A.N. I don't know where this is going. I do know why I'm blatting it off. A week during which your house is broken into and irreplaceable links to you much loved dead father stolen; combined with having had to arrange for the vet to come to your home tomorrow to put to sleep your beloved dog, kind of leaves you needing a release.
OUT OF CONTROL
Dean suffers a savage attack, why didn't he defend himself?
The hits kept coming, blow after blow, rocking Dean backward until he hit the wall. Even then the assault didn't stop. The punches landing so close together that they were effectively keeping Dean upright against the wall long after Deans legs could no longer hold his weight. Finally, there was a respite, and Dean's battered body slid down the wall, coming to rest in a crumpled heap on the floor.
Dean's thoughts were a jumbled mess, no longer coherent, just a babble of hurt, why, no, stop, hurt, stop, please, what, can't, stop, hurt...Until he finally went into shutdown.
Hands reached down, grasping the collar of Dean's shirt, yanking his head and shoulders up off the floor. Dean's head lolled back, bright fresh blood covering his face, one eye already swollen and a dark blue bruise forming, his jaw looked out of line, a deep gash ran parallel to an eyebrow. One hand let go of Dean's collar and slapped the unconscious hunter across the face. Dean's head rolled with the force of the hit, but his eyes remained closed and he made no sound. The other hand let go of Dean's collar, letting Dean drop back down to the concrete floor where he lay, unmoving. His attacker bent forward making a wet houghing sound at the back of his throat. A shimmering green globule of phlegm hit Dean in the face, sliding down across his cheek before hitting the floor with thick slop.
Stuffing his hands deep into his coat pockets, Dean's attacker strolled out of the alley way.
The persistent ache in Sam's bladder finally woke him up. Groaning, Sam tried shifting his position, hoping to be able to drift off again in his comfortable, warm bed. He managed a couple of minutes, then the nagging ache returned. With a sigh Sam threw back the bed covers and swung his legs out of bed. Eyes steadfastly closed, Sam staggered toward the motel room bathroom. He opened one eye just enough to position himself over the toilet bowl. Grasping himself in one hand he closed both eyes again as he urinated.
As unwanted wakefulness crept over him, Sam frowned. Something felt off to the sensitive skin of his penis. Flushing the toilet with his free hand, Sam half opened his eyes and looked down at himself. Both eyes flew open and he stared, trying to make some sense of what he saw. At first he felt overcome by panic at the sight of all the blood around his genitalia. Instantly he pulled his hand away. As he did, he noticed his knuckles and his breathing began to calm when he realised with relief that they were the source of the bleeding. Sam stared at his knuckles in puzzlement. Looking up into the mirror on the wall next to him, Sam gazed at the splatters of blood showing dark against the pale wax pallor of the skin on his face.
"What the fu…..?"
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