Disclaimer: I don't own them. I am thankful to E. Kripke and Crimson1 for the loan of their wonderful creations.
A/N: Dean and Sasha's relationship has so far lead a charmed existence. Unfortunately, as we all know, the "real" world is not perfect. This story was born out of that imperfection.
Many, many thanks as always to Crimson1 for the support and the beta on this chapter – any remaining mistakes are my own…
This story takes place between arc 5 and arc 6 of Incubus.
There be slash ahead…
Sasha returned to their booth with a round of beers. Sam had fired up the laptop, and he and Dean were deep in a discussion over the case. They were looking into a possible vengeful spirit at a primary school in Patoka, Indiana, with the added complication that there could be demonic activity involved. While they were checking out the information, Dean was also checking out the patrons.
They had stopped for the night and were painfully short of funds. They'd used up pretty much all of their cash. There was no way they were going to stiff Ula and her family after she had been so good to them, so they'd paid her in cash. Their credit cards were a bust too, and they hadn't had a chance to replace them.
Sasha rested one hand on Dean's shoulder, resting his hip against Dean's body and leaning over to see the lap top. Dean didn't really pay that much attention because he'd grown so used to Sasha touching him.
Sam, however, glanced up and frowned. He caught Dean's eye, glanced at Sasha, raised an eyebrow and glanced toward the rough crowd at the pool tables.
It only took a moment for the penny to drop for Dean. That kind of intimacy in this kind of bar was at the very least stupid if not downright dangerous. He quickly shrugged Sasha off, regretting that it was a bit rough.
"Personal space, Dude!" Dean ground out.
Sasha looked hurt and opened his mouth to say something but stopped at the look on Dean's face. It was only there for a moment – just long enough to ensure that Sasha saw it – but definitely an apology of sorts.
"Not here," Dean barely breathed and tilted his head to indicate that Sasha should sit next to Sam.
"So. See anything that struck your fancy?" Dean fairly leered as he raised his voice to insure being overheard and turned to check out the women standing around the bar. Sasha knew to play along.
"Slim pickings, but I might be able to find a little something to occupy myself. How about you?" Sasha glanced towards the pool tables.
"Might be worth my while," Dean acquiesced. "You ok here, Sammy?"
"Yeah, you guys go ahead and have a good time. I'm just going to do a bit of work."
Sasha stopped Dean with a hand on his arm just as Dean was about to get up.
"You sure your shoulder's up for this?" Sasha's worry splashed across his face.
"Better every day. I could beat these yokels with one hand tied behind my back," Dean reassured the incubus.
Dean got up and headed toward the pool tables. Sasha watched him go, his heart in his eyes. Sam touched his arm to grab his attention.
"You gotta watch yourself in a place like this. The natives are NOT going to be liberal minded, and they're not shy about correcting behaviour they don't agree with. Go make a splash at the bar."
"Even if I was interested in anyone else, have you looked at the women in here?" Sasha almost whined.
"Doesn't matter now, Dude. You have to make it look good, so go mingle." Sam gave him a gentle shove.
It didn't take Sasha long to attract a small group of women. Sam noticed that he did have the cream of the crop, even if it was more like non-dairy substitute. As per usual, there were five women vying for the incubus' attention. The small group was laughing and flirting. Sam smiled at how effortlessly the incubus captivated them. He also quickly scanned the rest of the patrons to make sure that none of them were pissed off boyfriends. No one seemed to be giving the group much attention.
Dean meanwhile had seamlessly insinuated himself at a pool table and was currently in the process of losing the first game. The groups at the pool tables were a rough crowd, but not any worse than the crowds that Dean had been hustling since he was seventeen. Content that both his companions were settled in their natural elements, Sam turned his attention back to the computer.
Sam was so engrossed in his research that he didn't notice the two hours that flew by. Sasha had brought him another beer in there somewhere and Sam was just finishing it when Sasha slid into the booth across from him.
"How much longer do you think Dean is going to be?" Sasha asked.
Sam managed not to smile at the whine that tinged Sasha's question. He glanced over at the pool tables. Dean was still working his hustle. He couldn't appear to have improved miraculously, especially in a bar this rough. Dean had to be particularly careful when hustling in this type of bar. He couldn't win a whole lot of money at any one time. In a college town, he could count on a couple of guys being too cocky and too drunk who would be well off enough to be able to afford to part with a larger sum more amicably. The crowd in this bar would be quicker to recognize that they were being hustled and would be a lot more pissed off about it. Dean wouldn't have lost the first game by much and would be careful not to win any subsequent games by much.
"He'll be a while yet," Sam offered.
"Hmm. I think I might just head back to the motel."
"Nothing to keep you occupied?" Sam was a little surprised that Sasha would want to leave.
"My heart's not in it." Sasha glanced at Dean, his gaze lingering as Dean bent over the table to make a particularly difficult shot.
"Give me a minute to tell Dean, and I think I'll come back with you," Sam said, closing the laptop.
Sam wandered up to the pool table and watched for a minute until Dean saw him. Dean raised an eyebrow.
"We're going to head back to the motel," Sam said just loud enough for Dean to hear.
"'K. I'll see you later," Dean said and turned back to his game.
Sam made his way back to the table and gathered up his things.
"It's ok to leave him, right?" Sasha asked, turning a worried gaze on Dean.
"Yeah. We've been in way worse than this. There hasn't been any trouble all night, and Dean would have let me know if he wanted one of us to stay and watch his back," Sam assured him.
Sasha followed Sam out of the bar. Dean was concentrating on a shot, but he did raise his gaze long enough to watch Sasha move gracefully through the bar. He also noticed a number of female eyes follow the incubus as he left. Some of them, he noted, were just a bit disgruntled looking. He snorted softly to himself and turned back to his shot.
Dean didn't notice when the men he was playing pool with turned appraising gazes to where Dean had been looking. The locals had seen the redhead chatting up the local beauties and now noticed that he was leaving by himself. Pete, the ring leader of the bunch, noticed Dean's interest. He was also starting to get a bit irritated at the newcomer's skill with a cue. Pete considered himself the local heavyweight pool champion and wasn't enjoying being shown up by this young guy.
Joe, Dean's other current opponent had missed a shot and moved to the side to wait for another opening. Dean saw one of the local women sidle up to him. She was one of the ones Sasha had been chatting up earlier. Dean had been keeping his usual eye on both Sasha and Sam. Dean was concentrating on getting just the right number of balls sunk to win, but not win by so much as to piss off Pete and Joe. The girl's named seemed to be Candy. Dean smirked a little at that. He'd have to tease Sasha mercilessly about that one tomorrow.
Candy was busy leaning all over Joe now and whispering in his ear. He seemed to be getting a bit agitated at whatever it was that she was saying.
About an hour later, Dean figured it was safe to sink the last ball of the current game. He'd come out at about 150 for the night. Not a great amount but at least enough to pay for their hotel and breakfast, plus enough gas to get to a slightly nicer bar.
By this time a bit of a crowd had gathered. Pete was, after all, the local champ and here he was being beaten. Pete was not happy when Dean sank the last ball.
"I guess that's the game," Dean said neutrally. He'd done this enough to know that Pete was sporting a bit of a bruised ego.
"I guess it is," Pete's voice was flat.
"Well thanks for the games," Dean moved to replace his pool cue.
"Don't figure we're done yet," Pete growled out.
"Hunh. Ok. I guess I've got time for one more," Dean tried hard not to sigh. He knew where this was going. If he wasn't careful, things would get ugly. He couldn't afford to lose the next game, but he'd have to, to appease the locals.
"Joe! Why don't you get our new buddy here a beer?" Pete directed.
"Ah... I'm ok, actually," Dean broke in, trying to stop Joe from heading for the bar.
"No really, I insist," Pete said. Joe nodded. Dean was perfectly aware that there was an unspoken understanding between the two locals. It was obvious from the time they'd spent together that Joe was Pete's lackey.
"Just the two of us this time," Pete stated as they waited for Joe to rack up the balls.
When he finished, Joe headed for the bar. Pete and Dean had laid their bets on the edge of the table. Pete broke and started to clear the table. Dean leaned back on the wall to wait for Pete to miss a shot, which he would before too long because it was pretty obvious that Pete wasn't the local champ because of his skill. He was local champ because the rest of the locals were afraid to beat him. Dean did sigh.
Joe returned with beers for all three of them. Handing one to Dean, he set Pete's down on the edge of the pool table. Joe came to stand beside Dean. He clinked his bottle against Dean's.
"Bottoms up," Joe tilted his beer back and took a long chug.
Dean had had no intention of drinking the beer, but now he had no choice. He tilted the bottle back and took the smallest drink he felt he could get away with. He knew that he needed to keep his wits about him. Unfortunately, Joe had other ideas and was watching him like a hawk.
"We not good enough for you to drink with?" Joe's voice was suddenly a bit less friendly.
Dean smiled, clinked his bottle with Joe's, and tipped his back. Joe smiled back and turned his attention back to the pool table.
It wasn't long before Pete missed a shot and it was Dean's turn. He went to set his beer down beside Pete's, but before he could, Pete was tipping his at Dean and forcing Dean to chug back another good bit of his beer. Not for the first time, Dean was thankful that he was the one doing the hustling and not Sammy. Dean hadn't had a lot to drink all evening, so he knew that chugging one or two beers wasn't going to have that much of an effect on him.
Dean was surprised when after sinking three shots he stood back up and suddenly felt dizzy. He could feel sweat trickling down his face and back. He shook it off and leaned in for the next shot. He made that one but missed the next.
Pete moved back to the table, picking up his beer and taking another long drink. He looked at Dean, obviously waiting for him to do likewise. Dean tipped his beer in Pete's direction and took the required drink. He was suddenly grateful for the wall to lean against. He knew he was going to lose by more than he'd intended, but he should still come away with enough money.
Pete sank a few more balls before missing again. Dean pushed up off the wall and took an unsteady step before regaining his balance. He knew that the beer wasn't the only thing affecting him. The game was almost finished though. He was pretty sure he could sink enough balls to make it look good and leave enough easy shots for Pete to win. Dean hoped that whatever they'd spiked his drink with would hold off long enough for him to get out of there.
As Dean expected, Pete tipped his own beer and waited for Dean to drink. The beer was still cool but did nothing to mitigate the sudden heat in the bar.
The crowd around the table had thinned out as it was getting late. Candy was back to hanging off of Joe. Joe might not have been her first choice that night, but it was obvious that she had no intention of going home alone.
Dean quickly sank the balls and set the table up to make it easy for Pete to clear it. Pete stepped up to the table and tipped his beer up to finish it. Dean tried not to grimace as he finished his own off. Pete smiled as Dean almost missed the side of the pool table with his empty. This time as Dean made his way back to the wall, he was pretty sure most of his steps were unsteady.
Pete managed to sink the remaining balls fairly quickly although he did give Dean a short moment of panic when he almost missed a dead easy shot. Finally, it was over.
"Good shot," Dean said as Pete sank the last ball. "Guess I was pretty lucky in some of those other games."
"Yeah," Pete drawled. Suddenly he was in Dean's personal space. The room was spinning. Dean was finding it a bit hard to breath.
"Seems like maybe you used up all of your luck." Pete's voice was dangerous.
"Hey, just a friendly game, right?" Dean was trying his best to defuse the situation. He'd checked his snark at the door. Sam would deny that Dean ever held his tongue, but Dean did know when to keep his mouth shut. He was pretty sure this was a lost cause though. He figured he might have a chance to get out with a few bruises. It was pretty much a foregone conclusion that most of the money was going to be staying in Pete's pocket. Dean smirked a little at the thought of the money he'd had the foresight to stash in his boot when he went to the bathroom earlier.
Smirking was not a good idea. Pete suddenly pushed Dean hard up against the wall, leaning into his face.
"You think you can just walk into our bar and try to hustle us? You fucking pervert! Don't think we don't know what you are," Pete ground out, disgust dripping from his voice.
Between the heat and whatever had been in the beer, Dean was having a hard time processing what Pete was talking about. And then the penny dropped.
Sasha.
Shit.
"You fucking faggots come in here, snubbing our women, thinking you're better than us..." Pete grabbed Dean by the shoulders and slammed him back against the wall. Pain exploded in Dean's barely healing shoulder. Dean was already woozy enough that he wasn't able to entirely prevent his head from making contact with the wall, which didn't help with the already spinning room.
"Hey! Dude! I don't know what you're talking about," Dean tried. He could tell he was slurring his words slightly. "I know I'm pretty hot, but I'm just not interested in you in that way."
Pete slammed him against the wall again.
"Do you think we're blind?" Pete's breath was hot on Dean's face. "I saw you checking each other out all night. Candy saw it too."
"Is this about us not wanting to catch something from the local talent?" At this point, Dean figured what the hell, he was going to have to fight his way out anyway.
Candy leaned in around Pete.
"You bastard! I saw the way he kept looking at you all night. He barely gave me the time of day. You think you're so special? Your kind make me sick," she screeched and spit in his face for good measure before storming off.
A woman scorned, Dean thought, and not a very attractive one either.
Pete was just about foaming at the mouth.
It was time to stop screwing around. Dean knew he had to get out of there fast or he wasn't getting out. He closed his eyes briefly and took a long, deep breath to steady himself and stop the room from spinning, waiting for his opening.
When Pete loosened his hold slightly and leaned back out of Dean's space to take a breath, Dean took advantage of it. Before Pete could react, Dean shoved him back hard with one hand and bringing the pool cue up with the other hand, Dean slammed it against Pete's head. Pete was too close for it to do any real damage, but it was enough to surprise and stun Pete bringing him to his knees and giving Dean an opening.
The effect of the drugged beer slowed Dean's reaction time and reduced his ability to respond to his environment. He hadn't realized that Joe had moved in from the right and another of Pete's goons was closing in from the left. He was vaguely aware of Candy screaming.
As Dean bolted for the door, Joe grabbed his one arm. Luckily it was his good arm, and Dean used the momentum to swing at Joe, catching him a glancing blow with the pool cue that staggered him and got him to let go of Dean.
Dean righted himself and turned again to try for the door. By now Pete had regained his feet, goon number 2 was right on him and reinforcements were arriving.
Dean ducked and managed to avoid a left hook from Pete. As he came back up, he swung at goon 2 connecting and at the same time kicking back at a new player, catching him in the gut and sending him crashing back into yet another new goon.
All the bobbing and weaving on top of the drugs was disorienting Dean. He caught movement to his right and swung the pool cue. This time, however, Pete was ready for it and grabbing it with both hands, wrenched it out of Dean's grasp. Dean gave a weak grin and made another attempt at breaking for the door.
Dean's way was blocked by Joe and goon's 2 though 5.
"Grab him!" Pete barked out.
Dean threw a right hook at Joe who was closest, but by now he was so unsteady that he completely missed as Joe easily dodged his fist, countering and connecting with his own right to Dean's jaw. Dean staggered to the side to meet with goon 2's right hook. The only thing that prevented Dean from simply crumpling to the floor was goon 3 and 4 grabbing both his arms.
Dean shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He glanced desperately around himself. The bar had pretty much cleared out. Dean thought randomly that it was still too early for closing time.
"Ok asshole," Pete seemed to come out of nowhere to leer into his face again. "You really didn't need to piss me off anymore."
Dean made another attempt to break free, but between his already wrenched shoulder, the two shots to his head and whatever was in the beer, the two on either side of him had no problem holding him still. In fact, all he accomplished was to piss Pete off more. Pete slammed his right fist deep into Dean's gut. Dean huffed and doubled over.
A hand fisted into Dean's short hair from behind wrenching him upright again. He breathed through his nose and tried not to heave on Pete. Dean was pretty sure that would really piss Pete off.
Pete's fist connected with his gut again, wrenching his head out of the grip of the goon behind him and doubling him over again. This time when the goon's hand fisted in his hair bringing Dean upright, he couldn't breathe.
Pete was in his face and Pete's voice sounded like it was coming through a tunnel. Pete's angry face seemed to swim in and out of focus and seemed to be melting somehow.
Pete slapped Dean viciously, the one goon keeping his head still.
"...We don't like your kind around here... have ways of dealing with you... never come back...won't do that...faggot..." Dean's head lolled forward.
Dean snapped back to consciousness as liquid hit his face. Pete was roughly going through his pockets.
"Already tol you... not mmm...type," Dean managed to slur out.
Pete pulled back, Dean's hard earned cash in his fist. He didn't bother to count it.
"Show this asshole what we think of his kind." Pete directed his goons.
Dean felt the first few blows to his head and torso, but he was already too far gone to help himself much and only managed to return a few of the blows before he found himself slamming into a table and sliding to the ground. Kicks to his ribs, back, and legs followed. He managed to protect his head well enough, and then he was being hauled upright again.
Pete was back in his face. Only this time he had Dean's knife in his hand.
Shit. Dean knew he was in real trouble with no back up.
Pete was crowded against Dean, his hot and fetid breath, turning Dean's already sensitive stomach.
"Now, we're going to really teach you a lesson." Dean was having a hard time seeing. At some point in the festivities, a cut had been opened up over his right eye and blood was running into it and down the right side of his face. His left eye felt like it wanted to swell shut. He still felt weak and disoriented from whatever he'd been roofied by.
Dean was able to focus and concentrate on his knife, though. He knew better than anyone how sharp it was.
Dean watched as Pete lowered the blade down his body and cut off the button to his jeans. Dean swallowed hard and closed his eyes. He felt Pete's hand slide in to hold his waistband as the blade slid in and sliced up beside where his zipper was. The blade nicked his belly as it slid through the waistband of his jeans. Dean felt his ruined jeans fall to the floor around his ankles.
This was NOT happening. Dean's inner voices were screaming.
The goons holding Dean on either side dragged him towards the pool table and bent him over it. Dean's face was pressed into the felt of the table.
Suddenly, Pete slammed a pool cue down beside his face. Pressing Dean's head further into the table with a hand to the back of his head, Pete leaned in over him. Pete rolled the pool cue away and toward Dean under the palm of his hand. Dean's knife was also lying on the pool table.
"Now, you're gonna find out what we do to your kind. You like it like that, you're gonna get it like that," Pete's breath on his cheek made Dean shudder. He fully understood what Pete intended to do to him.
"I'm gonna kill you, you fuck," Dean ground out.
Pete pushed up off of Dean's head. The pool cue disappeared from Dean's vision. Dean pulled and bucked against the hands holding him to the table, his sore shoulder forgotten in his panic. His jeans prevented him from even attempting to kick out at his attackers. His panic grew and he struggled harder as he realized how helpless he was. Shades of the old nightmare came back to him.
Dean was so freaked out by this point that he almost didn't feel the first blow of the pool cue across his ass. The next one laced across his back. The second strike across his back broke a rib and Dean sure as hell felt that one. On the third strike across his back the pool cue broke. That seemed to satisfy some deep-seated need of Pete's and the blows stopped.
Dean was struggling to remain conscious let alone keep struggling. His blood ran cold as he felt a hand in the waistband of his boxers. He was seeing spots as he started to hyperventilate.
The report of a gun brought everything to a halt.
"That's enough!" A voice that Dean didn't recognize roared. He assumed it was the owner of the gun. Dean was torn between wanting to kiss the feet of the gun owner and wanting to beat the shit out of him for taking so long to intervene.
"Keep out of it, Paul. This is no concern of yours. If you'd keep the damn queers out of here we wouldn't have to clean your bar up for you." Pete growled.
"I'm glad to see that you remember on some level that this is my bar you fucking idiot. I'm not going to sit by and let you kill some guy and get the cops to shut down my bar." Paul did not sound at all happy to Dean. Dean was pretty happy about that.
"Not your concern, Paul." Pete wasn't coming up with any new material. Dean was pretty sure that while Pete probably had the advantage of numbers, he didn't have a gun on him or he would have used it by now.
"Take your buddies and get out, Pete. I won't tell you again. If I have to, I'll call the cops." Paul's voice had a quiet authority.
"Fine." Pete ground out. "Take him," Pete directed at the goons holding Dean's arms.
"NO! Leave him," Paul directed.
"Don't push it," Pete warned.
"Or what?"
"You'll regret it."
"Doubt that."
Dean was willing to put his faith in the quiet authority he was still picking up from Paul. He wasn't all that surprised when he was suddenly released by the two goons holding him. Unfortunately, surprised or not, he wasn't able to prevent himself from crumpling to the ground.
"Typical. You start this mess by letting shit like this into your bar and then when we try to clean it up, you bitch about it. I know you don't like his kind anymore than we do. This isn't over," Pete threatened.
Dean felt the broken pool cue land on his back as Pete dropped both pieces. He was grateful, as his eyes blinked slowly and painfully, his vision swimming in and out of focus, that Pete's feet walked by him without landing a parting shot.
Dean's eyes were sliding shut and then someone grabbed him by the collar and shook him.
Dean groaned.
"Hey! I want you out of here. I don't want anyone murdered in my bar, but that doesn't mean that you are welcome in it, you pervert."
Paul, Dean thought.
Dean pawed weakly at the floor and managed to get himself slumped up against the pool table. He realized his jeans were still around his ankles. He reached down and grabbed his ruined jeans. As he dragged them up, his bruised back screamed in protest.
"Ian! Can you take this asshole back to whatever hole he crawled out of?"
"Don't put yourself out on my account. I can get myself home," Dean managed to slur out.
"I don't want you murdered in my fucking parking lot either, you idiot," Paul ground out.
Dean tried to roll over to his knees in an attempt to get his legs under himself and get up. Unfortunately, he was still dizzy and ended up more or less face planting it to end up with his head on the floor and his ass in the air. He was almost grateful for the two sets of strong arms that grasped him on either side, hauling him to his feet where he swayed precariously. He had one hand holding his pants up. Being upright had its own new set of problems. Dean was suddenly overwhelmed by nausea as the world swam in and out of focus. His knees threatened to betray him.
Between the two of them, they got Dean to Ian's car. Pete and some of his goons were predictably hanging out in the parking lot. The motel was really just down the road, which was why they had walked instead of driving the Impala. Ian quickly covered the distance to the motel, making sure that no one followed him. When they arrived at the motel, Ian parked the car.
"Get out," He said flatly. "Don't bother coming back to the bar. Ever."
"Don't have to tell me twice. Your bar pretty much sucks ass anyway." Dean snarked as he tried to haul himself out of the car.
Dean managed to get himself out of the car by climbing up the door. Once he closed the door, he leaned on the car for a moment trying to get a bearing on where up was. Ian had other ideas and gunned the car backwards out of the parking lot. That almost resulted in Dean crashing to the pavement. He managed to stagger to the motel doorway and leaned heavily on it. He was grateful that when Pete searched his pockets he had left the motel keys alone.
Somehow Dean got the key in the lock and staggered to their room. He was pretty sure that he missed most of the doors as he bounced off the walls as he travelled down the hallway to their room. Once more Dean managed to get the key in the lock and get the door open.
Apparently, he wasn't as smooth opening it as he thought, however, because when he finally stumbled into the room, Sam was heading towards the door in the dark.
"Damn it, Dean," Sam growled. "Could you make any more noise? Did you get that drunk after we left?"
"Sorry Sam," Dean whispered, trying his hardest not to slur his words.
"I'm going to bed. I suggest you do likewise sooner rather than later. You're the one who wanted to leave first thing."
Sam shook his head and returned to his bed.
Dean tried to bounce off as few pieces of furniture as possible as he made his way to the bathroom. He was pathetically grateful that his duffle was between him and the bathroom and he grabbed it on the way by. He needed a change of clothes and he suspected the medical kit would come in handy too.
Dean made it into the bathroom flicking on the light and softly closing the door. He dropped the duffle and reluctantly looked at himself in the mirror. Yup. He looked at least as bad as he felt. Suddenly, the world pitched nauseatingly around him and Dean lunged for the toilet. He lost everything in his stomach and continued to retch and dry heave until he passed out cold, bumping his head on the porcelain for good measure as he slumped bonelessly to the floor.
Dean was shuddering uncontrollably when he woke on the cold and none too clean floor of the bathroom. He hurt everywhere. He was freezing and the room was still spinning. The evening replayed in his mind. The thought of Pete and what might have happened washed over him. What had come so close to happening. How close it was to the nightmare. Dean pushed himself quickly off the floor as saliva flooded his mouth, and he leaned over the toilet again. The dry heaves pulled violently on his broken ribs.
As much as Dean wished he could hide this from his brother and Sasha, he was relieved when he heard Sam's gentle knock at the bathroom door.
"You ok in there, Dean?" Sam's soft voice penetrated the closed door.
"C'min Sammy," Dean managed to slur through chattering teeth.
Sam slowly opened the door. The noises had prepared Sam for a brother who was less than 100, but he was not prepared for what he saw when he finally laid eyes on his brother.
"Shit Dean! What the hell happened?"
"Shhh. Don't want Sasha in on this just yet," Dean managed to get out before leaning back over the toilet to dry heave some more.
Sam took inventory of the injuries he could see and his brother's general state. There was blood crusted on the right side of his face. The left eye was swelling shut and was sporting a rainbow of colours already. That would go nicely with the other bruises already starting to show on his jaw.
Sam noticed that Dean's jeans were half off, but he hadn't taken off his jacket. Dean was shuddering almost uncontrollably and it seemed to be from more than just cold.
Shock, Sam thought immediately. He quickly stepped out of the bathroom and grabbed the blanket off his bed, returning quickly and tucking it around his brother. Dean was leaning his forehead against the cold porcelain of the toilet.
Sam gently laid his hand on Dean's back. He was totally unprepared for Dean to whimper and shrink away from his touch.
"Shit, Dean. Where all are you hurt? You have to let me look at you. What the hell happened?" Sam's voice was low, but Dean could hear the concern turning to anger.
"Be faster if I told you where it didn't hurt," Dean tried to give his brother at least a shadow of a smirk.
"Don't expect me to be kissing your elbow, Indie," Sam fired back. "I hope the other guys look worse anyway."
"Not so much, this time," Dean's voice faded to barely a whisper and he dropped his eyes. Sam was distressed to see what he knew to be a tinge of the red of embarrassment creep up Dean's too pale face.
"Ok. Let me look at what you've done to yourself this time," Sam's voice was all business. He knew enough to focus on making Dean physically comfortable. They'd have to deal with the emotional fallout later.
Sam reached out gentle hands to tilt Dean's head. The cut running into his hairline and dripping blood down his face would need a couple of stitches. The rest of the damage seemed fairly superficial. Dean's pupils were still mostly blown. Sam hissed.
"Did those bastards drug you? This isn't just alcohol or tempers getting the better of them, is it?" Sam's voice was tight with outrage.
"Yeah. They slipped something in the beer. I thought I could get out before it became a real problem. Didn't give me an option about drinking it…" Dean was obviously and typically, taking the blame for the situation.
Sam shook his head and moved his inspection lower. Sam reached for Dean's shirts, but Dean made a startled noise and grabbed Sam's wrists.
"Dude, c'mon, I can't help you if you don't let me see," Sam said gently. He was deeply troubled by the startled deer-in-the-headlights look on Dean's face. Sam waited until Dean relaxed and dropped his wrists. Brushing Dean's jacket and flannel to the side, Sam lifted up Dean's t-shirt and hissed again.
"Dude. D'you spring a leak or you into snake impersonations now," Dean quipped. He was quickly using any energy he had left and wanted to just lie down and sleep.
Sam took in the bruises to Dean's torso and the return of swelling and bruising in his shoulder. There were several boot marks on Dean's torso. Not all from the same boot.
A typically fair Winchester brawl, then, Sam thought.
Gently inspecting Dean's ribs, Sam tsked when he found two that were obviously broken.
The gash on Dean's abdomen was pretty superficial. Sam glanced down and noted the bruising on Dean's upper legs, wondering at his dropping his pants before taking off his boots. That's when Sam noticed Dean's jeans and they set off an alarm bell for Sam. They suddenly made the entire attack take on a whole new horror. The missing button and slashed zipper were all the additional evidence he needed.
Sam sighed. He had hoped that Dean's relationship with Sasha would remain charmed, but he knew too much about the intolerance of the world in general. It had really only been a matter of time. He just wanted his brother to be happy. Dean deserved it. Sam was afraid of the barriers this would inevitably cause Dean to throw up.
Dean's head was resting on the toilet again. It was really the only thing holding him up. Sam gently reached around his brother to lift his shirts to look at his back. The shirts stuck for a moment and Dean shivered more violently as more of him was exposed to the cool air. There were three angry welts lacing Dean's back. Two were raised and bruised welts but the third had actually broken the skin. Sam was shaking now.
He knew that he had to ask Dean what had happened. If things had gone… Sam couldn't even think it. But he had to know. Dean could have serious internal injuries.
"Dean. Umm. Did they…" Sam couldn't force the words past his lips.
"No. No, Sammy. I never lost my boxers," Dean knew he had to reassure his brother but his voice was so low, Sam had to lean in to catch it.
"Let's start by getting your head cleaned up and some stitches in that gash," Sam tended to babble as he patched his brother up to keep from thinking too hard about the pain Dean had to be in. If he just focused on the task, Sam could get through this.
"S'ok, Sammy. Jus…wanna…sleep," Dean was starting to lose his battle to stay awake. Sam hoped it was more the drug and exhaustion and not internal injuries, concussion, or shock. He hated to do it, but Sam patted his brother's cheek gently but firmly.
"Hey. Hey! You need to stay with me for a bit yet," Sam cajoled. Sam quickly got the med kit open and found what he needed.
After cleaning and stitching Dean's head, Sam quickly went through Dean's duffle and found some sweats and a long sleeved Henley he could sleep in. Sam undid Dean's boots. When he went to slide off Dean's ruined jeans, Dean again whimpered and tried to scramble back away from Sam.
"It's ok, Dean. It's just me. Just Sam," he comforted quietly until Dean stilled and shut his eyes again.
There wasn't much Sam could do about the mass of bruises he discovered on Dean's legs, so he got him to slip into the pants and then re-tucked the blanket around him before taking off Dean's shirts. The loss of heat had Dean shivering and shaking violently. Sam worked as quickly as he could. The knife wound on Dean's abdomen and the welt on his back were nasty and would sting but didn't require stitches. Sam took the precaution of wrapping Dean's ribs. Hospitals wouldn't do it anymore, but Sam was afraid of one of them puncturing a lung, so he went the extra mile.
Sam kept up the meaningless chatter and was rewarded by non-specific grunts from his brother. But it did its job. It kept Dean awake for a while longer and it seemed to comfort and quiet him. Sam got Dean into the Henley and snugged the blanket up around Dean's shoulders.
Finally, Sam grabbed a glass of water and a couple of ibuprofens. He wished he had stronger pain medication, but this would have to do in a pinch.
"Not sure that I can keep that down, dude," Dean protested weakly.
"At least try Dean. It's not much but it will help with the bruising," Sam wasn't to be denied.
"You ready to try for bed?" Sam needed to get Dean off of the dirty and cold bathroom floor.
"M," Dean's grunt was non-committal.
"C'mon, ya big lug. I'll put you in my bed. You probably don't want Sasha rolling over and giving you a big hug tonight," Sam joked.
Suddenly, Dean looked stricken. He'd been able to put Sasha out of his mind. Sasha was going to be pissed. At him. At the goons. Dean saw angry incubus all over the horizon.
"You're the one kicks me out of bed," Dean stalled.
"You can have it all to yourself," Sam countered.
"Hey! You keep your hands off my incubus," Dean returned.
"You can have him all to yourself too," Sam chuckled.
"Where are you gonna sleep," Dean blinked owlishly at his brother.
"I'm gonna stay awake and wake your ass up to make sure you're all still there, bro."
Sam reached down and tried to find a place on his brother that he could use to get him upright enough to make it to the bed. Dean's eyes were already drifting closed.
"C'mon Dean," Sam encouraged.
Dean struggled to stay awake, get his feet underneath himself, and help Sam get him up without crying out like a girl. He bit his lip so hard, it almost bled. As soon as he was upright, the world tilted alarmingly and he was convinced he was going to be sick again. He was able to breathe through it though, and Sam led him back into the bedroom and over to the closest bed. Dean gratefully sank down on it. He was stumped as to how to lie. Stomach was out cuz of the knife wound. Back was out cuz of the marks from the pool cue. Right side was his ribs, shoulder, and head injury. That left his left side. Dean curled up and was asleep almost before Sam could get the covers over him.
Sam sighed. He'd have to stay awake and wake his brother up in an hour. He was still worried about concussion and shock. Dean was shivering, but he was also sweating. Not knowing what the assholes at the bar had put in Dean's beer, Sam wanted to make sure there were no lasting effects from that either.
Moving to the table, Sam opened the laptop. He'd pulled the bathroom door mostly to but left the light on so he could still see Dean.
He'd been working for almost an hour and was just about to get up and check on Dean when Sasha woke up. Sasha stretched and blinked sleepily at Sam.
"Isn't Dean back yet?"
"Yeah. He ran into a bit of trouble," Sam said quietly, rising to move to Sasha's side.
Sasha immediately sat up and looked around frantically for Dean. Realizing that he wasn't in the bed with him, he turned quickly to Sam's and seeing Dean there made to jump up. Sam caught his arm. Sasha went to wrench his arm out of Sam's grip.
"Wait," Sam hissed.
"What? Why?" Sasha's first instinct was to get pissed off at Sam for keeping him from Dean.
"Look. I don't know what went on there tonight," Sam felt bad for lying to the incubus, but he knew that Dean didn't want Sasha to know the particulars, at least not right now.
"I don't know what exactly went on, but I do know that on some level Dean was embarrassed by it. He didn't want you to see him when he came in, and then he pretty much passed out. I do know they beat him pretty bad and they drugged him to help them do it." Sam kept his voice low and kept his hand on Sasha's arm. He could feel the tension building in the incubus.
"I'll fucking kill them," Sasha ground out and his eyes flashed red.
"You'll do no such thing," Sam's voice was hard and cold. John would be shocked at how closely Sam could mimic him even unintentionally.
"You'll let this go. We can't afford that kind of attention. And we need to get out of this town." Sam's voice brooked no dissent.
Sasha didn't look happy, but Sam felt his arm relax a little.
"Do you think I could have my arm back now to go and check on Dean?" Sasha's voice had regained its control.
"He looks bad. He won't want you to make a big deal out of this," Sam cautioned. Sasha just grunted in response.
Sasha moved quietly to the other bed. Dean was facing away from the other bed and towards the bathroom which meant that the light of the bathroom fell upon his face. It was Sasha's turn to hiss when he saw Dean's bruised and swollen face. He turned stricken blue eyes to Sam.
"What else?" Sasha barely breathed.
"Bruises all over. Boot marks. A shallow knife wound on his stomach. Two broken ribs. Welts on his back, probably from a pool cue. Shoulder's bruised and swollen again." Sam figured Sasha was going to get to see it all eventually anyway so why bother trying to hide any of it now.
Sasha sank to the floor beside the bed. He gently and tenderly ghosted a hand through Dean's hair being careful to stay away from the stitches.
"Dean?" Sasha's thumb stroked his cheekbone. "Dean? Can you wake up for me?"
Dean's eyelashes fluttered darkly on his too pale skin. Sasha could see the chills that were wracking his body.
"Sam? We should turn up the heat."
Sam moved to do as Sasha suggested.
"Dean." Sasha tried again, a little more insistently this time.
Sasha was rewarded by a very thin slit of green.
"Hey. What's with ditching me? I'm all lonely in that big bed by myself," Sasha's voice was soft.
"Hmm. Sorry. Don't wan you takin me f'gran'ed," Dean's words were still slurring and weak.
"I could never do that," Sasha tried to smile as he ghosted his hand over Dean's hair again. He missed Dean's initial flinch at the contact.
"Can I get you anything? A drink? How are you feeling?" The last question slipped out before Sasha could stop it. He knew as well as Sam what the answer to that would be.
"'M fine. Water'd be good." Dean's teeth were chattering again.
"Sure you are. Hold on. I'll get the water," Sasha said as he pushed up off the floor and turned to the bathroom. Sam saw the stricken look on Sasha's face. Sam understood why Dean hadn't wanted to tell Sasha right away. It only delayed the look of anguish and the beginning tendrils of guilt that Dean knew were inevitable. The beginning of the if onlys.
In the time it took for Sasha to get to the bathroom and back with the water, it was obvious that he had worked through a number of emotions. Sam wasn't all that surprised to see a flash of red in place of the brilliant blue of Sasha's eyes.
Returning to Dean, Sasha gently helped him get into a position to take a drink. After a few tiny sips, Dean was pushing Sasha away and almost panting with the exertion.
"Who did this, Dean?" The anger pulsated through Sasha's voice.
"Let it go." Dean's voice was barely a whisper.
"No way in hell someone does this to you and gets away with it." Sasha ground out. He was sitting on the floor again to try for some kind of eye contact with Dean.
"Please." Dean breathed. The plea in Dean's voice made Sasha pause. Dean was close to begging, and Sasha hated that. There was no way that Sasha could resist that.
"Ok. But only for now. We are going to talk about this in the morning." Sasha's voice was still quiet but firm as well.
"Hmpf," Dean's response was non-committal.
"Think you might be up for a little company?"
"Jus don't touch me," Dean cautioned as his eyes slid shut.
Sasha stood and looked at Sam.
"Do you mind trading beds? I'll keep an eye on him for the rest of the night. You should get some sleep too, Sam."
"Ok. If you're sure," Sam still felt odd letting someone else watch out for his brother. On the other hand, it was certainly a big enough job for two.
Sasha gave Sam a tight smile and walked back between the beds so that he could crawl in behind Dean. He lifted the covers and was careful to jostle the bed as little as possible as he got in. He could feel the heat radiating off of Dean's injuries, especially his back. What Sasha didn't feel was the tension that initially ran through Dean's body.
Sasha carefully moved to be almost spooning Dean but carefully kept their bodies from actually touching. He hoped that the proximity of his body heat would help to warm Dean up. Sasha placed one large hand comfortingly on the back of Dean's neck. Sasha did feel Dean flinch at the contact, but then he felt him relax and was rewarded with a low contented noise from deep in Dean's throat.
A/N: So? Does everyone hate me now? I will post the second half and conclusion in a few days….
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