So I finish OBX, and Terry says, wouldn't you pretty please do Mute Dean now? So instead of writing the fic I was planning, all I can think about is Mute Dean. The cursing is justified, I assure you, by research and fugliness. Herein you will find some minor references to both OBX and Mesmerize. This story is complete. It is 7 chapters in length, and I plan to post on Fridays.

A/N 2: Beta'd by the lovely trio of Merisha, Muffy Morrigan, and Scotia, the Sam girl with a wicked sense of humor, who keeps saying she doesn't like Hurt!Anybody but likes what I write.

A/N 3: SNFA has posted a Reader's Choice Contest. Please visit the site at sensue dot net slash sfna and vote for your favorite.

This is set between Wishful Thinking and I Know What You Did Last Summer. All of aired S4 could be used but nothing beyond Heaven and Hell and even that is used only if you squint and hold your head sidewise.

Disclaimer: Tragically, with a Greek, or possible Shakespearean, scope, not mine. They belong to Kripke, WB, and the CW. Which is a good thing, because I'd probably whump Dean in every single episode.

"Who does that little shit think he is?"

"Which little shit, Dean? All you short people look the same to me." Sam looked seriously at his big brother.

"You lofty bitch. Not all of us main-lined growth hormone in high school. The little shit I'm currently referring to is that short ugly dude making up to Marian … Maureen … Mildred – well one of those M names. Over at the bar." Dean swung his arm in a broad arc, almost upsetting a tray of pints and a pitcher being carried past their table. The waitress side-stepped, effortlessly dodging the arm, smiled briefly at Sam, and moved on, not spilling a drop of beer.

Sam leaned over and snagged Dean's arm. "Whoa, little fella."

"Well, look at her. Making eyes at the guy. Do you see the way she's leaning across the bar?" Dean spun his head back to Sam. "Martha and I are going out later and she's practically crawling into that guy's lap."

"So you are going out later. Seems to me that she's been flirting with most of the guys in the bar."

"Yeah, but it's me picking her up when she gets off at two." Dean snorted. "As long as she's just flirting." He tried to catch the bartender's eyes, but she didn't look up. He took another long swallow of beer.

Sam moved Dean's glass to the side. "She probably doesn't want to go out with a drunk guy if she's been serving them all night."

Dean's eyes had tracked the glass, but that brought his attention back to Sam. He quirked a smile, and said, "Good point. Want to play darts? A game of pool?"

Sam stood, peering over the crowd. "There's no one over by the pool tables."

Dean nodded, and was on his feet, angling back to the tables before Sam had a chance to pick up his beer. He snagged Dean's glass as well. Maybe he could win a game if Dean had another beer or ten.

Dean had racked the balls by the time Sam arrived. He hissed in Dean's ear, "No hustling tonight."

Dean looked a little wistful, but just shrugged. "I just want to play a game. And, we still have money left over from the Smithson's case." He removed the triangle, grabbed two cues, and tossed one to Sam. "Shoot for the break?" He set the cue ball to one side, looking at Sam expectantly.

Sam waved him on. "I'll break next game."

Dean won the first game. When Sam broke for the second, he got a pocket and took stock of the table. He only saw one shot, and went for it, laughing a bit loudly when he not only made it, but the next shot, before a fumble lost the pocket but tucked the cue up behind the eight ball to finish. He lifted his glass toward Dean in a mock salute.

"Let's see you get out of that one." He took a large mouthful of beer.

"He'll never make that shot, mate, he's too much of a fucking buffoon. Can't play worth shit. All macho crap, no balls."

Sam was so surprised he inhaled his beer. He heard Dean say "What the … ", and Dean's quick steps approaching. Sam felt a strong arm wrap around his chest, and some hard thumps on his back. He waved Dean off when he could take in a breath, and straighted. He wiped his streaming eyes. Sam pulled up a smile, and took a huge gulp of air.

Dean put a hand on his shoulder. "Y'OK?"

Sam nodded and looked around for the owner of the voice. Dean was already on his way, stopping in front of the little shit from the bar. The same little shit that was now wearing an infuriatingly smug grin and the bartender, Dean's date, as arm candy.

Sam thought the little guy would back up – his brother towered over both him and the waitress, and he knew just how menacing Dean could be – but the guy just kept grinning and stood his ground. Sam took a couple of long steps to come up to stand behind his brother, and put a hand on one shoulder.

They'd attracted a little attention, and Sam felt and heard the attention shift to them. The jukebox suddenly kicked in and someone yelled on the far side of the building. The noise level rose and most of the crowd's attention went back to their own business. Sam looked quickly around. He didn't see any threats except the little man in front of Dean. And, of course, Dean's calm, rational behavior.

Dean leaned over – the guy's eyes were probably level with his belt buckle. "What the hell? I didn't do anything to you – we're just minding our own business. Playing a game. If you can't see over the rails," he gestured toward the pool table, "you could have asked for a stool."

"Making mock of small people is just what I would expect from a donkey's ass like you." The small man proceeded to tell Dean off fluently, comprehensively, and expansively, using a string of obscenities in which Sam was pretty sure he identified five languages. The guy's accent was broad, and teasingly familiar. It was an impressive performance - no repeats, inventive, and delivered with bravado.

The little guy finished by fondling the bartender's breasts openly, making her squirm, and saying to Dean, "so, mut, as to who this 'little shit' thinks he is, he thinks he's the one with a big enough donga to fuck Megan here and her sister at the same time", he licked his lips suggestively, "while you go home with this guy, who might actually have a sack." He pointed at Sam.

Sam stared. The little man couldn't have heard their conversation from the other side of a crowded bar. Something was off. He looked back at his brother and watched Dean straighten his shoulders and shake his arms out. Crap, he was getting ready for a fight. Sam felt his stomach drop.

Dean raised his eyebrows, and asked seriously, "You really call that a vocabulary? Most of that wasn't even in English. My dad could take you on a bad day. In one language." He glanced at Sam. "Couldn't he, Sam?" He snapped his fingers. "Dad could've so take this nimrod, right?"

Sam felt the hair rising on the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah, Dad was really good, a master, best of the best."

The man didn't even glance at him, just kept looking at Dean. "Oh, now I'm scared. Your Dad? What, you going to run home crying? Is your Daddy going to protect you?" He looked up at Megan. "Look at the big man, scared of a little guy like me."

Sam glanced at his brother, then shook the shoulder he was holding. "Dean, come on, let it go. You're going to have a stroke." He shook Dean's shoulder again. "Dude, take a breath or something."

Sam stepped in front of Dean and addressed himself to the gadfly. "I don't know what you are trying to prove, but if you heard my brother, then you must have also heard that he has had a little too much to drink. We're just going to play pool, right, Dean?" He snapped his fingers this time. "Right, Dean?"

Dean didn't take his eyes off the guy, but he nodded slightly.

"And we are going to go back to our game, while you go off and do whatever you want to do." He leaned back, pushing his shoulder against Dean's, trying to break the stare. He said softly, "Come on, Dean, let this one go. There's something weird going on here."

Dean took a step back, finally cutting his eyes to Sam. "Yeah, you're right. Don't know what I was thinking, letting a little thing like that", waving toward the man, "upset me. I'm bigger than that. Way bigger." He smirked, then turned back to the pool table and took a sip of beer, before picking up his cue stick and running chalk over the tip.

The bar volume dropped a little bit and Sam heard a song started up on the jukebox. He rubbed his temples and groaned when he realized it was "Short People". Sam caught Dean's eye and they both started to laugh. Maybe someone in the bar had noticed the little guy. He looked back and checked down around his knees to find the little man. "You should go, before things get out of hand."

Unfazed, the guy turned and clicked his tongue at Megan, and spoke to her, pitching his voice toward Dean. "We're going to find your sister, aren't we? Have a lot of fun, too. You never knew how much you wanted to have sex with your sister, did you?"

Megan shook her head, her eyes wide. "I hadn't thought about it before, but yeah, now that you said something … I can't wait. It's really going to piss off her husband."

Smirking over his shoulder, the man leered back at Dean. "Bet you've thought about screwing your brother a time or two, you faggot." When Dean didn't react, the man took a step forward. "You have, haven't you? You would if you could …"

Sam jumped in. "Whoa, ease up, man. He wouldn't, I wouldn't. We're just trying to play a game of eight ball. And you have a hot date." He stepped in front of Dean, casually, and pointed out the door. "I really think you need to leave."

Sam glanced over his shoulder at Dean. He was still by the table. Sam turned back only to watch in relief as the guy started toward the door. He came back to the table and took the chalk out of Dean's hand. "Man, there's going to be more chalk than cue in a minute. I'll go get us a beer, OK?"

Dean nodded, and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, that would be super." He rubbed the back of his neck, and then shook his head ruefully. "And I thought I had a foul mouth. That little prick takes the cake."

Sam turned, and said, despairingly, "Oh, no." The little man was walking back. Sam held out his arm and blocked Dean from passing him. Addressing the suicidal munchkin, Sam said, "Look, neither one of us wants to get physical with someone who barely comes up to our kneecaps. But if you don't get out of here now, I won't make any promises."

Finally the guy looked straight at him. "Shut up, Man Mountain." He pointed at Dean, "I'm not done with that one." The little bastard craned his head around, and caught Dean's eyes. "Hiding behind your brother, you big pansy assed fairy?"

Dean pushed at Sam's arm, but didn't move forward. He growled, "Why are you on my case? You got the girl, or girls, you've called me every name under the sun, and I haven't belted you once, since you're just so … small. So, what do you have against me in particular, Tiny?"

"Not so much you in particular, asswipe, just swaggering, overbearing, bloody pinheads like you in general. Fuck, you are so easy, I can feel your blood pressure rising from here. It's like taking candy from a baby." When Dean snorted, the guy held up an admonishing finger, "Just one more thing to say."

Dean muttered, "This'll be rich."

Sam, more spooked by the minute, said, "No. That's it. You are done. You're leaving. You don't get to say one more thing to either of us." Sam pushed his brother back and stepped forward, feeling his temper rising. "Get out of here."

The man continued to stare at Dean intently. "So, not your brother. If not him … oh, I get it. You're a mamma's boy, aren't you? Tied to the apron strings by your tiny dick and balls, aren't you? A real wanna-be mother fu-"

Sam barely had time to register that Dean was moving before the man was flat on the ground, Dean standing over him, hands fisted.

Dean hissed, "Not. Another. Word."

The man got up on his feet, totally unrepentant, and grinned gleefully at Dean, his eyes unnaturally bright. The man pointed at Dean and said, "Done."

Sam rubbed his ears. He thought he'd heard an echo. Crap, crap, crap. This was so screwed! He stepped forward and began herding the man out of the bar, pushing both him and the bartender toward the door. "I will carry you out of here if I have to, but you are leaving, now."

The little man moved forward. "I'm going, I'm going." He held up a hand to point to the wall near the bar. "Megan, dear, get my stick." She darted off, returning with a walking stick almost as tall as Sam.

Once he had them outside, Sam pointed at the stick. "Compensating for something?"

"Don't start something with me, you monumental dick. My business was with Dean." He brushed off his sleeves, and slapped a hand on Megan's rump. "I wanted to fuck with your brother almost more than I want to fuck the incest twins here."

"You know us? Well, you don't get to mess with him. I'll make sure of it."

"Your brother know that, Sam? That his whiny, emo, demon-fucking little brother is protecting him? Why don't I get back in there and tell him …"

Sam reached down, put one hand over the man's mouth, and used the other to pick the guy up by his belt. He saw Megan standing by an ancient Z80 and walked over, swinging the man like a sack of potatoes. When he reached the car, he sat the man down with a thump on the car's hood. He leaned in, and over, the man. This time he went menacing.

"You want one Winchester, you get us both. Leave me and my brother alone."

"Whatever you say – I was only interested in Dean, but if you're serious about this … I'm more than glad to deal with you both." He leaned forward and tapped Sam's cheek. "Done. That's so you two arse monkeys can share."

Sam batted his hand away. "Not this crap, again. Just get the hell out of here."

"We're going. But, Sam, really, you are such pretty boys, both of you. Have you ever thought about your brother …"

Sam turned, deliberately rolling his shoulders and shaking his hands out of fists, and headed back to the bar.

"One more thing." The voice was right in his ear, like the guy had grown a couple of feet since he turned around. He froze in place. "If you two ever change your mind about fucking each other, I want to be the first to know. Call me. 22 62 72 62."

Sam stopped and watched as the car drove out of the lot and took a right onto the main drag, heading south. When it was out of sight, he pulled out his notebook and pen, and scribbled the number down. Not a phone number, eight numbers, repeating 2's … it must be some kind of equation. Dean would know. He turned and went back into the bar and to the pool table. Dean wasn't in sight. He shrugged and took their empty glasses to the bar.

As he stepped up to order, the beefy guy behind the bar scowled at him. Sam almost turned around to see if there was someone behind him.

"Two drafts." He dropped a few bills on the counter.

The man continued to glare. "You're friends with that other guy, right? You were playing pool with him."

Sam was genuinely puzzled. "Yeah, what of it?"

"We don't think much of big guys picking on little guys here, is all. He punched that dwarf." He started to wipe the counter. "Not sure we want you two in here."

Sam opened his mouth to try to explain, but had to bring himself up short. "Not a problem. It won't happen again. Can we have a couple of beers?"

"I'll think about it. Your pal went to the latrine a few minutes ago", he jerked his thumb toward the back of the bar, "and hasn't come out yet. You bring him out here, and then I'll decide."

Sam nodded, retrieved his money, and headed toward the bathrooms. He pushed the door open, and saw Dean staring in the mirror and rubbing his throat.

"Great job, Dean. You lost your temper, again. We get invited to leave a bar. Again." He waited a count but Dean didn't react. Sam stepped up beside Dean and caught his eyes in the mirror. "What?"

Dean looked toward him, then back to the mirror, frowning. He stretched his jaw and cleared his throat. "Felt like there's was something stuck in my throat." He turned to face Sam. "And yeah, maybe I shouldn't have hit that guy, but he deserved it."

Sam was on the floor before he even registered the pain. He clutched his head, pressing his palms against his ears. The noise was driving spikes through his head.

Dean pulled him off the floor, holding him up roughly by his biceps. "Sam! What's wrong?"

He cried out again, all too aware that if Dean wasn't holding him up, he'd be right back on the floor. "God, Dean. My ears! What is that? Do you hear it?"

Sam knew Dean spoke, but he couldn't make out anything over the lancing pain in his head. He blinked to clear his eyes and brought Dean's face back into focus. Dean's mouth moved and he groaned in pain. He felt something wet on his hand. Dean tried to catch his arm, but he pulled loose, drawing the hand in front of his eyes. It was red with blood. He pulled the other away from his ear. Blood on both hands.

"Sam! What's going on?"

Something new, a new sound, reverberated through his head, spiking pain through his eyes. He heard himself screaming, then everything turned white.