Disclaimer: All characters used in this story belong to the Great and Terrible Kripke, and not me.
A/N: Written because of one of those really horrific plotbunnies that decide to attack when you're supposed to be doing something else. I hope you all enjoy it, and constructive criticism is welcome. Thanks to fennecfriend for help with the title.
Andy has to wonder, sometimes, what he did to deserve this. He never thought he was such a bad person, really. OK, there was the weed, and the porn, but that wasn't something you got thrown into Hell for, was it? Because, if it was, Andy reasoned, Hell had to have been pretty crowded by this point. Like, full to bursting. Of course, Andy didn't really know. His time in Hell had been short-lived. In one day, out the next. And he didn't mind that at all. Honestly, when he'd seen that stone door open, he thought that someone Up There had said, oh no, we made a mistake; what the hell is Andy doing down there? Someone send a busty, blonde angel down there to save him, chop chop. Andy had thought he was getting let off with a warning, until… Until.
Andy glanced across the cemetery towards the other man, who sat perched on a tombstone, looking elated.
"So, little brother," said Webber, grinning toothily. "Where're we going to go now?"
"I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with…C."
Andy groaned and tried to bang his head on the car window. Unfortunately, being incorporeal, he just slipped through it noiselessly. Andy had been doing that a lot.
Webber prodded him lightly. "C'mon, Andy. Beginning with C."
Andy looked to the couple seated in front of them plaintively. They had exhibited a spectacular failure to notice their phantom passengers for some time now, which was both a blessing and a curse. Being largely invisible meant that you could get a lot of free rides, but it also meant that you had nobody to talk to but Webber.
Who, speak of the devil, was tugging at his sleeve. "Andy, come on. C."
Andy sighed. "Corn?"
"Nope." Webber smiled hugely. "Guess again."
"Nnnnope! You give up?"
Why am I here? Andy asked. Outwardly he said, "Fine, Webber, I give up. What begins with C?"
Suddenly, Webber leaned forward and whispered in the driver's ear. Andy had about ten seconds to register what had just happened before the driver suddenly swerved and slammed their suddenly very fragile-seeming Volvo into the side of a minivan.
Once the screaming died down, Andy wandered outside the carnage, mouth hanging open in horror.
"Corpses," said Webber in his ear, making Andy jump about a mile in the air.
Webber's baby-round face broke into a huge smile. "They begin with C!"
Andy gaped. "You son of a bitch," he said flatly.
Webber made a face. "Don't talk about our mother that way. Come on," he said, grabbing Andy by the wrist and pulling him along. "I think we can catch a ride on that eighteen wheeler when traffic starts up again."
I could leave, Andy thought. I could leave right now, and never speak to that crazy son of a bitch ever again. I don't have to be here.
But, as Webber continued to drag him up the freeway, the thought of how alone he'd be without the guy made Andy flinch.
Andy had missed Guthrie. He'd missed it a lot. He could tell Webber had too, in a way, and for the first time in what felt like eternity, they parted ways for a while. Andy was a little nervous about that. Random, senseless murder by proxy hadn't been on Webber's list of things to do for a while now, but you never knew. After a while, Andy stopped worrying, and started remembering. He drifted down the streets he used to walk and the restaurant he used to work at, and the bridge where everything had gone down all of those months ago. He couldn't find the van, and the thought of it being stolen or impounded hurt more than it should have. Andy was wandering through Tracey's apartment when Webber found him again.
"Is she still in town?" Webber asked, prodding at the dusty furniture.
"I don't think so," said Andy, sadly. "I don't think she's been here in ages."
Webber focused on his shoes. "I'm sorry, man. I know you were looking forward to seeing her," he murmured. "I miss her too, a little."
Andy cringed at the thought.
"What?" said Webber. "I liked her, really. It wasn't anything personal. She was nice." He took a breath, out of habit more than anything. "I'm sorry."
And to Andy's horror, he realized that Webber meant it.
Days seemed to blur together now, into weeks, and months, so Andy wasn't sure how long he'd been home before the Winchesters showed up.
"What did you do?" he asked Webber, the instant the Impala pulled onto the bridge.
"I didn't think anybody would have noticed," Webber said, rocking gently on his perch on the railing. "It was just this guy who was always such a dick to me when I lived here, and I didn't think anyone would really connect the dots if he walked off the top of a building."
"That was you?"
Webber looked down at Sam, who was obliviously setting up an altar just below his feet. "Yeah. Hey, how do you think they knew exactly where to set up the altar?"
Andy thought for a moment. "You're sitting where I shot you."
"Oh, right. That's funny; I never noticed."
Andy pulled himself up to sit beside his brother. "Of course not."
"Sam, I still don't think this is our kind of thing," Dean was saying.
"Maybe not," said Sam as he rose to his feet, "but I think it's worth checking out."
"Fine," said Dean, "It's only my time you're wastin'. No worries."
Sam ignored him and began to read the Latin. And was subsequently quite surprised when two ghosts appeared instead of one.
Sam blinked at him. "What are you doing in Oklahoma?"
Andy was only dimly aware of how bizarrely normal that question was. "It's kind of a long story."
Dean cut to the chase. "Has he been talking people into jumping off buildings?" he asked, gesturing towards Webber.
Andy didn't answer, but Webber's twitching mouth and downcast eyes told the whole story.
The Winchesters exchanged a glance and Sam began to read out the exorcism, and Andy thought about what awaited him. No more Webber. No more psychopath following him around, day and night. No more trail of dead bodies in their wake. Just the long, slow path to eternity without his brother.
Sam continued reading.
Dean gave him a look, but didn't say anything.
Immediately, Sam went quiet, Dean dropped his guard, and they both adopted postures of intense concentration. Even Webber cocked his head to one side, ready to hang on his brother's every word.
"I – I'm thinking…" Andy paused, his brow creasing. "I think you guys should just forget that any of this happened and leave, right now."
The spell broke, and the Winchesters looked intensely confused.
"Where the hell are we?"
"I dunno. Looks like Guthrie."
"Yup. For some reason."
"Well, we're supposed to be in Arizona. Come on."
If they realized the true strangeness of their situation once they'd had a moment to sort things out, Andy never knew, because the Winchesters never came back.
When he turned back, Webber was smiling at him. "I didn't do it for you," Andy explained.
Webber rolled his eyes at him.
"OK, well, maybe I did," Andy admitted. "But only 'cause I think you should have one more chance." And because I can't be here alone, Andy added in his head.
"If you say so, little brother," said Webber, a look of smug pride permanently plastered on his face.
"If you do something like that again," Andy told him, "I swear I'll go find them and have them send you back to Hell."
Webber nodded in mock agreement. "Got it. Whatever you say."
Andy grabbed his wrist. "Are you crossing your fingers?"
"You are! You're crossing your fingers behind your back! Jesus, man, what are you, eight?"
His brother dissolved into giggles. "OK, OK, I promise," he held both hands up where Andy could see them. "I won't do it again. I mean it."
Andy looked him in the eye, and then nodded. "Good."
Webber rested his head on his twin's shoulder. Andy didn't push him away. The two of them sat like that for a very long while.