Room to Breathe

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Dean or Sam, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Notes: Thanks so much for the awesome response to Chapter 1! I loved every review!

Chapter 2

Sam's left hook to the gut of the man in the middle of the threesome officially initiated the butt whopping. Even as his victim doubled over, Sam ducked away from a right cross from the burly man on the right and retaliated with an uppercut that caught the man right under the chin, leaving him dazed. At seemingly the last second, the punch from the taller man on the left was blocked by Sam's forearm. For his efforts, the man was on the receiving end up a solid punch to his right eye. To Sam's surprise, the man barely stumbled under the assault but a vicious smile turned up his lips as he plotted his retaliation.

Cursing the woman, the Neanderthal and his own good looks for this mess, Dean gripped onto the bar stool and began to use it to pull himself to his feet. He was supposed to keep Sam out of trouble, not watch his baby brother protect his sorry butt. Gaining his full height, Dean thought he might just black out as his head objected to the higher altitude, his legs felt wobbly and pain was still spider-webbing out from his shoulder. But suddenly none of that mattered as he saw 'Rocky' the beefy guy, ready to hit Sam from behind as his brother was busy giving "stringbean' as Dean dubbed the thin guy, a shiner.

With his protective instincts flaring hotly, Dean, pushing away from the bar which he had moments prior been leaning against to remain standing, stepped between his brother and his back stabbing attacker.

Sensing movement behind him, Sam spared a glance over his shoulder. Finding Dean at his back, ready to face off with 'Rocky,' panic tore through Sam. Returning to his own battle, he hastily ended his scuffle with a brutal elbow to his opponent's temple. He didn't even bother to watch the man sink to the ground, instead he was already in motion, his stomach churning at the thought that he would be too slow, that his brother would suffer another blow before he could interfere. Swinging around, Sam wrapped his arms around his brother's waist and pulled him backwards, Rocky's roundhouse swing missing Dean's jaw by inches.

Tripping backwards at the unexpected interference, Dean landed hard back against Sam's chest. Before he could unlock his brother's grip from his waist, Dean found himself spun around, once again facing the bar but with Sam's hold intact.

With one turn, Sam had effectively put himself between Dean and Rocky…and recklessly turned his back on his attacker. Releasing his brother, Sam intended to engage Rocky but, before he could face his opponent, a hand grabbed his shoulder and roughly yanked him around, causing the younger Winchester to lose his balance. Rocky's right cross connected solidly with Sam's jaw, sending the ghost hunter stumbling backwards.

It ignited a chain reaction. Trying in vain to reach out for the bar to halt his stumble, Sam fell back into Dean, who was in the process of turning around to view the battle. Unprepared to catch his brother and too weakened to do an effective job of it anyways, Dean lost his hard won footing and his back impacted harshly with the bar, knocking the breath from him even as it instilled more pain to his already overloaded body.

Immediately straightening away from Dean, Sam shot a concerned and guilty look over his right shoulder to his brother. "You alright?"

"Just go knock his teeth out, Sammy," Dean breathlessly replied, leaning heavily against the bar, his elbows on the wood to help keep him upright.

Sam chose to take his brother's words literally. Stalking forward, Sam felt his whole body shaking with rage. It was hard enough for him to see Dean hurt, the memory of him tied in that chair in that house, beaten, burned was something he would never forget. But now these pricks had messed with Dean, an obliviously injured Dean, and had even managed to make Sam hurt his own brother …enough was enough. Now they had earned the wrath of Sammy, little brother and protector of Dean Winchester. God help them.

Their father had been very clear about which fighting techniques they could employ in a fight with human beings unhindered by the supernatural. 'Gauge your reaction to their action. They punch, you punch, they know karate, you show 'em your karate. They intend to do bodily harm, you do it to them first. Never escalate the fight any further than you have to. You know how to kill a man, doesn't mean you ever should.' But typical of his brother Sammy, the kid still had more questions, questions he asked only of his brother. "How do I know how far I should take the fight, Dean?" Matter-of-factly Dean had replied, "Listen to your heart, Sammy. It'll tell you what to do. Trust your heart ahead of your muscles, your skill, or your weapons."

Taking notice of the tautness in his brother's body as he headed toward Rocky, Dean, for the first time ever, regretted his advice. Sometimes Sam's heart had a lot to say, too much in fact.

The stocky guy had recovered from Sam's gut punch and was now standing shoulder to shoulder with Rocky. The thought of two against one didn't even faze Sam, he was ready to take on the whole bar to protect Dean if he had to. His two opponents moved forward simultaneously as if Sam was a quarterback they relished sacking. Without breaking his own stride forward, Sam met the attack, slamming his elbow under Rocky's jaw, the man stumbled back, the stockier man, managed to tackle Sam but Sam didn't go down but instead used the man's impact to turn him around even as he latched onto the back of the man's neck and shove him forward.

Taking a quick step to the left, Dean just missed being part of the collision of the stocky man's head as it cracked into the bar where he had stood a moment before. Lifting his eyes from the downed man to his brother, Dean saw Sam give him a cocky apologetic smirk for almost impaling him with the loser. Neither brother saw Stringbean surge from the ground.

So it was without warning, Sam felt someone plow into him and found himself colliding harshly with the wall. A punch rocked his head left and another sailed into his stomach before he could react. But it was the sight that he saw over his attacker's shoulder that had all his breath leaving him.

Seeing Sam tackled into the wall, Dean felt his lethargy fade under the onslaught of his anger. Pushing himself again away from the bar he stalked forward, cutting off the pain his body was broadcasting and shoving aside his weakness as if it didn't equate into his next actions. For in fact, nothing equated except getting Sam free of these clowns. He had taken but two steps toward Sam when Rocky stepped into his path. The SOB smiled.

"Ahhh…poor baby can't hide behind your friend anymore," Rocky goaded, making a show of clenching his fists almost in Dean's face.

Dean let his most cocky smile turn up his lips, "He's not my friend.." and then his words frosted over into something deadly, "he's my brother."

"Good, then there will be a family member in town to claim your body," Rocky punctuated his words with a right cross.

If the sight of seeing his injured brother facing off with a man that would give Mr. T pause caught Sam's breath, hearing his brother's deadly tone turned his blood to ice. "Dean back off!" he yelled a second before another punch cut his lip. Furious at the distraction to his brother's plight, Sam rammed his knee into Stringbean's stomach, doubling the man over before delivering a solid downward blow to his left cheek, sending the man onto the floor in an unconscious heap. Almost leaping over the downed man, Sam ran toward Dean even as he saw his brother duck Rocky's right cross and strike the back of the bigger man's knee with a karate kick.

Finding his leg crumbling under the blow, Rocky changed his right handed fist into a grappling hand snagging unto Dean's jacket, hoping to use the other man's strength to stop his descent. It was a fantastic move, brilliant as it was simple and utterly failed to doom. His grasping hold had unwittingly contacted with Dean's burn, and his opponent's injured shoulder could not bare his 250lbs weight. Knowing when to bail a sinking ship, Rocky released his grip on the collapsing hunter and barely managed to keep his feet in the wake of the other's descent.

In gut wrenching horror, Sam watched Dean sink to his knees, so damn reminiscent of the way he did in Roy's healing tent that Sam felt tears spring to his eyes. His brother's agonized grunt of pain was like a knife in his heart.

Rage like he had never experienced exploded in Sam. With a yell he slammed into Rocky, his hand viciously clamped around the other man's windpipe as he sent his opponent impacting flat out on the floor. Kneeling beside Rocky, Sam began to unleash punch after punch to the man's face, wanting to make the other man pay for hurting his brother.

Heat flared through Dean and the room seemed distance and unreal as his consciousness threatened to wink out on him. He saw Sam slam the other man to the floor as if in slow motion. Then he saw the harsh set to Sam's face, watched as his usually controlled and compassionate brother rained down blow after blow to the already downed man. Unnerved by Sam's loss of control, Dean knew that if Sam didn't stop the beating soon, Rocky's brain would be more toast than it already was. The revelation came harsh enough to break through the fog that was trying to shut Dean down. "Sam," he tried to bark out, his voice however betrayed him, coming out breathless and more a plea than a demand for obedience.

For Sam, his name from his brother's lips was like contact with a live wire. Instantly his eyes flew to his brother, their eyes meeting and Sam could practically read his brother's thoughts. I'm alright. No need to go all Dirty Harry on the guy. But his brother's body language spoke the truth to Sam. With urgency, Sam, dismissing the unconscious man lying beside him, crawled over to Dean, reaching the older man just in time to catch him as he teetered forward. Wrapping his arms around Dean, careful to keep his hold away from his brother's left shoulder, Sam, feeling Dean's body trembling against his chest, worried at the heat coming off his brother's bowed head as it rested high on his shoulder.

"Let's get you the hell outta here," Sam's words spoke of anger but his voice trembled with worry and regret. Using his hold on his brother to gently help Dean to his feet, Sam's heart twisted at his brother's grunt of pain.

The elder Winchester, assaulted with a new level of pain as his body tallied it's complaints, struggled to keep his legs under him and his consciousness functioning. As Sam changed position to stand at his side, his arm wrapping around his waist, Dean bowed his head and willed the room to stop spinning. Snaking a hand to his head, he rubbed at his temple. The agony from his shoulder seemed to have awakened every source of pain in his body, ten fold.

Frightened by Dean's weakness and palpable pain, Sam drew closer to Dean, tightened his hold on his brother's waist and gently draped his brother's arm over his shoulders. "Hang on, Dean," he quietly encouraged as he started forward, his brother's feet in motion but not the cocksure stride Sam had tried so hard to imitate as a kid.

Squinting in the glare of the bar lights, Dean let Sam usher him through the parting crowd, his weight nearly being carried by the taller man. A good Samaritan opened the door and then they were under the night sky, the smell of pine trees replacing the odor of alcohol. Their feet scuffed along the asphalt as they cut through the parking lot toward the motel and the Impala gleaming in it's parking spot.

"Hey, we won, right?" Dean said, his words teetering between a boast and a question, needing to say something to interrupt the silence of their journey.

"Yeah, we won," Sam allowed darkly, their 'victory' irrelevant in the light of Dean's present condition.

"Good. 'Cause I don't even want to know how bad I'ld feel if we lost," Dean nearly slurred, catching his boot toe on the asphalt and stumbling.

Having been worried that just such an occurrence would happen, Sam, reacting almost instantly, slipped his right arm around Dean's chest and prevented the injured man from ending up on the ground. "I got ya," Sam assured, bringing them to a halt so Dean could get his bearings again.

Uncomfortable with his clumsiness, Dean didn't meet Sam's eyes, eyes that he knew were analyzing his every movement. Determinedly, Dean began to put one foot in front of the other, causing Sam to again slip to his side. "We gotta leave, cops will be here soon," he pointed out unnecessarily. If there was one thing the Winchesters knew, it was how to become scarce when sirens sounded.

Recognizing Dean's need to appear in control, Sam simply stated, "I'll clear our stuff outta the room." Leaving unsaid that he would be depositing Dean safely in the Impala, the passenger side of the Impala, while he did the packing.

Sam steered Dean to the left, directly toward the car. He was not surprised at his brother's objection.

"Sam, the stairs are that way," Dean pointed out, turning his head slightly to the right to indicate the stairs that led up to their second story room.

"Yeah, car's this way," Sam parried, never altering the bee line for the Impala. "I'm packing, you're sitting in the car." Reaching the passenger side door, he opened it with his right hand and intended to maneuver Dean into the car when his eyes clashed with Dean's green gaze.

"Dude, I'm .." Dean snapped but Sam spoke over his protest.

"You wanna be here when the cops show, Dean? You wanna spend the night in lock up over some stupid bar fight? No, right! Then let me do the packing." To Sam's surprise, Dean said nothing, his eyes turned unreadable and he stepped from his hold and sank down into the driver's side chair. Uncertain how but knowing he had somehow angered his brother, Sam pressed, "Dean.." but found the passenger door slamming shut before he even knew what he would say.

"Fine," Sam huffed, running for the stairs, a man on a mission.

"Fine," Dean growled, leaning back heavily against the Impala's interior, wishing he allowed smoking in his car, or drinking, or tantrums.

It was not the first time Sam Winchester had but mere minutes to pack up his family's worldly possessions and wipe away any remnants of their existence from a room. He shoved their clothing in their two bags, indiscriminate over whose clothing was put in which bag, snapped his computer closed, and scraped their toiletries from the bathroom vanity into a waiting bag.

As his cologne toppled over and slid across the vanity and fell into the trashcan, Sam cursed. Without disgust, he sent his hand plunging into the trash's depths to retrieve the overly priced cologne. His grasping hand pushed aside the tissue box, the soap paper and wrapping for the toilet paper and then his prey was in sight but the other occupant of the bottom of the trash can snagged his full attention. Bending over, Sam pulled out the discarded tube of first aid burn cream, a tube still a quarter full. Confusion hit him first and then the explanation clicked into place, leaving him more angry than he had been in the bar and yet, hurt beyond words.

His head back against the seat, his eyes closed, Dean rubbed his temple with his right hand even as his left hand was clenched tightly into a fist to minimize the agony running down his arm from his injured shoulder. He barely sensed Sam's approach in time to straighten up in the seat and drop his right hand to his lap.

He could not see his brother's expression as the back door was opened, two large bags were unceremoniously shoved into the car and the lap top nearly bounced off the seat when it was tossed onto the car. The door slammed with more force than necessary and then Sam ripped open the driver's door and dropped into the seat. Uncertain of what had escalated his brother's ire, Dean got his answer as Sam whipped something at him, as fate would have it, it struck his left shoulder and bounced onto his lap.

Hissing in pain, Dean began, "Damn it, Sam…" but his rebuke died in his mouth as he recognized the tube that lay on his leg, the tube of burn cream that he had purposefully buried in the depths of the trashcan. It had seemed a simple plan, even brilliant. All he had wanted was some breathing room, his father would have understood his need. But Sam was most definitely not their father.

For one fleeting moment, Dean had contemplated telling Sam straight out that he needed some space, some time to unwind, alone. Just as quickly, he envisioned Sam's reaction, the crease that would mar his brother's temple, his teeth biting into his lower lip, the tilt of his head, the hard swallow right before he launched a thousand questions at him, determined to get to the root of his big brother's troubles. And then Sam would be off, misinterpreting his motives, certain that they were actually a scream for help, or some sign that he was hiding something, or that he wasn't as well as he let on. And that was the best case scenario.

Worst case scenario? Sam would take his desire to get some distance between them personally, would believe that Dean blamed him for the wounds inflicted on him at the ole Bender homestead. Or worse still, Sam would interpret Dean's motive as an unspoken sign of resentment at his presence in his older brother's life. That outcome Dean could not risk, would not risk.

And yet, try as he might, Dean could not smother his raging desire to slip away, to let down his guard, to be able to breathe out a sigh without causing an inquisition of worry from his brother. His con had seemed harmless enough. It would send Sam on a little mission and give him some desperately needed time to be no one's protector, no one's brother, no one's son, no one's savior, to just be another face in the crowd.

'Yeah, that worked out great,' Dean quirked to himself before the Impala's driver's side door slammed shut hard enough to rock the whole car, jolting him back to the trouble at hand.

When his eyes shot up to clash into Sam's burning brown gaze, Dean knew that he had inadvertently started a war. 'Ah…crap,' he silently cursed, tossed the tube over his shoulder to land in the back of the car and sank down into the seat again, covering his eyes with his right hand. Too late he recalled the old adage about good intentions.

TBC