A/N: WOOHOO! It's here! It's here! The NJ Salute to Supernatural Convention starts this afternoon! A repeat of the info I gave yesterday-- I'll be somewhere around C17-19. Come say hi if you get the chance! And please clap for my son if he goes through with the Dean costume for the contest. So maybe he won't kill me for pushing him to enter. LOL

Warning: The curses got a little cruder than normal during one of the scenes.

Disclaimer: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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From Chapter 6:

"Wow! Harsh, dude! Even you don't think your family is worth defending." Dillon's voice was pitched loud enough for the group surrounding them to hear it. Sam tried to ignore the way the bystanders wouldn't meet his eyes. He hadn't believed it when they seemed to accept him anyway, right?

"I'm not surprised that you're running away. I found out a few things about you and your white trash family, Winchester."

Sam stopped dead, going cold. Dillon checked up on him? Did this loud mouthed prick know something that could hurt his family?

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Chapter 7 "The One the Battles Always Choose"

Now

Water streamed off of his face, flowed from his hair. He couldn't hold his head up and he laid back, his eyes seeking the blue of the sky above him as the warm sun bathed his skin. There were yells, screams of excitement, and Dean's voice. Yelling his name. Telling him to hold on, he was coming.

Dean was there. God, it was going to be okay. He was going to have his chance to make it up to Dean. Just for this moment he could forget all of the hard words that had been said. Because they wouldn't matter any more. He'd have a chance to change Dean's mind about him. Earn back his respect. He'd do whatever he had to…toe the line with Dad…anything. Because he couldn't live with his brother hating him.

Sam opened his mouth, desperate to relieve the clawing pressure in his chest. He sucked in a breath, blessed relief from the pain. The air slowed to a trickle when he tried to pull in a second breath. And then it stopped.

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Dean watched as Sam moved smoothly through the other side of the clearing. He seemed lost in his own world, ignoring the people he passed, and worry wound its slow way through Dean. He hadn't seen any sign of Sam's friends yet. In the past, Sam would withdraw into himself after arguments until Dean managed to coax him into lightening up. But he wasn't letting Dean near him this time, and if he was pushing his friends away too…

The 'new' Sam that Dean had met in the morning scared him. There had been an edge of violence in their sparring that had chilled Dean to the bone. It reminded him of their dad, and the way the older man could sometimes be buried in his anger. If Sam lashed out the way John did…he just didn't want to think about the kind of problems that could lead to. Dean was suddenly very glad he had decided to come to the party. If Sam was still caught up in his anger, then he needed his big brother whether he wanted to admit or not.

He lost sight of his brother behind a large group of partiers. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the figures moving in and out of the shadows around the group. It was taking too long for Sam to reappear. He was just taking a step forward, ready to go after Sam, when the group shifted, split, and Dean could see through its center.

Sam was there, standing with his back to Dean. He was hanging with a group of guys, a solid looking boy with blonde hair offering him a bottle. Another kid was leaning against Sam's side as though they were best buds.

Resentment tore through Dean, shocking him. Son…of…a…bitch. It seemed Sammy was doing just fine without him. Apparently Sam could come to the conclusion that he hated his dad and brother one night and be Mister Party hanging out with his friends the next. After the cold shoulder he had given Dean in the morning, the way he'd made Dean worry… The boy leaning against Sam smacked Sam's shoulder and took a step away, bent over with laughter. A knife twisted in Dean's gut and he took a step backwards, suddenly afraid that Sam would turn and see him there.

"Okay, you checked on the geekling." Harry walked up to him, glancing in Sam's direction before handing Dean a beer. "Now come on. Allie is here and her girlfriend wants to meet you."

Dean didn't spare his brother another look before turning to follow Harry in the opposite direction. Sam didn't need him or Dad? Fine. They didn't need him either.

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He knew bees would gang up against a person, but lightning bugs? This was getting freaking ridiculous. The original two had been joined by two more. A squadron of little flying bugs that made him keep losing track of the party lights. All he wanted was to get back to the party, and get another beer.

His head tilted to the side at a welcome sound. Water sloshing against something, like where the water hit the shore along the edge of the lake. No more running in circles trying to follow the lights. He'd just follow the water back.

He began to stumble in the direction of the lake, batting away the lightning bugs that were dive bombing his face with renewed fury. A root caught the toe of his sneaker and he fell heavily to his knees in the underbrush. This just completely sucked. He shifted off of his knees and plopped his butt down onto the bed of damp leaves with his legs stretched in front of him. This sucked. This sucked. This sucked. His hands rubbed over his face in time with his mantra.

A subtle pressure slid across his ankle and he stilled with his face still covered. It was on both legs now and panic clenched his stomach. What if it was a snake? He hated frigging snakes. He slowly lowered his hands, peeking over his fingertips. Not a snake. A snake would have been better. Because this? This was off the scale on the weird meter.

The lightning bugs were flitting around his ankles, their glow allowing him to see the thorny vine that was wrapping itself around his ankles as though it was a living thing. His hands fell into his lap and his mouth dropped open. Oh God. He'd seen this in a movie. They were aliens or something and the plant was going to eat him. Oh God.

He tried to scramble backwards but the vines held him tight. He kicked his legs, frantically trying to free himself.

And that's when things really started to get weird.

A low hum built in back of him, coming closer. Two forms flashed by on either side of him. Soft balls of glowing light, much bigger than the lightning bugs. They dove at the bugs, sending the four scattering. Oh God. He was stuck in the middle of a miniature war of the worlds or something. The balls of light flew over his ankles and the vines fell away, neatly severed. That's it. He was out of here. Let the little alien dudes fight it out among themselves. He pulled his legs under him and bolted for the water. Never ever ever would he mix tequila and beer again.

The sound of the water was getting clearer and the two glowing orbs flew by him, leading him to the lake. He deliberately ignored them, because they weren't really there. They were just his third and fourth shot coming back to haunt him.

He couldn't ignore the low snarl in front of him, though, and he skidded to a halt. He stared at the fox that was crouched in his path, its teeth bared as it growled steadily. It was blocking his way to the water.

No more beer either. Ever again.

A low black form barreled out of the woods next to him and slammed into the fox, sending it sprawling with a startled yelp. Blind panic took over as Kevin's mind refused to process any more of the bizarre events around him. He resumed his headlong rush towards the lake.

He didn't get the chance to make the turn on the edge of the water that would have aimed him back towards the party. As soon as he neared the water there was a hard shove in the middle of his back and he was flying forward, his arms windmilling. He landed heavily but quietly in the lake, the heavy growth of grasses and pond scum muffling the splash.

There was no chance to yell or even take a breath before a grip on his arm was pulling him under. A sharp pain spiked through his wrist and then dulled, weakness traveling up the length of his limb and then through his body as he sank into the water. An arm wrapped sinuously around his neck and he had a moment of confusion when lips moved into place over his and his mouth was opened. He flushed hot and then chilled cold when the mouth over his inhaled and the remnants of his strength were pulled from him.

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The last thing Sam wanted to do was to give the jock the pleasure of a reaction. But he had no choice. Because if Dillon had somehow managed to dig up something that could hurt his dad or Dean, then it didn't matter how much Sam loved the town. He'd tell his dad it was time to leave.

Sam sighed and turned to face Dillon, trying not to react to the look of triumph on the teenager's face. "You know what Steve? You got a problem with me, you deal with me. My family has nothing to do with this."

Dillon took a step towards Sam, his smile a reflection of every school yard bully who thinks a smaller child is sufficiently cowed. "So what's the story, Winchester? How many schools were you in before you transferred here? I lost count when I saw the records. Why you keep moving so much? Skipping out on the rent at whatever trailer parks you were living in? Sorry we don't have a trailer park in town for you. Guess that cabin is the next best thing." He laughed at the thought and glanced over his shoulder at the rest of his group to make sure they were laughing.

Sam stood silently, breathing slowly. It wasn't the first time he'd been publicly humiliated by a bully's taunts. He reminded himself that he really didn't care what the people listening thought about him. He didn't really fit in around here anyway.

The football player took another step towards Sam, using his bulk to try to intimidate the taller but more lightly built teenager. He placed his meaty left hand on Sam's chest and Sam controlled the urge to just knock it away. As soon as this turned physical Sam lost his chance to find out if Dillon was a threat to his family.

Dillon leaned his weight into the hand on Sam's chest, invading Sam's space. "Maybe I think I've got a reason to be worried about your low life family. You planning on bringing Kristi anywhere near them? I've heard from some people at the bars where your daddy gets shit-faced. I hear daddy is a meeeaaaan drunk." He lifted his right hand and flicked his finger against the bruise on Sam's cheek. Sam cursed himself when he flinched away without thinking. It was like adding fuel to the fire. Dillon's smile grew even colder, meaner. "You piss daddy off when he was drunk? You think you can protect Kristi from him?"

He shoved against Sam's chest, sending him back a step. Dillon stepped forward, keeping the contact with Sam. The silence in the clearing had grown, as more people gathered quietly in a circle around them. Dillon's buddies had stopped laughing, a couple of them starting to look nervous.

Sam's skin crawled with the weight of all the people who were probably staring at him right now. Hearing just how much of a freak he really was. Thinking he was a coward for not standing up for his family. For letting himself get pushed around. They just didn't get it. None of them understood the way he felt about violence. He'd seen so much of it. He'd been responsible for so much of it. But instead of making him immune to its horror, his exposure to it sickened him. Let them laugh at him. Saving his pride just wasn't a good enough reason to fight back.

"You gonna bring her near your brother?" Dillon shoved again and Sam could hear low murmurs going through the crowd around them. Probably mocking him. "I hear your brother will screw anything on two legs. You gonna let him get near Kristi?"

"We hear you screw things with four legs and it never stopped you from trying to get near her."

Sam shot an incredulous look over his shoulder at the source of the comment. Eric looked about as angry as Sam had ever seen him, his eyes narrowed and two spots of color high on his cheekbones.

A slender hand pressed gently against Sam's arm on the other side. "That's enough, Steve!" Kristi hissed. "Your Neanderthal act wasn't attractive on those few lame dates you tried to take me on, and it sure as hell isn't attractive now! Leave Sam alone!"

Dillon flushed red looking from Eric to Kristi before his eyes settled back on Sam's face, a small tic near the corner of one eye showing his rage. The smile that pulled at his lips was pure malice. "What's the matter faggot? You can't stick up for yourself? What kind of dickless wonder are you? You afraid to fight?"

Eric snorted. "Buddy, you've got no idea what you're stepping into. C'mon Sam. You don't need this shit." Eric pulled on Sam's arm, trying to pull him away from the confrontation while Kristi added her weight, pushing on the other side.

"That's right baby Sammy. Run away," Dillon laughed harshly as he dropped his hand and took a couple of steps back. "I'm sure you'd rather follow your boyfriend's cute little ass than grow a dick and stand up for yourself."

Eric stopped dead and turned to face the jock. He made a show of glancing over his own shoulder and down at his butt before looking back at Dillon with his eyes wide. "Whoa, Steve! You think I've got a cute ass? Damn! I didn't know you swung that way!"

Dillon's face twisted as he stepped towards Eric, a meaty fist flying out.

Sam shot his right arm up and smacked it outward, shoving hard against the back of Dillon's right elbow as the haymaker closed in on Eric. His other hand pushed against Dillon's shoulder. The change in direction combined with the punch's momentum and Sam's push spun Dillon in a circle so that he ended up with his back to them. In a move that was so smooth it looked casual Sam lifted his right knee and planted his foot against Dillon's back, delivering a forward kick that sent the stocky teenager flying away from them to land face first in the dirt.

The brief burst of noise from the onlookers that had accompanied the quick tussle died out when the football player climbed to his feet and turned to face them. His nose was bleeding and he ran the back of his right hand across his face, smearing the blood in a gruesome stripe. Sam swept his arm out and back, pushing Eric towards Kristi and both of them well away from him. He lifted both hands in the air in a placating gesture. "How about we just call it quits now, okay, Steve? Everybody's having a good time, let's not screw up the party."

"C'mon, dude, let's just get back to drinking."

"Yeah, c'mon Steve-o, I got another bottle of Jack."

Dillon didn't even spare a glance for his friends, his attention fixed on Sam as his shoulders tensed into small boulders and his hands fisted. His voice came out as a low snarl. "I'm gonna tear your friggin' head off."

Sam concentrated on his opponent, blocking out the voices trying to calm the furious teenager. Sam no longer had the element of surprise on his side, and the football player had a lot of weight on him.

Dillon darted forward, picking up speed with each step. He hunched over as he neared, his shoulder lowering so that he could crush Sam to the ground in a brutal tackle. Like a matador avoiding the bull, Sam twisted to the side at the last moment and then used the heavy jock's own weight against him. He planted his right hand in the middle of Dillon's hunched back and shoved, adding to the boy's momentum. His left hand reached down and grabbed a handful of the football player's baggy cargo shorts and pulled upwards at the same time his right leg swept out and up, catching Dillon across his legs and lifting. Momentum carried Dillon up and over into a complete flip and he landed on his back.

Sam immediately moved away from him, spreading his arms out to the sides and herding people out of the line of fire in case Dillon got up swinging. He stepped away from the edge of the crowd and back into the clear area as the jock rolled over and began to climb to his feet. A portable light set up near a generator illuminated the scene eerily, shining harshly on some spots and painting others in dark shadow.

"Let's call it quits now, okay Steve?" Sam tried. He kept his voice calm and even. "You don't like me, I don't like you, so we'll just stay away from each other."

"Sam, let's just go," Kristi called from in back of him.

"You hear that Steve?" Sam asked. "We'll even leave and you can have this whole party to yourself." Dillon just looked at him, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders a couple of times as though pulling himself together. The blood from his nose was just a small trickle and he wiped at it again and then looked down at the gore on the back of his hand. When he looked back up his eyes had narrowed and his hands fisted again. "C'mon, man," Sam sighed "I don't want to hurt you. Just let me walk away."

"I don't think so, you little faggot. You don't get to run away now." Dillon smiled and lifted his fists in front of him. He must have bitten his lip or tongue when he was flipped. His teeth looked dark and when he turned towards the light Sam could see they were a glossy red. "You don't want to hurt me?" Dillon let out a sharp bark of laughter and began to circle to his left, his fists up as he looked for an opening. The rage fueled attacks had been easy to deflect. Now that the football player had gotten himself under control the danger of someone getting hurt skyrocketed. Sam needed to end this quickly.

"I don't want to do this, Steve," Sam tried one last time.

"I do." The answer was a snarl and Dillon danced forward, his right fist shooting out. Sam dodged to the side and pushed the jock, jumping back so they were separated by several feet again.

Dillon moved back into his fighting stance, fists up and shoulder towards Sam. There was no peaceful way out of this. Sam turned so that his left side was toward Dillon and loosened his stance, bending his knees and lifting his arms, his hands in a loose fist. He jumped forward onto his left foot, swinging his right leg around so that its momentum propelled the rest of his body into a spin. His left foot left the ground and he was spinning in the air, his left leg lashing out in a back kick. Still airborne, the power and speed of the turn were pushed through his leg and his foot smashed into Dillon's shoulder like a battering ram. The football player crashed to the ground with a pained cry. Sam landed lightly and immediately backed away from the downed teenager, his hands up again.

The football player clutched his left shoulder, his face twisted with pain. Sam ignored the pleased hoots and calls from the crowd around them, keeping his eyes on his opponent. He waited until things calmed down a little and Dillon had forced his eyes open, staring at Sam in shock. "I held back," Sam said, calmly and clearly. He wasn't boasting, he just wanted to make sure the idiot got it. "That could have been your head or I could have broken your arm. But I'm trying not to hurt you." He waited until Dillon had pushed himself up and was kneeling, still clutching his shoulder.

Adrenaline charged through Sam's veins, but he forced himself to stay in control, sound confident. The truth was, Dillon had a hell of lot of pounds on Sam, mostly muscle. If he managed to land some hits Sam would be hurting. Sam had to talk a good game, use intimidation as a weapon.

"Next time, I won't hold back."

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Rough bark scratched Dean's back through his T shirt as he shifted position and pulled the cute redhead a little closer to him. She stood between his spread legs, looking up at him as she giggled. Even leaning against the tree he was several inches taller than her. He graced her with a slow smile that had her melting into his chest.

"So, Tracy—"

"Casey."

"That's what I said. So, Casey, you're only in town to see Allie for a couple of days?"

"Dean!" Harry's skidding arrival at Dean's side drowned out the coed's reply.

Dean turned his head, shooting a wide eyed scowl at Harry. What the frig? Harry knew better than to interrupt the action. "Little busy here, Harry," he hissed.

Harry bent over with his hands on his knees, panting. Dean really should drag his overweight ass to the gym one of these days.

"Harry?" Dean prompted again.

Harry stood up, his breath whistling. "It's the geekling. Some kind of trouble." Harry pointed back toward the party that they had left behind in a search for privacy.

"Crap." Dean pushed the redhead away from him, instantly straightening up. "What's going on?"

"I went for a beer…there was a big group watching…a fight or something."

"Damn it!" He'd known the kid had been keeping it all inside. A time bomb waiting to go off. He knew it. And now he'd gotten into a fight? Something that could pull all three Winchesters into trouble? Son of a bitch. He was going to kill his brother.

It was only a short sideways hop for the hurt he'd felt when he saw Sam with his friends to turn into a simmering anger.

Dean trotted through the woods, finally emerging onto the beach. He mentally kicked himself when he realized he hadn't asked Harry where this fight was. The groups hanging out on the coarse sand looked calm enough. If the fight had been here it was over now. He scanned the beach but couldn't pick Sam out in the groups standing around talking. "SAM!"

There was a moment of silence as heads turned in his direction, but no freakishly tall mop headed teens stepped forward. "SAM!" He began walking across the sand, his head swiveling as he searched.

A thin line of evergreens separated the beach from the clearing and Dean stopped dead at the sounds coming through the slight barrier. A few quick yells, a couple of feminine screams, the muted murmurs of a shocked crowd of people…

Dean wasn't sure if he should stay angry with Sam or be afraid for him. The only thing he was sure of was that he'd feel a lot better when he was standing at his brother's side. He headed for the clearing at a run.

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Dillon dropped his eyes and hung his head in defeat, making no move to continue pushing himself to his feet, and Sam felt a warm surge of relief.

"SAM!" The voice was at a little distance, but to Sam it was the clearest sound around him and he froze in shock. Dean?! Dean was here?

"SAM!" And he sounded pissed. Sam spun around in surprise, looking for his brother. His view was blocked by the solid wall of people in back of him. A packed audience for the show. His forehead creased in confusion as eyes widened on the faces in front of him, mouths opened ready to scream and cry warnings. He heard it behind him then, a slight snik, and he turned to face the threat, dodging to the side. He was not quite quick enough to avoid the slashing blade and it laid a burning stripe across the top of his arm

A gasp burst from Sam's lips, half pain and half humiliated surprise. Dillon was off balance after his wild swipe with the knife and Sam pushed him away, jumping back to give himself a little distance.

The tone of the crowd around them had shifted from teenage bloodlust to fear. Voices within the crowd were cursing Steve, begging him to drop the knife. Dillon faced Sam over the distance of a few feet, humiliation hunching his shoulders as even his supposed friends told him to stop being an idiot. Sam blocked the voices out. He couldn't let himself hear them, couldn't be distracted by the sound of Eric's fear or Kristi's panicked whispers.

Dillon held the knife low in front of him, making little figure eights in the air with the raised point. He was shifting back and forth on his feet, swaying slightly as though looking for an opportunity to drive the knife into Sam's gut. His left arm hung at his side, still numb from Sam's kick.

Sam blocked the pain radiating from his slashed arm and took a deep, calming breath. He watched the football player's eyes, the twitches of his body, trying to anticipate the next attack. He didn't have to wait long.

Dillon surged forward, pushing the knife in front of him in a low thrust. Sam shot his arms out, both hands grasping the other boy's beefy forearm. He yanked forward and shifted his grip, turning so that he was standing at Dillon's side and then wrenching the knife arm up and back. Sam jammed his left arm into the crook of Dillon's elbow forcing the arm to bend while his right hand pushed from the other direction, viciously snapping the boy's wrist into an impossibly painful angle. The white knuckled grip on the knife loosened, but Sam wasn't taking any chances. He shifted his leg into a small sweep and knocked Dillon's legs out from under him, bending to keep his grip on the arm until something gave in Dillon's wrist and the knife fell free.

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He didn't know what he had expected to find after he pushed through the crowd surrounding his brother, but it wasn't this. When he'd gotten to the clearing and saw the onlookers packed together he'd flashed on fights he'd seen in high school hallways. Two dim witted teenagers circling each other, bloody noses and bruised knuckles. The way some of the crowd were yelling at a 'Steve', telling him to just 'drop it', 'let it go', 'stop being stupid', he'd actually expected to find his brother the recipient of a beating.

Whatever he'd expected to see, it wasn't his brother without a mark on him, standing like a coiled spring in his usual sparring stance. Looking loose limbed and yet vibrating with furious energy. The other boy…Christ, wasn't that the kid Sam had just been drinking with? Sam really was channeling Dad if he'd just flipped on one of his friends. The other boy was a battered mess. Blood was smeared heavily across almost the entire bottom half of his face, dripping from his mouth. Both of his arms were hanging awkwardly as two boys helped him to his feet. His right wrist was swelling practically as Dean watched. Either sprained or broken.

The world tilted around Dean. Fear and anger were a dangerous mix. He dealt with this crap from Dad. He couldn't handle it from his brother too. He'd been afraid that his brother was reacting badly to the family blowout, but this? This was colossally worse than a bad reaction. Sam beating up some other kid was pretty much worst case scenario. It would cause problems that Dean didn't even want to think about. Sam was eighteen now. Assault charges would be a whole new ballgame. Dad would never let Sam get put into the system. He would get them out of the town, and then he would punish Sam in his own way. A juvie hall would probably be kinder.

And Sam looked like he was ready to continue the pounding, dancing in place, his eyes intense and fixed on the injured boy. His little brother who looked down on him and Dad because they hurt things that needed to be stopped had gone into a childish rage and done this? Exposing the whole family to some nasty repercussions?

Dean reached for Sam, clamping his hand harshly onto Sam's arm and yanking his brother backwards. Sam immediately spun towards him, his right arm twisting to break Dean's hold as his left fist came up. Dean sparred with his brother enough to be expecting the reaction. He shifted his grip to make it more secure and balanced himself so that he could swing his leg and sweep Sam's feet out from under him if he had to.

Sam froze when he saw who was holding him, his eyes wide and staring, breathing hard. Dean kept his punishing grip on Sam's arm and shook him. "What the hell are you doing Sam?" His voice was a cold hiss, condemnation clear in the tone. This was not his brother. How the hell was he going to get through to Sam?

He tuned out the protests called from the group watching. Bunch of teenage assholes who stood around and probably cheered while—his thoughts stuttered to a stop at the emotions that flitted over Sam's face. When he truly comprehended it was Dean holding him Sam's face had softened. Relief, trust, the look that said his big brother was there and everything would be okay. That had been replaced by shock and hurt when Dean shook him, but those emotions didn't last long before Dean was face to face with the morning's cold stranger again.

His grip loosened and Sam yanked his arm out of Dean's grasp. "Sam? Sammy?" Sam turned away and stalked to the side of the loose circle of people around them. For the first time Dean noticed the expressions on the faces surrounding him. They were all looking at him like he was a cockroach crawling across their kitchen floors. What the hell? And the kid Sam had been fighting with…the group of boys surrounding him weren't supporting him. From the angry expressions and harsh gestures—they were blasting him about something.

He took a step to follow his brother and pulled up short when he found a skinny and highly pissed off teenager blocking his path. "Eric," he acknowledged quietly, his eyes still on his brother.

"You know, I know you're bigger than me and could kick my ass without breaking a sweat, but right now I'd like to see you try! What kind of asshat are you? Your brother gets attacked and you give him shit for defending himself?"

Dean looked at him with a silent scowl and Eric visibly flinched as though waiting to be squashed. It only lasted a second before he was straightening his shoulders and meeting Dean's eyes, glare for glare. "It might not be any of my business, but I really don't care cause Sam's a good guy and he deserves better. The way you're jumping all over him without knowing what's going on? Dude, that's screwed up." Eric shook his head. "The way Sam talks, you're like the world's most amazing big brother. He told me once how he knows you'll always have his back." Eric scoffed. "If that was you having his back…I'm glad I don't have a brother."

Dean took a step back, just eyeing the younger boy. He might be Sam's friend but he didn't know shit about their family and the way Dean looked after his brother.

Eric looked over at Sam and then back at Dean, his expression unforgiving. "The fight started because your brother stopped that idiot jock from pounding me, and Sam was holding back, trying not to hurt him, but when the moron pulled a knife—"

The words were quick, running together, but that one word leapt out at him. "Knife?" Dean's voice was hard, covering the instant fear that washed through him as his eyes flew to his brother.

A delicate blonde was standing near Sam, looking up into his face with a worried expression. She was talking quietly, one of her hands running gently up and down Sam's forearm. Someone handed her a small towel and she turned Sam, pushing up his left sleeve and pressing the towel against the top of his arm. The blood…Dean hadn't seen the blood. The light was hitting Sam's left arm now, and Dean's mouth went dry when he saw the streaks of red winding their way down over the tan skin.

"A knife," Eric confirmed harshly, holding up a closed switchblade.

A cold pit opened in Dean's stomach at the sight of the knife. Eric gulped visibly and took a step backwards, giving Dean a clear path towards his goal. Long strides ate the ground and then Dean's fist was flying forward and Steve Dillon found himself once again flat on his back on the hard ground.

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I don't want to be the one
The battles always choose
'Cause inside I realize
That I'm the one confused

I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
and say what I don't mean

"Breaking the Habit" by Linkin Park

A/N: Contains spoiler for Season 4 episode:

You have no idea how nervous I was when I saw the promos for 'After School Special'. This scene was written way before that, and I was so afraid the epi would blow my portrayal of Sam to smithereens. I was thrilled to pieces when I saw them portraying young Sam with the personality traits I had envisioned.

A/N2: Please know your reviews mean the world to me. Because of the convention it might be a little while before I can reply to them. And if you're at the convention stop by to say hi! You can tell my son how he's doing with the fight choreography he does for me. Yep, I'm a proud mom.