Nightlife
Part of an AU where Sam was blinded on a hunt at 13. Post-pilot.
Sam wrinkled his nose, and Dean shut away his immediate affectionate thought that his brother's face looked like an adorable five year old's when he did that.
"It's just a bar," he wheedled.
Sam sighed. "I haven't been to a bar since . . . Jess."
"All the more reason to go back to one." Dean smoothly moved past the reference to Sam's dead girlfriend and clapped hand on Sam's shoulder. "C'mon, Sammy. We need money, too," he added as an afterthought.
Sam gave in with a sigh and Dean grinned. This would be awesome.
Dean had deliberately picked a relatively decent bar to re-integrate his brother into public society. He had practically become a hermit, and that needed to change.
Sam's cane tapped the edge of the door and he sighed. "You sure about this, Dean?"
Dean brightly responded, "When am I not?" and ignored Sam's muttered "great."
He led Sam by the elbow around the scattered tables and found one against a wall that was relatively defensible.
"What do you want?"
"Just a beer." Sam was wringing his hands which was a sure sign of discomfort. Dean made a face, but turned to go to the bar.
"Two beers," he ordered, winking at the female bartender, who just rolled her eyes and nodded.
By the time Dean made his way back to the table, Sam had graduated to bouncing his knee nervously.
"Relax, Sammy," Dean slapped Sam's leg and covered up a sigh with a cough when his brother flinched. Sam was really off his game.
"I am relaxed," Sam muttered petulantly. Dean guided his hand to the bottle and patted his arm comfortingly.
"We won't stay here long," he offered, taking a swig of his own. "Just until I can rack up some customers."
"Give me the layout before you go," Sam said tersely, and Dean cursed himself for his forgetfulness. It was supposed to be habit, every time they got to a new place, to tell Sam where the obstacles and exits were, only three long years had kind of screwed that up.
"You remember how we came through, right?" he said, unfortunately having to raise his voice because the music got louder.
"Yeah, snake pattern through tables that are two paces apart in that direction." Sam pointed toward the door and Dean only had to correct his angle slightly.
"Uh huh. So that's the front door, and the back door is at your nine o'clock. You've got the pool tables in that direction, three of 'em in a row, long sides on our side."
"Okay. And people?'
"I've got some good marks for hustling," Dean murmured, sipping at his beer. "At least four rich college kids. Rest of the bar just has random groups and couples, no more than thirty."
Sam made a visible effort to control himself and offered Dean a somewhat pathetic smile. "I'm good. So, you know, go make us some money."
Dean ruffled his hair. "Now you're talking. Whistle if you need me."
"Dean, I'm not whistling in a bar," Sam whined at him.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. Just yell my name to the world, that'll work."
Sam somehow stuck out his foot so that Dean tripped slightly. He gave his brother a death glare that was completely ineffectual and stomped off to the pool tables. Time to go to work.
As a rule, Sam hated crowds. He had, ever since he was thirteen. The noise, the bustle, the movement; it all added up to Sam becoming lost. Normally smaller cues from small noises and small breaths of air let him take stock in his surroundings, but not in places like a bar.
The sharp crack of two pool balls and Dean's loud exclamation of happy surprise told Sam exactly where his brother was, until a loud blast of music and a couple's overly-noisy declarations of love distracted him again.
"What are you doing all by yourself?"
A very strong whiff of perfume and a raspy voice had Sam turning, hand clutching his cane.
"Who's there?" he asked sharply.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize." The woman's voice was amused and derisive.
"Didn't realize what?" Sam returned belligerently.
The voice laughed. "Never mind that, dearie. Go back to your drink."
Sam scowled and took another pull from his beer. Another thing he hated was meeting strangers. For some reason, being blind meant people acting like he was a helpless child.
Dean's voice drifted over. "Wow, I got really lucky!" Sam winced at his voice. If those college kids had brains, they would be able to see through Dean's methods in a second.
"Hey, man, you can't walk out on us. We want a rematch." Sam perked his ears and tensed. If that was Dean's opponent, that couldn't be a good thing.
"Fellas, I won fair and square. I just got lucky, tonight."
Sam slowly got to his feet and pulled out his wallet from his pocket. Dean always folded them for Sam so that he could keep them straight, but Sam had no idea how much a couple beers cost, so he put down a ten.
"Sammy, let's get out of here before they get any ideas." Dean was suddenly at his elbow, easily steering Sam out of the bar.
"What happened?"
"I beat 'em. And kinda insulted their university," Dean muttered in his ear.
Sam snorted in amusement as they exited the stifling hot bar. "Nice going."
"I'll say. It'll pay for gas, at least."
"Hey!"
Dean swore under his breath and turned Sam, probably so that Dean was in front of him.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"How many?" Sam hissed.
"Four," Dean muttered. "We're so screwed."
"We can take four," Sam returned quietly.
"They're football players," Dean revealed.
"Great."
"You done whispering with your boyfriend?" one of them taunted.
Sam moved to Dean's right, ignoring his brother's sharp protest.
"You need to leave," he said strongly, hefting his cane.
"I dunno if it would be fair, us taking out a blind guy."
"Well, maybe if that guy had been fair himself that would be an issue," one of them responded. Sam listened closely and heard signs of at least one of them shifting in order to get Sam from the side.
"Two at twelve, one at eleven, one at two, I'll take eleven and twelve first," Dean hissed.
Sam heard Dean leap forward and the crunch of a fist through a nose, followed by the thud of a boot in the solar plexus.
A yell alerted Sam to the one at his two o'clock charging. He listened and waited until the last second before sidestepping and swinging his cane in an arc. The smack sounded painful, so hopefully it was.
"Blind boy's got some moves!" someone yelled gleefully, distracting Sam. He paid for his lack of concentration as someone punched him in the stomach and then kneed him in the chest. Just to add insult to injury, Sam received a sharp punch to the face that left his ears ringing.
"Sam!" Dean roared, and through the blood rushing in Sam's ears, he heard a pained yelp and a sickening crack. Dean had probably broken one of their wrists.
Sam could sense his attacker about to go again, so he preemptively struck out, keeping his center of gravity low and kicking with his left.
The high-pitched whine from his victim was enough to tell Sam he had hit low enough to incapacitate the football player for the time being. And possibly keep him from having kids.
A couple more yells, and then Dean was at his normal position again, Sam's elbow.
"That's all of 'em, kind of. Let's go."
"Dean, are you alright?" Sam asked as he was manhandled into the car.
"Am I alright? I'm not the one that had a three hundred pound football player bash in my face." The car roared out of the parking lot, and Dean's hand was clumsily patting him down, checking for injuries. Sam swatted it away with a sigh.
"I told you I didn't want to go to the bar," he moaned, deliberately trying to look as annoyed as possible.
"Sorry. We got three hundred dollars, though."
Mollified, Sam sank back against the seat, touching the side of his face and wincing. "Some of that money is going towards a book for me."
"You got it, little brother," Dean laughed.
Sam allowed him to smile, briefly. No need to give Dean too big of a head.
A/N: I got a request for drunk Sam . . . and this came out instead. I apologize, I guess, but I just wanted Sam to get in a decent fight and get his feet under him, so to speak, after Jess's death. Drunk Sam may happen in the future, have patience with me! :) Hope you enjoyed! Please review.