A/N: This goes a tiny bit into depth about Andre and Mitchell. It's dark. So please, be warned if you don't like twisty stuff.
I swear I'm not twisty but it just goes into my writing?
Thank you all for your encouragement. I'm so glad you're liking this story.
And I know you want Dean. Big brother always comes, I promise ;)
Please let me know what you think of this. I'll try and update faster next time!
I don't own any of the Supernatural characters nor do I own the show. Those rights are not mine. (Maybe in my dreams...)
I just like to use them and play with them ;)
Andre came to the realisation that he had throughly underestimated the youngest Winchester.
Or – perhaps it was being beaten into him by said other.
He had thought his greatest obstacle would be Dean Winchester. He hadn't deliberately picked out his target. If you knew Dean, you would know that he is fiercely protective of those that he cares for – and it is another level when it comes to Sam.
And Sam – well Sam seemed to follow in big brother's footsteps, if the force behind the punches he was receiving was anything to go by. This was more than just defence, this was attack on behalf of a cared one. Andre was not so far gone as to not know what it was like to be driven by that love and to fuel actions.
No, Sam and Dean had been on his radar once, and then disappeared. It was only when Mitchell befriended the youngest Winchester that Andre's plans picked back up. And now with his brother crying on the phone and Sam trying to hit every bit of him he could, he wondered why he thought this could happen and why he thought he would get away with it and why, oh why, did he think Sam Winchester would ever keep quiet?
Because even though there were strong similarities in Mitchell and Sam, the truth was that his brother was not Sam. Sam would fight until the very end, and even then Andre knew he would not break. Again, he had to marvel at the love that Dean bestowed upon his brother.
And, well, Andre had been desperate.
He had wanted the attentions of his brother – and anyone wouldn't do. That's why Sam and Dean stuck out to him. They had spoken fondly of a father – fondly enough to know that it was real. However, Andre was privy to know some personal things from Dean, such as, father was away most times. It could have been easy. But it wasn't, and life never is.
He wasn't a monster – he had questionable methods when it came to ensuring food on the table, and a home over their head. Not everyone was as lucky to have two – or even one – parent who cooked you dinner, had breakfast waiting for you on the table, and kissed your forehead and placed your lunch bag into your hand at the same time so you couldn't avoid it. Not everyone pretended that they hated it – and really how dare they have the fucking audacity to do such a thing when Andre pinned for a simple gesture like that daily?
He had done what he could, but the system had been failing for a long time, and he refused to let his brother go into foster care. He had told himself and his brother that it would be worse for them there, and Andre had had to bury the guilt because he didn't know if the spoke the truth. He just didn't want to be alone and put into another failing system. Despite the fabricated lies of a better life, it really was just the two of them. But he could make it work.
He would not fail at this.
Andre had been getting on well enough by forging signatures and working numerous jobs – until money became too much of an issue.
And then it was the same sad story – the drug dealings, the planned robberies. That had seemed like child play when he had become somewhat trusted, and introduced to worse evils that prowled the streets.
And then, he invited it into his home.
Let it be said that Andre was not Dean. He often wished he was. There was something about the other boy that he couldn't put his finger on. Besides the admirable devotion he had to his brother, there was also many other traits and qualities the other had that attracted all sorts of attention, from both males and females.
No, Andre was not Dean.
Dean loved Sam too much to ever get themselves anywhere near situations that Andre had willingly walked into. But, if he somehow had no other option, Dean would, without a doubt, take everything and would refuse, and fight until he died before he let a single one of those filthy bastards lay a single hand on his precious Sammy.
And, well, Andre had just willingly given his brother up.
He had been terrified by the idea of sex for money. Of being taken against your will – because he would never do such a thing willingly or condone it willingly – of, of –no, Andre hadn't thought two seconds on it.
Besides, he had reasoned then and he reasoned to this day, that it was time for Mitchell to earn his keep. Andre had already had to do horrible stuff, and why should he bear such a burden? It was Mitchell's turn.
Andre had twisted it in his mind so that he believed he was doing the right thing by both of them. He told Mitchell every time about the money they were both making, and how Andre was being generous by giving a lot more to him. Mitchell didn't even respond, and Andre wondered why he bothered.
He thought it was more for the benefit of him, to try and keep positive.
Andre knew that Mitchell hadn't simply adapted to it. There was a difference between fighting loudly, and being silent. And silent, Mitchell was to the point where Andre left the house because he couldn't bear it.
Sometimes, it was even worse when Mitchell would look at him, because even though his mouth said little, his eyes screamed things that kept Andre up at night.
Sam brought Andre back to reality very pleasantly –a face mashed into the carpet and a knee digging into his spine and shit a kid's knee shouldn't be that bony, should it? How did he even know a move like this and why –
"Dean, can you just hurry back, please – God, Sam's holding his own but if they come he's not going to be able to." Any calm Mitchell had had was now gone, and in it's place blazed raw panic. It was the first thing Mitchell had felt for a long time and he wondered if that's why it was so strong – but no, the thought of this happening to anyone, to Sam especially –
"Them! I can't –Dean, just come!" Mitchell hung up the phone and started to move over towards his brother and his friend.
Sam's head shot up at the sudden movement.
"Stay there!" He ordered, and his concentration eased enough for Andre to shove an elbow into Sam's ribs. Sam hissed in pain, and Andre grinned a bloody smile and shoved the distracted teenager off of him. He was almost surprised really at how easy that was –but distraction can cause great errors for some, victories for others. Andre pinned Sam to the ground this time, and Sam struggled in the iron grip, before he looked up at Andre. He suddenly stilled; there was something in the eyes that seemed to bring this into clarity, that this really was happening and it was so much bigger than he could handle...
Andre's grin sharpened, and blood begin to drip out of his mouth. Sam inched over, looking at it as it landed beside him, before back up at Andre.
"There's a good boy. If you just be still, it's over much quicker." Sam recoiled, flinching and he wanted nothing more than to just get away. But he could only move slightly, and he was beginning to feel caged and he didn't like it and then –and then his brother's voice was in his head. Think Sam. This is just another monster. By a different nature, yes, and human, no longer sure. But fight, and hold on until I am there. You can do this.
Sam took a deep breath; forced his pulse to slow and his chest to steady.
"Why are you doing this?"
Andre blinked at Sam's quiet voice, a little unsettled the calm tone instead of the aggression.
"So my brother doesn't have to." Andre said immediately, and Mitchell's head shot up from his frozen spot. His gaze sharpened onto his brother's, and there was a deadliness that Andre had never seen before in Mitchell's eyes.
In fact, it had been a long time since he had seen anything. The realisation caused Andre's fingers to loosen around Sam's wrist.
"If you cared so much, why didn't you take it yourself? Or better yet – why not just send me away. Before you lie, I will answer you. You like the money. You like it better than me, and better than your soul, and your life."
There was a hushed silence, and Sam was already making a mental list of what to say to his friend, and knowing that although he was good at words, he would still struggle in the face of the revelations made today. But in this, in what Mitchell had just said – he would not. Mitchell seemed to feel his gaze, and Sam hoped that he could see how proud he was of him. The other gave a small smile of recognition, but this was shattered when Andre opened his mouth.
"Yes, if I really cared about they money you wouldn't have so much in the bank. You could have left long ago. Maybe you grew to like it? No shame in that. It's a win, win."
Mitchell gaped at his brother, and there was such a strong flash of hurt and anger that Sam was suddenly fearful of Mitchell. Sometimes, it wasn't about how strong you were or the training you have had. Sometimes the adrenaline rushes through you, and you're given inhumane strength and power for a short time – but it is enough to kill, destroy and damage. Adrenaline was not just for defence.
Sam would not be surprised that if the tables got turned, Mitchell would kill his brother and have no remorse for it.
And Sam, who loved his brother more than he loved anyone, and could love anyone for all that he had done for him, could understand it.
And that truth frightened him – and it must have caused a reaction to Andre because in his shock he completely let go of Sam.
Sam didn't hesitate, he lunged for Andre again and took satisfaction as the other let out a cry of pain. Sam curled his fists into Andre's hair and pulled, and pulled until Sam's lips were at his ears.
"You're going to pay for what you have done. And you'll realise that there are much more powerful things than money."
"My, my, this is an interesting sight indeed. Do carry on – but let me join instead. And the positions are all wrong. But that's okay, we can start out like that if you like. Pretend that you have any control." A voice was purring, and Mitchell backed into the wall, eyes wide on the person at the door. Sam was frozen, hair standing up as if he were a cat arching his back and seconds from hissing.
Andre started laughing.
For a moment, all Dean heard on the other line was static and muffled shouting. He froze, and Cherie's fingers were no longer soothing or gentle or anything but a distraction. He pushed her away, ignoring her pout and blinking of the eyes; all of his attention was focused on who was on the other end of the line.
"Sam, talk to me." He ordered, trying to remain calm. It was hard to do when every nerve was straining, and his body felt wired and strung out as he painfully waited for some kind of answer – something – to go by.
"Dean!" The person in question frowned, and paused for a moment. Dean knew that time was a precious thing and when someone called to him in that sort of tone, it was not to be wasted.
But –why was someone else calling from Sam's phone sounding that panicked?
Dean knew if he did not keep moving, he would be lost to it, too, and he could not afford that. He could never afford that when it came to Sam.
"Yes, this is Dean. Mitchell?"
"Yes – I, ah – Oh God – I'm so sorry, I should have said something–"
"Kid, slow down. Take a deep breath for me, and then forget apologies and should have's for the moment and tell me what is happening now." Dean managed to say in a calm and kind manner, even though if what Mitchell was apologising for or what he should have said could have saved Sam from whatever was going down made him want to lash out and punch something, lest of all he expel it from his own body.
Dean could not give in to such luxuries. He would carry it, and then use it when the time called.
"Look you need to come back now. Speed. Get the cops attention. Do whatever you got to do. But get here now!"
Dean went very still under this command – this desperate, needing, serious demand – and had to take a moment himself before he responded. He could not think about what was going on or what had had happened to cause such an order – and knew that it was not to be discussed, but to be obeyed only.
"Okay. I'm leaving now. What's going on, I need to be prepared." Dean was too calm now. He stood up and picked up his discarded shirt, ignoring Cherie's concern and mouthing questions. He had no time to explain what was going on, and besides, he didn't even know himself. He walked to the door, still waiting for a response from Mitchell when a hand tugged on his arm.
He spun around, eyes wide and hard, daring Cherie to continue. She blinked up at him, eyebrows arched in defiance of his expression. Dean waited, raising one eyebrow of his own as if to say well?
Cherie's mouth tightened in determination and she clamped down even harder on his arm, as if she believed she had the power to make him stay. Dean would be amused if he wasn't so worked up.
"You're just going to leave without a goodbye?" She asked him. Dean didn't respond; he looked down at her hand and then dragged his gaze back to her. He clenched his jaw and arched another eyebrow at her – and this time there was no confusion as to his impatience with her.
Cherie tried not to be intimidated. She had never let boys get away with it, but Dean wasn't just any boy. Besides, he did not do it for games – his was of a deeper, more important reason. He wasn't trying to be cruel – and perhaps that made it all the worse. At least with the others they had wanted something from her. Dean was making it clear that right now he wanted the opposite.
She took a deep breath and tried again.
"What's going on, Dean? Please, let me in," She said in a gentle voice.
"Let you in." He deadpanned, and she nodded, eyes hopeful.
"Look, babe, it's not personal. But I have a crisis and if you don't let me go and stop holding me up with these ridiculous questions I will make it personal."
Perhaps he should feel guilty, especially when she recoiled and let go of his hand so abruptly. But this was Sam, and anyone who stood in the way of getting to Sam would regret it. She hadn't know, yes, but he had never thought she was so thick to make this about her when something was clearly going down. But that was girls and that was what they did.
"Goodbye, Cherie." He said coolly, leaving her standing there as he turned and walked out the door.
"Mitchell!" Dean snapped, trying to get the others attention and demand answers. He opened the door to the driver's side and scooted in.
And then Dean realised something he should have thought about a lot earlier in this conversation, and wanted to kick himself for it.
John had warned him that although Dean's commitment to Sam was admirable, if he didn't learn to control himself and keep a cool head, then it would become misguided and could wind up killing him.
It was something Dean had been grateful for his father to say, as he had never forgot it.
"Where is Andre, Mitchell?" He said coldly.
"Dean, can you just hurry back, please – God, Sam's holding his own but if they come he's not going to be able to!" Mitchell's words were almost running together, but Dean heard them loud and clearly, and then he couldn't stop hearing them – not even the Impala's engine drowned them out.
The good thing was that Sam was holding his own – but...
"Them? Mitchell, who is – "
"Them! I can't –Dean, just come!" And then there was a dial tone, and the car was hurtling out of the small driveway and through the friendly neighbourhood.
Dean did not allow his mind to go past the task of gaining as much attention as he could. He told himself like a mantra that he would get Sam, and keep him safe, because that was his job, and what's he always did, and as long as he was around nothing bad would ever happen to Sam.
He told himself this over and over again, and lost himself into it, and became the words; he did not notice the two cop cars speeding after him, nor the black truck he passed and his father's surprised face in mid bite of a burger.