Chapter 21 – The alerts are down, but I have a feeling my fellow gutter-neighbors will find this. I'll start answering reviews when the alerts are working again.
Six Weeks Later...
Dean leaned against the car and glanced around the not-so-busy diner parking lot. At two in the afternoon, the lunch rush ought to be done and the dinner crowd wasn't off work yet. It seemed pretty safe. One hand snaked under his overshirt to pull out a thick book that had been hell to hide the past few days, but Dean was determined and resourceful.
Baby Names.
He snorted as he flipped to the pages he had marked, going over first and middle name combinations in his head. Frankie kept hinting that they should have some 'gender neutral' names, like he was hoping for a hermaphrodite baby. Sick bastard. Dean had higher hopes, he wanted his own Sam. Actually, Sam was a good name, one of the ones he had marked. Samuel and Samantha. Privately he was hoping for a girl to name Samantha, just to annoy his brother, but he wouldn't mind a smart-as-hell boy either.
He glanced up to check on Frankie, one hand automatically rubbing at the protrusion from his stomach. It looked like Frankie and Serene were in a booth, talking. Nobody was wearing a bitch-face. Yet. His eyes dropped back to his book. Some names actually had meaning. So what? Dean liked the strong, short names like John, Sam, Dean, Frank. Even Mary fit in that category, though Dean was having a hard time wrapping his head around naming anyone Mary. It felt too much like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
It might have been the fact these frigging pregnancy hormones were working him over, or that he was distracted by the baby names, or even that he was feeling a little too relaxed in this small town that he lowered his guard. Whatever the reason, Dean would make damn sure it didn't happen again, because it was the beginning of a whole chain of events that never should have happened in the first damn place.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed movement. Assuming it was Frankie, Dean moved swiftly to hide his book, then he heard a swishing noise through the air. Dean froze, hand behind him and under his shirt, unsure what the noise meant. His eyes cut to the side. It was one of the moron brothers from the bar, the ones who had drugged Frankie. He holding a wood baseball bat.
When he woke up this morning, he had had a feeling he needed to stay in bed. Frankie even had the day off, they could have had a great time staying in bed all day.
The bat swung at him again, Gary grinning broadly, the pervert. "Time to even the score," he taunted.
Great. At least it was just the one and not both brothers. Even as tired as he had been feeling lately, Dean figured he could take out this moron without breaking a sweat. He haphazardly finished stuffing his name book under his shirt so he would have both hands free. Gary came at him again with the bat, but Dean jumped nimbly out of the way. As he searched for a way to end this quickly, he was grabbed from behind. Arms pinned back by the elbows, someone was behind him holding him back.
Panic set in as he saw Gary aiming the bat at his abdomen.
"I didn't like the way you tried to strangle my brother," a man's voice hissed in his ear. Shit, it was the other moron!
Dean fought the arms holding him violently, anything to kept that bat away from his stomach. He bent and twisted, knowing a moving target would be harder to hit. The bat finally came swinging his way and Dean threw all of his weight to one side, forcing his second attacker to the ground with him as the impact from the bat shot through his left shoulder.
"God damn!" Gary shouted. "The fucking bat broke!"
"Forget the bat!" The brother shouted over his shoulder. "Just get it over with!"
He tried, but he couldn't curl up in time. The size fifteen sneaker knocked the wind out of him, made tears come to his eyes as it connected with his stomach. When he saw the foot drawn back for another blow, Dean found the strength to pull his legs up protectively. That foot pounded his shins while the brother holding him down screamed for Gary to go for the face or throat. Really not helping. Dean slammed his head backward and was rewarded with the sound of bone breaking and a yelp of pain.
The next few minutes were a blur, but Dean did remember seeing Frankie flying into Gary and another image of Frankie wielding the broken bat like some strange clean cut caveman. There was some screaming and then some sirens. Finally Frankie's voice was in his ear, whispering all kinds of promises as he was loaded into the back of an ambulance. He thought maybe Frankie said something along the lines of 'pregnant' and 'wife' but he might have been imagining it. He hoped so. Frankie was finally looking human again, Dean would hate to have to kick his ass.
Frankie paced the ER room nervously, waiting for Sam to show up. This time, Sam was going to kill him. He was seriously regretting ever pestering Dean to meet his elusive brother. The hospital had already called Smith-Jones and Dean was right, that was a seriously wacked-out name. Why the hell was he worried about such trivial crap at a time like this?
The doctor arrived with her favorite tool, the ultrasound machine. They checked the baby's heartbeat too, it sounded like a train. She smiled broadly as she told Dean that he might feel like shit for a few days, but the baby was fine.
"But he kicked the baby," Dean protested. "How can it be fine?"
Smith-Jones maintained her smile. "You might be showing, but the baby isn't that big yet. This," she rested her hand on the gentle bulge in Dean's stomach, "is mostly protective fluid. One of the safest places you could fall right now is on your stomach. But I don't recommend it."
"Funny," Dean growled.
"I am a little worried the attack may have broken a rib, but I don't want to do any x-rays if we can avoid it," she said.
"Nothing you can do for broken ribs anyway," Dean replied. He shrugged and a flash of pain crossed his face.
"Dean?" Frank said, moving closer. "Something wrong with your shoulder?"
Dean glared at the offending shoulder. "You know, I remember Gary yelling about breaking a bat."
Without another word, Frank pulled Dean up to a sit. He unbuttoned the soft plaid shirt and peeled it carefully back from Dean's shoulder. It was an angry red and purple, so swollen Frank could barely peel the fabric down.
"Okay, now that we're going to x-ray," the doctor announced. "And I'm going to ask for an ice-pack."
The ER bed was angled so Dean could sit up comfortably, shirtless with an ice-pack attached to one shoulder, when Sam burst in. His eyes flicked over his brother, taking it all in.
"Who?" Sam demanded in the cold, hard voice which sounded so much like John Winchester.
"No, Sam," Dean replied in a weary voice. "We live here now. I'll just file a police report."
Sam's eyes narrowed and hardened. "Dean," he said in a threatening manner.
Dean raised a hand to wave off his brother, but his hand froze in midair. His eyes bulged. Frank spun around to see what Dean was staring at. John Winchester stood in the entry to the glass walled room.
"Dad?" Dean breathed softly.
"Your brother asked you a question, son," John said in his deep, rumbling voice. "I suggest you answer it."
"Moron brothers," Dean said slowly, his eyes never leaving his father.
"From Mart's?" Sam demanded. Dean nodded slowly.
"Sam?" John asked.
"Just a minute," Sam snapped, holding up a hand to silence his father. Frank watched the exchange silently, knowing his input was not needed. "How's the baby?"
Dean's attention shifted from his father to his brother. "Doc says the baby's fine. Sam, don't do this."
"Frank," Sam said, turning away from Dean, "take care of him. We'll see you at the house later."
Sam brushed past his father out the door. John smiled and winked at Dean before he followed the youngest Winchester out.
"Crap," Dean mumbled. "I hope they don't kill 'em."
Frank sat on Dean's bed, their hips pressed together. He ran his fingers through Dean's hair, refusing to add his comments. Because, deep down, he did understand what the Winchesters were capable of, and he hoped Dean's father and brother would be able to do what he couldn't.
John followed his youngest out to the parking lot. He could practically see the steam boiling out of the boy's ears.
"Over here," John called as he headed for his truck. Sam fell into step beside him. "I take it you know where these moron brothers are?"
Sam gave him a tight nod, lips pressed together with enough force to make them a bloodless white. John followed his son's directions to a small apartment complex. Sam didn't pause as he headed up the stairs and for the right door. He met John's gaze, clearly asking for permission to kick the door in. John gave it with a subtle hand gesture.
The door slammed open with the force of Sam's kick, bouncing violently against the interior wall. Sam did all the right things, following his training perfectly. All that time on the road with Dean must have shown him how valuable John's training had been.
These so-called 'moron brothers' weren't exactly in top shape when John and Sam found them. One had a severely bashed in nose with two black eyes, probably all resulting from the same blow. The other one's movements were short and jerky, as if he had already encountered a beating.
John pulled his pistol, motioned for the brothers to assume the position. Sam patted them down, though he kept looking to John for permission to open up a can of whoop-ass. After Sam gave him the nod that they weren't armed, John spun the one without the broken nose around.
"Shirt off," he ordered, more curious than anything. The guy moved slow as he took off his shirt, revealing wide bruises across his back and chest. "What happened to you?"
Moron brother number one, the one without the busted nose, shrugged. Probably too embarrassed to admit to it, especially if...if it was Frank. Frank might be a big guy, but Dean was right, he was worthless in a fight. If Frank took him down, well, that certainly wouldn't speak well of moron one.
"And you?" he asked moron brother number two. That brother just glared venomously.
"Okay. In that case Sam, we'll do it your way." John effectively removed Sam's leash.
Sam didn't need to be told twice. John moved out of the way as Sam laid into both brothers. Twenty seconds later, Sam slammed the brother's heads together and they slumped to the floor.
"Should I tie them up?" John asked.
"Go ahead. I'll look for a marker," Sam replied in a stiff voice.
"What do you need a marker for?" John demanded.
"To leave them a message," Sam snapped.
John sighed. "Son, up to now there's no evidence to connect us with being here, other than their word. I'm pretty cure Frank has a better rep in this town than the moron brothers here, so we can beat that. If you leave hard physical evidence..."
Sam sighed. "Fine. We'll just tie them up."
John had no idea 'just' tying them up meant the moron brothers wouldn't be wearing much more than the rope. He and Sam needed to have a looooooong talk.
Gary woke with a heavy pounding behind his eyes. When he couldn't move his arms at first, he thought it was because they had partied too hard last night. Then he remembered those big guys kicking in the apartment door. His eyes flew open. The front door was closed. Maybe he dreamed it.
"Gary?" Joe's voice came from his side. "What happened?"
He turned his head to look at his brother. Joe was tied to a chair and looked about like Gary felt. They were tied to straight-backed wooden chairs, which explained why he couldn't move his arms.
"I think we need to move," Gary said slowly. "As soon as we get out of these chairs."
He knew that look on his younger brother's face, and it was never a good thing. "We need to get even."
"Joe," Gary said desperately, "those guys are crazy. We should get the hell out while the getting is good."
"All we did," Joe said slowly, like Gary was the one who was dense, "was knock around the guy who tried to strangle you."
"Joe! We're tied to chairs in nothing but our underwear!" Gary shouted, seriously freaked out now. "I mean, the guy was good-lookin' but not worth all this. Please, let's just move to Riverside. We'll still be close enough to hit Mart's every weekend and far enough not to run into these assholes."
Joe got a thoughtful look on his face. "And it would give us some time."
"Time?" Gary demanded. "Time for what? Joe, stop and think about what they could have done to us!"
"Why do you think I want some time?" Joe demanded in a cold tone. "Now that we know how many of them there are, we can plan better."
Gary hopped his chair around so he was face-to-face with his younger brother. "Joe. Two of us went up against one of them, and you got your nose bashed in. Then one more showed up and beat the crap outta me. What the hell are we going to do against four of them?"
"They have a weak spot," Joe replied calmly. He would be much more convincing if he wasn't almost naked and tied to a chair. "All we have to do is find it."
"No," Gary snapped. "The second I'm out of this chair, I'm packing my shit. You do what you want."
Joe's eyes went wide and round. "But Gary..."
"No, Joe. You gotta know when to cut your losses. No."
It took a few hours of shouting and screaming, but finally one of their neighbors called the police instead of checking on them personally. Gary didn't blame them, Joe wasn't exactly hospitable around the neighbors. The cops wanted to know how and who, but Gary wasn't talking. He didn't want any more trouble with those guys. What had already happened was bad enough. Joe didn't talk either, but Gary did not find it reassuring. When he finally got rid of the cops, he started packing.
"Gary," Joe's plaintive voice came from behind him, "don't leave without me."
"Then pack," Gary snapped.
He heard some rustling as Joe set about opening drawers and packing a suitcase. Gary didn't care if everything left with them. He had a little money saved up, he could replace whatever they chose to leave behind. When his clothes were packed, Gary set his bags by the door. He headed for the kitchen, to see what he wanted to take. A firm hand on his arm gave him pause.
"Gary? I just want to look out for you, the way you always looked out for me," Joe said as Gary desperately tried not to look at his brother. "I remember all those nights Dad came to our room, to your bed."
A cold shiver ran through him.
"I know how you kept him away from me." Joe's voice was in his ear now, warm breath tickling his skin. His body pressed against Gary's from behind. "I just want to make you happy. Always."
"Then we need to leave," Gary replied in a strained voice.
"We're leaving," Joe said in his soft, sweet voice. "After we find a place, let me find somebody for you. Make you happy." His body was hot against Gary's back. "I'll do whatever you want to him, while you watch." Joe's voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Just the way you like it."
Gary nodded, he couldn't pass up an offer like that and Joe, damn him, knew it. Joe didn't go any further than just pressing against him. Gary couldn't stand more than that, never skin on skin, not while he was sober, and Joe knew that.
"And next time I tell you to leave it," Joe said in his ear, "you'll leave it?"
Gary shrugged. It was a promise he couldn't make, because it depended on how drunk he was. "I'll try," he managed to whisper.
Joe moved away, a chill lingering in the absence of his brother's warm body. "I'm done packing, Gary. Let's go."
Screw it, they could just start over. It wouldn't be the first time. Gary paused briefly to stroke his brother's cheek, enjoying the complete adoration in those eyes. "If you like, we could find somebody tonight, rent a room," he suggested as his fingers trailed down Joe's neck.
Joe gave him a brilliant smile, so beatific despite his swollen and busted nose. "Do we have enough to rent somebody pretty?"
Gary returned Joe's smile. "Yeah, we can do that." It would be difficult to pick somebody up looking like they did now, to just pay for a night would be much easier.