Moose.
There were days that Sam really deserved that nickname.
...
They were in the middle of another day, another drive, another roadside diner.
Another plate of mostly uneaten food.
Dean had lost count of how many days and hours and molecules of minutes they'd spent on the road, driving anywhere, driving nowhere, because apparently Sam thought that if they just kept moving they could outrun the Mark.
No such luck. It wasn't working. Dean was constantly on edge and emotionally worn down and he could barely drink his coffee much less eat anything on his plate, but Sam said he had to eat so here they were.
Semis and motorcycles clogged most of the space in the parking lot. Bikers, truckers, and testosterone clogged most of the air inside the diner. Dean could feel the Mark responding to the latent prospect of blood and mayhem and he wondered if he had picked this place or if it had. Under the table, he pressed his hand against the Mark and willed it to shut the f- up.
"You all right?" Sam asked and Dean rolled his eyes but didn't bring his arms up from under the table.
"You have to stop asking me that."
"Right, because you never asked me that a dozen times in day, ever."
Dean grumbled and would've pointed out 'Big Brother Privilege' but quelling the Mark was taking all of his concentration.
"We can get the rest of this to go," Sam said because, despite his own physical and emotional exhaustion, he noticed - of course he noticed - Dean's struggle.
"Here or in the car, I don't think it'll make much difference," Dean said but he thought Sammy deserved points for trying. "Anyway, this place doesn't exactly seem like the 'Styrofoam container' kind of place," he added and Sam smiled at the attempt at humor, but an instant later his expression morphed into stone cold lethal and he stared beyond Dean, no doubt at whoever - whatever - was making the slow, solid footsteps headed in their direction.
He watched Sam watch what sounded like a drop hammer approaching. Sam kept his stare fixed as the guy - biker probably, all scars, leather, and tattoos - stalked past their table, giving them both his own glare of death.
As soon as he was past, though, Sam's attention was on Dean again.
"I'll be right back, and we can get on the road."
He dropped some money on the table and headed for restrooms, and he was no sooner gone than the biker tramped back to the table and glared at Dean. He wasn't tall but he was wide, covered in studded leather over scars and tattoos.
"I don't like your car," he growled.
"I don't like your face," Dean offered back.
"You know what I do to cars like that?" He threatened and Dean felt the Mark's gleeful response pulse in his arm. He stood up from the table, already feeling the guy's face crunching to pulp against his fists.
Game on.
"You know what I do to assholes who threaten my ride?" He asked but just like that he was staring at the back of Sam's shirt as Little Brother inserted himself between Dean and the biker.
Between - Dean knew - the Mark and its next victim.
"Keep moving," Sam told the guy, bringing the words up out of that deep, dark spot in his chest where his inner 'don't mess with me' hibernated, only 'Short, wide and stupid' was too stupid to realize the threat.
"As soon as he gets that candy-assed piece of shit outta my sight."
Even without the Mark, those were fighting words. Dean took a step, intending to step out around Sam and feed the guy his teeth, but Sam sensed it or expected it and moved just enough to keep blocking Dean.
"I said - keep moving."
"Who's gonna make me, sweetheart? You?" Short-Wide asked. He must've made some move because Sam pulled his gun from his belt and when Dean took another, unblocked, step, he saw that the barrel was shoved up into the guy's nostril.
"Yeah. Me," Sam told him.
A small crowd of bikers gathered at a distance and two started to approach them. One carried a pool cue and the other had a knife.
"You really want to be wearing his brains?" Sam asked them as they came within range and Dean really expected one of them to pronounce, 'you can't get all of us,' like a melodramatic western.
"Oh, we love the smell of blood in the morning," Knife Guy snarked. He made a lunge toward them and Sam pulled the gun from Short-Wide's nose to plug him in the calf. The knife went flying and Knife Guy went down with a scream, grabbing at his leg and babbling a string of curses and threats as blood welled through his fingers.
"Anybody else want to crawl out of this place?" Sam asked. "You?" He asked Pool Cue Guy, who dropped the cue onto the nearest table.
"You need to get the hell outta here," Short-Wide said, trying to sound threatening.
"Then you need to get the hell outta my way," Sam answered. He pushed the barrel back toward Short-Wide's face. "NOW."
The guy backed up, and kept backing up as long as Sam had the gun pointed at him. When there was enough space between them, Sam jerked his head toward Dean, the signal that they should be leaving and Dean strolled to the closest exit, away from the bikers. Sam followed, keeping his attention - and his gun - on their audience until they were out the door, in the car, and down the road.
"Never a dull moment, hunh?" Dean asked after a while, when he couldn't think of anything else to say.
"Jerks," Sam said, practically spitting the word out.
"Yeah. You know…"
"What?" Sam asked, worried.
Sam had protected Dean, fast, efficient and ferocious, and Dean was trying to think of some way to thank him, to tell him that he knew Sam had taken on Short-Wide and the others to keep the Mark from tasting blood and dragging Dean just that much closer back to hell.
"Dean? Are you all right?"
"Yeah, yeah, I am." And he was - the Mark was quiet again for now. "Just -"
But Sam was giving him the perplexed puppy eyes, worried and wondering and ready to slay whatever needed slaying on Dean's behalf. Thanking him would only perplex him more by letting him know just how worried Dean was about the Mark.
"Just - next time, you pick the diner. Deal?"
That answer didn't totally erase the look, but Sam shook his head and chuffed a laugh. "Deal, yeah."
##
Moose are very idealistic.
They are smart and extremely brave.
They are incredibly protective of their family.
In some places, nothing is capable of taking down a full-grown moose.
[stolen from somewhere on the internet]