Working from my own prompt from the last chapter…
Sam's first bar fight.
"Double or nothing," Sam hears his brother drawling, followed by a sloppy sip of beer.
He shakes his head. Tucked away in the corner of the bar, he observed how sharp Dean's 'I'm drunk enough to lose my money at pool' act had become.
He'd start quiet, maybe him and Sam would play a couple games, he'd win one, lose one, and keep the beers coming. Dean would make a point of not tidying away his empty bottles or glasses, allowing a stack to build on the table beside them.
They'd order some wings, shoot a couple more rounds…
Then he'd start to visit the little boys' room more often. He'd order two beers instead of one – and a Coke for Sammy – and maybe a shot of tequila.
He'd watch others playing on the table next to them, hollering and heckling, drawing attention – but never enough to get thrown out of the bar.
Dean would have an audience then, and Sam would be excused from the act, banished with a book and an order to lie low.
That's when the real drama would start.
He'd start of missing shots, laughing it off. He'd chug more beer, make conversation with his competition. He'd slowly start to react less jovially, looking worried as more and more of his cash ended up at the end of the table.
Then he'd get a little angry. Snap at the boys who watched, slam his bottle or drink down on the table.
And finally, Dean would perform the final, dramatic act – a couple of stray shots, but somehow, a miraculous win. He'd shout at the top of his voice, thank God loudly, slap his competitor on the back.
That would be Sam's cue to pack up his backpack and slip out of the bar ahead of Dean, and wait a two blocks over to walk home together.
Sam was carefully watching the game over the top of his battered school copy of Romeo & Juliet.
Although Dean's well-rehearsed dance was going as planned, Sam's spidey-sense felt ominously tickled from the particular audience his brother had tonight.
Well, the clientele that gambled on a Tuesday night at the local dive bar were hardly ever the best company to keep. Sam had witnessed plenty of kooks and weirdos over the years who fell for the Winchester act. When Sam was twelve, he had entertained the wife of a cult leader, while her husband fell for Dean's developmental stage of the play. Dean's favourite anecdote was playing so late that Sam had fallen asleep on the lap of a Hooters waitress.
However, this bunch had Sam feeling particularly uneasy.
The initial contender appeared to be alone, drinking slowly. He was short and narrow, drowned by his oversized denim jacket. He'd watched Dean carefully, and Sam had watched him.
Dean seemed to think he had a fish on the line. He didn't deviate at all from his usual script. He spat, blinked and coughed all on cue. The narrow man seemed to clock every move, making a mental note of each action Dean performed.
Sam equally watched the narrow man with equal intensity, scribbling down on the jotter before him, but not turning a page of his book.
Sam noticed as the crowd seemed to grow around the narrow man, and that same crowd seemed to become less and less narrow, and more and more wide, even beefy. The four of them crowded the pool table, but Dean seemed to take it all in his stride, enjoying the opportunity to improvise.
"Hey, hey!" Dean called to one of the narrow man's friends, "You going to the bar? Grab me a beer, man. Go on. Make it two," and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
The atmosphere did seem to be changing slightly. Although Dean was cracking jokes and seemed to be making a little headway with some of the group, there was a proverbial cloud hanging over the pool table. From Sam's corner table, he could see narrowed eyes and wordless glances between them as they sipped, increasingly slowly at their drinks.
He noticed the narrow man look up at him, catching his eye, and averted his gaze quickly away. Sam shuffled in his seat, his heartbeat quickening.
Sam closed his book, attention fully on the game now. He could see Dean's drama was reaching its climax, and he was lining up his final few shots.
He coughed loudly, hoping to get Dean's attention from across the bar. But Dean was well used to avoiding distractions mid-performance. Sam coughed again, harshly. He saw Dean's ear twitch slightly, but his focus did not leave the table.
A couple more balls landed in pockets, and the narrow man looked like he was getting a little pissy now. He grumbled to his friends, who took turns shaking their heads or pointing at the gameplay.
Dean wobbled dramatically as he lined up another shot, but Sam could see his brother knew he was losing his audience now.
There was Dean's four-hundred bucks on the table.
Sam watched the dilemma playing out on Dean's face, while he tapped the cover of his book with nervous fingers.
Lose to the narrow man? That was their budget for the next two weeks, blown. In one night.
Win? Eight hundred bucks, but risk whatever the hell was brewing here, blowing up in their faces.
Dean moved around the table again, buying more time. The younger brother could see him doing his best not to look up at him, or draw any attention.
Then a decision was made.
And it was the wrong one, although that depended on who you ask.
Dean's final shot cruised the black into it's pocket.
The narrow man immediately reacted, throwing his hands into the air. "You're fucking kidding me," he spat, his voice as thin as he was.
Dean maintained the act, though his gait was suddenly a little more steady. "Oh come on," he winked, "Don't be a pissy loser. It's just a game."
Sam edged at his seat, preparing himself for the worst.
"It's not a fair game when you're getting sharked by a teenager!"
"Well, maybe you should pick on someone your size… Might have to find your closest middle school."
That's when the chaos started.
The narrow man yelled out and swung the pool cue across at Dean's head.
Dean ducked, sobriety miraculously returning. He responded immediately to the oncoming of one of the cronies with a cracking fist to the face, which sent the attacker twirling.
Sam pushed the seat back from the table, clenching his fists.
Although he had a wealth of experience in shooting monsters, beheading creatures and plenty of stabbing silver knives… But Sam could not think of one occasion where he had punched a human.
Seeing a swarm of men surrounding his brother had him rushing at them from the behind. He roared as he jumped on the back of one of them, a rather sweaty redhead, forcing him to take several steps back. He had the element of surprise, and Sam pulled his elbow tight around the guy's throat.
The redhead regained his composure quickly, and slammed his clambering monkey onto the edge of the bar. Sam forced a tighter grip around his throat.
There was more shouting now from the bar staff, who had gathered near the scene of descending chaos.
"I'm calling the fucking cops!" One shouted, "Get the hell out!"
The words had little effect, however. Sam remained mounted on the back of the redhead, who sweat so much he stank now, triumphant as he fell to his knees. Before the redhead completely lost consciousness, Sam felt a cracking pain across his temple – from the side of him, another of the gang had smashed the white ball from the pool table into his skull.
His ears rang, but he quickly turned onto his back, and kicked out hard at the guy's balls.
"Oh you asshole," the guy cursed, bent over double.
Sam rose and whipped his head around – which brought on a considerable nausea as he did so – and searched for his brother.
Dean was backed into a corner, a spectacular shiner on his left eye already swelling and blue. He was holding his own, two halves of a broken pool cue in either hand. Two of the bigger guys took turns swinging at him, but Dean was keeping them at bay like a lion tamer. He had a gleam of joy in his eyes.
Sam looked around for a weapon, and while crawling over his two victims, grabbed the side of a bar stool, preparing himself to swing at the two guys cornering his brother –
His hands came up empty, and he looked down where the stool should have been in his grip.
They were all bolted to the floor.
Sam's heart skipped a beat and held his hands in front of him, as if still bracing the weapon.
He saw out the corner of his eye, a small fist aiming straight for his jaw. Too spaced out to dodge it, he took the full brunt of the shot, and spat blood as he faltered back.
The narrow man came at him again, aiming for a gut punch which Sam easily dodged.
"Sam!" Dean shouted, "watch your six –"
Sam felt two enormous hands grabbing him at the shoulders, squeezing hard. He was pushed roughly towards the fire exit, and received a swift kick to the back of the knee as he was pushed outside.
He crumpled onto the wet concrete, head spinning from the cue-ball shot.
A persistent drizzle made a mist in the cold night, and Sam watched through the haze – or was it his swimming vision – has Dean tumbled out after him, his weapons vanished. His nose was bleeding heavily now, and the knock to his eye had closed it to a slit.
"Dean," Sammy called out, and spat more blood onto the ground beside him. "You okay?"
Dean didn't have time to answer. The older brother started to shuffle towards Sam, already assessing the egg growing on Sam's temple, but was quickly caught up by the guy Sam head kicked in the nuggets, who pulled him up to his knees.
Sam made to stand up, dizzy now, but was grabbed by a strong pair of hands, forced to his knees. From the smell, he guessed it was the redhead.
The door to the bar slammed shut, leaving the glowing green of the fire exit sign to dimly light to scene.
The narrow man walked up to Dean, sneering. He was holding both halves of the snapped pool cue, and used one to force up Dean's chin to make eye contact.
Sam clocked, even through his rapidly blurring vision, the fury in his brother's gaze. Dean had never found it easy to appear submissive. He was trying now, Sam could see, but his jawline was hard, his shoulders square and tense as he was restrained.
"Don't look so fucking wounded," the narrow man snarled. "You wanna play pool shark, well you gotta live with the consequences when you get caught."
"Oh, cry me a river," Dean growled back, "Maybe you should have let one of your pets play your games for you, if this is how you act when you lose."
The narrow man cackled. "Pretty and funny! What a treat. Shame you're a thief, or we could have had a drink."
"Pass," spat Dean.
He ignored the comment. "I think we need to teach you a lesson about sharking in this town. Although, we've done a pretty good job of that already." The narrow man admired his violent work, and pressed a hard palm into the growing bruise on Dean's face.
Sam pulled at his human bonds, the grimace of pain on Dean's face enough to stoke the fury he could feel in the pit of his stomach.
Dean shot him a fleeting, warning glance. Leave it, Sam could read it from his eyes.
"Not exactly a fair fight, five people against two kids," Dean bit back.
"Well, wasn't exactly a fair game neither, was it?"
Dean shrugged. "Not my fault you fell for it. Shows more about how crap you play that you picked a drunk-"
The narrow man looked at the largest of his followers, and tilted his head down at Dean. Sam watched, helpless, as Dean took a fist to the abdomen, curling over at the impact.
"Dean," Sam couldn't stop the name coming out of his mouth. But his brother remained completely silent.
Dean looked up. "Do that again, when I've got my hands," he growled.
The narrow man laughed. "Christ, you really think you're a tough guy, huh? What's it gonna take to make you scream?" He looked thoughtfully at Dean, a smile twisting his lips. He changed his gaze to Sam. "What about your little friend over here?"
Sam felt his captor tighten the grip he had on his wrists. He tried uselessly to twist himself free, his head still pounding. He felt his cheeks flush as the narrow man walked towards him, slowly.
"Hey, hey! Don't fucking touch him!" Dean shouted.
The narrow man laughed. "Well, that works, doesn't it?" He walked towards Sam, carrying the pool cue pieces like a conductor with batons. "Maybe we should poke it and see what happens?"
Dean was like a restrained dog now, barking as he pulled towards Sam, but his captors held him solidly. "He's just a kid!"
The narrow man rolled his eyes. "He nearly choked out my friend Jonathon, here, not exactly something a kid would be expected to do." He stared at Sam. "Hold out his arm," he demanded.
The redhead, Jonathan, grabbed Sam's wrist and pulled his arm out taught. Another man – God, Sam thought, how many are there again? - behind Sam held him still, despite his struggling.
Sam made no noise, just watched as the narrow man lined up his shot with both the sticks, over his head and down to touch Sam's forearm.
"God dammit, leave him alone!" Dean cried out, desperate now.
Sam pulled weakly at the grip on his wrist, trying desperately to figure out something, anything get him out of this.
"One," the narrow man grinned, shadowing the route of his blow, "Two…"
Sam suddenly twisted in the grip on his wrist, tightly grabbing at Jonathan's arm. The redhead looked up in surprise as the teenager pulled hard against him, then using the traction to pull his body around his vulnerable arm. The giant man holding him, unexpecting the bold move, lost his grip as the boy curled over the target of the narrow man.
Sam yelled out as he took the force of the weapons across his back, winded. The redhead took the opportunity to change the hold he had, placing a hand on the back of Sam's neck, and pushing him forcefully to the floor. He could do nothing as he slammed into the concrete, his breathing stiffened by the pain in his ribs.
"You fucking asshole!" Dean screamed now, needing two sets of hands to restrain him, "I'm going to find you and kick your ass –"
Sam's arms were pulled behind his back, and he lay prone, sore and useless.
"Oh fuck this," the narrow man huffed. "Pop out his shoulder and be done with this."
Sam's jaw dropped –
And he felt a new rush of pain as he felt his right arm twisted to an awkward angle, before a swift force move it up made a sickening crunch as it was pulled from the joint.
A strong ringing in his ears blocked out the indignant, furious screaming of his brother. His shoulder throbbed, his back throbbed, his eyes throbbed…
God, why couldn't they have just left him out of this?
He stayed, lying on the ground, and wondered if he was conscious.
He opened one eye, watching feet run by his face.
At the periphery of his blurry vision, he saw red-and-blue lights in the distance, recognising the wailing sirens that came with them.
Another pair of hands touched him now, but these ones were gentle and familiar.
"Sammy?" He heard, way too close to his face. He jerked away reflexively. "Sammy, can you stand? We gotta run. Cops are here."
Sam blinked, his vision clearing a little. Dean was on his knees beside him, bent double to reach his field of vision. His brow was furrowed, and one eye swollen completely shut. "Dean," Sam stated.
"Yeah buddy, its just me now."
Sam humphed dramatically.
"Can you stand?" Dean asked.
Sam humphed again. "Yuh," he said, not quite knowing what the answer meant.
"Okay, let me help." Dean grimaced and groaned himself as he got his kid brother upright, slowly. Sam took a few deep breaths as the world spun around him. His arm hung limply down at his side, and swayed a little as he gained his footing. It was fucking agony. The lights were brighter now, the sirens louder. Despite his dampened hearing, he could hear the urgency in his brother's voice. "Can you walk?"
No. He absolutely couldn't, 'cause as soon as even moved, everything hurt. "Sure."
They hobbled down the alleyway, avoiding the front door of the bar they'd been kicked out from. Dean kept an arm around Sam, and used the other to help him support the dangling arm.
They ducked in and out of doorways, both to avoid cops and curious onlookers, as well as to take moments to breathe, to triage wounds, and for Dean to swear profusely to either himself or Sam.
"Fucking dumbass, what were you thinking jumping on that guy like a freaky monkey?" He went on and on and on. "I told you to stay put. Didn't need your –"
"Dean –"
"You should have just let me have it, Sammy. I can take a beating-"
"Dean –"
"Don't even try and explain your way out of it," Dean blabbered on, and Sam wondered whether they both had a case of concussion. He'd never known Dean to be this damn talkative.
Dean grumbled on, seating Sam down on a park bench as they took the long route back to the motel. He pawed gently at the wound on Sam's face. "We need ice," he said to no one in particular.
Sam snorted, instantly regretting it as the tremor caused a wave of sickness to wash over him. "Can you even see out that eye?"
Dean ghosted a hand over his left eye, which was now swollen completely shut. "Negative."
Sam felt his brother sit heavily next to him. They sat in silence and darkness, the park lit only by the nearby streetlamps.
"Thanks for having my back, Sammy," Dean said quietly. "And I'm sorry I got you into that mess. That wasn't cool. I didn't think it would get that messy, but he kept going for the bait, y'know? And it was a lot of money. Maybe I should have let you stay at the motel –"
"It's okay, Dean. I've been beat up worse by ghosts."
There was a moment of silence. "That was your first bar fight, right?"
"Sure was."
"Well, they don't get much worse than that," Dean scoffed. "Didn't think they'd go execution-style over four-hundred bucks. Still, I got our money, so I guess it was kind of worth it?" Dean waved a stack of bills in front of Sam's face, although he looked crestfallen as Sam huddled himself around his limp arm.
Sam attempted a smile, his brother's eyes lighting up immediately in response. "Next time you take me to a dive bar, I'm bringing brass knuckles."
Dean laughed, and patted Sam on the back, apologising as Sam cursed in reaction, the welts on his back still throbbing. "Sorry Sammy. Hey look, we gotta get that shoulder back in too. You want to head to the E.R., or you want me to –"
"Just you do it," Sam shook his head. He couldn't face the bright lights and chaos of the E.R., not with this splitting headache. "Sides, cops might show looking for injuries if they've caught any of those guys."
"That's a good point." Dean stood, and started poking around the shoulder. Sam gritted his teeth and closed his eyes tight. "It's a clean dislocation. Ain't our first rodeo, eh Sam?"
Sam nodded and braced himself. "I'm ready."