ll forgive me if I’m skeptical,” Sam replied dryly.
“Will you at least give the guy a chance to defend himself?” Dean snapped. “Before you break out the executioner’s axe?”
Sam’s mouth drew into a tight line. Dean’s insistence that Andy was an innocent little angel was starting to grind his nerves. He was sure they’d be on the same page with this after the disaster that was Max Miller. Sure, Andy hadn’t killed anyone yet, but obviously had no problem with manipulation and grand theft auto. Was sexual assault really that far out of the realm of possibility?
“Well?” Sam huffed.
Andy swallowed hard. “I just asked her, man,” he mumbled. Sam snorted. “Seriously! I asked her if she’d have any interest in hooking up. She said normally no, but if I let her tie me up and do, uh, other stuff--” Dean let out a strangled laugh, “--it’d help her get over her boyfriend breaking up with her. Total asshole, by the way,” Andy added, raising his eyebrows and nodding as if the information made an enormous difference.
“That’s it?” Sam asked flatly.
“That’s it,” Andy confirmed. “I mean, yeah, she probably wouldn’t have told me without the...” He wiggled his fingers. “But if she said no I would have backed off, I swear! That’s just...”
He did look a little green, Sam admitted. Andy kept his eyes firmly on his shoes, fiddling with the cuffs of his long sleeves. But maybe he had done it before. Maybe without even realizing it, like Dean and the radio. After all, it wasn’t like they knew the true extent of Andy’s powers. Sam barely understood his own. And Dean himself said that Sam frightened him. How long had he felt like that? What had he done that Dean’s faith had begun to waver?
What had Dean seen?
Now Sam was feeling nauseous. Dean, however, looked positively perky. “See, no problem,” he said. “Here’s to Leila, huh?” He cranked up Ronnie’s baritone, threw up devil horns, and stepped on the gas.
*~*
Oklahoma was well into their rearview before Sam managed to bring up the Leila problem again. After the long drive, they took up Ellen’s offer to bunk down at the roadhouse for the night, despite the explanation of Sam’s powers and their connection to the demon hanging over all of them like a dark cloud. She’d taken the news about Sam’s potential for spiraling into psychopathy surprisingly well, considering, but she hadn’t seen Ansem at work, or Max Miller. So maybe he and Andy weren’t psycho-killers. That didn’t mean they were automatically good either.
Despite the late hour, Sam hadn’t made a move to prepare for sleep, sitting on the hard fold-out bed and sorting through his duffle bag without actually pulling anything out. He wanted to be ready to go in case this conversation went south. He set the bag aside and cleared his throat. In the small back room the sound came out louder than he’d have liked. “You, uh, remember Leila?”
Dean glanced at him, unconcerned. He was already sprawled across his bed, shoes off, nose-deep in an old issue of Hot Rod. “The ZZ Top song?”
“The ZZ Top--no, Leila. As in Andy’s Leila.”
“What about her?”
“You believe what Andy said? That he didn’t make her have sex with him?”
Sam watched her brother like a hawk, ready to catch any hint of doubt. Dean didn’t even blink.
“Yeah, I do,” Dean said, flipping the page. “He looked ready to pass out at just the idea of it. He’s not a bad guy, Sam.”
Sam kept his eyes on Dean. “What if... what if he did without realizing what he did?”
Now Dean paused, lowering the magazine to meet Sam’s gaze. The emotions flicked by in his eyes faster than Sam could read them. “What brought this on?”
“It’s plausible,” Sam said, unflinching. “Like how he was going to make you fast-forward the tape.”
Dean laughed. “Or I just don’t like Neon Knights,” he countered. “You’re thinking too hard about this. He said he had to focus, remember?”
“I’m just saying--”
“Sam, drop it,” Dean said firmly. “We’ve been over this.”
Sam bowed his head, lacing his fingers together in his lap. No more dancing around it, then. “I’ve done it,” Sam confessed lowly.
Dean inhaled sharply. “Done what?”
“Back with Max, when he shoved me in the closet. I moved the cupboard in front of it without even knowing I could do that,” he explained. “And I can’t control my visions at all.”
“That’s different.”
“Different how?” Sam demanded, glowering at his brother. “How is it different? Explain it to me, Dean, because I can’t see the difference!”
Dean didn’t reply. Of course he didn’t. He couldn’t. There was nothing to say.
“Have I...” Sam swallowed hard. This was the hard part. Whatever the answer, he doubted Dean would take off--he was too stubborn for that--but things would change. Dean would no longer trust him.
Dean shouldn’t trust him, Sam reminded himself fiercely. He took a breath and dove in headfirst. “Have I ever made you do something you didn’t want to do?”
Coward he was, Sam couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes, resuming his intense study the floor. He shuffled through the past several months with mounting dread. Nothing stood out as obviously damning, but that didn’t mean anything. The memory of every little favor or gesture, every time Dean gave in when normally he’d push back, turned Sam’s guts to lead. At least he hadn’t done anything he couldn’t walk back, Sam thought frantically. He hadn’t gone too far, Dean didn’t know he--
“Sure,” Dean answered lazily. The blood drained from Sam’s face as his head snapped up. “Everytime you make me try those low fat protein bars. Shit’s nasty.”
Goddamn Dean. “I’m serious!” Sam exploded.
“So am I. They’re gross,” Dean said with a shrug. Sam’s scowl deepened and Dean sighed. “You’re not Professor X, dude. You can’t control my mind. And even if you could, what’s the worse you would do? Make me listen to grunge? Steal my fries? You do that crap anyway.”
Dean didn’t get it. He honestly didn’t understand. His brother looked at Andy, stealing strangers’ coffees and misdirecting debt collectors, and Ansem, cajoling people into setting themselves on fire and jumping off bridges, and didn’t see the connection between the two. He didn’t understand it was all a matter of degrees, that there was a clear line connecting one to the other. He didn’t see how easily someone could go down that slippery slope, even by accident.
“Man, you get twisted up in knots running credit card scams, I’m not exactly trembling in my boots. Or are you saying you wanna get in my pants?” Dean flashed a grin.
Sam would make him understand.
He locked eyes with Dean. He couldn’t remember how he’d made the wardrobe move back at the Miller’s but he remembered the terror and frustration before it happened. And the painful migraines that accompanied his visions were fresh in his mind. He imagined pressing down on the aching parts of his brain and sending resulting the pulse of agony outward, toward Dean. Sam focused.
“Come here,” Sam ordered.
Dean didn’t hesitate. He set aside his magazine and stood up. He crossed the room, standing between Sam’s legs.
Feeling sick, Sam continued. “Look at me,” he said and Dean did.
He’d make Dean understand. He’d make him understand why the idea of Andy and Leila scared him so much.
“Not so bad, huh?” Sam whispered. “It’s all harmless, right? What if I told you to kiss me? What then?”
A calloused hand cupped his cheek, tilting his face up. When Dean’s mouth connected with his it wasn’t like every idle fantasy Sam had conjured up and smashed down since he was thirteen years old--it was better. He wanted more. He wanted to last.
But Sam wasn’t a monster yet. He jerked away and Dean backed off, hands raised.
“See?” Sam spat bitterly, looking away. “We have no idea what I’m capable of. What I can do, what I’ve already done--”
He was shocked abruptly into silence by Dean grabbing his chin, forcing him to look up once more.
“Moron,” Dean murmured fondly. “I did that because you asked.”
This time, when Dean leaned in, Sam didn’t have to say a word.