Dean and John headed back into the Impala, Dean in the passenger seat, smiles bright on their faces.

"Man, that was so much fun." Dean said, still laughing at the memory.

"I know it. They totally fell for that one" John said, his eyes gleaming at his son as Dean drove them out of the parking lot.

"How much did you get off of them?"

John tucked his hand in his pocket, then took it out, inspecting his earnings. "At least $500. Maybe more" he announced, stuffing the money back into his jacket pocket.

"Man did we make them squeal" he said, his smile never fading. "We heading home?"

John pondered the thought. Sam was probably still pissed at him for turning down his invitation to go to his soccer game. Selfish kid. Thinks he owns the place. He quickly decided to skip facing the wrath of his youngest. Though, the more John thought about it, the more he realized "wrath" was not the correct term to describe Sam. Sam was angry, yes, but he didn't raise his voice unless he had to. If he went home right now, Sam would show much disappointment, but not wrath. Sam would give them the silent treatment until he finally forgave them. However, in John's eyes, there was nothing he should be forgiven for.

Why should he have to apologize for missing some dumbass soccer game? He should be apologized to for Sam making it a big deal.

"Nah, let's try another bar. We've got to hit at least $1,000 before the end of the night."

He had made his decision.

Sam continued to fight the men with all his might, wish he was willing to admit, wasn't much. He had used up all his strength, he attempted taking the man's weapon, which ended with him getting shot in the shoulder. Sam breathed heavily as he threw a punch toward the man with the gun. He cried out in pain as his shoulder ached from the swift movement. He decided using the right arm, his more dominant hand, was no longer an option. He continuously kicked the man to his knees.

One of the other men, with only a pocket knife, came rushing toward Sam from behind, stabbing him in the back. Sam screamed, the pain in his shoulder no longer there as the knife burned through his back. He spun around, the knife sticking out of his back. Sam punched the man repeatedly, using only his left arm. The man fell to the ground limply as he hit the blood-smeared rug. Sam reached behind his back, grunting as he took the knife out of his back.

Another man regained consciousness, lunging toward him with all his might. Sam produced the pocket knife, and prepared himself as the man ran the short distance toward him. Sam got in a defensive stance, making sure to protect his right arm as he cut up the man's face, not yielding until minutes later. The man fell the floor. Sam was exhausted.

Understatement of the year.

He dropped the knife, letting it fall to the floor. He was too injured, too tired to move. His vision began to blur around the edges, and felt himself lose consciousness. He couldn't allow himself to pass out. There were so many dangerous possibilities if he fell asleep now. Those men he thought could have backup, a demon could show up, he could fall into a coma. None of these options seemed in the slightest bit pleasant, but Sam began to give in anyway. He could no longer keep his eyes open as he lulled himself to sleep. Right before passing out, however, he saw a man lying on the ground beside him, regaining consciousness.

Dean and John continued to impress themselves as their money pile continued piling up. They had reached way over $1,000 by now, but they were having too much fun to stop now. They continued driving to different bars, allowing themselves to act drunk and foolish.

Their prey would come, ask to play a game of pool, with stakes. Dean and John would drunkenly agree, putting down $500 on the pool table, beer bottle in hand. Toward the middle of the game, Dean and John would get out of their stupor all of a sudden, and beat the other guy's asses. They would jack their money, leaving them speechless, as they ran away with the dough.

"Damn, we're good at this" Dean said, getting back into the Impala. He looked over at the clock. 12:32. Dean thought about his choices. One, go home to Sammy. Two, continue beating people at their own game. As much as he wanted to continue beating people's asses, he knew Sam would be worried. It was past midnight. Sam may have blew it all out of proportion and gone on a search for them.

Dean heaved a sigh. "I think we have to end this. Sammy doesn't know where we are."

"Oh, come now. Dean, he doesn't give a crap what we're doing. Come on, let's have some fun."

"Dad, I really think we need to go see Sammy" Dean said again, looking John in the eyes. "Please." Dean pleaded with his eyes, begging to see his baby brother.

John let a sigh escape his mouth as he considered seeing Sam.

He watched as Dean's eyes started filling with anger, not at all what he had expected. "What?" Dean continued to glare at his father, never breaking eye contact. "You're scared to see him, aren't you Dad? Goddamn it he's your son Dad!" John watched Dean, dumbfounded.

Though he would never admit it, Dean didn't know how right he was. John couldn't begin to think of how many times he has had to look Sam in the eyes, and tell him despicable things. He would watch as Sam's face fell, his heart breaking softly at his father's words. John almost felt as though he could see his son's heart breaking in two, and watching Sam's attempt to hide the pain was unbearable. John felt water fill his eyes and he had to look away, breaking Dean's gaze. "Dean, I'm not afraid" he said in his best soldier voice. He got complete control of the almost-waterworks and turned back to face Dean. "Let's go home." Dean nodded his approval and started up the engine, rushing home. Here we come, Sammy.

*********

Dean and John parked the car in front of their motel room. As they got out, they noticed their room was slightly ajar. They looked at each other and synchronized their movements toward the door. They each prepared themselves for whatever was in there. What the saw, however, was nothing they could have prepared themselves for. There was blood everywhere around the room; walls, floor, even the fucking ceiling. Dean looked at the gory scene, taking in every inch, but found no trace of Sam or the perpetrator.

He walked over to the small table and bent down, frantically looking around. On top of the table, a small note was left, small splotches of blood covering some of it up. It was a phone number. 746-5398. Oh God. What has he done?

REALLY REAALLLLLYYYYY sorry for the mistake i made on this chapter the first time. i actually feel really bad for making it scrunch all together...it kinda takes away the atmosphere when you're having trouble following the story. i won't let it happen again though.....

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