Walking slowly to meet in the middle, Dean's face resolved into a hard mask, his eyes urging Sam to do the same. They circled warily, projecting anger and violence outwardly, all the while calculating every possible option for escape. It did not look promising. The announcer gave the word, and they collided in a whirl of fists and legs. Sparring rapidly, both did their best to fight convincingly while not inflicting lasting damage to the other. They could hear the crowd oohing and ahhing in response to the almost dance-like quality of their fight. Unfortunately, they were tiring quickly from the pace, and both knew something had to happen soon or their farce of a fight would be uncovered.
Sam allowed Dean to land a glancing blow, then executed a leg-sweep to drop him down. Jumping back up, they both backed away for a moment to breathe. It was then they could sense the shift in the mood of the handlers scattered around the edges of the arena. There was clearly some suspicion brewing, but they just needed to hold it off until…
Two knives were tossed on the ground between them, the crowd rising to its feet in anticipation of the heightened stakes. The Winchesters both dove for a blade and came up once more facing off. They stared at each other, eyes exchanging all the words they never seemed to be able to speak, and then taking equal steps toward one another, they suddenly both whirled back-to-back, blades poised at the ready.
Their handlers stood frozen, caught completely off-guard by the sudden shift of events. This was not how the fight was supposed to go! Looking around, uncertain what should happen next, they were startled by the loud voice of Vince, yelling, "They won't fight? Fine. Take them both down!"
The crowd wasn't sure if they should yell or boo, but the fight they were treated to next was epic and memorable. These brothers were clearly incredibly skilled, and they took down their opponents with speed and élan. The way they moved in tandem, intuitively knowing exactly where the other was and adjusting accordingly to complement each other's movements truly was beautiful to behold. They stood panting, bloodied but victorious as the last of their opponents was felled, the crowd in a frenzy, when the sound of a gun roared over all the other noises. The arena fell silent as a spot of blood blossomed on Sam's shoulder, growing rapidly, and he slowly collapsed into Dean's arms as he whirled to catch him and lower him to the ground.
Dean couldn't quite believe what had just happened. One moment they were winning, and the next he was pressing hands to a bullet wound to staunch the flow of blood pouring out of his brother and begging Sam to stay awake. Sam cried out in pain and writhed, even while gripping his brother's wrist, desperately needing the grounding touch. Dean grabbed the knife with his other hand and snarled menacingly as someone ran up and dropped to their knees across from him. It was Toby. He was holding a gun too, but before Dean could lunge at him he whispered desperately, "Can you really get me free?"
Dean froze, shock and surprise making his brain feel slow, then muttered, "Yes, if you can get us out of this mess." Toby held his gaze for a moment, then apparently convinced of his sincerity, stood, spun in place, and fired the gun he held at his brother, hitting him directly in the heart. Vince's mouth opened in a silent 'O' as he dropped to the ground, dead, and then the arena erupted in chaos. Those who had not previously fled at the first gunshot were definitely on their feet and moving after seeing the fight organizer killed.
The noise was cacophonous, so Toby had to lean in close to Dean for him to hear him say, "Help me get him up, we've got to go." Dean looked at Sam, who somehow was still awake, and yelled, "Gotta move, bro. This is gonna hurt, sorry!" Rising to his feet, with Toby's help they maneuvered Sam up and half-drug, half-carried him to one of the metal side doors that led back into the warren of hallways. The next minutes were a blur and Dean let Toby take the lead, feeling Sam finally give up consciousness after lasting much longer than he'd expected. He scooped him into a fireman's carry then, and doggedly followed after Toby, hoping the kid really had an exit strategy.
After what felt like miles they finally emerged from the enormous building into a gravel parking lot. The gravel tore at Dean's bare feet but it hardly registered as Toby led the way over to an ancient, dirty Oldsmobile. He gently lowered Sam onto the backseat as Toby coaxed the engine to life. Staring at the copious amount of blood leaking out of his brother, Dean knew they had only one option available to them, and yelled at Toby, "Hospital, man, as fast as you can get us there." He knelt on the floorboards of the backseat, putting pressure on the wound and trying to keep Sam steady as Toby took turns at high speeds, making him equally terrified and thankful. "Hang in there Sammy," he whispered, "We're getting you help…assuming we don't end up wrapped around a tree."
Squealing into the ER parking lot, miraculously still in one piece, Dean was out of the car and yelling for help before they came to a complete stop. Soon a swarm of medical professionals had Sam, and they were wheeling him beyond closed doors and other hands were pulling him back. He fought them briefly, until the voices penetrated enough that he could understand he needed to let them work on Sam.
"Sir. Sir!" said a brisk, concerned voice.
"What?" he snapped, finally focusing on the nurse standing in front of him. She didn't look surprised by his tone, merely gave him a reproachful look and a moment to breathe and regain his bearings.
"Sir," she said again, this time her voice laced with compassion, "I need to take a look at you, you're bleeding all over my floor."
"It's not my blood…" he started to answer sadly, only to see her point - first at the bloody footprints he was leaving, and then to his arm where he had apparently popped his stitches and reopened his wound in the process of carrying Sam. "Oh." She guided him to an emergency bay table and gently pushed him until he sat down. The adrenaline was quickly leaving his system, and he suddenly felt incredibly lightheaded. Another hand snaked out to steady him, for which he was grateful. Looking over, he saw it was Toby.
"I can't stay man, I can't…" Toby muttered nervously. "What do I do?"
Dean stared at him, reading the panic in his face and trying to focus on anything other than Sam's blood all over his hands and arms. Scrubbing his hands on his pants, he tried to think, finally saying, "Find me something to write with." Toby grabbed a paper towel and pen and Dean quickly scribbled something down and handed it back to him. "That's an address and codeword. Go there and tell Bobby what it says, and he'll provide you shelter. If Sam…" he paused, swallowing, unwilling to contemplate any outcome but a positive one, "...once Sam is able to travel we will join you and figure out how to help you from there."
"Thank you." Toby said gratefully, eyes shining. "I hope…I hope Sam's ok."
There were the sounds of boots and a police scanner outside the cubicle, and Dean turned to look, glancing back as the officers entered to see that Toby had disappeared. The officer regarded the weary-looking, bloodied young man in front of him and sighed, wishing his questions could wait. Before he could get started, however, the nurse from earlier joined them. "Officer, can you wait outside for just a few minutes? My patient is still losing blood, and I need to get him sutured up."
"My brother?" Dean interrupted anxiously, "Nurse…" he paused to peer at her nametag, "Nurse Connell?"
"I don't know, sir…"
"Dean."
"Dean," Nurse Connell said, not unkindly, "Let me take care of your arm and feet, and then I'll see what I can find out about your brother - "
"Sam."
"Sam. The officers won't wait long before they push their way back in. Let me care for you, Dean, so you can keep going and not end up checked into the hospital yourself." He regarded her solemnly, weighing his need for news with the practicality of her statement, and finally nodded agreement. He zoned out as she cleaned, re-stitched and bandaged his arm, and as she gently wrapped his torn feet and checked his other cuts and bruises. He jumped, however, when she gently touched the collar around his neck. He had forgotten about that…no wonder the officer was looking at him so oddly!
"Dean, do you have a key for this?" she questioned.
"No. Sam and I were prisoners, we just managed to escape…" She looked horrified at the thought, but promptly picked up the phone and called maintenance to bring some bolt-cutters. "I'll be back when they get here. Till then, talk with the officers, and I'll check on Sam."
Nodding wearily, he said, "Thank you Nurse Connell." She smiled and slipped out of the cubicle, inviting the officers to enter but admonishing them not to press too hard, as her patient was exhausted.
Dean gave the officers his statement, marveling as he realized that with only a few exceptions this was one of the few times he could tell almost the whole truth. He told them about his and Sam's capture and imprisonment, of being made to fight, of the murder of the losers, and of the final brawl and subsequent shooting of his brother. "Someone shot the guy who shot my brother, I didn't see who, and I managed to get him out of there in the ensuing chaos. A good Samaritan saw us on the roadside and brought us to the hospital. Can you please find out how my brother is doing?"
"Just a few more questions, sir…" Dean struggled gamely to focus and gave the best answers he could. No, he didn't know where the arena was, somewhere in the hill country. No, he didn't know who all was involved in the fight club. No, he didn't catch the name of the good Samaritan who gave them a ride. Finally he was just done, and closed his eyes, zoned out and stopped responding. The officer eventually went away and Dean drifted in a haze, not quite letting himself sleep, always tensing with every call over the intercom. He jumped when he felt a hand on his arm and looked over to see Nurse Connell was back. He stared at her anxiously, holding his breath, the next words out of her mouth either shattering his world or bringing him comfort.
"Sam is in surgery," she said kindly, "the bullet pierced his shoulder just above his heart. A few centimeters lower…well, they aren't done yet, but it looks like they'll be able to repair the damage. He's going to be just fine." Dean nodded, blowing out his breath in relief, and suddenly the room was spinning, and he heard the nurse shout in surprise as he lost awareness and everything went dark.