I always wonder if what happened in BUABS is gonna come back and bite Sam right on his cute lil, non-existent ass...I really think it will, so here's my take on it. Now, I REALLY obsessed over this and took a long time to correct it so I've sort of lost sight on if it's any good or not haha. Hope ya'll enjoy...let me know:D
What Goes Awry Comes Around
"It wasn't you, alright? I mean, yeah it might've been you, but it wasn't you."
Sam drained the last gulp of beer and placed the empty bottle on the bar in front of him. He leaned forward on his elbows and drummed his long fingers against the sleeve of his jacket. A glance down the bar brought a clear view of the one-man show put on by his brother. Dean leaned suavely against the bar, flashing his signature smile and putting his best moves on the red-headed bartender. Sam shook his head as the young woman burst out laughing at something Dean said and hit him playfully on the arm.
Sam caught Dean's attention after a moment and motioned with his hand, signaling that it was late and they should go. Dean's grin faltered a bit in disappointment. He knew they had work to do. The boys had been staying at Bobby's place for a while, exorcising every escaped demon that they could get their hands on; it averaged out to nearly four rituals a day. They both needed to be rested up for when the next possession came along. Dean nodded after a moment and held up a hand, requesting just five more minutes to try and score a phone number. Sam chuckled and rolled his eyes. He got off his bar stool and walked towards the door, fingering the Impala's keys in his jacket pocket. He was the designated driver that night, as he was most nights when Dean insisted that he just had to "Unwind and enjoy the local night-life."
Sam let the door to the bar slam carelessly behind him and he walked down the sidewalk towards the Impala, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. The hour was late and most signs of life had been stolen away from the darkened streets. The occasional flickering streetlamp cast dull orbs of light down onto the pavement and random debris rolled by in the breeze.
Sam strode lazily down the cement. He wasn't in any way drunk. He had only had two beers over the span of three hours and that didn't even begin to impair his tall frame, no matter how much Dean teased that two was more than enough to get him "Knocked out of his gourd." Sam was only weary and he gazed blankly ahead of him in a pensive stare as he wandered towards the car.
A breeze blew past Sam and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His sharpened hunter skills flicked on as a second set of footsteps caught his attention. He listened carefully, analyzing the qualities of the footsteps belonging to his follower. The foot falls were not Dean's. Sam's pace slowed cautiously as his ears strained to make sure the steps where in-fact following him. The steps continued to follow and he kept up his own pace, not letting on that he knew he was not alone. Sam walked casually to the curb where the Impala was parked and went right past the shining black beauty. He instead turned left across the street and headed down an alleyway.
Sam stopped and flattened himself against the wall just around the corner of the alley opening. His heart beat hard in his chest as the foot steps grew to a jog and eased closer to him. The steps grew deadly close and the mystery person rounded the corner. Sam grabbed his pursuer's shirt and threw them against the wall, holding his right forearm over their throat.
"Who are you?" Sam demanded in a stern voice.
A man smiled at Sam in a strangely condescending way. His hands gripped the arm that was pressed against his throat, but attempted no liberty from it.
"You Sam Winchester?" He asked in a gruff voice.
Sam kept his face set with a flat, expressionless look.
"Who...are...you?" He repeated.
The man chuckled. "I'm gonna take that as a 'yes'. I've heard a lot about you."
Sam just stared at him, his silence being the only response he was willing to give.
The man sighed heavily. "You can call me, Jimmy. I believe you and I share the same occupation."
Sam cocked his head to the side a little, easing the pressure of his arm off Jimmy's throat.
Jimmy smirked and nodded. "That's right. I hunt down evil bastards too."
Sam let go of Jimmy and took a few careful steps back. "What do you want?"
Jimmy stepped away from the wall, straightening out his shirt. He put his hands on his hips and looked around carefully, seemingly cautious of something. He looked back at Sam and sized him up slowly, a smirk tugging at his unpleasant expression.
"Your big brother around?" He asked mockingly.
"No." Sam said shortly. Jimmy's smile made him nervous; it had a strange glint of something that he didn't trust.
"Good, cause I wanna talk to you."
Before Sam could question as to what this strange Jimmy had to say to him, another man came around the corner and into the alleyway, followed by two more. All three wore the same disconcerting, self-satisfied smile that Jimmy sported. Sam readjusted his feet, spacing his legs in a relaxed fighting pose.
"We've been lookin' for you for a loooong time, Winchester."
Sam's eyes scanned sharply over the four men slowly circling around him. His hand moved discretely to his lower back where his gun was stowed.
"I'm flattered?" Sam said mockingly, hoping to imitate that smartass cockiness that Dean was so famous for in bad situations.
Jimmy laughed and pulled out a large handgun, pointing it at Sam and thumbing the hammer back.
"Don't even think about it."
Sam's fingers wrapped around the silver handle at his back and he paused, carefully contemplating his options. The other three hunters drew weapons too, following suit of Jimmy. The click of three more hammers pulling back seemed to be magnified and echo throughout the alley. Sam's face twitched. "Damnit."
"Why don't you go ahead and toss that over here." Jimmy grinned smugly.
Sam's jaw tensed and he slowly pulled the revolver from the back of his jeans. He held it up and eased forward a few steps. He bent down, keeping his eyes up and aware of the four men, and placed the gun gently on the pavement. On his rise back to a standing position, a boot connected with the side of Sam's head, sending him sprawling to the ground. Sam quickly jumped to his feet again, his vision tilting and darkening threateningly.
The blackness cleared just in time for Sam to duck the first punch thrown at him and was even able to return one of his own. The second one, however, landed on his mouth. Sam tasted blood as his lip split. The blow knocked him off balance and someone grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms back. He was righted back on his feet and the first man to enter the alley way after Jimmy punched him heartily in the stomach. Sam lurched forward, knees buckling slightly as he gasped for the return of air.
Jimmy strolled up to Sam, his face filled with burning hate.
"How could you do it?" Jimmy hissed, shaking his head slowly. "He didn't do a damn thing to you!"
Jimmy right hooked Sam in the gut. Sam grunted and doubled over again. Jimmy grabbed his hair, jerking Sam's pain-twisted face back up.
"Steve was my friend...and a good man." Jimmy clenched his teeth angrily and pulled Sam's face closer to his own. "And you killed him."
Sam's face softened as realization forced its way through the pain. "Steve?...Steve Wandell?" Sam shook his head frantically.
Jimmy punched him again, this time landing the hit on Sam's eye. Sam bit back a cry of pain as his head flew sideways against the blow.
"Did you listen to him?! You slit his throat! You didn't even flinch!"
Sam's head hung forward, his chest heaving with rapidly growing panic. He could feel the pressure around his left eye as it began to swell.
"I didn't kill him." He breathed out.
Jimmy's face twitched and reddened with anger. He drew back his arm and hit Sam on the side of the forehead with the butt of his gun. The man holding Sam released his grip and threw Sam to the ground. He landed heavily in a large puddle, catching himself weakly on his palms.
"Well, now we're not going to kill you."
Sam's bangs hung wet before his eyes as he looked up at the men surrounding him. This was just a big, huge misunderstanding and it wasn't fair. These men knew what was out there; they hunted it and Sam's explanation would be completely plausible. Even if Sam could explain though, would they listen? Would they even care? Eight eyes looked down at him. Such anger and hate filled them that Sam was sure that his skin might burn under their very gazes.
He tried to push himself up. His arms shook dangerously beneath him and his vision swam dizzyingly within the pounding confines of his skull. He fell back down, too weak to fight. These hunters wouldn't listen to him...they were just going to beat him to eventual death and there was little to nothing he could do about it.
A kick to the ribs started out the unfair fight of four to one. Each time Sam managed to dodge a kick or punch, he was met with another and another until he was unsure of which side he was being beaten from. He gasped for breath as his body ached from the unforgiving metal-toed shoes of the hunters.
The brutality continued until Sam's vision started to black, only brightened by the white flash of pain that followed each blow given to his back, stomach or chest. He curled over, attempting minor protection for himself, and lay helplessly in the muddy puddle that had long since soaked through his clothes. The beatings paused suddenly after a few minutes and someone jerked Sam's head back. Sam pried his eyes open enough to blurrily see one of the men, he was pretty sure it was Jimmy, take out something large and shiny. Sam groaned and twisted in the man's grasp, attempting weakly to free himself and avoid the sharp blade coming closer and closer to his exposed neck.
His plea passed his lips in little more than a cracked whisper. He struggled unsuccessfully to free himself, tugging weakly at the man's arms that were holding him down. The blade glinted as it came within inches of Sam's neck. Sam breathed out heavily through his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the killing blow. He heard a familiar voice call his name just as the cold steel pressed against his skin. Sam's eyelids fluttered and he couldn't suppress the heavy exhale of relief that he gave. "Dean."
Jimmy looked behind him then back down at Sam. He leaned closer, face set with an angry sneer.
"We're not finished with you, Winchester. Don't you begin to think you're in the clear just because your brother has come to rescue his bitch. We'll be back..."
He grabbed Sam's chin in a vice hold, pulling Sam's face closer. "...Soon."
Jimmy put his hand firmly over Sam's mouth and pushed the dagger slowly into the flesh under his right collarbone. Sam's scream fought against the confines of Jimmy's palm, but went almost completely muffled. Pain dazzled Sam's vision even more to the point of breaking as Jimmy withdrew the knife with a twist and the hold on Sam's head was released, leaving him to slump back into the puddle.
"Come on, let's go." He heard Jimmy say as the black dust danced into a solid screen before his eyes. Echoing footsteps ran away from him. Sam breathed heavily, each rise of his ribs sending barbs of pain to his brain. He rolled weakly onto his side with his hand clutched over the punctured area on his shoulder. The taste of blood stung his mouth. Sam noted vaguely before unconsciousness hit that most of it probably wasn't just from his busted lip anymore.
Dean strolled down the sidewalk leading from the bar, happily pocketing a number and smiling as if he had just won a prize. He walked a ways, riding out the buzz of alcohol still coursing through him, and came into clear sight of the Impala. He smiled. "And there she is." Dean couldn't help but take pride in his car; so shiny and beautiful. Smashed to hell and it-she, "his baby" as Dean liked to call her- still looked as good as the day his father had given him the keys.
Dean felt that the Impala had a common ground with him and his brother. The car had taken quite a few beatings over the years, but it was still there; fully healed and ready for whatever may come next. Dean chuckled and shook his head. Sam would probably have him committed if he knew the amount of respect he had for two tons of metal and wiring. "Oh well. I'd just bring up how much he loves that laptop computer of his." Dean grinned, happy with his mental comeback.
"Speaking of Sam..." Dean's smile faded a bit when he didn't see his little brother sitting in the front seat of the Impala. He walked up next to the car and leaned down to look in the windows. No Sam in the backseat either. Dean turned about slowly, his sharp green eyes searching every corner of the darkened street. Sam's tall form was no where to be seen. Had Sam decided to just hang at the bar? Dean hadn't seen him. No, Sam had left the bar a good ten minutes ago, Dean was sure of it...something wasn't right.
"Sam?!" Dean called out, his breath dancing against the cold in a cloud before him.
Dean's attention shot to his left. He thought he heard something. He waited a moment, ears straining for validation that there had actually been a noise to hear. There was the faint sound of feet hitting pavement in a run. Dean walked to the end of the sidewalk past the Impala to look down a dark alley way across the street. A few shadows disappearing around the corner at the far end of it caught his eye and his gaze panned down to a crumpled yet unmistakable form lying on the ground. Dean's chest constricted in an icy grip and his heart fell rapidly.
Dean sprinted across the street and splashed through a puddle, kneeling next to his brother. He grabbed the shoulders of Sam's jacket and dragged him out of the cold water.
"Sam? Sa-" Dean stopped short and his eyes widened as he looked upon Sam's face. "Oh my God..."
Sam's bottom lip was split and bleeding. His left eye was swollen and was beginning to blacken. His cheeks were riddled with shiny red blotches and large cuts on both sides of his forehead leaked crimson down his temples. Anger rose up within Dean, but was lost almost immediately to concern for his little brother.
"Hey hey, Sam?"
He pulled Sam up and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, propping Sam's head up in the crook of his elbow. Sam sucked in a breath and twitched violently away from him.
"W-w-whoa it's okay, it's me."
Dean's eyes fell on a bloodied rip in Sam's jacket. He gently pulled the layers of fabric back to reveal a two inch puncture under Sam's collar-bone. Dean's hand clenched into a fist around Sam's shirt as he stared wide-eyed at the bloodied cut, fury stealing away his ability to speak.
"D-e-an?" Sam's voice was quiet and hoarse.
Dean stared blankly at the stab wound, shaky fingers ghosting over it. Who did this? Where were they? He was going to kill them! Sam's hand grasped desperately at thin air, searching for solid proof of Dean's presence. His fingers caught Dean's sleeve and he gripped the fabric tightly.
Dean seemed to be startled by Sam's grasp and he brought his attention away from the wound.
"I'm here, Sam. It's ok."
Sam shivered and his eyes fluttered open, focusing with difficulty on Dean. His face softened and he heaved a sigh of relief. Dean located a handkerchief in his jacket pocket and he quickly held it to Sam's stab wound, staunching the flow of blood. Dean grimaced at the state of the cut.
"Gah, Sammy what happened to you?" He said breathlessly, almost talking to himself.
He looked up at Sam's face. "Tell me who the hell did this to you!"
Sam swallowed hard, seeming to gather the strength to speak.
"Tried to fight...too many..." Sam shivered again and closed his eyes, eyebrows furrowing. "Mmcold."
Dean quickly pulled Sam into a sitting position and peeled off his soaked jacket. Sam's shirt and undershirt were dampened a little on one side, but his jacket seemed to ward off and absorb most of the water. Dean simultaneously shrugged both arms out of his own leather jacket, holding Sam up with his free hand in turn, and put it on his brother. He pulled the jacket tight around Sam and smoothed the collar out.
Sam wasn't saying anything; the injuries to his head must have been effecting him. The silence was killing Dean. His eyes darted back to Sam's beaten face. The unfocused yet unfathomably relieved eyes staring back at him made Dean feel sick with regret.
"Talk to me. How ya feelin'?"
Sam continued to shake, but didn't respond.
"Hey..." Dean pushed a few wet strands of hair from Sam's eyes as he searched his face desperately. "Say something, damnit." He pleaded quietly.
Sam's features relaxed at the comforting warmth against his face. His head lolled lightly into the familiar touch belonging to the presence he knew so well.
Sam's skin was like ice and Dean didn't like it that Sam seemed to have forgotten that he was there.
"Come on, Sammy."
Dean stood and pulled Sam carefully to his feet. "Gotta get you warm."
Sam's ribs protested and he winced. Dean took on most of his brother's weight and headed back to the car. The walk was slow-going. Sam's weight caused Dean to stagger slightly with each step and his brother's quiet groans of pain didn't help much either. Reaching the Impala finally, Dean settled Sam into the passenger's seat and quickly moved around to the driver's side.
Tires squealed and the car tore down the dark street towards the highway. Sam occasionally let out a quiet groan as he lay huddled against the seat, attempting to pull Dean's leather jacket tighter around himself. Dean looked over about eighty times a minute, eyes evaluating Sam's condition.
With every shiver, Sam's features scrunched in pain and his lips trembled in a quiet wince. Dean pulled his eyes off Sam and looked out on the dark highway as the yellow lines snaked past at dizzying rates. His eyes drifted down to his right hand as it gripped the wheel. A splash of crimson liquid spilled over the crook of Dean's thumb. He turned his hand over to see blood on his palm...Sam's blood. He wiped his hand violently on his jeans, making a disgusted face as he attempted to scrub the red off his skin.
Sam coughed sharply, grabbing Dean's attention back to the passenger's seat. A line of blood lead away from the corner of Sam's lip. Dean's chin trembled and he slammed his fist angrily against the steering wheel. He was going to freakin' kill whoever did this his brother. What the hell had he ever done to them? They didn't even take Sam's wallet. Why the hell would anyone want to beat up Sam? And that stab wound. The location was awkward. Too precise to be just an offhand stabbing that would be typical of a mugging. Sam's attacker must have known damn well what they were doing when they jumped him. Thoughts raced through Dean's mind at speeds nearly surpassing the Impala's.
It wasn't long before the inevitable guilt set in. "You couldn't have just left the bar when he did could ya? Nah, you had to stay and see if you could get a chance to see if there was any extra room in that bartender's pants. You could've kicked whoever's ass it was who did this to Sam." Dean's lip twitched angrily and he shook his head at himself. "You could've protected him."
He looked over again at his little brother. Sam's dark hair plastered itself in wet clumps against his forehead and poked down into his pain-scrunched eyes. The blood on his lip and forehead was darkened in places where it had dried and the shiny bruises decorating his face were starting to take on more color; his eye in particular hueing out to be purple. His shivering seemed to stab at hurts that Dean could either not see or had not been able to evaluate in his hurry.
Dean's jaw tensed and he looked straight ahead again, face set. That look of pure relief that filled Sam's eyes when he looked at him was enough to break Dean even then. Any act that caused Sam to look so small and broken was enough to send Dean to the end of the world to hunt down the person who inflicted it on him. And that was exactly Dean's plan. He would find the people who did this to Sam, and God have mercy on them when he did. Hell hath no fury like Dean Winchester's wrath.
I'm still curious as to why I'm so mean to our boys when I just loves them so much oO
I love me some protective!Dean, don't you?:D
In my opinion he has only three rules.
1. Don't fuck with Sammy.
2. Don't fuck with the Impala.
3. Don't fuck with me.
(In that order) : D
So blah blah, yay for angst, blah blah. Reviews are like vanilla ice-cream and I'm a freakin' apple pie.