"Just typical army scare tactics."
Dean nodded absently as he filled out the tag for the bodybag with practiced ease. He didn't bother to point out that he wasn't exactly scared, that he'd seen death and he'd even died a few times and it wasn't as bad as everyone made out.
This wasn't quite where he'd expected to end up when he followed Sam's lead two years ago and left home. Of course he had to go one bigger, he was older and tougher and scarier and now more-involved-in-secret-organisations-ier. Could you add a suffix to that? Must be able to. He just had. Take that, Sammy boy. I'm two to your one because fraternities don't count. Any society where you don't have to kill things doesn't count.
The man with the terrifying glasses and strong accent returned and led them out to a firing range to put them through their paces or some such nonsense. Dean watched the rich boys take their turns putting holes through a piece of paper and tried to look excited. It was a little hard when he'd been taking down a full-grown kelpie three weeks ago and could still feel the boil of black inhuman blood over his hands.
Merlin (and son of a bitch, Sam was going to have a field day if he turned up sporting a name like that) handed Dean a pistol and he checked the bullets absently, frowning a little at the sight of something not-iron or silver or covered in salt.
"Y' got a problem, lad?"
"Nope. No problem." Dean shot five holes into the known kill points for a unseelie fairy, and then five more straight through the middle circle over the head. "Would be a bit more challenging if this was moving. A bit more realistic, too."
"Be patient, Mr Winchester," Merlin said, taking back the gun and smiling at him thinly. "I'm sure we'll manage to entertain you yet."
Dean smiled back.