Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Fandom: Supernatural
Ship: Gen (Andy & Sam & Dean & Max)
Additional Tags: Azazel's Special Children (Supernatural), Psychic Abilities, Whump, Headaches & Migraines, Psychic Sam Winchester, Mind Control, Post-Episode: s02e12 Nightshifter (Supernatural), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cold
Wordcount: 1,463
Summary:
The events of Nightshifter were a lot less stressful with Andy there to keep everyone under control, but he's never done anything like that before.
And from the way his head is killing him, he really hopes he never has to do it again.
Notes:
For day 4, I used the alternate prompt "shaking"
The Impala’s window thumps against Andy’s head with each revolution of the tires, a constant rhythm that may have been painful if it wasn’t vastly overshadowed by the migraine already digging into his gray matter. Not looking out the window as they speed down the highway is making him nauseous, but the sunlight burns into his retinas like needles whenever a ray of it gets past his eyelids. The lesser of two evils is curling against the door with his head ducked and his eyes shut. Sam’s jacket is too big on him, but by the time Andy had realized it wasn’t his own, there hadn’t been time to change, and after the fiasco at the bank, Dean hadn’t stopped slamming the pedal, eager to get them out of the state.
Andy is trying very hard not to think about the bank. Or about anything. Using his brain at all makes him want to scream.
Dean and Sam are arguing about something, and the music is blaring like it always does, and the car is growling against Andy’s ear no matter which position he presses his head against the door. Even the window is too cold to lay his head against. Andy shivers and draws Sam’s coat tighter.
The only respite here is Max because he tends to zone out in the backseat, silent and staring listlessly out his window. For the first time, Andy’s appreciating the silence, for what little good it does when every other sound in the car is turned up to eleven. He promises himself he’s never going to bug Max into talking with him again, just for this. A promise he will probably only manage to keep until he gets too fidgety on a six hour drive. No one on Earth has the insane tolerance for road trips that Sam and Dean have developed, and Andy is especially bad at them.
He chose this life. He doesn’t get to complain now. It’s better than going it alone.
He squeezes his eyes shut tighter like that will block out the light better than his own hand over his face. He almost feels hungover, except it’s so much colder. He can’t stop shivering, no matter how much he tucks into Sam’s jacket. The sun on his skin provides barely any relief.
There’s a pause in the conversation in the front seat. It stretches out. Another jumble of words Andy doesn’t bother to put together. A pause. The third time, he hears his name in the middle of whatever Sam is saying something-something-Andy-something, and though every part of him protests, he raises his head and opens his eyes. He cringes from the light, wanting nothing more than to curl back into a ball and wait out the pain.
“What?” he croaks, his dry throat heaving out the word. His eyes adjust so that he isn’t blinded, and he can put Sam’s expression together into one of concern.
“He said, how’re you holding up?” Dean tosses back, eyes on the road and hands on the wheel. They haven’t even stopped to get him and Sam out of their disguises. They must be hot in all-black, and Andy wishes for a moment that he’d gone ahead and convinced another guy to strip his uniform off so that he could wear it. He’s not sure if he could have. At that point, after trying to keep the entire situation under control with a few words for every hostage, even talking the two agents Sam and Dean stole from made him nearly keel over. He and Max weren’t wanted, so they limped (on account of Andy’s legs not wanting to stay under him and leaning on Max to keep them moving forward) their way out of the bank, and Andy talked their way out of the custody of an officer, and then the Winchesters picked them up.
“Shitty,” Andy answers, and now that he has an opening, “Could you turn the music down?”
“Just this once,” Dean says, but he’s joking and he reaches for the dial without another word. The tape pops itself out of the player before he even touches anything, falling neatly into the waiting box. Andy glances over at Max at the same time Sam does, and Max shrugs. Andy forces a smile to his face anyway in thanks.
“What you did back there was really amazing,” Sam continues, “but it was a lot. You have a migraine?” Andy nods, and Sam makes a face in sympathy. “Yeah, we get those. Uh, what about a nosebleed?” Sam’s eyes dart down Andy’s front and Andy squints at him.
“No?” He’s never gotten a nosebleed from pushing himself, but then, he hadn’t done this much since he set his mind to getting on T and had to talk his way through a whole clinic and a pharmacy. “I’m just freezing.” As if to prove his point, Andy’s body gives a huge, involuntary shudder.
“That’s a new one,” Sam says. Andy shuts his eyes. Looking at things is too much for him to handle right now.
“You don’t get cold when you’re…” Max’s voice trails off.
“No,” Sam says, “actually, one time I started running a fever.”
They’re both quiet for a second, and then Max says, “You must be some kind of freak.” It makes Sam chuckle weakly.
“We’ll find a place to stop at,” Dean says. Andy’s whole body aches for it, somewhere to lay down and pass out in peace. He misses his van.
But instead, he says, “And wake up to the FBI arresting us? I’m fine. Keep going.” Dean snorts. The car lurches to avoid something in the road, and Andy nearly rolls across the seat into Max.
“I wasn’t asking you. We’re stopping,” Dean says.
“Keep driving,” Andy insists, too strongly. He can feel the rebelling screech of pain in his head before the words have even finished leaving his mouth. He curls in on himself, panting and shaking. Cold sweeps up his spine and into his head, making his teeth clatter against each other when he can’t make himself stop shivering. He hears Dean curse.
“Son of a-“
“Andy, reverse it,” Sam says, and Andy wants to, he really does, but he’s done. That was the limit and he broke it and now he can barely keep himself upright. His fingers feel numb, and no amount of rubbing them together brings the sensation back. Max touches the back of his neck, but his hand jumps away the moment it makes contact with Andy’s skin. “Andy-“
“He can’t,” Max says, and his voice cuts right through Sam’s.
He very rarely speaks over any of them, but when he does, he gets listened to. Usually because that’s when they all remember he doesn’t need to be touching a knife to use it. Sam takes a deep breath. Max’s hand folds over the back of Andy’s neck again. It’s not as firm as Andy would like, but Max doesn’t like being touched and this is practically a bear hug for how much contact Andy’s getting. It doesn’t help with the cold, unfortunately. Max is warmer than Andy is right now, but any given day, they’re two chilly peas in a pod, and Sam really is the freak running a few degrees hotter than anyone should.
“Okay,” Sam says, more to himself than anyone, “okay, Dean.”
“Still can’t take my hands off the wheel.”
“I know. But. Pull over.”
“Did you not just hear me?”
“Pull. Over.” Sam slows his words down, and it doesn’t help. Andy would give him pointers if anything at all would fit inside his head but the pain spilling out the edges.
“Sam-“
“Pull over!” It reaches into frustration the third time, and Andy can feel the tug of the suggestion without even being the one it’s directed at. Max’s hand stiffens against his neck. The car swerves and rolls to a stop. For a minute, all Andy can hear is their breathing and the upset rumble of a car stopped too quickly. “Holy shit,” Sam whispers.
“Don’t do that to me again,” Dean tells him, sounding more scared than angry.
“I won’t,” Sam promises. He sounds scared, too. Neither of them have ever sounded like that about Andy, even when he slips up or pulls out the persuasion for a harmless prank. “You’re good to drive?”
“I’m fine.” Dean is, obviously, lying, but out of the three of them, none of them are going to point it out. He cranks the car back into drive, and as they get down the road again, he says, “Next motel I see, we’re stopping.”
It’s not like Andy can argue. He does his best to just focus on Max’s hand and not how numb and sick he feels.
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