Notes: Thanks to LBButterfly for the beta, the ready ear and every little thing in between. I hope everyone enjoys this as I really ought to be working on my thesis instead. :-)
When it came right down to it, he killed his brother.
Dean's bat lashed out and knocked a pitch deep into the far side of the batting cage.
Granted, Andy spent the first twenty-two years of his life not knowing he had a brother. And said brother was in the middle of a fairly Bundy-esque killing spree, but still. Mr. HippyPeaceLove "If the van's a rockin' don't come a knockin'" just shot his own fucking brother.
The bat connected solidly with another ball, launching it on the same path as the first.
Dean sure as hell didn't disagree with the decision. That bastard had tried to Obi-Wan him into the hereafter. And it's not that Andy didn't do the right thing. His brother was seriously twisted. You put that kind of demon mind-fuck on top of freaky mojo powers… well, no amount of psycho-therapy is gonna fix that.
It was the right thing to do. Dean was sure of it and that's what made him so fucking angry.
Another ball went deep with a satisfying crack.
Andy shot his brother. His brother with freaky spoon-bending powers. His brother who went out of control and turned to the dark side.
Dean swung and faltered, missing the ball completely as his father's voice echoed in his head.
The children, Dean, like your brother, they're going to be the weapons. The war is coming and they're the tools that both sides are going to use.
Dean let loose a frustrated growl and set his feet. Concentrating on the mechanical arm, he waited for the next pitch and tried to quiet the ghosts and demons in his head.
The next seven balls flew with satisfying velocity, the controlled violence a familiar and satisfying rhythm. It mirrored how he was feeling lately; anger in short, sharp bursts. The need to lash out, to just fucking hurt something, to reduce his world back to a matter of cause and effect was a constant vibrating thrum beneath his skin. How fucked up was their life that simple physics was something that wasn't even a sure bet these days?
He realized belatedly that the machine was quiet and had been so for a while. Cursing, he dug in his pocket for more tokens, his gaze automatically seeking Sam. One annoying brother, brooding in a corner, drinking a coffee with too much milk? Check.
Dean plugged eight more tokens in the battered coin box, giving it a kick when it balked. The abused machine gave a metallic hiccough and the gears began grinding again, pulling up another baseball as Dean adjusted his helmet.
I know you've always protected your brother, Dean, but things are changing. He's a weapon and he may be the most powerful of them all.
With a grunt, Dean smacked a ball straight back up the middle, Sam's pain-filled face in his mind's eye. Yeah, some powerful weapon – uncontrollable freaky-ass powers that come out of nowhere, cripple him with pain, make him watch people die. He was sure the opposition in this war was cowering in fear.
Fear. That was something familiar enough though. Fear in the eyes of Andy's girlfriend, of Ellen and Jo… and didn't they fucking get it that Sam was afraid enough for all of them? Afraid for what he could do, what he couldn't do and what he might do – just fucking afraid all the time. His six foot five ginormous brother had somehow turned into a mere shadow and no one was left to bear witness but Dean.
A vicious swing imbedded yet another ball in the netting at the far corner of the batting area.
And Sam thought Dean was afraid of him. Never. Dean was afraid for him. Because Sammy in his right mind wouldn't hurt anyone unless they were hurting someone else.
But Sammy wasn't in his right mind and this goddamn vision shit just seemed to make it easier for things to get to him, twist him up… control him and make him do things that he'd feel guilty about for as long as he lived.
Dean swung, practically blind with anger, missing the pitch by a mile and winding up in a tangled heap in the dirt. The pitches kept coming, sailing just over his unaware head with military precision.
If something happens, something bad and Sam doesn't… he's a weapon, Dean. He could be the key to everything and if he's in the wrong hands. I need to know, son, that you won't let that happen. That if it comes down to it, you'll do what needs to be done. I trust you son. I know you'll do the right thing, Dean.
The right thing. Like Andy.
Because Dean's a good soldier in this war, this war that chose him.
This war that was coring out small pieces of his soul every day.
This war that, one way or another, would cost him everything.