Ducking the punch aimed above his ear, Dean smirked, wheeled to the side and grumbled, "You're gonna hafta do better than that old man."
"Who you calling old?" Tim returned with a smirk of his own and a sucker punch to Dean's gut.
Exaggerating his ooommpppff, making a show of staggering back a few steps, Dean turned on his heel, jammed his elbow into Tim's side, sending the other man sprawling to the ground amongst a chorus of cheers and hoots from the 'audience' surrounding the arena. A chuckle Tim stifled a second too late got loose, sounding more like a moan.
"Dude!" Dean's arms dropped to his sides for a second, "Please do not sound like you're enjoying it."
Rolling to his feet just in time to miss Dean's foot connecting with his side, "Sorry. What they tell you?"
"Lose." Dean ducked another punch more or less aimed in his direction; dropped half way to his knees then came up, shoulder pushing against Tim's middle.
"Me too." Tim grunted.
"You watched way too much WWF as a kid, didn't you?"
Tim cracked a grin. Dean covered it up quick with a fist across his face.
"I loved it. How much longer?"
"We gotta give Sammy ten minutes; figure he's been at it for a few minutes now." Dean hit the floor again, rolled clear as Tim launched at him. Bit back his own laugh when the man belly slammed the floor.
"Not funny."
"Yeah, yeah. That pot belly you've got going should pad you."
"I do not," Tim flipped around, catching Dean's legs between his own, yanked hard, taking Dean down. "Have a pot belly."
Pulling air into his lungs, rolling on his shoulders, Dean pushed off the floor, "Whatever. You're still old. I shouldn't have let him go alone, not in here."
"Not like there was a choice, a group going down there is too noticeable. One man, alone, stands a far better chance." Tim twisted, elbowing Dean's ribs.
Dean faked a wince, doubled over. "Don't have to like it though."
"Nope, you sure don't."
Simultaneously both clipped the other's legs, taking each other down. Dean's back hit with a hearty grunt. Tim flashed a quick grin, "Really do you have to sound like you enjoy it?" A bell sounding once had them both glancing at Del Villar's observation room a story above them. Up first, Tim reached down, grasped Dean's hand, letting him pull up against his grip. "Think we pissed them off enough?"
Dean's gaze slid to the empty area behind the glass. "I don't know." Glancing at his watch, "I'm not sure we gave Sam enough time, only been eight minutes." He pulled in a few deep breaths. "I shouldn't have let him go."
Tim kindly patted his shoulder, "You had no choice, and I'm sure he's already back, waiting on your sorry beaten ass."
Snorting, eyes again shifting to the empty observation room, Dean said, "I won."
Another quick glance over his shoulder, Sam was still alone in the lower corridor. Gulping a few quick breaths, he hurried past the door to the room he'd spent too much time in lately. The electrified gate to outside, freedom, was a few yards further, the access panel covering the wires supplying the electricity to it just a few feet beyond. Once they knew where to look, they'd found it, well concealed along the wall near the ceiling, painted to match the cinder block walls. Get there, disable it, get back to the clinic. If Dean repeated it one more time he wasn't going to have to fight Tim, Sam was going to knock his brother out himself.
Sam was probably even less thrilled about coming down here alone than Dean, if that was even possible. They'd timed it out, he'd need just under ten minutes to get to the access panel, cut the wires, and get back to the clinic. Dean and Tim were to provide the distraction of a fight, keeping up their ruse long enough for Sam to complete his mission. Marlin, Del Villar and their respective goons would all be at the arena. Carter was required to be there too. Having been forced away from Dean's other fights, except when Marlin wanted Sam to see Dean beaten, and considering the events of the last few days, Sam's absence from this fight was perfectly acceptable. Marlin would expect Dean to leave Sam locked in the clinic, where he'd think Sam would be safe.
Simple fact was there was no other way they could come up with to do this. Another simple fact was neither Sam, nor Dean, would be safe until they were miles away, sheltered inside the Impala. Sam's drive to keep Dean safe was just as great as Dean's drive for his safety. So, he swallowed his fear and set his mind to his task.
Even standing on tip-toe, stretching his arms as far as they'd go, Sam just barely reached the access panel to the outer junction box. A butter knife and suture cutters were all the tools he carried. Unscrewing the panel with the butter knife, Sam held the cutters between his teeth. The metal covering came loose; Sam caught it and lowered it carefully to the floor before it could clang and clatter.
"Well aren't you a bright boy."
Every one of Sam's muscles froze for a beat. First to unfreeze was his mouth, scrunched into a self-defeating grimace. Shit. SHIT! Turning to face the source of the voice, Sam found himself nose to nose with a rifle. A second man stood just to his right, pistol aimed in the general vicinity of the space between Sam's eyes. A third man stood between them. He was shorter, compact, terribly composed.
Marcos Del Villar.
Sam wouldn't have needed Dean's description to know this was who he faced. Raising his hands, palms out, Sam took a deep breath trying to calm jangled nerves and kept his expression placid. At least he hoped it was. He didn't want to antagonize this man, or anyone else in this place. Del Villar's eyes skimmed him head to foot, and back again. Sam barely suppressed the shudder trying to work down his spine.
"So, you're what Marlin is making such a fuss over. Understandable." He turned to the man holding the rifle, nodded toward the electrified door. "Open it."
Sam watched as the man moved a tiny, fake stone panel along the door's frame to one side, hit a button. The soft sound of electricity going off was followed a second later by the clink of machinery. The door pulled up along a track to disappear into the ceiling.
Del Villar took a step back, nodded once at the opened door to the desert outside. "Go on."
Sam's mind whirled. Out. Freedom. Runrunrun. He did some fast calculations. His feet literally itched, the muscles of his legs trembled, straining to stand still, think this through. If he could get to the Impala there were weapons, tools to get back inside and to Dean. He'd be armed, he'd be prepared. But where was their car exactly? Sam didn't know. The car might have been moved, leaving Sam locked out, no food, no water, no way back to his brother, in worse trouble than he was now. Dean told him he'd driven it here, parked it near an air strip. How far was that? Sam had no clue, he'd been brought in at night, blindfolded; he'd never seen the outside of the complex.
It'd be a race between him and Del Villar. Could Sam get to the car, get back before Del Villar had Dean outright killed? Not a chance he'd take.
Pulling his eyes from the opened door, Sam let them meet Del Villar's for a few seconds, kept his face calm, then dropped his eyes to the man's shoulder.
Del Villar crossed both arms over his chest. "Like I said, bright boy." He stalked around Sam, eyeing him up and down again. "Quite the prize Marlin has picked out for himself. See, you present an interesting problem and opportunity for me all at the same time. Your brother, he's an interesting man, best I've had in here in a long time. First one in years to really push Marlin, give him a good run for my money, take him on. But, he needs to take care of Marlin, get him out of the way first. He's already got some behind him." Del Villar stopped, facing Sam once more. "How far will your brother go to have you back, safe, unharmed? Keep you from Marlin, from me?"
The shudder imprisoned at the base of Sam's spine won out, ripped free and skimmed a few laps up and down his back. The other man's eyes slipped over him as if he were indeed some prize to be won, some fantasy fulfilled; nothing more than flesh and muscle. Sam's breath caught and held when Del Villar reached out, ran one finger down his face, along his neck. The urge to flinch away nearly overcame his resolve to stay still, don't fight, but don't give in either. The implications weren't even remotely veiled.
"He'll kill you," Sam bit out. He barely got the words to come out in a somewhat normal tone. How he managed to stay upright was a mystery.
"Oh, I know." Throwing his head back, his laugh, hollow and taunting echoed around the corridor. "I guess it's a good thing I have you, isn't it, boy? A nice insurance policy. See, I can't have your brother and Marlin around. Too much to try and keep control of. Marlin wins, he gets his reward, free and clear. Your brother wins, I have you to keep him in line. It's win, win all around for me. And in the meantime, I've got you to myself. Your brother's little display earlier didn't win him any points. I don't like being embarrassed, but if he comes out the winner, I can overlook one infraction."
Sam didn't know what to say. His opinion wasn't really wanted, so he kept quiet, still.
"You can cooperate, behave yourself; do what I tell you to, what I want you to do. Or…" Del Villar paused, shrugged the smallest bit. "I can have your brother put down where he stands in minutes."
Barely moving, Sam's chin dipped in a small nod. After all his making Dean promise not to sacrifice himself, what was Sam doing? The same thing. Except not. Sam wasn't offering up his life, not really, just himself. No matter what he had to do to ensure he and Dean walked out of here, he'd do it, and survive out of nothing more than plain spite. He could fight for Dean just as stubbornly as Dean fought for him. Dean would surely kick his ass for this, but too bad. Sam wasn't losing his brother.
Del Villar jerked his chin, and the door was closed. Without further comment, Del Villar turned, led the way along the corridor. The two armed men followed, with Sam between them. He'd go with this monster pretending to be a man, do what he had to do so he and his brother could get out.
Dean paced the clinic. Carter and Tim both chose, wisely, to keep out of his way, stay silent. He felt them watching him, felt their concern. Carter, Dean knew, genuinely liked Sam. Though Tim hadn't much contact with Sam, Dean knew he cared about what happened to his brother.
Thoughts of Sam alone, hungry, thirsty, in the desert, dumped out there, left to the elements mingled with thoughts of Sam once again at Marlin's mercy. Having no clear idea what Sam suffered at Marlin's hands, other than what he imagined, the images he dredged up now went from bad to worse to downright horrible. Sam being abused, tortured all for no other reason than Marlin's sick entertainment, and to provoke Dean.
Sam alone, hurt, frightened each thought, each word Dean's brain came up with intensified his anger, his hate exponentially.
He was caged, hands tied until he knew where Sam was. They'd planned for this, but Sam wasn't in the room he'd been held in previously. Dean was unwilling to confront Marlin outright until Sam's whereabouts were known. It was obvious Sam was discovered trying to cut the power to the door; not so obvious was where the hell his young brother was.
If Marlin didn't show his hand soon, Dean was going to have to figure a way to draw him out.
"I shouldn't have let him go, let him do it."
"We've been over this, there wasn't another way, and he'd have just done it while you two were in the arena anyway." Carter said from across the room.
"It's been hours, too long." Dean spun, pacing back the way he'd just come. "That's my brother, I'm responsible for him. I've taken care of him his whole life, and I'm not losing him here, not now." He couldn't help shouting.
"It's been five hours, enough time. Dean's right. Think it's time we take a walk, find Marlin." Tim headed to the clinic door. "No one is losing anyone."
Sam was led up a flight of stairs directly connecting the corridor with Del Villar's private suite. He suspected there was access to the lower levels of the compound all through this upper level. That would certainly explain how Marlin managed to move around so quickly, be everywhere at once. He was left in a small bedroom, nothing fancy, but not a prison cell either. Marcos Del Villar offered him a predatory, cocky smile, promising to be back soon.
Sam couldn't wait.
Ten steps in either direction had him from end to end. There was one thing of interest in the sparse room, a window. Sidling up to it, glancing out Sam nearly whooped with glee. Sitting a few stories below and not too far from the compound was one 1967 black Impala. There couldn't be two here. Now he just had to get out of this room, get from here to there.
One idea sprung to mind, he searched for others, but they'd gone and run away. Sighing, he was going to have to do this, but there really wasn't another way he could think of, and it wasn't like he had a lot of time.
Moving to the bedroom door, Sam tried the handle, locked of course. He jiggled at it a bit, tapped with two fingers against the wood, cleared his throat loudly.
"Whaddya want?" A thick, raspy voice barked from the opposite side.
"I…um…will Mr. Del Villar be back soon?"
Snickering, then, "Why, getting ants in your pants kid?"
Sam rolled his eyes, sagged against the door frame, he could do this, he really could. "Well, yes, no, I mean I'm not exactly presentable, if you get my drift. Can I get a shower? Before he comes back?"
The lock turned, the door opened.
He shoots…
"Please?" Sam turned on the smile that impressed most girls, having no idea if it would work, since he'd never actually tried with the alternative, and added a touch of round-eyed boyish innocence for good measure. "I want to impress him."
The guy made no effort to hide the leer, how his eyes moved up and down Sam's frame. He was going to need that shower from the visual alone. "Maybe you need some warm up."
he scores…
"Maybe." Sam had to make a conscious effort not to gulp and licked his dry lips instead.
Face softening the guy nodded, grinned and rubbed his thigh. "This way."
"Thanks." Sam said softly, reaching out and letting his finger tips brush down the man's shoulder, over his arm as he stepped clear of the locked room.
The guy half turned back to him—this was too easy—lecherous grin all over his face. In the next instant he swaggered away, head snapped back, out before he hit the floor from the impact of Sam's fist.
The crowd goes wild!!
Sam bolted, deciding as he ran down the hall, headed for the access to the lower corridor, he was never, ever telling Dean how he'd done that. Not ever.
There were far less people up here, and he'd seen the way, wasn't lost as he'd been before. Racing along, trying to keep his breathing and footsteps quiet, Sam was back at the electrified door in minutes. Just as he moved away the panel covering the control he heard voices, shouts behind him, coming for him.
"Come on, come on." He huffed impatiently at the door, waving it along faster.
When the door was halfway up, Sam hit the button again, getting just the results he'd hoped for. The door's progress up stopped, it shivered for a second then started back down. Sam rolled underneath to the desert, to freedom.
The Impala was on the opposite side of the complex. To his left was the air strip, it was the shorter distance. To the right was nothing but desert, it was a longer distance, but less people were there. Sam veered right. Running hard, not taking the time to see if his pursuers had gotten through the door or not yet, Sam put his long legs to good use, stretching them fully he turned on the speed.
Running in the sandy desert was difficult; he was sweating almost immediately in the midday sun. Rounding the corner of the complex he was rewarded with the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. A black shinning pearl against the nearly white sand, paint job glimmering in the sun was his, their, salvation. Sam was never going to make fun of Dean again for being unnaturally affectionate to the car. He planned on planting a big kiss on her hood just as soon as he got there.
Racing across the expanse of desert, all he had to do was get there, get the spare key from the wheel well and these creeps would really learn who they'd messed with.
Hearing the men behind him, shouting, Sam was maybe five feet, almost close enough to touch, from the car, a shot gun being fired exploded the air. He felt the heat and friction from the bullet as it whizzed by his ear.
Bending his knees mid-stride, he hit the sand, sliding on his knees a few more feet, Sam came to a stop, hands clasped behind his head, panting. The rough sand tore through his sweatpants, stinging and grinding in bits of sand along his knees and shins.
"And here I thought you were a bright boy." Del Villar snapped, fingers winding in Sam's hair, yanking his head to the side.
"Did you expect us to just lie down, roll over and take it?" Sam spat.
"And we were getting along so well." Del Villar knelt beside Sam, pressed his face close enough Sam felt the moisture from his breath. Standing, he shoved Sam back at the same time. Holding out one hand, one of his men laid a pistol in it. Pressing it to Sam's temple. "What I want, I get. Remember that boy."
Sam closed his eyes, tried to quell the sudden shaking of his limbs. Behind his head his fingers clamped to each other with enough force to ache.
"Find the brother, bring him here and—" Del Villar moved the pistol through Sam's hair, ran his free hand over Sam's head, let his fingers skim down the back of Sam's neck. "Put him down."
"No!" Sam shouted, his voice thick and wet. "No, please, no. This was my idea, not his, no. He had nothing to do with this." Sam's heart jack-rabbitted erratically, the men and desert before him swam. "I'm sorry. Sorry, let me make it up to you."
"Cooperative all of a sudden, aren't you?" Del Villar stood, stepped away. "Your brother thinks he can take over from Marlin, might be more bother than he's worth on second thought."
"I'll do anything you want, no argument, no trouble. Please, leave Dean alone."
Eyeing Sam, seeming to enjoy his begging, "Wait."
Sam watched as the men stopped, turned, waited orders. His stomach clenched around itself, his chest constricted. "Please."
"Touching." Del Villar sneered. "But you need a lesson. You need to have some of that fight taken out of you, learn who is in control around here, who you answer to. Who owns you." He turned, walked away a few steps, then said over his shoulder to one of the men, "Put him in a box for now, that'll cool his jets." He swung around to face Sam again. "You'll be so grateful when you see me again. I'll have to think about what to do with your brother, if he survives his little meeting with Marlin."
It took Sam's befuddled mind a minute to process. A sweatbox; he was being kept in a metal box in the desert. Trapped inside, sweltering, fading away while Dean was possibly executed.
Fighting to control his breathing, not look at the cramped inside of the dark box, Sam closed his eyes to the dizziness overtaking him, focusing on one thing, one thing alone to get him through this, get him out.
Dean.
Tim had to nearly run to keep up with Dean. They both knew where to find Marlin, and Tim wasn't surprised Dean made a beeline straight there. He also wasn't surprised when Marlin acted as if he was expecting them. They faced one another off just outside the arena, near the cages.
"Don't tell me, let me guess. Where's Sam?" Marlin sneered at Dean, openly taunted.
Dean stopped a few feet from him, barely glancing at the men moving in, encircling them. Tim watched Dean's entire body tremble, sheer power preparing to unleash. He couldn't help thinking how happy he was it wasn't he it was being unleashed on.
"You hurt my brother." The words were low, vicious.
"It was so good, such pleasure." Marlin circled, his voice purely sadistic.
"I want him back."
Marlin snorted. "Talk to Mr. Del Villar. I hear he's taken a liking to your boy. A fine prize he is too. Such a shame you don't stand a chance of winning, getting that prize back." He swung at Dean, who ducked clear, did nothing but stare down Marlin with cold hatred. Tim sensed something gathering inside the younger man, something that once let loose couldn't be stopped. He'd gotten an answer to his question, where Sam was, there'd be no keeping him from Marlin now, not that Tim even considered it.
One of Marlin's goons moved in, but Tim was fast. Grabbing the guy from behind, he wound his arms under the man's shoulders, picked him up, swung him around and dropped him back down. "Nope. No one interferes." He swept an evil stare over the rest of the gathering group, knowing who was behind them, there to help. "No one!" He shouted.
Marlin swallowed harshly, took a few steps toward Dean, "Get out of my way."
Dean's arm shot out, hand landing with a thud against the wall, stopping Marlin's progress. A sneer and a slight shake of his head, Dean's voice came out razor sharp, even, determined, lethal. "It's just you and me."