Dean drew up fast and short when Marlin appeared in the corridor outside the clinic entrance. Fists clenched, he had to consciously tell himself to inhale, exhale; count his breaths to keep from slamming the man to pieces. That would have to wait for now.
He'd be saving that for when Sam was beside him.
"You and I, we're not so different." Marlin's voice was low, threatening, trying to goad Dean, bait him.
Dean's answer was to lift the corner of his upper lip, growl rumbled from low in his throat.
"I had someone once. His eyes were very much like your brother's so deep and emotional." Marlin cracked a grin that made Dean want to shiver. "Didn't have your brother's delightfully long legs though."
Dean stood stock still, following Marlin's pacing with his eyes. Don't do it, don't let him bait you, don't start anything, not until Sam is back.
"He looked at me like I was Superman. Thought I was some kind of special hero when Del Villar picked me for one of his personal fighters. Took me a month or more to earn that position." Marlin stopped, standing in front of Dean, inches from him. "But that was a long time ago. He's not here anymore."
Almost curious enough to ask who, and what happened, Dean swallowed the words, pressed his lips shut, concentrated on evening out his breathing.
"See I would have done anything for him, to keep him safe. I did everything I could." Marlin's right eye twitched, he crossed his arms over his barrel chest. "Not so different. Just what exactly would you do for your brother? Anything?"
Dean responded with one tight nod.
"Eighteen hours. You get eighteen hours until the next fight. There's someone I want taken care of. This fight is to the death." One corner of Marlin's mouth twitched up to a slow, vicious smile. "You win, you get him back, and I get another of my little problems taken care of. You lose…" shrugging, "I get your brother, and his delightfully long legs and pretty eyes. The way I see it, I can't lose. We're in my territory, this place is mine. MINE!" Marlin stopped, eyes settling on Dean's.
Fighting the almost overwhelming urge to look away Dean snapped out, "The only thing I want is to get my brother and get out. I don't want this. You want it? It's all yours. Everything except Sam."
"I have him too. Pity you've no way of getting to him before you fight." Marlin sneered. "You'll never survive with the weakness in you your brother is."
Staying rooted to his spot, Dean stared after Marlin as he walked away, stride casual, sure. Dean's entire body vibrated with anger, tension, plain fear. The man was insane, completely off the deep end. Marlin was crazy dangerous.
Kill a man he didn't know, had never done a thing to either him or Sam. This wasn't some possessed guy he could shoot, end quickly and fairly painlessly, mercifully. This was a guy, maybe like he and Sam, an innocent victim he'd have to beat to death, kill with his bare hands. Hardly quick and painless. Certainly not merciful.
Stumbling back, Dean braced against the wall, pulling deep, unsteady breaths into his chest. Dean treasured his brother above all else, and now this man, Marlin, had taken him away. Dean had no options. Refuse to fight and Sam was gone, Marlin's prisoner until someone else came along who piqued Marlin's interest more. Or until Sam died from the abuse he was sure Marlin would inflict on his young brother.
Kill his next opponent and Sam would be released back to him, until the next time Marlin had a 'little problem' to take care of, turning Dean into a murderer, a monster no better than Marlin. Sam would never forgive him that, murdering a man in cold blood, never see it as a necessity, saying Dean should have refused; Sam's life wasn't worth it. His brother would be lost to him forever, but at least Sam would still be alive. Sam would hate him.
If he lost? The thought thundered through Dean's head. Losing this fight wasn't an option. The dangers to Sam were far too great should that happen. The simple question remained, when it came right down to it, would Dean be able to kill an innocent man? Yes, he decided, for one reason and one reason only, for Sam. His resolve was frightening, the desire to end a life posing no threat to anyone, not Sam, not him. Either way he looked at it Dean's life was over. He'd either literally die at the hands of his opponent, or he'd lose his brother one way or another. Without Sam, Dean simply wouldn't survive. There was no reason to; no point in living.
However this played out, Dean had eighteen hours of life left.
Carter's fingers around his arm, pulling him back into the clinic jolted Dean back to the here and now.
"Hey, you with me?" Carter gave him a slight jerk.
Turning to the voice, Dean's eyes took a few seconds to focus. Swallowing hard, he nodded. Trailing behind Carter, into the clinic Dean mumbled, "I have to get into that room."
"We will. What did Marlin do?"
"Nothing," Dean shook his head. "I have another fight in eighteen hours." Scanning the room, he lowered himself slowly into a chair. "Sam has our lock picks." He wasn't making sense, but didn't much care.
"Why do you two have lock picks? Just what is it you do?"
Lifting his eyes to meet Carter's, Dean didn't have the energy or inclination to lie. "We hunt demons, ghosts, that sort of thing."
"And for those you need lock picks?"
"You'd be surprised." Dean snorted. "Sam's got them, in his pocket. I made him hang on to them, in case he needed to lock himself back in our cell. I need something I can pick a lock with. I have to get into that room, and I don't think kicking the door in is an option."
Carter rubbed at his jaw, "I don't know, we can look around, there has to be something you can use."
"I have to get him out of there. Sam's going to hate me forever." Dean watched Carter move about the room, pulling open drawers, giving the contents a quick look.
"I doubt your brother would ever hate you. And I told you before, we'll get him out, you'll get him back."
"My next fight is in eighteen hours. Marlin said I'd have to…" The words caught and snagged painfully in Dean's throat. How would he ever be able to look Sam in the eye again, provided of course Sam hung around long enough after finding out Dean killed an innocent man? Not just killed him; beat him to death with his fists. Sam wouldn't look at Dean as his big brother any longer, he'd look at Dean as if he was a monster, and he would be.
"He said you'd have to do what?" There was a definite tremble to Carter's voice.
Dean dragged his gaze up to Carter's face, the man looked concerned. "I have to get Sam out."
"We will." Carter produced something from the drawers, held it up triumphantly. "What about this?" He crossed the room, stopping in front of Dean, knelt down beside him. "Dean, what did Marlin say?"
"If I want...for Sam, to get Sam…I have to…the next fight, it's a death match. I have to get Sam out." Dean looked at the object Carter held out. "Dude, that's a harpoon."
Cracking a smile, "Well not quite, but it's a damn long needle."
"I'll have to file the end down, but yeah, I think this will work." He held the needle carefully. It was nearly two inches long, and beveled to a sharp tip. "Tell me the truth; what will Marlin do to my brother if I don't win?"
Carter shook his head side to side slowly. He sighed; spoke softly, "I don't know."
They left the clinic; walked in silence to the area Sam was being kept. The corridor was long and narrow, at both ends crossed by other corridors. There was no where to hide, no place to conceal himself to get closer to the room Sam was in. None of the men milling around in the space either side of that door had any sort of weapons Dean could get away from one, use on the others. He couldn't take on the dozen or so of them there, he'd never win.
Thoughts of Sam left in the desert, or the sweatbox, worse yet spending the rest of his life here at the mercy of Marlin took him over. What would the man do to his brother, what had he already done? Dean had too many questions, not enough answers. He'd seen armed guards when he first arrived, if he could get one of the guns he'd have a chance.
"You said they'd leave soon. They're still here. I still can't get inside to Sam." Dean snapped out, not meaning to take his frustration, and fear, out on the man who'd done nothing but try to help them since this whole nightmare began.
Carter drew in a breath, his voice low and annoyingly patient. "That's usually Marlin's M.O. He usually likes to have his handiwork seen, keeps his fighters in line better."
Eyes sliding to his side, glancing at Carter, Dean didn't even try to suppress the wince working through him. Sam wasn't out in the desert lost, alone with no provisions, nor was he trapped inside a sweatbox half his size. He was in a room. Albeit a room with a metal roof from what Dean was able to tell from the pictures. Sam was in there, maybe hurt, probably frightened and suffering discomfort, but he was alive. No matter what he had to do, Dean intended his brother stay alive.
"Sorry."
Nodding, Carter offered a quick pat to Dean's shoulder, "We'll get him, and work on getting the both of you out."
"Thank you." Dean drew in a deep breath. "You go on back to the clinic."
"What are you going to do?" Carter sounded suspicious, reminding him of Sam so much Dean let his mouth turn up into a small smile for a few seconds.
"There's something I need to do, check out before this fight. I won't be long."
He left Carter, headed down the corridor to the main part of the complex. Dean walked through to the section everyone gathered in for food, supplies. Looking at the groups of men as he moved through the large space, not sure who or what he was looking for. Spying Marlin near the far end of the room, Dean didn't even try to be subtle in his approach. Those near Marlin edged away, giving Dean cautious and wary looks.
"Which one is he?" Dean ground out, standing squarely in front of Marlin, glaring defiantly into the man's eyes.
Marlin stood, silently glaring back.
"Which one?! You want him taken care of, then I need to know what I'm up against."
The grin that broke apart Marlin's face sent slivers of cold poking through Dean's insides. Marlin nodded slowly before stepping around Dean, jerking his head, indicating Dean to follow. Marlin led him through the area, to the opposite corner. Nodding at a man probably in his forties, sitting with two other men, laughing, eating their meal, "That's him." Marlin smirked.
"Go away." Dean didn't take his eyes off the group. He heard Marlin's snort behind him, then heard as the man turned and stalked off.
Mind churning at light speed, Dean had no idea what he was doing here, why he'd wanted to see this man, confront him. He'd maybe hoped the guy would reek of child molester who left small bodies in fields for distraught parents to see. Then at least Dean could say he did the world a favor, justify to Sam killing him. Maybe he'd been a stock broker, an innocent victim just as Sam. Whoever he was, he must have felt Dean watching. In the next instant Dean found a pair of pale, cool eyes sizing him up and down. This man, the opponent he was to kill didn't reek of child molester, didn't exactly fit the stock broker mold either.
Saying something to his friends, the man rose, walked slowly, purposefully to Dean. They stood for a moment, each one evaluating the other.
"I'm not surprised it's you; I'm to fight you." The man said. There wasn't even a hint of a question in his words.
Dean nodded curtly, tried swallowing, but his mouth and throat completely dried up.
A half glance over his shoulder to the two men he'd been sitting with. "You have someone here. Marlin is holding someone over you, making you do this."
Another nod. "My brother." Dean let his eyes wander from the man's face to the two sitting farther away. The lankier of the two had shoulder length, unruly black hair. Dean's heart seized, nearly stopped. The expression on his face, the way he moved, the baleful, innocent looking eyes all reminded him too much of Sam.
"We all came in here at different times; I've been here the longest. But now we're a family of sorts, all I have left, those two. I'm sure you've figured out there's safety in numbers here."
Dean certainly understood that. "Sam. My brother, his name is Sam. Marlin has him squirreled away, locked up."
"Inside?"
"Yeah."
"If I…if you win…" Another glance at his friends. This man didn't want to die any more than Dean did. He had loved ones he wanted to protect just as deeply as Dean strove for Sam's safety.
"Without question." Dean was having a difficult time meeting this man's gaze. "My brother?"
"Without question."
Dean was about to leave, when the man's fingers snagged his arm. His other hand he held out to Dean. "Name's Tim Hren."
Spending a few seconds contemplating the man's outstretched hand, more like a paw. Tim Hren was dark skinned, mostly bald, wide, and about as tall as Dean. Nodding thanks and understanding, Dean shook the outstretched hand. "Dean Winchester."
Tim took a few deep breaths, then landed one of his paws on Dean's shoulder for a brief second. "You're a good man Dean Winchester."
Before he could offer a response Tim returned to his friends—family—back to his meal, Dean's presence ignored.
Returning to the clinic, Dean lay on his bed, one arm over his face, trying to block out the images in his head. Images of a man just like him. A man who would die, kill for those he loved. A man who shouldn't have to do either. A man who in another place Dean might have a game of pool or cards with. Perhaps just sit at a bar with his little brother, trading remarks with this man over women, cars, or whatever game played on the TV. A guy willing to forgive Dean for killing him, being killed by him.
Other images rammed Dean's thoughts. Sam's horrified expression when Dean told him how he'd killed Tim Hren, the betrayal, disgust in Sam's soulful eyes when he realized what a monster his own brother became, murdering an innocent man in cold blood with his bare hands. Dean clung to the thought Sam would be alive.
The seed of a thought dug into his mind, rooted around, something Marlin said earlier nagged at him. The thought grew, formed, along with it a plan. Swinging off the bed, Dean left the clinic, moving silently through the complex to the cells. Pacing along, trying to look into cells without being too obvious he finally found the one Tim Hren shared with his two companions. He must not have been able to sleep anymore than Dean. The minute Dean neared his cell Hren met him in the corridor.
"I see I'm not the only one staring at the walls."
Dean took a deep breath, this was an incredible chance he was taking, but he saw no other way. "I don't know about you, but I don't really want to die, especially like this. I certainly don't want to leave my brother abandoned in here."
"Yeah, well, we only have two options, you die or I do."
Eyes dropping to the floor for a second, then skimmed the walls behind Tim, before meeting the other man's holding them steadily. "I think there might be option three."
Cocking his head to one side, arms crossing over his chest, Tim leaned against the wall, one leg pulled up so his right foot rested next to his left knee. "I'm listening."
