Beyond the fact that two no named cretins- Well, Sam didn't have anything other than pimple and dough boy to call them – restrained him, he fought beyond the strength and ability of a 12 year old, getting a few good blows in as he struggled. If this fight had been one on one, Eddie may have found himself in serious trouble, getting a good lesson that Sam's fist could be just a sharp as the pre-teen's tongue. All those years of scuffling and sparring with Dean had come in handy on many occasions, usually with something more gruesome than this band of punching hecklers. With the current odds, Sam had no hope of winning. His Back flattened on the ground. More times than not, he freed a hand or leg, lashing out as best he could against the horrible odds. Each time he was rewarded by being slammed a bit harder in the cement and dirt. No blow or stomp kept him from defending himself.

Sam raised his head and wiggled one arm free, giving the heavier set boy a good punch to the jaw. His leg flew upwards, nailing Eddie in the nose with the first good kick.

"You little freak punk!" Eddie yelled, wiping his bloody nose on his arm sleeve. "I'm gonna kick yer ass!"

"Told you he was a weirdo!" Janet added, getting closer to see Sam struggle.

His resistance was short lived and his hands were twisted back and pinned beneath the teenagers' weight. Thankfully, he was at least spared the sight of Janet destroying the remaining contents of his grocery bag, jumping up and down over the cake and biscuits in spite, getting her bored jolly fulfilled. In the matter of 30 seconds, Sam's birthday plans laid destroyed. He focused more on the fist and boots gnawing at his flesh, but his heart wasn't really in it. That might as well shattered with the disappointment of the broken casserole dish. He didn't even care when he heard a grumble of thunder in the sky right before it opened up in a deluge of rain. Down it came, more and more until Sam could barely see. Then the grey above rumbled an ominous continual groan.

He pushed against the two goons, kicking Janet's boyfriend again. This time in what Dean called the cherry picker. Eddie fell back harder and faster than the kick should have warranted. For a moment, Sam wondered if the Millers came back and they were witches who were helping him. For the longest time, no one could really see clearly, only vague shadows of movement. The rain poured down so thick that they could barely see through the sheet of water. Suddenly, they all heard the teen's skull bang against metal. Then it grew quiet.

A hot burst of stale exhaust slashed through the air along with a steady grumble of thunder. But it wasn't nature sounding at all, but the roaring motor of the Impala. Sam was never so happy to hear anything in his life almost like a superhero coming to save him. With Eddie off of him, he fought harder while the teens holding him stood almost awestruck- dumfounded as to what just happened.

When the rain slacked down, a teenager stood like a cement statue above Eddie. His brown hair still stood up slightly on his head like grass in a field, even though it was soaking wet. Dean stood, huffing with his fist now bloody.

Eddie's friends fell slack jawed as to how to react. More likely none of them had a thought without Eddie telling them what to do. Plus, this new opponent had just beaten the crap out of the biggest badass in town with no effort.

"LET MY BROTHER GO!"

Dean's hand flew up, pulling the shotgun at his waistband. Seeing Sam with torn clothes and blood on his face and arms caused a sudden spike of blue hot rage to flare. He twirled the gun, eyes blazing.

They gaped at Dean, as if realizing their peril. Sam, now free, thought he heard one of his captors whimper, which seemed odd to him since that shotgun contained only rock salt. He didn't get time to think of anything else before all of his hecklers, sans Eddie who was still sleeping off a meeting with Dean's fists, ran as if the devil himself had just threatened them.

"Sammy!" Dean began shouting at him before the attackers had a chance to disappear down the waterlogged street. Sam was still lying in the mud when Dean shot off a salt round, landing it straight in Janet's rear end. "Sammy! Get up!"

The rain sprinkled more into the muddy dirt piles, collecting a puddle under Sam's back. He shoved up to sit and groaned as he looked down at his mud streaked and ruined pants and shirt, while Dean yelled a barrage of questions at him. Most went unnoticed as Sam glanced back at the ruined chicken and dumplings and demolished plans. He was hurting like hell and had nothing to really show for it now.

"Great. Just great," Dean grumbled. "Dad's going to kill you…then me….I told him we could leave you behind… you were old enough and ….What the hell are you doing out here!" Fighting with guys twice your size! Fighting a ton of guys twice your size! What were you thinking!"

Sam didn't answer, but cowered slightly to keep the rain out of his face. Dean collapsed in the mud, concern taking over some of his anger. His face fluffed out like a frightened puffer fish.

"Sammy? Are you hurt? Look at me…" He forced Sam to raise his head, inspecting the cuts and bruises already appearing. "What the hell did you think you were doing? Dammit are you alright?!"

Somewhere Dean's voice startled Sam back to the moment and he gave his big brother a sympathetic look. He groaned in frustration, kicking some mud as he tried to stand, lashing out. The murky messy splashed Dean and the car.

"Hey watch it!" Dean said with a sigh of relief following his words. "Dad's going to kill you for running around while we were gone. Get up right now! Move it. He won't take long to get us some take out. Dude, we got to get a good cover story or he'll have both of our hides!"

Dean yanked on Sam, while his little brother struggled against him long enough to sift through his destroyed mission. Carefully, he picked through the mess only to find the wallet intact."

"Leave that junk... MOVE NOW!" He ordered as he forced Sam to his feet.

"It's not junk."

"Sorry, but it is now… it's not important…"

"It is!"

"It was…." Dean tried to sound sorry, but he knew they would be sorrier once John saw Sam. "Come on now."

Dean shoved his little brother, knocking him back into the Impala's seat. Sam didn't notice the car door slamming or the engine gunning while he twirled the leather wallet in his fingers, wiping off the plastic sleeve that still covered it. At least Dean would get something this year. Secretly Sam wasn't worried about their father. John getting some take out usually meant John going to get hammered at a bar. He huffed, trying to be strong and upbeat for Dean's sake, ignoring the pain in his ribs. He still had to salvage something for Dean's birthday.

Later...

"Dude, you're a mess." Dean said as he swung the motel door open, shedding his jacket and searching for drying clothes for both of them.

"So are you." Sam bantered back, flopping on his bed. "Nice black eye."

"Oh... poltergeist…bad mofo too... you should have seen this one... like major bad mofo. Get cleaned up before Dad gets home."

"I don't care."

"Please… not today… not…"

"Why not today Dean?" Sam waited for Dean to admit it was his birthday, but like always he never did.

"Just cause… cause… I hate when you and Dad fight. Just cool it while I think of something. We are so so dead."

"Stop saying that."

"We're mostly already dead."

"We ain't dead yet. Stop it," Sam demanded. "Here… I got something I want to show you."

"What dude?"

Sam was about to offer Dean the wallet when John's voice boomed louder than the backfire of a dying car.

"What the hell happened to you two?"

"Sir, I can explain." Dean announced quickly and sharply.

"You can? Hmmm…It better be a damn good one."