A few hours later Sam walked out of the smokey, steamy bar. He was eager to get back to the motel, grab a shower and try and get some sleep. As he turned the corner to the parking lot behind the bar he saw the belligerent guy and his girlfriend. Green-polo guy was sitting on the hood of the Impala, sneakers up on the bumper with the girl drunkenly slouched between his knees.
Rage flared deep in Sam's gut. Dean had only just finished fixing and restoring the car a couple of weeks ago after their encounter with the nachzehrer in Oregon. Dean had poured weeks of blood, sweat and colorful language into getting his beloved car, their home, back to prime condition. Sam couldn't do anything to protect his brother right now, but he'd sure as hell be damned before he let some arrogant asshole disrespect Dean's Baby. With his blood boiling and fists clenched Sam almost didn't hear the soft crunch of gravel behind him.
Sam ducked and twisted away with speed and reflexes developed since childhood. Even so, the broken fence post clipped his jaw digging into his face and rattling his teeth. He could feel the wetness of blood as it began dripping down his face. Trying to keep an eye on the guy with the post, Sam saw another figure running towards him from his left. Using the runner's momentum against him, Sam tumbled easily and flung the thug into the front of a pick-up truck parked nearby.
Sam rolled back onto his feet. Thug number one swung the post at his head again. This time Sam ducked and struck out with a long leg. His foot made a satisfying crunch against the guy's knee. Sam grabbed the post and tossed it away as the man howled and crumpled to the ground clutching his knee. Thug number two climbed back to his cowboy booted feet and pushed off of the truck.
"Fucking fag," he grunted as he tried to take Sam's head off with a haymaker. Sam twisted to avoid the swing, then stepped inside and delivered a crushing hook to the guy's ribs. Cowboy lurched away, arm wrapped around his torso.
The first guy, blonde hair dirty from his time on the ground, limped to his feet. The two brawlers looked at the shadows to Sam's left. A big guy dressed in a plain black T-shirt and black jeans stepped out from the darkness. A snick of a switchblade drew Sam's attention from Cowboy and Blondie.
Black-Tee smiled like a predator about to eat. The guy shifted his hold on the knife with an easy familiarity. Unlike the other two attackers, this one had the lithe grace of a well trained fighter.
"Todd here tells me that you like screwing boys," said Black-Tee. Todd apparently was Green-polo, who slid off of the Impala, eager to watch, leaving the girl slumped against the hood. Black-Tee continued "We don't like your kind around here. And so Darren, Pete and I thought we'd come and..," He paused with another creepy grin, "make sure we see eye to eye." With that the four men spread out, trying to circle Sam while cutting off any escape.
Sam considered going for his Taurus that was tucked into the back of his jeans, but these guys were humans. Sick, homophobic, violent humans, but still, Sam was sure he could handle them. In fact, he almost welcomed this fight as a distraction from his worry about Dean. It would be good outlet for some of his frustration. He focused on the knife wielding fighter who was the most dangerous of the four. Exhaling a deep breath, Sam stilled. It had always been like that, when push came to shove Sam could feel a certain cold clarity come over him, calming his heartbeat and sharpening his focus. Fear, pain and every other feeling got pushed to the background and a fight became clear, a simple matter of strategy, technique and training.
Cowboy, whose real name was Darren made the first move. He charged at Sam, landing a couple of punches to the hunter's ribs. Sam absorbed the blows until he had the opening he needed. With a vicious uppercut, he smashed his fist into Darren's chin. The man dropped like a stone.
Pete came from behind and grabbed both of Sam's arms. Sam slammed his head into the blonde man's face, then slid a foot behind and flipped him over his hip. The hunter followed the young man to the ground and punched him in the face. A sharp burn surged to life in Sam's side as he felt a blade slice the skin.
Sam rolled away from Black-Tee's knife and onto his feet. Sam jumped away from the next knife thrust. Then, using his longer reach, he stepped inside and blocked the next swing. Sam drove his hand into Black-Tee's elbow, but the fighter ignored the disarming move and transferred the knife into his other hand. Sam leapt out of the way as the knife missed his throat by inches.
"You've got some skills pervert, but you won't be the first homo I've gutted." The black clad man seemed excited by the thought of killing. Sam could feel the blood run down his side to be absorbed into the denim of his jeans.
"Dale," Todd called to the man holding the knife. "Uh, I think he's learned his lesson...let's get out of here."
"No way. I'm going to enjoy killing this long-haired fairy. So shut up." Dale barked at Todd, but grinned at Sam, a crazed glint in his eyes. But his grin seemed to fade when Sam failed to react to either his insult or his threat. Dale lunged with a feint towards Sam's bleeding side, but pivoted and tried to drive the knife into Sam's chest. Grabbing Dale's wrist in his larger hand, Sam redirected the knife. Sam plunged his fingers into Dale's throat. The man instinctively reached for his neck, suddenly unable to breath. Using this advantage, Sam forced his arm behind and up until Dale was on his knees. Sam wrenched the knife away and flung it into the scrub growing beside the parking lot. With a hard shove, he pushed Dale to the ground, driving his own knee into the man's back.
"You homophobic asshole," Sam ground out between clenched teeth. "Be glad I don't beat the living shit out of you. If you ever even think of trying this kind of bullshit again on anyone again, I will find you and I will end you." Sam growled his threat into the prone man's ear, letting every ounce of his icy dangerous anger leech into his voice. Sam pushed himself to his feet. Dale started to stir so Sam kicked him hard in the ribs. Sam turned to look at Todd who had his hands up and was looking at the tall hunter with awe and terror warring on in his expression.
"Hey man, I didn't know they'd go so crazy." Todd backed away from Sam's malevolent glare. Darren and Pete had stumbled upright by this point, but seemed disinclined to attack again. Sam took a calming breath and just like water, his frustrations and worries, and the pain of his injuries flooded back into focus. He was tired, sweaty and bleeding, and all he wanted to do now was get back to the motel.
Sam walked towards the impala and with restraint, moved the limp girl onto the hood of the next parked car. Opening the driver's door, he gave his attackers a deadly serious look. "Stay the fuck away from my car." With that, Sam got in, started the engine and drove past the four men, spitting gravel in his wake.
xxxxxxx
With a weariness that felt bone deep, Sam dragged himself into the motel room. He'd brought the first aid kit in from the trunk and he laid it on Dean's bed. Although his brother hadn't slept in it for almost ten days, the sheets and blanket were still scrunched up, just as his brother had left it the morning he'd been taken. Sam couldn't bring himself to straighten the covers or to use Dean's bed for more than a temporary surface. His bed, in contrast was neatly made with precision hospital corners that gave the bedding an austere look. Sam knew that was a sign that he was slipping. He had felt it tonight during the fight….the cold, frozen rage that had settled over him. The crisp, sharp fury that numbed out all the other feelings, the single emotion that allowed him to function despite his anxiety over Dean. He remembered that soul deep chill from the first time Dean had died and it frightened him. Without his brother, keeping him sane and human, it was shockingly easy for Sam to let himself become someone terrible, someone willing to do anything, kill anyone to get Dean back.
Sam went to scrub his knuckles into his tired eyes, but stopped when he saw the blood and dirt smeared into the broken skin. Pushing aside the fatigue, he went into the tiny bathroom and washed his hands and face. He stared at himself in the spotty mirror. His left eye was red and slightly swollen with a bruise starting to form just below on his damaged cheek. The wooden post had cut a long gouge into his face. Now that the blood was wiped away, he could tell that it wasn't deep, but it stung and would need some antiseptic ointment and some butterfly bandages to prevent infection and scarring. Blood had soaked into his blue flannel, so he pulled it off gingerly, the fabric clinging to the drying blood. The grey t-shirt underneath was a write off, so he simply peeled it off and tossed it into the garbage can. The knife wound on his side was still bleeding sluggishly. The cut wasn't too long, but it was deep enough to need stitches.
Sam had to smile. Dean would have have been cursing him soundly for getting hurt, even as his fingers gently probed the wound. Then his brother would have pushed him down on the bed and insisted on sewing it up, refusing to have his own injuries treated until it was done. Sam's emotions surged and he felt a lump in his throat at Dean's innate caring. His big brother had literally been taking care of him in every way possible for as long as Sam could remember.
Thinking of Dean was dangerous if he wanted to keep functioning, so he pushed the thoughts away. He still had a whole day before the portal would open. Moving back towards the beds, he sat down and dug through the first aid supplies for a suture kit and began patching himself up.
Later, as he lay in bed Sam tried to ignore the throbbing in his face and side enough to get a few hours sleep. But his mind had other plans. He kept circling back to the terrifying thought that he would never see Dean again. During the long days of waiting, he'd tried hard to remain positive. But here, in the dark, hurting and alone in a room that was meant for two, he couldn't hold back the tears. Ashamed at his weakness, he burrowed his face into the pillow. All he could think about was his life with his brother. The little things, like the way Dean teases him about girls, or his hair or his love of salad. The bigger things, like how Dean cares for Sam's injuries, sometimes at the expense of his own, or the way Dean still puts himself between danger and his kid brother. The important things that speak to family, like the feel of Dean's supportive hand on his shoulder or the back of his neck, green eyes full of compassion. Sam knew he couldn't live this life without Dean. It was hard to imagine living any kind of life without his brother. He tried hard, but exhausted beyond resisting, Sam cried like a child into his pillow until he finally fell asleep.
AN: Ok, another 2 for 1. I find it hard to wait to post chapters. Plus, I'm interested to see what people thought of my first fight scene. Hope it made sense and was interesting. Reviews, even critical ones are appreciated.