#andyxsam

Don’t mind the tall man power-walking into the office, brusquely shoving the door shut behind him, loudly sliding the guest seat flush to the wood and planting himself there. He knew this might become a security issue, but at least he’d have several moments peace before the call got through. This would be the first time he voluntarily attended a private session, though, so maybe there would be leniency. Looking a touch haggard, he held up a hand and took an easy breath.

“It’s okay. I’m just avoiding someone.” Sam kept his hand hovering there and then he drew back bangs from his eyes. Okay. He swallowed and tried to push beyond that form of an entrance, smiling in a decidedly ingenuously friendly manner. “Uh… so… I have an appointment, I think. Hey.”

Andy looked up from where he was, sprawled on his bean bag in the corner of his office, and he caught the ball he’d been tossing without looking, a funny little raise to his eyebrows as he looked at Sam. “Oh, hey.” Scrambling to sit up, he rested his arms between his bent knees, looking far too young and exuberant to actually be a certified psychiatrist, but he was. Then there was a moment of silence as he contemplated Sam’s words.

“Oh, appointment!” So he pushed himself out of his bean bag with a sinuous motion and he padded over to his desk, and he flipped open his book. He didn’t have anything written down, but he might have just missed the memo. “Well, I don’t have you down here, but my whole day is open, so… Want to have an appointment? Or pretend to in case your pursuer tries to find you? I can act all official and tell him that we’re discussing highly personal, doctor-patient confidential things, and that they need to leave. How’s that sound?”

“Oh,” he walked back around to Sam and held out a hand, “where are my manners? I’m Andy.”

That’s the guy?

Not that Sam was interested in discussing, really, anything - anything - presently occurring in his life, but seriously? Without reprimand nor apparent concern over his arguably crazy actions, he tentatively relaxed and… maybe Lucifer had realized his own humanness for the time being. Maybe, that was why no knocking, banging or doorknob-jingling came as his doctor fumbled to the desk. An ambush would naturally come the instant he left, so he’d enjoy the break.

“Ineffectual,” he muttered to himself, that’s how it sounded. In part because nothing really mattered to Lucifer; even worse, he was almost certain the ‘personal’ part would (wrongly) tempt him even more. The hand, he took almost reflexively and now the smile was a little less fake.

“Sam.” His hand dropped like that and he rubbed over his forearm idly, tension easing away. “Yeah, I’d like an appointment. It— doesn’t seem like he’ll be a problem, but thank you. That would be great.”

It took Andy a moment to realize that Sam was saying that telling his pursuer to leave would be ineffectual, and not having an appointment. That would be sad, to have a patient run into your room to hide, and then not want to talk to you, although he’d certainly had his unfair share of those back in Pennsylvania.

“Well, it’s great meeting you Sam. Hopefully I won’t just see you when you need a place to duck into, but my office is always welcome if you do need a place to hide. Or chill, or talk… or, if you catch me on a really good day, smoke. Although… I’m getting a straight laced vibe from you. Not into reefer, are you?” He shook his head, he was getting off topic again. It was one thing to be laid back, but an entirely other thing to appear incompetent at his job.

“Alright. Well,” He made his way and perched lightly on the corner of his desk, one hand in his lap while the other gestured towards Sam, “how would you like to do this? We can have the generic introductory appointment where you clam up and give me superficial facts about your family and your childhood, or we could have me talk so you find out slightly more in depth factoids about me to help establish some sort of bond of trust between us, or we can dive right into it and talk about whatever pressing matters are on your mind. All up to you, Sam.” Andy said with his easy smile.

Sam’s expression shifted incrementally from a sheepish smile, quiet laugh directed at his lap, to something like surprise. His brows lifted, the smile returning in a smack of incredulity as he listened and regarded the young man with amusement. What kind of doctor asked that…? He blinked at the question, only had the time to, because Andy was back on his exuberantly-paced chat style. Sam listened patiently and felt a weight on his eyes drag his gaze down briefly.

“Uh. B,” he chose more in jest than anything. Without request, Sam gripped his armrests and stood, dragging the chair to a reasonable distance from the desk. Maybe he tossed a fleeting glance to the door, but it ended and he dropped back down like a ragdoll. “Honestly, I’m not ready to discuss pressing matters, so anything else is okay, right now.”

This one seemed the sort to value patient autonomy above all, so he didn’t worry too much about probing — though, all shrinks would make a move eventually. He knew that much.

“I’ve smoked before,” he added as though it was a point of contention. And he had, once upon a time. Not so much since then, though. “Do you always implicate yourself in illegal activities?”

“Plan B it is.” Andy replied, visually checking it off a list in the air. He smiled as Sam moved a bit closer, “If you want, I could lock the door?” It was an offer, but he wasn’t sure how it’d be received. A lot of people thought they wanted the security of a locked door, until they ran into the reverse fact that they were locked in somewhere, even if they had the ability to get out.

“And yes, because before too much longer here, they’re going to make living illegal, and then the only people worth knowing will be the outlaws.” He pondered that a moment, “Actually, that might already be true.”

“Ah, well, I’m sorry. I should know better than to judge a book by it cover.” He leaned over and pulled out a yo-yo from a drawer of his desk, as he was the type of person who needed something to keep his hands busy, or they’d go right to his mouth and he’d start worrying with his nails. Oral fixation. He still wasn’t sure if he thought that was bunk or not yet.

Throwing out the yo-yo a few times, he fell into a rhythm that worked for him, worked for the things he’d start talking about here.

“So, tell you about myself eh? Do you want to get the whole life story, the highlights, the reasons why I can understand where so many of you are coming from, or should I just tell you about my twin brother who killed my foster parents? I’ve got all sorts of fun topics to talk about. Or! I could just spend this entire time talking about drugs and other illegal activities, they’re generally the most fun.”

Huh.

With a tentative nod, Sam watched the door and rubbed over his inner elbow, as though the response might’ve inspired a second siege. But, no, he was mostly confident Lucifer submitted— for now. Probably condemned to murmuring and griping for the next however-long as if he wasn’t responsible for rupturing Sam’s soul. The fact that he could pretend he— No, thinking about it even more wasn’t, in fact, why he’d “ducked into” this room.

One thing was certain: He’d be exploring a solid range of expression this session. Sam followed the news enough to have a general idea of the world’s condition, but, really, there was too much shit going on to care about politics. The division of powers and rights. It just… didn’t seem as relevant when there were monsters and even darker things out there.

“Yeah,” a lame agreement, mouth pulling down at the edges to imply some comprehension. But his eyes dipped too quickly for it to be authentic. U-uh… His attention lifted at that because— what? Sam stared blatantly, brows high against his forehead. “So… you’re a twin.” Picked as though it stood out most. “Okay… no, I got nothing. Are you being serious? — I mean, not just the twin thing.”

Because, whoa, he didn’t realize they were on such good terms already. It seemed too… well, personal.

Andy threw out the yo-yo and moved his hands in a complicated series of motions, until the spinning toy was a pendulum in his hands, swaying back and forth in time with some silent music. He looked at Sam, holding the yo-yo in front of his face so that it wove in and out of his vision. “Yeah, perfectly serious. I’ve got nothing to hide, and I’m more of an open book than most people, really. You,” Another agile motion and the yo-yo was back to its regular orbit, out and in and out and in, “are a closed book.”

“For whatever reason, things happened in your life, and you closed off to people, to life. It’s pretty obvious from your stance, how you hold yourself, little cues like that. Which is why, yes, I’m serious.” The yo-yo hit home with a soft smack, his fingers gripping it tight for a moment. “If I can establish any trust with you by telling you about myself, and hopefully set you a little at ease, then it’s worth it.”

“Besides, I’ve lost everyone and everything that I loved, Sam; so I make my life have meaning by helping others. Yeah? The cannabis helps, sure, but that’s a little besides the point. We all find meaning in our lives, something to live for. I just happened to find that I could do some good talking to people. So I’ll ask you again, what would you like me to talk about?” Andy asked, his smile a little more somber, his pain showing in his eyes, not for his own life but for whatever had hurt this poor man so much.

The movement snagged his attention, reminiscent of schoolyard antics, transient and faceless, but he distinctly remembered the one-upmanship. Dean always cursed the things. The swaying breached the foreground and he leaned only slightly back, gaze flitting to the doctor when he spoke and—made a pretty quick accusation. Well, it wasn’t wrong or anything, but he didn’t see where it could have come from. Until Andy answered that confusion without prompt. Sam’s shoulders adjusted (itching to soften his position, but that was admission) and his mouth pressed together, hand sliding from his elbow to smooth the skin of his knuckles. Okay, maybe he was a little more obvious since the start of this case.

Suddenly, Sam remembered why he didn’t like shrinks. That sentiment softened, though, at the—candid confessions. Was this being an open book? This wasn’t normal. Or maybe it was, with the way hunters – basically everyone he knew – needed and demanded so much privacy, they sometimes forgot who they were. His brother, dad, Bobby even, and the rest of the faces who were just faces… until they popped back up here, ha. His life was so strange. Something about Andy’s words made him feel somehow wrong to know he wouldn’t be cooperating with a doctor so earnest in his desire to help and listen. Yet, here he was just to get some peace and quiet.

“… I’m sorry,” came out dripping in Sam’s trademark empathy. If nothing else, they both understood the loss of loved ones – and by… unusual means, too. His nail picked at a speck of roughness on one knuckle. “About your family. Losing them, it’s tough. Harder when your… family’s the reason, I guess.”

He wondered how Dean felt about that, sometimes. Or he did. Maybe everyone would be brought back, here.

“Why did your twin…?” Open book or not, it felt invasive and so it died on his lips. “Were you two close?”

Andy waved off the sentiment, eyes closed as he made little of his own pain. “It is what it is.” And wasn’t that the truth? There was nothing he could do to change the past, it simply was what it was. “No, we weren’t. I didn’t know he existed until the day he came and killed them, but he knew about me. You see, my brother, Ansem, had been raised in some real, real bad homes. Well, I guess we both were, but he seemed to have the worst of it.” The yo-yo started in and out again, giving him something to focus on as he told his tale. “He found out that I existed when he was young, still in the orphanages. Don’t ask me how. But he became, obsessed… with the idea that we had been separated at birth, and that that fact was very, very wrong. I gathered that he spent years, trying to track me down through the system, through each and every one of the homes I was placed into. I don’t know how many of them he killed, but the arresting officer said he’d confessed to murders, a lot of them.” “And then,” he threw out the yo-yo and shook his head, “then he found me, and my latest family, the Gallaghers. He killed them, found me, told me that we were destined to be together, to fight as one. Well, he said a lot of things, but… I was somehow able to talk him down, got him to turn himself in to the police, seek help. I visit him whenever I can, and I just have to hold out hope that some day he’ll be able to get past whatever was done to him to create this fixation.”

“So, I can’t help my brother, no matter how much I want to. I have to wait and pray. So maybe you can see why I want to help others, yeah?” The yo-yo traveled in and out again and again, Andy’s gaze finally dropped from it back to Sam. “So that’s a quick overview of my twin brother.” He caught the yo-yo one last time and stood up, walking around to the back of his desk, placing it back into one of the drawers.

Andy’s blatant show of emotional health was utterly foreign (evermore bizarre as the conversation revealed his demons). This was, to say the least, the last thing he’d expected when he found an opening and practically fell into the office. Sam liked to think he was once emotionally well-adjusted; he’d tried, almost succeeded, but there were always going to be secrets and they were lethal type. There was no choice, but to close off. If he lingered on it, he’d be anger, unreasonably angry, so he didn’t.

“… Yeah, I get it. That’s… a powerful reason to get involved in this kind of work, ha, wow…” Sam shook his head slightly as if to shake away that — feeling. It felt heavy. As much as they fight, as little faith as Dean has in him, as hesitant as Sam may be to address Dean honestly, they still had something. It wasn’t necessarily unbreakable anymore, but he could say they had eachother. “You visit him. Then, you’re… closer, now?”

Sam tensed at the first jingle and glanced over shoulder sharply, lips parting and then shutting again. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Even if it was something, it would be nothing. He rubbed over his knuckles in a distracted fashion. Refocusing. Settled comfortably, he took a breath and peered over the desk softly.

“Have you forgiven him?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Andy shrugged, his nonchalance only slightly more affected than it was before. “But we all either have something we live for, or something we die for. Ansem, he had something he would die for. I have something to live for. The difference being that it’s a whole hell of a lot easier to have a cause you’re willing to die for, than to have a cause that you have to live for each day.”

“Closer than being absolute strangers related by blood? I guess… but it’s hard, because he is still dangerously possessive, protective of me. So any time I go to visit him, I have to request that no one else is anywhere near us when I visit. Learned that one the hard way.” He chuckled, but it was a shadow of the sound it should be. “He killed one of the guards who escorted me in, because he touched my shoulder to tell me where to go in. Again, didn’t find out about it until they called me up at three in the morning several days later. So yeah, we’re real close… him more so than me, I guess. But I try. Because it isn’t him, he just was alone for so long, and I was what he had to hope for.”

“And I wish I could say that I don’t blame him, that he doesn’t know better, but he does. So, that’s… that’s part of what I’m working on, everyday. Because wounds don’t heal over night, and time doesn’t heal all sorrows. Ya know? So we just our lives accumulating scars, trying to make the differences that will matter.”

The way he spoke aged him beyond that scrawny first impression. Maybe he’d judged too harshly. His words were fluid and without hitch and the content wasn’t anything new, really, but the way the thoughts actually followed through… changed the meaning. You’d think the thing you’d die for, got to hell for, would be the most precious, proof of the greatest love, but… maybe they had it wrong. Maybe there were worse things than hell.

“… You’re right.”

As though he were being convinced in the first place, he nodded his understanding and turned his hand over to rub the palms lightly. The situations were different, though. Ansem, this twin — he was active, still is, but… maybe that’s not very different, given the circumstances of his past. Max crossed his mind in that moment and he sucked his lower lip in briefly, releasing it with a sigh.

“Things like that… I don’t know how they can ever heal.” Sam swallowed. “I said it already and you didn’t really know him, but I’m sorry about that. I wouldn’t know what to do without my brother.” Quite literally. Last time he’d tried, it wasn’t remarkably successful.

“You’d be surprised what wounds heal, or at least scar up so you don’t have to deal with the raw pain of it every day.” And that was almost all Andy saw as he looked at Sam, just a thin veneer over, perhaps, decades of pain. He didn’t know what had happened to the poor man, but he knew that whatever it was, it had changed him greatly.

“After all, I wasn’t always this fine example of a well functioning adult. I know, shocking right?” And there was his humor again, his natural armor that he tried so hard not to build walls with. It was a dangerous business, building walls to protect yourself, because enough outside pressure could cause them to crumble inwards, until you were crushed by your own defenses; an endless cycle of people expecting certain actions from you until you are the hollow shell left with only others expectations inside you. He couldn’t help but wonder what Sam’s armor was, because from here, the man might be broken, but he was far from defenseless.

“But yeah, thanks. Empathy is a good sign, you know. It means that, for better or worse, you’re still a big enough idiot that you haven’t given up on the human race, on people.” He nodded absently, “And now to tell you the big secret that I probably shouldn’t. When you’ve got a big heart, and care for people the most, it means you’ll be the one to be hurt the worst. But the good news is that you’ll have a lifetime of memories of each and every person who you were there for, who you helped. And thatis how I make it through my bad days.”

Surprised wasn’t the word, really. Dean tried so hard to shield him from everything, but it somehow… backfired, in the silence, the lies, the frightening things he saw and couldn’t explain; things they refused to explain. The secrets about mom. Everything that eventually hit him where he couldn’t make sense of it without tearing fingernails and boiling in rage. There was an unintentional condescension in his brother from the moment he could talk to even now, and that was changing slowly. Not for the better, he feared.

For all the anguish between the office walls, he cracked a small smile and gave a nod, grateful for any levity. Levity was familiar.

“It’s unnatural how well you function,” he acknowledged in way that should probably be insulting, but the smile hadn’t passed. Caring meant idiocy, huh. that sounded about right. Helping people, though, was ingrained in them by now; something that usually failed in the long run, but that was the life. “Maybe I should have kept smoking.”

The smile dropped somewhat as he intertwined his fingers and cracked the knuckles idly. “Can I ask a question?”

“I’ve had practice, but yeah, smoking really does help. And trust me, you wouldn’t want to see me right after I come back from visiting Ansem. I’m a mess every time.” Andy shrugged, a little smirk playing about his lips.

To say that he was overjoyed to see that smile would be an understatement, as it meant so very much. It showed that Sam might actually be listening to his words, being effected, even if only barely. He had always believed he was capable of helping people, but there wasn’t much you could do with someone who didn’t want to be helped. So that smile, well, he just hoped it was as good an omen as he thought it might be.

And then it was gone, but he understood its passing. Levity and smiles were right for certain situations, but not all. So he nodded, leaning his hip against his desk again and spread his arms wide, “Ask away.”

A puff might just annihilate him between the hallucinations, mom and Lucifer, so that would go untested. Sam’s smile lit more apologetic that this time, deciding against pursuing that and breaking the momentary pleasantness. It didn’t seem like the topic really bothered Andy, at least, but it was clear from the start—this wasn’t about idle conversation. Not that this conversation was in any way inane; in fact, he’d hardly spent ten minutes hiding away and the guy revealed his evil twin killed his mother and father. Even now, he was about to unload a pretty heavy question.

“Okay… First, I know how this works,” he established as though they were conducting some manner of business deal. It was a little ridiculous, but he generally didn’t enjoy the artificial gleam of psychiatrists’ words, pulled straight from the textbook and some summer internship. “You have a goal in mind, right, but I don’t need to hear any particular answer. I just…” Faltering, he rubbed his palm over his wrist, further, and crossed his arms loosely. “Want an honest answer. It doesn’t matter what it is.”

That said, he took to observing some spot beyond the desk.

“Do you think redemption is always possible? No exceptions, no generalizing, no sugar-coating.” Sam did spare a short-lived glance, then. “Like, no matter what someone’s done?”

Andy shuffled a little as Sam built up to his question, nervous energy making him shift his weight and reposition his hip against the table. The waiting was terrible, even with how short it was, for his mind went ever direction, preemptively seeing all sorts of horrendous questions that Sam might ask. Although what he eventually did get out his mouth wasn’t quite what Andy had been expecting, but he knew the question far too well. And it was a painful thing to ask.

A small, broken smile spread on his face. “Well, I can certainly appreciate your directness. And please, don’t think of my answer as a cop out or anything.” He scooted a little further onto the desk and pulled his legs up under him, cross-legged so that he could lean forward and rest his forearms on his knees, fingers laced together as his thumbs twiddled. “Redemption isn’t my job, hell, it isn’t even my department. Now hear me out here.” He added the last bit, holding out a hand to hopefully keep the start of his answer from distressing Sam.

“What my job is, well, it’s like being a guide through some pretty dangerous mountain passes. I can give you the supplies and lead you through, but I can’t actually make the trip for you. If there’s a problem in your life, I can’t go in with my tools and tinker around in your heart and your head to change how you think or cope or believe, yeah? So I can really only help people who want to be helped. Sometimes that’s right away, sometimes it’s not for years and years, and sometimes, it will never happen.”

“I wish I could, though. Can’t tell you how much I could just take people’s pasts and show them that it just that, the past, and give them a better future.” He shrugged, and it was almost a defeated gesture. “You have no idea how much so. But outside of what I can do. I have to believe redemption is possible. I… I can’t give up that hope, can’t live in a world where you can’t be forgiven your sins, as cliche as that might sound. Ansem is a reason for that, but myself too. I’ve done some pretty terrible things myself, and I need that hope.”

Locking gaze with Sam, he smiled a little, feeling so insufficient in that moment, because he was only human, was so limited in what he could do or say or help with. “So personally, I don’t, I can’t believe in an unpardonable sin. And because of that, I don’t give up on people, maybe that’s too much naivety on my part, but it is what it is, man. So, not sure if that’s what you’re hoping for, but it’s what I can give you.”

This wasn’t exactly… a fair question to ask someone outside the scope of what had happened, what might happen in the future; he knew that. He knew, but it wasn’t something he could ask Dean. Depending on his brother’s mood, Dean would dodge the question or answer in a vague, distinctly bitter fashion.  Maybe, that should have been all the answer he needed. After Dean, who else was there? Recently, he favored the company of an angel and spirit most, but somehow one week seemed too soon for such deep conversation.

 Not a good excuse, considering how long it had been since he’d known Andy as a bumbling, newly-grad shrink… Sam wasn’t actually sure what happened. He intended relax, throw out some pleasant recollections of his stay thus far and mention his improved sleep schedule. Somewhere, he slipped off-track.

Maybe, there was some part of him that wanted the answer Dean often alluded in blunt terms. Or maybe he was being too hard on himself because Dean believed it, he didn’t know, and it was frustrating. On one hand, he wanted to be forgiven, to get another chance, to see something gentler in Dean’s eyes when Sam happened to be involved in a he-said, she-said moment. But… it seemed no matter how hard he tried, there was something about him, in him, be it the demon blood or whatever made him so damn angry, that just… wasn’t meant to do the things he wanted to do.

It… didn’t even need to be him. It didn’t need to be another screw-up with the innumerable attachments he seemed to have to anything dark-side. With Lucifer back, did that mean it was happening all over again? Why was he the only one hallucinating? Why?

“…  It is… counterproductive to think it’s impossible,” he agreed in a minutely changed tone, gaze dropping off somewhere, and he itched at his arm. “Naivety can be good, you know. No, I don’t know what I wanted, it’s fine; I feel the same way. It’s just hard. Thank you for answering. That wasn’t really fair of me. Mm.” Sam cleared his throat, and did what he always did. “By the way, do you know Nurse Burkley? I haven’t seen her around lately.”

“Sam… It’s fine…” Andy started, but what could he say? It wasn’t in his profession to hand out pardons, but he had to try, because he sense the wealth of sadness in the man and he knew how crushing it could be. “I don’t exactly have context here, but if you’re asking for yourself, I really do think it’s possible. Other people might not see it at first, but you’re obviously trying as hard as you possibly can to hold it all together. And I don’t know what happened to you or what you’ve done, but trust me, you aren’t a lost cause.”

“I’ve seen them before, the ones who will never change, the habituals who get out and come back every time, or the ones who just never try at all. I’ve known you for a grand total of,” and here he looked at the clock on his wall, “twenty minutes, but I can already see that you want to change. It doesn’t happen all at once, and people won’t see it right away, but whatever it is that you’re struggling with, I honestly believe you’ll be able to change it for the better… So yeah… Sorry if that’s overstepping my bounds right now, I just…”

Sam just looked like he needed someone to believe in him.

But maybe he was wrong and it was something done to Sam and the man couldn’t bring himself to forgive someone. He just didn’t know enough about Sam yet to comfortably guess yet.

So he offered a smile and accepted the change in topic. “No, I don’t know her. I just got here today, and my interview was held out of state, so I only vaguely know there’s a Mary Winchester as another psychiatrist here.” He hadn’t heard Sam’s last name, so he didn’t know to make the connection.

Twenty minutes. This had happened in twenty minutes, which was either a testament to Andy’s professional expertise or Sam’s rapidly deteriorating defenses, and he wouldn’t be too quick to bet on either. The hallucinations weakened when he had a good night’s sleep at first, but, even with Frederick’s cookies, it’s as though… they adapted. Slow, but inevitable. Only disorganized napping threw them off enough that he could function. Sometimes, he saw things, heard chain-rattling; it made him anxious and twitchy, but if that was all, he’d manage.

As for the compassion radiating off Andy, Sam wasn’t sure how to react. The guy was going on normal – what normally should inspire such self-doubt and distaste – when Sam knew starting the apocalypse wasn’t normal. Neither was drinking blood, letting people die or murdering the defenseless. But… if it was possible for Andy’s brother, maybe it was close enough that he could trust that.

“Ha,” he released an out-of-place huff of amusement, running a hand through his hair. “’Hold it together’… Do I look that bad?” After swallowing that lump in his throat, Sam inhaled deeply, released, and smiled, rubbing his temple absently. “No, I wouldn’t say anything if I thought you might. It’s alright. I just hope you’re right… You know, this isn’t what I expected.”

Ah, damn. Of course he’d invade the shrink having his first day. He paused at his mother’s name; oh, right, Andy wasn’t expecting him. Sam sat somewhat straighter, though there was something lingering that he’d let fade naturally.

“Out of state? Where from?”

Andy shook his head contemplatively, “Well, you’re not exactly a spring daisy right now, no offense. And while I wouldn’t say your crazy is showing or anything like that, you simply have a strain, a weight about you that shows that you’re fighting your way through a lot right now. But like I said, I’ve been trained to look for these sorts of signs, so it wouldn’t be as obvious to other people. And… I’ve seen the look in the mirror more times than I’d like to admit.”

“I worked over in Pennsylvania, interned at a mental hospital over there for two years, and then another year interning at an asylum for the criminally insane, so… Yeah. Taught me a lot more than the books ever did, and helped me understand Ansem quite a bit. Moved out here because I saw a need that wasn’t being filled, and uh, I know this will sound… heh, crazy, but a gal I knew called me up and said she’d seen that I needed to come here, that I would do good here. So here I am, cannabis, van, and all.”

As he watched Sam’s reactions, he contemplated how ethical it would be to use his Voice on him, try to help the poor man relax; but as always, Tracey’s look of sheer terror stopped him from using it. He’d ruined enough lives with his ‘gift’ that he didn’t want to chance it now.

Sam’s brows did a fancy number and he consciously sniffed. His mouth pulled to one side and he absently rubbed his jaw, feeling the faint scrape of stubble; nothing more than a shadow, he imagined, but it probably didn’t look intentional. Watching giant slug radula grate flesh angels was distracting. While the news of Andy’s perceptiveness was something of a comfort (and predictable), it probably didn’t mean anything to those who knew him well enough. Those, being Dean Winchester and, as loathe as he is to admit, Lucifer.

Hiding it would be pointless, but bad habits are hard to break; impossible for Winchesters.

The gaping open book thing still caught him off-guard. How did he do that? Well… no, he’d done it once upon a time, but never quite so… casually. He didn’t even appear put down by his own acknowledgment. Before he could form a comment, Andy listed his work history and waited for the crazy part; already, he expected it to be pretty crazy coming from someone like this (no offense, Andy). Not that crazy, though. Except for the moving from Pennsylvania to Kansas on a whim phonecall, but it happened sometimes.

“It’s not that crazy. I feel pretty calm, if it means anything. That’s good.”

“Well, she’s the real deal man. Psychic, I mean. If she has a vision, it’s happening, no matter what you do to stop it, so if she said I go here and do good, then that’s damn well what I’m gonna do.” Andy smirked, a reckless abandon to his eyes that made them dance. “I mean, her gift isn’t quite as cool as mine, but, who’s comparing.” And then he realized what he’d said, and oh-so-casually didn’t worry about it. Most like Sam wouldn’t notice, right?

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell people that part of himself, it was just that every time he did, people had either disbelieved him, which was fine, or they’d gotten scared, terrified. People were cruel creatures, vilifying anything they didn’t understand; thinking that ability to use power equated intent to abuse power, which simply wasn’t true.

“Are you normally not calm?” Sam looked like the type of guy who took things in stride, so it was something of a surprise to hear him say that. “Well, I’m glad that you’re doin’ alright right now.” He was careful not to press for any more information than that, as he could tell Sam would open up when and if he wanted to, and likely not a second before. If he had to earn the man’s trust, that was fine. The challenge was part of the thrill to his work.

W-wait—

Instantly, he snapped out of conversationalist and local of Lawrence Asylum, and back into hunter Sam Winchester. A psychic told him to come here? Why? Did she—She probably leaned on the same vague phrasing Andy echoed, now, which meant he needed to contact her somehow. If she had directed someone here, there clearly was some pressing hint, a clue, whether or not it was the entire picture. Sam’s lips parted to interrupt with his question when… His lips closed again, stare blatant.

Gift? Was he talking about… this? His ability to “do good”, or was it something else? Maybe everyone in this hospital had been herded in like sheep for some totality of purpose. The question elicited a slightly baffled blink and then he leaned forward as though conspiring.

“Normally, I am, but not recently,” he answered, making quick work of it. “Andy, what gift were you talking about? And when the psychic told you to come here, did she give you any other information? Like, what kind of good?”

“Well, that sucks. Being anxious drains you on a good day, and will completely eat through your nerves over long periods. And don’t get me started on what it does to your adrenal glands and your hypothalamus.” Andy replied, his mind quickly running through all the side affects that a ranging severity of anxiety, paranoia, and hypersensitivity could wreak on a body. But he was brought back by Sam’s question. See, he knew he was a smart guy, picked right up on that.

Which only kind of sucked. “Well, just promise you won’t freak or anything on me. I can, sort of, jedi mind trick people? The best terms for it that I’ve come up with is either Persuasion or Mind Control. I’ve been tryin’ to figure out how it works for the past year, but no luck yet. I think it must be some resonance in my voice when I make a command that, I don’t know, maybe hits right into the reptilian portion of the human mind and voila! They do what I want.” He smiled a little nervously and hoped he didn’t sound as dangerous to Sam as he had to one of his own psychiatrists. “And I can kind of project images into people’s minds…” He added as an after thought.

“What, Missouri? Um, not really, she just said that I was needed here and that I’d do a whole lot of good. Why?”

Uh, that face?

That’s Sam’s ‘Huh’ face; a gentler version of full-grown disbelief, though he might have employed the matured version under any other circumstance. People were coming back from the dead, angel becoming humans, Lucifer rising again and the rest of it, too.The sum was definitely stranger than its parts, so he… had to give Andy a chance.

Maybe, he just meant… it was… No, there really wasn’t any other way to interpret that, actually. He’d know with the number of times Dean forced him to watch the entire Star Wars set, back to back, his brother pointing the same things out each time. — Missouri. Sam’s gaze dropped, shifting back and forth as he contemplated the likelihood, and, being where they are, psychic, the strange events pointing towards a positive reading — it had to be her.

“Missouri Mosely? — Okay,” he cut himself off, brows lifting and mouth pulling down slightly, nodding into his acceptance of the claim. There had to be something to this. “Okay. Uhm. So, you’d be able to tell me to do something? And I’d just… do it? Is that what you mean?”

Andy watched the thoughts pass behind Sam’s eyes, not so much worried that Sam would go and tell someone as the possibility that he’d decide this wasn’t something he wanted in his life and he’d never come back. One, that would make his job as a psychiatrist a bit more tricky, and two, which was the more important reason, he rather wanted Sam to feel safe here, and telling people you could effectively control their actions… yeah, not so much.

“Yeah, that’s her. You know ‘er?”

“Uhhh, yeah, basically. Although it doesn’t work on everyone, didn’t work on Ansem. But that might just have been because he has it too. I generally try not to use it all that much. Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. And well, I lost some people to it, real dear friends, apparently power like this, it uh, makes you seem like a monster to most people. I could have told them to continue to be my friends but, that would have just proven their fears to be true. Ya know?”

“Yeah, old friends.”

Sam gave a dismissive nod, clearly less vested in fair exchange and more in understanding. This was too important. Why didn’t Missouri contact them? Or— did she even know the boys were here? Was it only about Andy? She sent him deliberately, so this scrawny, naive man must be pretty crucial to taking care of— whatever this was. If he really had the power to… jedi-mind-trick people… well, what did that mean?

It would be a powerful weapon, maybe, but that seemed so… small in scale.

“That’s a good policy. In fact, don’t tell anyone else what you can do.” He glanced to the desk and reached out to swipe the stapler. “I’m sorry. I definitely know how being different can be painful, sometimes. The looks people give you—” Sam didn’t want to be insensitive, but, unfortunately, right now he was breezing through that commentary.

“It’s very familiar to me, and I don’t mind discussing it, but would you showing me first? I won’t be afraid, swear.” He held up the stapler and then set it back  into his lap, watching curiously. “Get the stapler back.”

Andy had never liked the feeling of people being freaked out by his powers, but he’d also never been a huge fan of being asked to dance like a performing monkey. Although he certainly understood that reaction too, his claim was rather fantastical, and most reasonably sane people wouldn’t take such a statement at face value without proof. “Alright.”

Focusing for a moment, he opened his mouth to speak, a strange reverberation to it thrumming with power, “Give me the stapler.”

Nothing happened.

So he said it again, using his mind as well this time, but again, nothing happened. Huh, maybe Sam was one of the folks who weren’t affected by it, just like Ansem and himself. And then a thought struck him and he spoke it before he’d completely processed it.

“You wouldn’t happen to know about a yellow eyed demon, would you?”

Sam waited.

Nothing happened.

A flurry of birds chirped outside and he glanced to the window passingly, down to the stapler, back to Andy. It wasn’t working. Or he’d been duped. Was this a reality check? Had Dean mentioned Missouri and unknowingly passed it around to this moment to confirm his crazy? Not really like Dean… but there were many hunters here. Well, it wasn’t like he’d be escaping anytime soon whether or not they shoved him through the exit.

“… I… yeah,” he tentatively answered, yet again caught off-guard. Andy had to be the most difficult guy to predict, and it didn’t help that he was now tied into the supernatural realm too. Maybe, it was just natural with how quickly he’d opened up. Had… he…? No, he couldn’t have forced Sam to speak and then failed to retrieve the stapler, right? And he hadn’t really said much.

Finally, Sam frowned subtly, hand tight around the stapler, bad memories stirred. “Azazel. I knew him.” A moment’s thought, and his lips parted slightly— adopted. Of course. But he just furrowed his brows, watching carefully. “How did you know him?”

Andy blinked a few times and nodded, clearly a little shell shocked, “I was right then. I mean, I thought maybe I couldn’t affect Ansem because we both had the same power, but… And he has a name? Wow, you know more about this than I do then. But Sam, I think the reason it doesn’t affect you is because… we both have his blood flowing through our veins.” It was something that Ansem had originally talked about, how they’d been given this incredible gift by the man with the yellow eyes.

“I don’t remember anything about it, but Ansem told me about the dreams that the yellow eyed man gave him, and with a little hunting around, I figured out the man was a real powerful demon. So I backed the hell away from it and just tried to keep my head down.” His hands gesticulated as he talked, emphasizing his words. “Um, so yeah.”

Then— they, Andy and Ansem, were like him, like Max, special children… even… though… the rest had supposedly died; was he… also resurrected? Sam’s expression shifted, now examining the man and the information exchanged for any sign of inconsistency, a lapse. Did he simply… not realize he died? Or… had they missed him? Was that even possible? Sam glanced to the door, tempted and then knowing better. In fact, did that mean this man, too, was a suitable vessel?

Ruby would know. Should know. She could claim blamelessness now, but they knew for a fact she’d been a key player back then; she’d have to know something. But, even if he was, the Devil couldn’t exactly do anything here. Hell, a plain door was holding him back.

“Yeah, don’t tell anyone about this. Do you understand, Andy?” He finally made eye contact and sat straight, not reacting in the least to the old news. “Don’t say why you came here. No visions, no Ansem and no Missouri. There was just an opening, like any other. Just trust me on this.”

He worried his bottom lip.

“You’re right, Andy. We’re the same, but… it’s a little complicated.” He glanced apologetically. “I’d, uh, like to see confirmation before I say anything else.”

Andy could understand Sam’s warnings against talking about his powers, although for most people, if they started freaking out Andy generally just made them forget he’d said anything. It had saved his life more often than he cared to admit, because there was no way he was letting people take him in and experiment on him or some crap like that. “Yeah, gotcha.”

“Confirmation? Like what?” If his powers didn’t work on Sam, and Sam didn’t want him making any of this known to others, how could he possibly confirm it? Although he could maybe sign for Sam to make a trip out into town, and show him out there? Or subtly influence someone in here?

Sam set the stapler on the desk and frowned in the memory of cooing chatter just before he’d slammed the office door. Somehow, he doubted jedi mind tricks worked on Satan; maybe not even angels. If he could get Dean here, it would be perfect. Or— no, first, he’d lead Lucifer away and… yes, that could work. Sam’s troubled expression cleared and he pulled his chair closer, elbows planting on the desk.

“My brother, Dean Winchester— he’s also a patient staying in room seven, though I’m not sure he’s there right now. When I leave, you find him. He knows about this stuff, too, but, uh, he might not trust you at first. He’ll come around when you show him what you can do,” Sam explained in a softened tone, as though Lucifer had his ear cupped to the door. “He’ll let me know later if it worked.”

Wow, put in an asylum with his brother… That was almost eerie in the similarity to himself. Of course, Andy hadn’t been admitted with Ansem, but if anyone found out about his powers, he’d be treated the same way, gagged and set off in the isolation ward, so far away from other people that you can only send images, couldn’t control people.

And that thought sent a chill down his spine, because he’d always assumed that they could hold Ansem in there, but what if they couldn’t? What if he stayed there because he’d been told to hang out there for a while? Well, damn, he’d need to visit Ansem before to long to make sure he didn’t get restless and try to find him or anything.

“That’s pretty neat that you’re both in here together.” Because not everyone had psycho brothers who would kill anyone who came between them. “Dean, got it. I can definitely do that. Anything in particular that you’d like me to make him do?”

“Neat’s one word for it,” Sam granted, steeling his mind and pressing his palms down. Alright. Like that, he was standing, strangely shaken of his, well, shakes, and renewed with a sense of direction. They needed to contact Missouri as soon as possible. If nothing else, they’d get confirmation of Andy’s identity and some sort of background on how she knew the guy— and why weren’t they told? That was odd enough. Was she… being watched? That stunk of angels.

“Uhm,” he lamely supplied, the idea of it surreal and pulling him from his pondering. Making Dean do something? Well, it’d be great if he could change his eating habits, but one meal wouldn’t fix that. Sam shook his head,” No, it doesn’t matter what it is. Just, something simple works.”

“I just mean that you’re not in here alone… that seems like it’s a blessing.” Andy replied, giving Sam a small smile. It was hard not to keep thinking about Ansem with all of these parallels. He also remembered the short stint when he’d been put into an asylum, where he’d constantly had to question his own reality. He’d been so alone in there. At least Sam had Dean, and while he didn’t know if they were terribly close or not, he could imagine that that still had to be an amazing reassurance.

“Ok, well, I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

Watching as Sam stood up, he then rose himself, extending a hand. “Well, you look about ready to go, so I just wanna say it’s been real. Feel free to come back whenever, Sam.” Andy said, his smile widening a little further. He really would like it if Sam wanted to come back, either to have an actual session or just to talk, because he could tell that they might just become something like friends. And wouldn’t that be nice?

The quick thought slowed as he recognized Andy’s implication, empathy winning over the investigation briefly enough that he could appreciate the sentiment and nod gratefully. “Like I said, I don’t know what I’d do without my brother,” he smiled into the words, even though he spent half his energy protecting his brother from whatever was going on with him. It was tiring maybe, but… yeah, he wouldn’t want to be here alone. Certainly not alone with Lucifer again.

“I’ll be back,” he assured, whether or not Dean found the whole jedi thing to be a hoax. Now, work would come first, but, when they had nothing to really go on, his mind had crowded with questions that had nowhere to go. At least a couple felt… somewhat resolved; if nothing else, he released frustration and self doubt. It wasn’t the time to be feeling those things.

If it wasn’t a hoax, that complicated things. He wasn’t sure it’d be good to mix, uh, those feelings with work when he compartmentalized them for a reason. He’d see later. This wasn’t exactly planned either.

“Thank you for, uh, listening,” Sam gave a weird smile that belayed the utter weirdness of the time as a whole. It wasn’t everyday your shrink turned out to be a special child who might have become Lucifer’s vessel in your stead. “Don’t wait too long after I leave to see Dean, alright?”

He’d… explain the Lucifer situation later, if necessary.

Andy waved off he thanks, “It’s nothing. I mean, it’s my job, so I’d be a pretty sucky psychiatrist if I didn’t.” Then he realized how that sound and he flailed a little, like a bird ruffling its feathers. “That’s not to say that I listened to you only because it was my job. I really do want to be here for you. You seem like a great guy and…” Slamming his mouth shut so fast that there was a click as his teeth came together, Andy grimaced and scratched at the back of his head.

Rule Number One. Remember that rule, Andy? That one that they all stressed a million times. The one that said a little something about untoward feels for your patients and never acting on them? Yeah… that one. He couldn’t really help that he’s suddenly developed a crush on his patient, could he? Because he’d always been open to love in whatever form it took, but now he would have to absolutely deny it because of social conventions.

Sometimes… being a grown up with responsibilities really sucked.

Collecting himself, with a strong reminder to just ignore it for a few days in hopes that it would go away, he flashed his regular smile again. “Sure thing. I’ll see if I can’t find him sometime today. Not like I have anything actually on my schedule today.”

Sam’s expression flashed friendly, wry amusement, seeing the wise and cool psychiatrist stumble over his words. Andy was still that open book, but in a more endearing and admittedly entertaining way. Really, this - the power-testing thing - was a formality. He just wouldn’t skip it simply because he felt comfortable and fond of the man after being shrunk. Like dad, he knew better than to base everything on gut feeling and intuition; of course, that lesson came from multiple sources, some harder than others.

“Yeah, Andy, I got it. You’re really here for me,” he repeated with a softer smile, head tilting with a nod as though it were obvious in itself. With that, he pulled back, straightened the chair as though Andy even cared, and took a deep breath.

Hand on the doorknob, he glanced back and there was a heaviness to his tone again. “Okay, thanks.” With another puff, he left, consciously shutting the door in his wake.

Andy waved after Sam and then leaned back against his desk. Letting out a slow breath of air, he ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes, evaluating how that had just gone. Well, he hadn’t scaredhis patientaway, so he wasn’t completely screwed as apsychiatrist. Just keep reminding yourself of these little things, Andy, and you’ll be fine. Just fine.

Right.

Damn, he’d need a few hits tonight once he was off. Which also reminded him that he’d need to visit Ansem before the week was out, for Ansem’s mental health and the safety of everyone in that facility. Oh, and he’d need to find that brother of Sam’s, Dean.

Well, he had his work cut out for him.