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Nominated for LimpSam Award...Thanks!

The Game

by

Bayre

Chapter 1   

 

 

 

 

This place was rough even for Dean Winchester.  He hated these places, but the simple fact was he and Sam were down to their last twenty dollars between them.  Using credit cards right now, with the Agent Henrickson on their tails, wasn’t the smartest thing to do. They’d avoid it at all costs.  It was bad enough Dean had to bring himself in here, it was worse he had to bring Sam with him.

 

They’d come across the small establishment, bar slash pool hall slash hangout for maniacal psychopaths.  Well, Dean figured, even maniacal psychopaths needed to drink and be entertained.  However he would have much preferred to not join them.

 

To make it worse the psychopaths were fairly poor.  He was playing small stakes tonight, for more than one reason.  He liked his head where it was. Liked Sam’s head where his was even better, so winning large sums of money from any one person at a time was out of the question.  His plan was to get enough money to fill the tank and get fifty or a hundred miles away, find a motel and crash.

 

This place made his skin crawl.  Sam in this place was making his skin crawl and his heart race.

 

Shifting his eyes away from the shot he was lining up for a split second to check on Sam, he couldn’t help his lip from curling in a silent snarl.  Not where he’d been sitting ten minutes before, Sam had moved seats…again.  When they’d gotten there Dean got himself involved at the pool table right off.  The faster he was in, the faster they were out.  Sam settled himself with files to read at a table in the back, nursing a beer.  He’d been yawing for over an hour, would probably give up the beer soon in favor of coffee if they had it here.  The thought of these people…and boy did Dean use that term loosely…on caffeine was scarier than the thought of them as they were now.

 

Two men, seedy even among these people, the type of seedy men who gave other seedy men a bad name lurked close to Sam, mildly harassed him for a bit.  The kid, ever wanting to stay in the background, simply got up and moved.  Once resettled he’d met Dean’s gaze for a few seconds, half a subtle shrug, a flash of a grin and an arched eyebrow…leave it alone, no harm done, not worth the trouble.  Dean remained watchful, covert glances tracking his brother’s movements between every shot taken at the pool table.

 

Dean would have preferred his young brother not be here at all, but Sam always insisted when Dean was out for a game, he come along.  Generally Sam stayed in the shadows, found a quiet corner, read files, took his laptop if it was somewhere with Wi-Fi.  They made an effort to appear strangers to one another.  No one giving Dean a hassle over losing money ever suspected the quiet kid in the corner was his back up.  People severely underestimated Sam, thought he was harmless, meek.  He wasn’t aggressive, but he was far from meek and harmless.  Many a sore loser found out the hard way Dean hustled with a partner, one quite capable of helping him out of a tight spot in a fight if need be.

 

These morons stalking the kid around this bar were different.  Dean knew these types, had spent a lot of time growing up keeping Sam (and himself) away from them.  He had an idea what they wanted, and if they caught Sam alone, off guard, they’d get it.  Dean suppressed a shiver wanting to course down his back, refocused on the pool table and shot.  Another thirty dollars in his pocket.  He barely had time to take a sip of his beer, make a casual sweep of the bar with a glance, another check on Sam, before he was up for the next game.

 

For the minute things were going well. 

 

If he could win another fifty or better a hundred bucks without incident they could leave.  He wanted nothing more than to grab Sam and get out.  He intended to do just that as soon as he could.  Hopefully, in an hour or so, they’d be far enough from this place it’d be a bad memory.

 

The first part of the next game went smoothly enough.  Sam sat, unbothered, appearing to ignore everyone.  Dean knew better, Sam was as focused on him as Dean was on Sam.

 

Lining up a shot, simultaneously glancing up, moving only his eyes Dean barely stopped himself from swearing out loud.  Sam moved again.  Met Dean’s eyes and shook his head ever so slightly.  The boy would put up with this shit all night long if Dean needed him too; it was what bothered Dean the most.  Quick and efficient, Dean landed his pool ball where it was needed, another twenty was his.  Straightening, leaning casually against his cue he tracked the two men across the bar with a covered glare. 

 

Carefully replacing the cue stick, he clapped his opponent on the shoulder.  “Need to take a leak, man.”  Eyes skimming the players, “Anyone want a beer?”  He smiled at the group.

 

“Gonna come back so we can win our money back, right?”  One fat, toothless guy slurred. 

 

“You betcha.”  Dean’s smile widened, he laughed a bit.  “But first…”  He waved at his pants.

 

Slipping through the crowd, Dean resisted the urge to retrieve the cue stick and swing it on his way to Sam.  He’d moved to a table with a booth this time.  One of the men slid along the booth, sidling up to Sam.  The other blocked Sam from moving away.  Dean saw Sam’s eyes, wary and guarded, search him out.  His head jerked away from the man sitting next to him as the guy reached for Sam’s face.  Sam’s hand blocked him, the guy standing on Sam’s other side dropped one meaty, paw onto Sam’s shoulder.

 

A quick glance down, Dean swore to himself, the table was bolted to the floor.  Unable to over turn it, Sam was completely trapped.  Twisting through the crowd, shouldering past people, ignoring the snarled expressions, grumbling comments, Dean stopped at the table, stood directly opposite Sam, hand coming down firmly with enough force the two men heard the thunk, turned to him.  Dean kept his eyes riveted on Sam’s.

 

“Been looking all over for you.”  Dean snapped out.  “You were supposed to meet me an hour ago.”  When the heavier of the two men, the one blocking Sam’s escape route turned to him, Dean cut him off before he could open his mouth.  “Got a problem here pal?”  Eyes settling on Sam again, “Sober up.”

 

“No problem.  Just some friendly conversation, eh there boy?”

 

Sam glared at the guy for a few seconds before focusing on Dean.  Dropping his chin he mumbled, “Sorry.”

 

“Yeah, you’re always sorry, aren’t you?”  Reaching across Mr. Side o’Beef, Dean took a firm hold of Sam’s arm, pulled insistently until Sam moved slightly toward the end of the booth, toward the slab of beef blocking him.

 

“Whassa matter, horning in on your territory?”

 

Dean really hated this guy.  “Here to get my brother, he drinks too much.”

 

“Brother?”  The guy laughed foul breath in Dean’s face.

 

“My kid brother.”  Dean enunciated every word.

 

The guy studied him, then Sam, for a minute more.  Dean was beginning to think he was going to have to start swinging.  He’d be on his own; Sam was trapped and until Dean could free him, he wouldn’t be very helpful.  His goal was to get out quietly, avoiding the guys at the pool table as well, avoiding trouble.  For a few seconds it looked as if that weren’t going to happen.

 

Side o’Beef, his arms were bigger than Dean’s thighs, nodded to Dean, then turned and patted Sam’s cheek.  “Maybe some other time.”

 

“Yeah, another time.”  Sam growled, sliding along the seat to his feet, grabbing his files up, and stepped close to Dean in one fast motion.

 

Dean herded Sam ahead of him, hustled the two of them through the bar, a winding path taking them away from the pool tables, toward the door.  Sam offered no resistance as he moved along, glancing back every few seconds at Dean.  Dean gave him a slight push between the shoulder blades, more to let the kid know he was right with him than to move him faster.

 

“Ahh great little get-a-way spot.”   Dean coughed, cleared his throat as he stepped from the smoky, acrid air of the bar to the crisp, fresh outside.  The sky was clear. Stars littered the deep purple sky.  He caught Sam looking up too. 

 

“Yeah, we should come back again.”  Sam said. 

 

Dean heard the grin in his brother’s voice, knew he was no worse for the wear, but needed to ask anyway.  “Are you all right?  What the hell were you thinking putting up with that shit?”  He hadn’t meant it to sound as harsh as it did.

 

Sam’s gaze shifted from the sky to Dean at once, making Dean feel a twinge of guilt.  It wasn’t Sam’s fault the world was full of morons intent on badgering them.  “No harm done.”  He muttered. 

 

Which, Dean realized wasn’t quite the same as ok. The kid was visibly shaken and what was he doing?  Snapping at his brother.  Nice Winchester, real nice.  He met Sam’s eyes, turned the corner of his mouth up a bit, nodding ever so slightly.  “Good.”  He made sure to keep his tone soft.  Sam gave him a hint of a shy smile back.  Sam hadn’t been the only one rattled by the encounter.

 

“Asshole wasn’t even going to buy me dinner first.”  Sam snorted, then smiled in earnest at Dean’s horrified expression.

 

“Not even funny Sammy.”  Taking Sam’s jacket sleeve, he tugged on it gently, moving off toward their car.  Sam stepped along behind him, Dean felt his shrug.

 

They’d parked at the farthest edge of the lot.  Dean tried to do that whenever he could, the car was farther away, but the road was closer to the car.  Easier to get out fast, and he rarely was blocked in by drunken patrons.

 

“We got enough to fill the tank, I figure if we don’t find somewhere to stop in an hour or so, just sleep in the car tonight.”

 

Sam nodded, waited patiently while Dean unlocked the car door for him.  He leaned on the window frame, eyes scanning the lot, darting to the bar door, in case they’d been followed.  After Sam folded into the car, Dean hit the lock, pushing it down and shut the door.  He caught the smirk and slight head shake from his brother.  Sam had long ago given up trying to make Dean stop doing these things.  Dean reasoned Sam probably knew he’d never stop, but he still felt compelled to point Dean’s actions out to him every now and then. 

 

“Want to make sure you don’t fall out, ‘cause I’m sure as hell not stopping to scrape your lanky ass off the road.”  Dean said, sliding into the car, starting the engine.

 

“Yes you will.”  Sam turned an amused gaze on Dean.

 

“No.  I won’t.”  Pulling a blanket from the back he dropped it on Sam’s head.

 

“Um humm…sure.”  Sam arranged the blanket over his shoulders, draped it down to his feet.  Dean caught a glimpse of Sam twisting around to get something else from the back.  Dean’s leather jacket.  He didn’t wear it in the bar, it was too smoky, dirty and gross in there.  The thing was a bitch to get clean.  Sam folded it, propped it under his head for a pillow.

 

Eyes shifting sideways for a second before turning onto the road, he complained, “You sleep on that more than I get to wear it.”

 

Sam yawned.

 

“And don’t drool all over it.”

 

“I don’t drool.”  Sam’s voice was already thickening, his words drawn out.

 

“Ha!  Bullshit you don’t.”

 

“Whatever.  Let me know if you want me to drive.”  Sam yawned again, squirming around until he apparently found a comfortable position, then settled and stilled.

 

“Ok.”  Dean agreed, knew full well Sam didn’t expect him to ask.  Sam liked spending their car time reading through cases, or annoying the crap out of Dean.  He’d drive if Dean asked him to, or if he had to for some reason, but Dean couldn’t remember a time Sam requested, wanted to drive.  Sam barely drove in the two years since they’d been hit by the semi.  He never said anything to Dean about it, Dean never pushed, but he knew the crash was a large part of it.  He could practically pinpoint to the days Sam stopped driving and stopped being annoyed by Dean’s protectiveness.

 

Being too wired to sleep for a bit anyway, Dean knew he had an hour, maybe two in him before wanting to stop for the night.  If there was no motel to be found, he’d boost Sam in the back seat. It wasn’t the first time they’d slept in the car, wouldn’t be the last.  Dean’s eyes spent the next twenty minutes shifting between the road, his brother, rear view mirror and the gas gauge.  It was the gas gauge that had him the most worried, it was sinking lower and lower to that big, red ‘E’.

 

Finally the glare of lights from a gas station broke the flat desert landscape, deep night.  Dean hated these back of nowhere roads, these places in general.  Sam never seemed to mind them. However, it wasn’t Sam’s brother who always managed to find trouble in them either.  Happy they hadn’t been followed, Dean pulled into the station.  Reaching across Sam’s chest he pushed on the door lock again, reassuring himself it was securely locked.  The car stopping, driver’s side door opening, closing, Dean moving around never caused Sam to so much as stir.  He’d grown up in that car. Dean thought sometimes it was the only place he truly slept deeply. Warm memories of Sam as a small child, tucked to Dean’s side while their Dad drove flooded Dean’s brain.  Some nights their father packed them in the car just to get Sam, a cranky, over tired toddler, to sleep.

 

Seem things hadn’t changed much.

 

Watching Sam sleep for a few seconds Dean considered if he should wake him, or let him sleep.  If he woke the kid he could reclaim his jacket, maybe.  Shrugging off his unease, he was being silly, Dean quietly exited the car.  Filling the tank, Dean kept a wary eye on the road, their surroundings.  Still not fully convinced they’d not been followed.  The creeps in the bar had been a little too persistent with Sam, and Dean wondered why.  There were plenty of other people to pick a fight with, certainly others more willing to accept their ‘offer’ than Sam had been.  The thought crossed his mind maybe the men realized Dean and Sam were a team, but it still didn’t make much sense.  Dean hadn’t done anything other than play pool, he hadn’t bothered anyone.  The other pool players had been friendly enough to him, didn’t seem to mind the stranger in their midst.  They’d been maniacal psychopaths, but friendly ones.

 

Another mental shrug, Dean replaced the gas nozzle, a glance back at his brother, sleeping, locked in the car, Dean headed into the station, sand and gravel scrunching under his boots.  He wandered the aisles for a minute, gathered up some snacks, sandwiches, was on his way to the counter when he spied the hot chocolate machine.  Normally Dean was a coffee man, but sometimes hot chocolate just sounded good, this was one of those times.  He got one for Sam too, doubted he’d drink it now, but he could reheat it later.  He paid for his gas, purchases and headed back outside.

 

The instant he stepped free of the station store he knew something was wrong.  Every nerve he owned tingled and jumped, setting off more alarm bells in his head than most fire stations owned.

 

It took a few seconds before his brain comprehended what geared him up in the span of an instant.  The inside dome-light was on, Sam’s door was open.

 

Sam was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Sam.  Sa-um!”  Getting quickly to the passenger side of the car, Dean’s feet tangled in the blanket, his jacket hung half in and half out of the car.  There was no answer.  Dean scooped them up, threw them in the back seat.

 

Sam hadn’t left willingly.  He’d never leave the door open, never leave Dean’s jacket like that.  The scene was left to make it plainly obvious Sam had been forced away.  Yet Dean hadn’t heard a thing, no startled yelp, no sounds of a fight, nothing.  Sam might not be aggressive, but he sure wasn’t defenseless, not to mention he was taller than most people.  For someone to snatch him that way, jimmy the lock open and grab him without at least Sam landing a few punches made Dean’s senses whirl.  Other than the blanket, there was no sign of a struggle.

 

“Missing something?”

 

Dean spun to the voice, dropping his bag, the cups of hot chocolate.  He recognized that voice at once.  It sent chills through him, what was this guy?  Where was Sam?

 

Concentrating on keeping panic, desperation off his face, not trusting his voice yet, Dean set his best blank glare on the man.  The side of beef from the bar sat casually on a Hog, one leg to the side keeping the bike upright.  Dean purposely cleared any hint of emotion from his eyes, his expression.  He stared at the man, knowing an answer wasn’t really required, expected or wanted.

 

Dean lifted one eyebrow, cocked his head to one side, folded his arms over his chest and waited.

 

“Maybe,” Side o’Beef spit tobacco juice out, slipped a bit more into one cheek, “That sweet faced brother of yours?”

 

Barely able to stay calm, not pull his pistol from the glove compartment and shatter this guy’s grin with it, Dean forced himself still.

 

“Nice boy you have there.”

 

He was being baited, taunted, and he knew it.  Eyes meeting Side o’Beef’s Dean kept his voice low, even, measured.  “Where is he?” He forced the words past dry lips.

 

“He’s not really what I’m looking for.  Wanted a fighter.”

 

“Try ESPN.”

 

Side o’Beef snorted a laugh, straightened and started his bike.  Grinning, missing a few teeth, he jerked his head to one side in a ‘follow along’ motion.  “Knew I pegged you right.”  He spun the bike around. In a spray of dirt it careened onto the road.

 

Dean was in the Impala in a flash, roaring after the guy.  This wasn’t over a few dollars in a pool game, he knew that.  He wasn’t entirely certain this guy was completely human, but he ventured a guess he’d have time to find out.  Fingers gripping the steering wheel until his nails dug into his palms, leaning forward, Dean never took his eyes off the bike in front of him.

 

What the hell had they gotten themselves into?

 

 

 

---

 

 

 Chapter 2 

 

The kid was out cold and securely in chains, but still Carter stood back.  He studied the boy on the low bed.  It was bolted to the floor.  The kid was in wrist and ankle chains attached firmly to the bed frame.  He wouldn’t be going anywhere soon, which was Carter’s intent all along.  He hoped they could lose the chains eventually.

 

He could give this kid, if they were both lucky, twenty-four hours before he was put inside.  Curious about this one Carter studied him, he wasn’t quite like the others who’d come and gone through here before him.  Military in his actions, the kid fought like a deranged tiger until he’d been overpowered by six of Del Villar’s goons.  But he wasn’t military. Carter could tell that by his hair cut, or more exactly the lack there of.  The boy was in shape, all muscle, knew moves, not just another college athlete.  He was too young to be an undercover cop, too much emotion in his expression for anything of that sort.  Far, far too young to be in here. 

 

The boy knew moves, that was for certain, defended himself.  Another certainty, he wasn’t a fighter.  Not this kid.  This one had been brought here for a different reason or reasons entirely.  It churned rough in Carter’s stomach.  The kid wouldn’t go along, he’d fight it.  Maybe he was smart enough to try and submit for a while, try to find a way out.  That never worked either, he’d seen others try.  There was no way out that didn’t include a body bag.

 

Carter stared down at the shaggy hair, long limbs, lighter build.  He had long enough legs Carter bet he could outrun a freaked out cheetah if he wanted to.   This boy wouldn’t last much beyond one match in the games, he might know how to fight, but it wasn’t in him, he wasn’t one of them.  Whichever way it happened, this one was bound to die, and die soon.

 

As far as Carter was concerned it would be a mercy killing.

 

Twenty four hours and this innocent looking boy would one way or another be at the mercy of the men—animals—that lived here.  Fought here.  Twenty four hours if he was lucky.

 

The kid stirred, groaned something Carter almost caught, a name maybe, he wasn’t sure.  He watched the kid’s eyes crack open slightly. Wincing away from the light the kid closed his eyes for a few seconds, brought one hand up to rub against them.  The heaviness and sound of the chains must have gotten through to his subconscious.  In the next instant the kid was awake, eyes clearing, taking in the fact he was here, chained, a prisoner. 

 

In one smooth, fluid motion he was off the low bed, rolling away from Carter.  Probably caught off guard by how short the chains were, or maybe he wasn’t really coherent enough yet to process them, the kid back pedaled away.  Reaching the end of the chains, pulling them taunt, he went down with a harsh grunt.  Yanking his arms toward his chest, the kid tested their hold, lips curled up to a snarl; stilling after a few minutes of frantic pulling.

 

Dark, haunted eyes met his, for a brief instant the glare that shone out from under those bangs was vulnerable, lost, alone, desperately needing to trust.  It morphed almost immediately to something hard and emotionless.  He’d been taught to do that, it was plain as day to Carter.  What he’d seen first, that was the real kid in there, not this shell of a kid who’d learned to hide his feelings.  Carter wondered if there’d been a reason someone this young was forced to learn that, or had it been beaten into him by someone?

 

Carter certainly understood fully the meaning of the expression ‘if looks could kill.’  This kid’s glare should have bore him straight into the ground.  Vibrant intelligence sparked right along side the defiance.  With slow, exaggerated movements, aware the boy’s eyes never wavered from him, saw every move he made, Carter crossed to the refrigerator along one wall, pulled out a bottle of water.  Setting it carefully within the kid’s reach, he backed away, settled on the floor facing the boy.

 

“Go on, I know you’ve got to be thirsty.  Check it out yourself, the bottle is still sealed.” 

 

The boy’s eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail Carter was sure.  Dark eyes rested for a few beats on the partially opened door before shifting to Carter, then the water.  Looking up again, pinning Carter with a cold stare, desperation and need for someone lurking behind it, visible for only for a second.  Visible only because Carter had too many years practice looking for hidden emotions.

 

He was looking for someone, this boy had someone; someone he was expecting to see, wanting…no needing to see.  This boy wasn’t used to alone, he didn’t like it, wouldn’t accept it.  This kid was lure, bait, a bargaining chip to provoke someone else, keep someone else in line.  Carter had seen too much of this, for too long.  This kid didn’t belong in here, those that did were hard and bitter, killers.  It was plain to Carter, used to seeing inside people, this kid wasn’t a killer, wasn’t hard.  He could fight, yes, and would if he had to, but he wasn’t an arena fighter.

 

That was part of Del Villar’s game the last few years.  He’d take them in pairs, or small groups.  Men who were friends, cousins, sometimes fathers and sons, sometimes brothers, it didn’t matter.  They all had one thing in common; they were willing to fight for one another.  Unlike those who lived here, had done so for a decade or more, these outsiders weren’t savages dressed as men.

 

“You were with someone before they took you?  Buddies, parents?”    

 

Nothing, no reaction.  The kid avoided looking Carter in the face, the eye.  He couldn’t give anything of himself away if Carter couldn’t see what the boy felt.

 

“Cousins, girlfriend, sisters…brothers?”

 

At the mention of brother the boy’s eyes popped up, skimmed the room again before dropping to the water bottle.  Bingo.  A brother, this kid was in here, and it was likely his brother was here too, or would be shortly.  Carter was willing to bet the brother was more aggressive, probably older.

 

Giving the water bottle a small shove with his foot before backing away again, “My name’s Carter Bitner.”  He’d leave the rest of the details until later, right now he simply wanted this boy to drink the water, then he’d try getting him some food.

 

Voices, movement outside the door took the boy’s attention back there.  Looking, and hoping for that someone…brother…to come waltzing through it no doubt.  A brother, it was plain to see, this kid loved very much, worshiped. A brother who probably loved him very much.  A brother this boy was going to watch die, eventually beaten to death in the arena.

 

“What’s his name?”

 

The kid’s eyes flicked to him, and there it was again, covered as quickly as it formed.  Desperate need to not be alone, confusion, plain afraid, it all sluiced through those dark eyes.  “Dean.”  His voice as soft and open as his eyes were hard and guarded.  Carter’s heart bled for this boy, for his brother.  He’d not even questioned who Carter was asking about. 

 

“What’s your name?” 

 

Carter was pleased to see the boy’s shoulders relax by the very tiniest degree as he leaned forward, grasped the bottle of water and pulled it to him.  He held it, didn’t open it, eyes shifting again to Carter’s, lost and alone lingered a tad longer this time.  One corner of the kid’s mouth twitched up for an instant, he looked down at the floor between his feet, for the briefest time Carter saw a boy with no idea where he was, or what would happen to him, just a frightened kid.

 

“Sam.”  His voice sounded raw, Carter hoped he’d try to drink some of the water; it would make him feel better.  Telling him this, however, Carter saw would be a totally lost cause.

 

“How old are you Sam?”

 

“Twenty four.” 

 

Christ this kid wasn’t even half Carter’s age.  “How’d you get here Sam? Where were you?”

 

Sam looked at the bottle in his hands, picked at the label a few times before he cracked the seal.  “We were, my brother Dean and I, taking a road trip.  I fell asleep in the car, we needed to stop for gas.  That’s when they grabbed me, Dean must have gone inside.”  Gaze lifting to meet Carter’s the older man was stunned by what he saw.  The sheer faith in that brother, the need to defend him was over powering.  “He’d locked the door, checked it when he got out, I remember him doing that.”

 

Cold shivers rippled down Carter’s spine, chilling straight through to his heart.  That was beyond cruel, taking someone in their sleep, stealing him from right under his brother’s nose.   He wasn’t sure this boy didn’t blame himself for what happened.  “It wasn’t his fault.”  Carter could say that with conviction and confidence knowing it was truth.

 

Sam took a long swig of the water.  “I know that, but he’ll think it is.”

 

“It wasn’t your fault either.”

 

The boy studied him for a few seconds, drank more of the water and fixed his eyes on the floor.

 

Again voices from outside the room drew his attention to the door.  This time Carter’s attention was drawn there too.  They’d changed, not the people normally here, in his clinic.  Standing slowly, easing the kinks out of his legs Carter turned to the door in time to see the huge man standing in the doorway, taking it up completely.  A quick glance back at the kid confirmed Marlin had been involved in bringing him here, Sam immediately recognized him.  As before the emotions Sam felt were pushed out of his eyes, as before not quick enough Carter didn’t see them.  Recognition, shock, more confusion and anger, deep seated anger.

 

Sam stilled, other than looking from Carter to Marlin and back again.

 

Moving into the room with a grace and efficiency surprising for his bulk, he nodded curtly to Carter, went to the counter alongside the refrigerator and retrieved the keys.  Sam was yanked roughly to his feet.  Two more followed Marlin, stood on either side of the opened door.

 

“Twenty four hours, I always get them for twenty-four hours.”  Carter grabbed the big man’s forearm.

 

“Plans changed this time doc.  Mr. Del Villar wants the new arrivals in now.”  He unlocked the chains holding Sam to the bed, but not from around his ankles or wrists.  Standing next to him, even though Sam was taller by quite a few inches he looked small in comparison to Marlin’s girth.  He nodded to the two men with him. They stepped between Carter and Sam.

 

Marlin jerked mercilessly on the chains holding the boy.  Blood oozed from his cuffs, the kid’s startled yelp made one of the two guards smirk.  Scrambling to regain his footing Sam glanced back at Carter for a split second before being dragged out the door.

 

Carter watched, powerless to do anything, to help this boy, help the brother this boy watched for, wanted to come through that door instead of Marlin and his band of creeps.

 

It’d be a mercy killing.

 

No, Carter decided, it was time to end this, time he did something.  This boy, if he survived the next few hours wasn’t going to go down like the rest had.  Maybe before he died himself, if he could save just one, he’d be doing something good to make up for all the bad. 

 

 

---

 

 

 Chapter 3

 

Dean shifted between watching the miles spin by on the odometer, and the Hog in front of him.  Hands clenched around the steering wheel, making his fingers cramp.  Back straining from holding so rigid, muscles already protesting from the tension put on them. 

 

The miles churned on, ten, twenty.  They couldn’t have had that much of a head start on him, yet Dean never saw another vehicle.  Paved desert road gave way to packed dirt.  Dean had no choice but to follow this man, even if he didn’t entirely believe he was being taken to his brother.  Right now it was all he had.  He knew he was going south, but had no idea if he’d crossed into MexicoTexas or not.  The Impala jarred and bounced, dirt road was back to paved again.  from

 

The Hog slowed, Dean kept pace with it perfectly.  He blinked dry eyes at the sight opening in front of him.  Stopping at a gate, the area was fenced in completely.  Dean felt as if he was driving into Area 51, only with more security.  An airfield sprawled along one end of the inside perimeter, they drove on through.  There was a hangar to the right, two strips to the left, next to them some smaller sheds.  Beyond that was a large house with a pool.  It was segregated off from the rest by more fencing, barbed wire and armed guards.  After that a long building, two stories stretched out in an ‘L’ shape.  Watch towers dotted the points of the ‘L’.   At the corner point of the ‘L’ were three low, metal boxes approximately four or five feet long, three feet high, doors standing open…sweat boxes was what came to Dean’s mind.  The whole scene brought forth thoughts of prison.

 

This wasn’t a prison, not in the traditional way; Dean saw that, sensed it immediately.  Hot, bitterness rose up his throat, swam under his tongue.  Sam, was in here?  The thought sent chills racing through Dean, made his breath catch in his ribcage.  Sam was in here alone, maybe hurt?  Dean couldn’t help going back to leaving Sam sleeping in the car, it was his fault Sam was here. His fault Sam was gone.

 

Mr. Side o’Beef waved him to an area near one of the watch towers, motioned him to stay put, parked his Hog beside the Impala.  Every nerve Dean owned screamed to move, get out, fight, beat the crap out of anyone standing between him and Sam.  He’d do it too; problem was he wasn’t sure where in this place Sam was, or if he was even here.

 

Despite his wanting to make the man suffer for taking Sam, Dean sat, tense and rigid in the car, still and unmoving, non-threatening.  Finally Side o’Beef sauntered up, rapped on his window with rough, split knuckles and waved Dean out.  Stepping free of the car, shoving the door closed behind him Dean met the man’s eyes steadily, unwavering.  If he were afraid, this man, no one, would ever know.  Dean Winchester had stared into the face of far more menacing things and not flinched.

 

The man motioned with two fingers for Dean to turn around.  Dean stared him down.  “Where’s my brother?”

 

“You’ll see him soon enough.  The more you cooperate the faster you get your wish.”  The man was shorter than Dean, but far wider.  Round, shaved head reflected the lights from the watch towers.

 

“I goddamn better see him alive and unharmed.”  Dean let the harshness, sheer hate he felt for this man out in his voice.

 

Stepping back a pace, the guy stared at him, “That’s entirely up to you, how he is and how he stays.  Now turn around.”

 

Dean swiveled around on the balls of his feet, eyes trained over his shoulder at his—Sam’s—capture.  His arms were jerked behind him, wrists cinched together with a rough yank.  Dean’s lips curled, he let the harsh snarl loose from his throat.

 

Fingers threaded through Dean’s restraints, the man shoved him forward.  They walked a brisk pace to the ‘L’ shaped building.  “Here’s the deal.  Everything…EV—ERY—THING… about that little brother of yours depends on you.  And I do mean everything.  You play the game, he’s safe.  You play the game, he’s fed, given water, shelter, doesn’t get quality time in there,” he pointed at the metal boxes.  “You play the game and he’s,” Side o’Beef leaned in, breathing hot in Dean’s ear, “Left alone.” The last two words hissed from between the man’s teeth, sharp and daring Dean to challenge him, to ask for their meaning.  Dean knew the meaning, knew the implications that hung between himself and this man.

 

Dean forced his breathing to be calm, even, measured.  Forced the ice spears churning in his middle to quiet.

 

They stopped at a steel door. The man hit a button, waited for the responding buzzer.  Dean was shoved through a second later, spun around, and slammed forcefully into the wall.  Side o’Beef’s face shoved a hair breadth from his.  Dean’s eyes blazed, meeting his captor’s without so much as a blink.  This ass thought he was tough?  Let him face down a demon, then he could come talk to Dean about tough.

 

“Name’s Marlin.  We can play this a few ways.  I can either be your best friend, make sure that sweet faced kid brother of yours is left safe and sound with you.  Or I can be your worst nightmare.  It’s up to you pal.”

 

Dean’s eyes never once wavered from Marlin’s.  Dean had already faced his worst nightmare and come out on the other side whole, with Sam.  He nodded a fraction.  Marlin obviously thought he was much worse.  Maybe someday soon Dean might explain it to him.

 

“What do I have to do?”

 

Marlin cracked his semi-toothed grin, “I knew I had you pegged right, both of you.  You’ll do whatever you need to for that little brother of yours.”

 

There was no question, not even an allegation of one, so Dean simply stood staring back at Marlin.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Dean.”

 

“And the boy’s?”

 

Dean glared at him.  These people could do what they wanted to him, but they were going to leave Sam alone. 

 

Marlin shoved roughly against Dean’s shoulder.  “You’re not playing by the rules.  I ask, you answer.  I’ll let that one slide, ‘cause I’m that sort of nice guy.  Now, let’s try again.  His name?”

 

“Sam.”

 

“Was that so hard?” 

 

Dean was pulled away from the wall, walked with Marlin down a long, narrow corridor.  Escorted into a small room, Marlin pointed to a single chair, the only thing in it.  “Sit.  Stay put until I come back.” 

 

The door was shut with a clank, and a very definite turn of a lock.  He had no idea how long he sat there, unmoving.  They’d taken nothing from him, his watch still rested on his arm, but with his hands behind his back he couldn’t see the face, see the time.  Dean counted.  He reasoned it was nearly three hours he’d sat there when Marlin returned.

 

This time he was escorted by Marlin and two others.  They climbed a flight of metal, open steps, down another long corridor so narrow Dean walked ahead, his arm held by Marlin’s outstretched hand.  They stepped into what looked like some kind of observation room.  It had a slanted glass front wall.  Three rows of seats, with cup holders, sat in two sections side by side.  A large bell hung in one corner.  Leaving the other two men in the corridor, Marlin and Dean stepped into the room. 

 

Again the clank of steel door on steel frame, the sound of a lock turning.

 

He was taken to the window.  “Not offering me a seat?”

 

Marlin ignored him.  Reached out and rang the bell once. 

 

Lights mounted below them snapped on, forming a circle.  There was a similar observation room directly opposite, a half dozen men seated in there, drinks in their cup holders.  One story below was what Dean could only describe as an old style arena.  There were no ropes, no mats, no nothing but a large open space maybe twenty foot square.  Encircling the arena were caged areas containing six or eight men each, their shouts were nerve wracking. The clamor reverberated around the empty area in the center.

 

“Where’s Sam?”

 

Marlin’s hand came up, grasped the back of Dean’s neck, moving him forward to the glass.  Lips just almost touching Dean’s ear he breathed out a short laugh.  “He’ll come through that door in just a minute.”

 

Dean’s stomach knotted, his knees felt weak.  Sam was in there with those savages.  His head spun, intestines lurched when the complete insinuations finally lighted long enough in his brain he couldn’t deny them any longer.  He had no control over the trickle of sweat oozing along his spine. 

 

Three men, three of the largest men Dean had ever seen entered the arena below from a door which must have been directly under the room.  A door on the opposite from Dean’s vantage point opened.  Dean’s heart rate quadrupled, his pulse hammered loud and violent in his ears.  He immediately locked his knees to keep from crumpling to the floor.

 

Shoved through the door, in chains, was Sam.  He jerked around when the door slammed shut.  Someone stepped up to him, removed the chains. Even from here Dean saw the red, raw skin around Sam’s wrists.  Turning back to face the middle of the arena, Sam’s eyes skittered around, Dean knew he was taking in every detail.  There was no reaction when his gaze skimmed in Dean’s direction, other than to squint a bit.  He couldn’t see above the first level, the spot lights were too bright Dean realized.

 

The man who’d removed Sam’s restraints said something to him, causing Sam to stare at him, then the other three men.  Dean saw him swallow convulsively, nod, fists flexing and tensing.

 

The shouts from the caged men…spectators…intensified.  Sam’s eyes fixed on the other three, everyone else retreated to the sides of the arena.  Sam would defend himself; he’d fight only as much as it took to get away. He wasn’t an aggressor. He’d try to avoid them Dean knew.  Sam wasn’t a fighter, not the kind they wanted at any rate.

 

Dean watched his brother, standing there, coiled and ready, but refusing to make the first move.  No one else would see it, what was going on in Sam’s head, but to Dean it was like watching a big screen movie.  Sam wasn’t the scare easy type of kid, not at all.  At least not when it came to things they hunted, things that haunted.  Nope, Sam wasn’t scared at all, being here, whatever here was, surrounded by a totally different type of evil.  Not at all.  Sam was freaking terrified.  He could see it in Sam’s eyes even from this distance, way up here.  These others, they’d see a tall slab of muscled up kid, maybe as much challenge as target.  But they didn’t know Sam like Dean did.  For that Dean was grateful, Sam hid his emotions well enough from his opponents, standing there staring at them mildly.

 

Sam would never go after them, be aggressive, be a killer.  It wasn’t in his nature to fight, not like this.  From the time Dean was small, and Sam smaller, Dean made sure his brother didn’t have to.  Dean had no one but himself to blame.  It was his fault Sam wasn’t prepared for this.

 

Marlin rang the bell once. The men advanced on Sam, he took the first one down at once with a solid punch.  One of the others had Sam in a choke hold, driving him to his knees in seconds then shoving Sam away hard.  Sam got the third man by the wrist, spun him around, pushing him at the others, away from himself.

 

“He might last this round, maybe one or two more, I’ll give him that.”  Marlin’s voice was right up against Dean’s ear again.  “You taught him good.”

 

“What do you want?  Whatever you want, just get him out of there.”

 

“Now that’s the attitude I like.”  Marlin turned Dean’s head away from the scene below to face him.  He leaned his free hand against the glass wall.  “Here’s the deal, you do what you’re told.  I need a fighter, a real hardcore, mean ass fighter.  You win when you’re told to win; you throw when you’re told to throw.  You make them,” Marlin turned Dean’s head to the group of men seated in the other observation room, laughing among themselves, “Mr. Del Villar and his guests happy, do what they want.  Make them money; you get him, your brother.  He’s left with you, no one bothers him, bothers you.  You screw up, he suffers.  He suffers big.”

 

Dean’s nostrils flared as he jerked in an almost painful breath.  “Get him out.”  He snarled.

 

Marlin’s face split in a grin.  Letting go of Dean he rang the bell twice.  The three men in the arena with Sam backed away.  Sam stood there, looking confused, panting in deep breaths.

 

Taking Dean’s arm again, Marlin escorted him from the observation room, down the corridor, down the steps.  The noise from the confined men lining the arena was deafening now that Dean was down among them.  Dean waited just inside a door while Marlin cut him free of his bindings.  One final glare into Marlin’s eyes and Dean turned, walked through the door into the arena.

 

He caught a glimpse of Sam being hauled out, heard his shouted, “DEAN!”  Saw him double over when he was sucker punched in the ribs.

 

Ignore it, ignore it all, Dean had to focus on his opponents, his task at hand.  Swiveling on the balls of his feet when he reached the middle of the arena Dean turned, faced the three men.

 

 

---

 

Chapter 4 

 

 

Dean Winchester was a good parent, an exceptional one.  He’d been one of those blessed few individuals who instinctually knew how to raise a child, even as a child himself.  He’d learned and practiced, honed his skills as he’d done with hunting.  But the fact remained he’d have been an excellent parent no matter what the situation, no matter the age thrusted onto him.  He knew Sam’s every nuance without even looking at him, Dean wasn’t even completely awake and he’d tuned into his young brother.  Relief flooded over him, through him, feeling Sam’s presence.

 

So it was plain to him when he woke up…came to…Sam sat beside him, hip pressed against Dean’s side.  Dean even knew, without looking, exactly how the kid was sitting, knees pulled to chest, arms wrapped around his legs, glaring at something beyond Dean, shivering slightly and not because he was cold.  As he drifted more toward consciousness Dean realized he used Sam’s flannel for a pillow and Sam’s jacket was draped across his shoulders.

 

Other sensations beyond Sam, knowing Sam was there and alive filtered into Dean’s brain.  He ached.  From the bruises across his chest and back, from the hard, cold cement he slumped over, from the black eye he was sure he had.  He ached.  Cracking one eye—the one going to sport a shiner soon—open, Dean groaned, lifted one arm, dropped it over his face, finger tips brushing Sam’s arm.

 

Sam shifted beside him. Dean knew Sam was watching him like a hawk.  He knew the expression Sam wore, heard the soft, sharp intake of his brother’s breath when Dean winced from the movement.

 

“They hurt you Sammy?”  Dean’s throat was scratchy and raw, splinters of pain caught and pulled as he tried swallowing.  He felt the quick shake of Sam’s head reverberate through them both.  Tapping Sam’s arm lightly, Dean held up his free hand, in the next instant was pulling himself up against Sam’s grip.  He almost stopped the groan from getting past his lips.  Arms resting across his knees, Dean took a few deep breaths, tried not imagining what Sam’s expression meant he must look like.  The kid’s eyes never left him.  Inhaling and blowing puffs of air out his mouth, he straightened briefly before leaning on his knees again.  “Look at me and tell me they didn’t hurt you.”

 

Sam watched him patiently, the meaning of Dean’s words filtering into his eyes.  “No, they didn’t.  A few punches, that’s it.  Good thing you got here to save me and all.”

 

Rubbing Sam’s shoulder for a few seconds with the back of his hand, Dean felt Sam immediately relax.  “Yeah, boring night, nothing else to do.”  Stretching around Sam, Dean took a better look at their surroundings.  The room had a chilling resemblance to a prison cell.  There was nothing other than them, the framework for two cots, a sink and toilet in a cement ten by ten room.

 

Yeah, this day was looking better and better.

 

Gingerly rolling his shoulders, that not being so bad, he moved on to pushing his arms back and forth.  Those movements progressed to twisting his torso side to side, making him groan and cough a bit.  He’d taken a few good hits to his ribs, but there didn’t appear to be anything broken, just bruised and abused.

 

Using Sam as a brace Dean pushed sluggishly to his feet, flexing and bending his legs on the way up.  Sam’s hand stayed under Dean’s elbow, steadying him until he straightened completely, exceeding Sam’s reach.  Sam sat, looking up at him, his face a mixture of expectation and anger.  Dean had been the one getting beat on and Sam looked horrible, he wondered what was wrong with that scenario.  Suspicions bubbled through him, threatening to erupt out of his mouth if he wasn’t careful, that more happened to Sam since Dean last saw him than the kid might ever let on.

 

Moving around the room for distraction as much as to loosen his stiff, achy muscles Dean ventured a glance to what lay beyond the barred door.  A long corridor stretched for several hundred yards on either side of their ‘room’ both sides lined with more cells, a few dozen on each side Dean reasoned.  Some were empty, some weren’t, mostly the doors stood open.

 

Grasping the bars Dean gave a gentle shake.  Locked.  His moving about drew attention from the other ‘inmates’ in the corridor, other cells.  One man cracked a toothy grin at Dean, pointed past him to Sam and made lewd gestures.  Dean started to flip him off, thought better of it and turned around, back to the bars.

 

“Did you see any-”

 

“Why the hell did you do it?”  Sam cut him off, voice deep and harsh, nostrils flaring, breathing hard.  He stayed rooted to the floor, tremors jerking across his shoulders, arms.

 

“Why did I do what?  Sammy…what the hell?  You think this is my fault?”  That hurt. It wounded more than any hit Dean had taken earlier in the fight.  Sam blamed him for this?  Blamed Dean for leaving him in the car, alone?  Dean’s head swam, the nausea he’d felt earlier returned with a vengeance, slamming through him.  Sam blamed him!

 

In a blur of motion Sam was off the floor, in front of him, right up in his face.  Out of sheer reflex Dean shoved against his brother’s shoulder, moving him away from the bars.

 

Sam shoved back, Dean stumbled a few steps to regain his footing. 

 

“Why’d you do it?!”

 

That just pissed Dean off, it wasn’t like he’d done anything on purpose, or even something he’d not ever done before, leaving Sam sleeping in the locked car.  Feeling the last vestiges of Sam’s seemingly never ending hero-worship of him suddenly slipping away, leaving Dean empty, his temper flared in a way it rarely did.  Hitting Sam’s shoulders hard enough to not only move him away, but force him to the farthest corner of the cell.

 

“It’s not like I haven’t left you for five minutes in the car asleep before.  Christ, Sam, how the hell could I know?  You think I’d do that if I had even a clue?  You think that hasn’t been eating me up?”

 

Sam stilled, blinked at him, jaw dropped, shook his head a fraction.  Whatever retort he might have had obviously vanished from his head.  “You think…”  His words stumbled, expression changed at once, the anger dropping away.   “Dean, none of this is your fault.  I never considered thinking that.”  The sincerity in Sam’s voice eased the hot knot in Dean’s middle.

 

“Then what are you pissed at me for?”

 

Fury snapped back to Sam’s face, though not as intense.  Dean watched his brother struggle to maintain control, quell the emotions simmering just under the surface.  Sam’s eyes darted between Dean and the activity in the corridor beyond the locked door.  Completely freaked, Sam wasn’t thinking things through, being totally rational.  Dean saw it plain and clear.

 

“Why’d you do it?  Go in there?  I don’t need you fighting battles for me…why’d you let them beat the crap out of you?”  Sam’s words rushed out between harsh, ragged pants.  Fists clenched, eyes wide and moist, he jittered from the strain of keeping control.

 

“They didn’t exactly give me a lot of choice Sam.  It was fight or else.  And I didn’t let anyone beat the crap out of me.”

 

“I saw…”  Sam’s eyes again flicked to some point behind Dean, he swallowed.  “I saw them Dean, there were three of them, and I saw…” Again Sam’s eyes were pulled from Dean to the corridor.

 

Dean glanced over his shoulder, but no one was there.

 

“It’s not like I can’t hold my own in a fight.”  Sam stammered out the last words.

 

“Sam, they told me go in there and fight or they’d make you suffer, kill you.  They grabbed you, us both, on purpose, for some game.  It was a fist fight, that’s it.  Hell, I’ve had worse—“ He stopped when Sam’s attention again swung to somewhere outside their cell, another convulsive swallow.  This time Dean turned fully, went to the door, looked up and down the corridor.  Several men were there, in groups of twos or threes, watching without actually watching them.  Turning back to Sam, moving around so he kept the corridor in his peripheral vision, keeping his voice low, “I’ve had worse in bar fights, hell they didn’t even have a chair to crack over my head.”  

 

“I saw three of them descend on you!  I didn’t even know if they’d killed you till they brought you here.”  Sam was shouting, upper lip bouncing into a snarl.

 

Taking a few steps forward, closing the distance between them, Dean laid a hand on each of Sam’s shoulders.  “How much did you see?”

 

“Enough.”  Sam growled out, his shoulders were tense as a bow ready to snap.  He blinked in rapid succession for a few seconds.

 

Dean tightened his grip.  “Sam.  I won.”

 

Jerking back, shaking, pulling a few deep breaths, Sam stared at him.  “You wa—“

 

Dean gazed back placidly.  “I won Sammy.”

 

“But,”  Eyes again flipped to the corridor, then back to Dean, a few more jerky breaths before Sam’s breathing settled to something closer to normal.  “B-but I saw…they carried you in here, unconscious.”

 

Pulling one hand away from Sam to rub at the back of his neck, Dean gave him a lopsided half a smile.  “About that.  They told me as long as I played along, fought, you’d be safe, and we’d stay together.  The guy from the bar, Marlin, threatened all sorts of things Sam if I didn’t, and I believed him.  They wanted me to fight, but those guys would have killed you.  So I did.  When it was over I was taken out the same door you were.  And you were nowhere to be seen, and I got,” he shrugged a bit, “Annoyed.  Ended up getting knocked out.”

 

“I saw them, those men, all over you.  I didn’t know anything.  I thought they’d beaten you to death.”

 

“I don’t think that’s in the plan.  There were no weapons.”

 

Sam glared at the floor, a brief glance out the door before his gaze dropped again.  “What is this?”

 

“I don’t know Sam.”  Dean’s fingers tightened around his brother’s neck, he gave a gentle shake, squeezed until Sam’s eyes, round and worried, met his.  “But, Sammy, we play along, follow the rules until we figure a way out.  Agreed?”

 

The glare Sam leveled at him made Dean tense.  “You’re just going to get beat up.”  Sam’s words hissed between clenched teeth.

 

“If that’s what I have to do until we get out, yeah, I am.  Cause right now I don’t know what else to do, and we need to find a way out.  If that’s what it takes to be sure we both get out in one piece and alive, yeah I will.  And you’re going to goddamn shut up about it.”

 

Sam was angry, and Dean was happy he couldn’t shoot fire from his eyes or Dean would be barbeque about now.  Sam could be as angry as he wanted, Dean didn’t give a shit just then.  At least angry meant alive. 

 

“But first, we’re gonna need to find a way past that locked door.”  Dean grumbled.

 

Fishing in his jeans pockets, Sam pulled out his lock picks, holding them up.  Offering Dean a shrug, one corner of his mouth curling up for an instant, “I locked us in.”

 

It was Dean’s turn to be stunned.  For the first time since he and Sam had gone into that bar Dean cracked a true grin.  “Good job!”  Taking a few deep breaths.  “All right, we do this like we do anything else.  Collect our information, and we’ll need supplies, food, water,” waving one hand half heartedly at the cement floor, “Maybe a pillow or two.”  Holding one hand up, palm out, Dean caught the lock picks tossed at him out of the air.

 

Checking the corridor, no one had moved around much, Dean threaded one arm through the bars, a few deft turns and their door popped open.  He tossed the picks back to Sam.  He wanted Sam to be able to lock himself in the cell if they were separated again.  The look Sam gave him, picks dangling off his fingers told Dean he didn’t agree.  Inhaling deeply just to keep from slapping that look right off his brother’s face Dean met Sam’s stare.  “Sam, I can’t fight them and you.  Please.  We need to be together on this.”

 

Eyes moving to the floor again, Sam immediately relented.  “Sorry.  I guess fighting each other gets us nowhere.  I didn’t mean…it’s…this is…”

 

“Don’t worry about it.”  Dean’s words skittered to a stop when the color drained from Sam’s face, his eyes slipped from Dean, to behind Dean then back again.  Turning Dean was barely able to conceal his surprise and keep from taking a step back.

 

“Come with me.”  Marlin filled the small doorway.

 

Dean stared him down, careful to keep any emotion from his eyes, his voice.  “Why?”  He heard, was acutely aware of Sam moving up behind him.  Of how the kid’s breath quickened ever so slightly.

 

At once on the alert Dean wondered what transpired between Sam and Marlin between their stop at the bar and now.  Marlin had said, done something to drive a spike of fear through his brother, Dean felt it radiate off Sam to flow along his shoulder blades, down his back.  Dropping his arms so they hung loosely at his sides, Dean took one step sideways putting himself between Marlin and Sam, feet planted firmly.

 

“Ya did good, wasn’t so difficult now was it?”  Marlin folded both arms over his barrel chest, talked to Dean, but let his stone cold gaze settle on Sam.

 

Dean suppressed the ripple wanting to course down his back, spread to his extremities.

 

“Let’s take the tour.”

 

A quick glance back to be sure Sam was with him, Dean nodded. 

 

Marlin’s arm shot out, hand reaching for Sam’s cheek.  “He stays.”

 

Simultaneously Sam’s head jerked back, a harsh sound grumbled from his throat.  Dean’s forearm came up, colliding forcefully with Marlin’s angling the man’s hand down and back.  Sam stood stock still behind him.  Dean felt the slight shift in Sam’s stance, felt him tense up.  What threats Marlin levied against Sam he was unsure, but he had a good idea.

 

“I won.  He goes with me.”  Dean’s voice even, his gaze never wavered from Marlin’s. 

 

“Suit yourself.”  Marlin said with a shrug.

 

Another brief glance back at Sam, Dean nudged his side to draw his attention away from Marlin.  Dean gave his brother a look that read, stick close.  The look Sam offered back was a more than plain, no shit.

 

Once out in the corridor Dean got a full blast of the horror of the situation they were in.  Surrounded by guys who looked like hardened criminals would shy away from and call them bad company, he and Sam were stuck in the worst survival scenario he could ever imagine.  As they moved along, eyes followed them, eyes of men who when they looked Dean up and down made his skin crawl.  Guys who when they sized up Sam, eyed him up and down made Dean shiver, his skin crawl, had him honestly considering killing anyone who came within five feet of his kid brother.

 

“Ya got a day before the next fight.  That’s how it works.”  Marlin said over his shoulder.  “You want to eat, have water, you go there.”  He pointed to a small area off the main corridor.  “You want to work out, go there.”  This time he pointed to what looked like a prison turn out yard, though the door to it stood open.  “Only you.”

 

When Sam started to say something, Marlin stopped so fast Dean nearly collided with him.  He whirled on them, glared behind Dean to Sam.  Dean looked between the two.  Sam clamped his mouth shut, lips a thin, angry line.  Dean turned back to Marlin, stared with cold eyes at the man.  Marlin simply shrugged, again focusing over Dean’s shoulder to Sam, gave them a smirk before swiveling around and striding along the corridor once again.  Sam was close enough, Dean felt the muscles of his forearms bunch and twitch.

 

Dean felt Sam’s eyes pierce the back of his head, “You said a fight.”  Sam spat in his ear.  Dean dared a quick turn of his head to meet Sam’s gaze, arched one eyebrow and shrugged.  Sam wasn’t getting it, Dean had been clear in his explanation, but Sam heard what he’d wanted to hear.  He apparently hadn’t wanted to hear about any more fights.

 

They rounded a corner, into a much narrower hall, this one merely a passageway to some other part of the complex.  The walls were close enough Dean’s shoulders brushed them if he leaned to one side or the other. There were no rooms, or doors along the length.  Footsteps stalked behind them, coming closer, no attempt at quiet.  At the instant the footsteps echoed right up behind them, Dean felt Sam stiffen, jerk to one side, growling no real words.  Spinning around in time to see a hand grab at Sam’s hair, his brother’s reaction was fast and intense.  Hitting both hands solidly against the man’s chest, forcing him back a few steps, Sam surged forward, arm cranked back to strike.  The stranger’s fist dodged under Sam’s arm, slamming into his mid-section, stopping him.  Sam bent nearly in half, staggered back, gasping to pull the air back into his lungs. 

                          

Using the fact Sam was shoved back against him as leverage, Dean grabbed Sam’s arm as he swung his punch, pulled him back, and propelled him into the wall.  Dean wheeled around in front of his brother, everything about him projected one sentiment…Mine!   “NO!”  Dean snapped, harsh and low, holding out one finger, daring this asshole to try something.

 

Ducking the punch aimed at his face, moving Sam with him, Dean wasn’t quite fast enough.  The man’s knuckles grazed the side of his head, just over his left ear.  Black haze clouded in from the sides of his vision, his ears rung, and the narrow hall tilted sickeningly for a few seconds.  Thrown off balance Dean would have fallen, but for the fact he and Sam were both jammed into the same small space.  Sam’s hands under his elbows steadied him.  He felt Sam’s heart hammering against his back, mingling with his own wildly thumping pulse.

 

The guy glared at Dean.  Dean glared back.  Taking a few deep breaths, keeping Sam securely sandwiched between the wall and himself, he repeated, “No.”  This time his voice was harsh and just above a whisper, nothing but pure threat.

 

“My mistake mate.”  The guy backed up a step, but not before throwing them both a cocky smile.

 

Marlin had stood, a few feet up the hall, watching in silence.  His gaze shifted from the man, to the brothers.  He turned on his heels, silently continuing down the hall. 

 

Grabbing Sam’s shoulders, Dean spun him around, shoved him ahead, pressing the knuckles of one hand into Sam’s back as they went.  Ignoring Sam’s protested, “Hey, Dean.”   

 

“You know, when we were kids and I took you to the zoo, I distinctly remember telling you NOT to poke the bears.”  Dean’s voice rose with each word until he barked the last few in Sam’s ear.

 

Dean had never been so happy to walk into what appeared to be a medical clinic in his life.  The door clanked shut behind him, the sound of a lock turning.  For the minute at least Dean might be able to take an easy breath.

 

 

 

---

 

 

 Chapter 5

 

Watching silently as the two young men were brought into his clinic, the door locking behind them, Carter turned his attention to Marlin.  “You need something?”

 

“No.”

 

“I can take it from here.  I’ll call you if I need you.”  Observing the two during his exchange with Marlin, Carter immediately decided the newest arrival was the older brother.  He wondered for a few seconds if there might be others brought in with them, another brother, or friend perhaps.  Then decided no, it was just the two of them.  The looks passing between the young men let Carter know they relied on no one but each other.

 

The younger one, Carter searched his mind for the boy’s name—Sam—the younger one was Sam.  Remembering he’d asked the brother’s name, it thundered into his memory, Dean.

 

Dean, no one had to teach that kid to hide his feelings.  When Carter turned a mild gaze on him, he was met with a cold, unyielding expression.  No hint of what truly lay beneath as Carter saw with Sam.  This one was born with the ability.  Carter was willing to bet it was he who’d taught his younger brother to hide what he thought, how he felt, when needed.  He wondered again, what led to their even needing to be this way.  This new one, Dean, was probably not very much older than Sam, a few years, five or six at most Carter decided.  The man seemed older than his actual years, gave off an air of exactly what Carter couldn’t finger just yet.

 

“You got a day.”  Marlin turned his attention back to Dean.  Crossing the room to the door, Marlin settled a nasty gaze on Sam for a few seconds.  The older brother moved just far enough to put himself between them, meeting Marlin’s cold stare with an equally cold one of his own.

 

Carter nearly sucked in a breath, and let his jaw drop in surprise when Marlin backed down from this newcomer, actually letting his eyes wander the room, took a step back.  It struck Carter, Marlin, maybe all of them, might very well have met their match.  These two actually had a chance of surviving long enough to get out. 

 

In seconds Marlin recovered, pausing at the door, eyes sweeping across the three of them.  Carter had seen this so many times he was long past being intimidated by the man.  “You know how to find me if you need me.”  Marlin bit out, hit the door once.  It was unlocked and opened.  He stepped through, leaving the door unlocked.  All the while Dean’s eyes followed him.

 

Turning just enough to look his brother full in the face, Dean’s expression changed in a barely perceivable way.  Carter watched something again pass between the two as they exchanged a look.  Whatever sort of life they had, one thing was clear, these two were used to, comfortable with, the idea they had no one to depend on but each other.  Carter sensed it had always been that way, would always be that way, and that was the way they wanted it.  He wondered again what brought this about in them, what sort of life they really did have.  They had more than regular bonds for brothers. 

 

Dean’s attention moved back to Carter, giving him a good view of the calm, calculating gaze from green, steel eyes meeting his.  Carter resisted the urge to leave the room.  Instead he pulled a bottle of pain killers off the shelf, tossed it to the older of the two.  Dean caught it out of the air, glanced at it before meeting Carter’s eyes again. 

 

“I have stronger.”  He didn’t expect the offer to be accepted.

 

“No, this is fine.”  Dean’s expression softened a fraction.  Carter found himself taking in a deeper than normal breath in relief.

 

“There’s water in the refrigerator.”  He pointed the direction with his chin.

 

Dean glanced in the direction Carter indicated, but not before he shot another look at his brother.  “Thanks.”  A few long strides brought him to the bottled water. 

 

The fact he took two, handing one to Sam first didn’t get by Carter.  Sam took the offered bottle, small smile that disappeared a second later.  He leaned against the counter, silently watching his brother.  The kid was more relaxed, less wary than he’d been when first brought to Carter.  The reason was crystal clear, his older brother was safe, at least for the moment, and more importantly they were together.  What these two had between them was a formidable weapon, and more than what most had coming in here.  Carter wondered if anyone could break them as long as one had the other.

 

“Let me see those.”  Carter motioned to Sam’s wrists.  “Last thing you want is an infection.”

 

“You a doctor?”  Dean’s words were clipped and hard.

 

“Yes.”  Carter was sure to keep his own tone neutral.

 

Nodding, Dean cracked open the water, tossed two of the pills and water down his throat.  He leaned back against the wall, watching with what appeared a casual expression while Carter cleaned Sam’s wrists, then gave him a tube of ointment to apply.

 

“It’s an antibiotic, bit of steroid in it, will take the sting away.  They should heal up ok.”

 

Sam nodded, “Thanks.”  He rubbed some of the cream on, stuffed the tube into his pocket.

 

Carter focused again on Dean, sighed.  This nut was going to be much more difficult to crack, but he could see he’d made serious headway addressing Sam’s abused wrists, though it was Dean who really needed the attention.  He saw the older brother’s shoulders relax to something closer to normal, a bit of the tension left his stance.

 

Moving to the door, he shoved it closed with his foot, putting himself in an authoritative frame of mind.  He might well be a good bit shorter then either of these two, barely skimming six foot, lighter and far older, but he could be just as tough.  The most prevalent thought he had just then was thank god he’d never needed glasses; it was difficult to keep the tough façade he needed around some of the men here without that attraction.

 

“Name is Carter Bitner, I’m the doctor here.  Marcos Del Villar.  He owns this place, everything and everyone in it.  He’s responsible for you both being here.”  Carter began.  “Del Villar’s got all sorts of connections.  Most the men here were transferred,” his fingers scored the air with quote marks.  “From prisons, some came from other places.  The majority are real nut cases, I’ve lost count of the types of psychosis I’ve seen here over the years.  They hurt just for the joy of it.  There is nothing taboo here, nothing.  You’ll get a day or two between each fight.  There’s food, water, general supplies in the main community area, next to the workout area.  Don’t expect it to be easy to get anything.  The better you do in the arena, the more you’ll get without having to fight for it.”

 

Dean nodded once, “We got the tour.”

 

“How did you get here?”  Sam asked.

 

“I was a doctor, surgeon.  Got cocky, thought I could do anything, knew everything.  A girl died, it was my fault, and I ended up going to prison for it.  I never made it, I landed here instead.  That was fifteen years ago.”

 

“How do we get out?”  Dean asked.

 

Drawing in a deep breath Carter faced him off squarely.  “You die.”

 

+++++

 

“We’re not dying Sammy, not here, not either of us.”  Dean glanced back over his shoulder.  He’d changed from his jeans and shirt to nothing but a pair of black sweat pants once they’d reached the prep area outside the arena.  The doors were open, the fighting arena in full view.

 

“This is nuts, you can’t fight them, not alone.  Let me go in there with you.”

 

Dean stopped, turned to face Sam fully.  “Even if they would go along, no way, I wouldn’t.”

 

“Dean…”

 

“We’ll work on a plan later.”  Dean nodded in the direction of the few men milling around.  Sam understood. They needed to be careful, not let anyone hear, trust no one but each other.

 

“There was a computer in the clinic.”

 

“Yeah, I saw that too.”  Dean bounced on his toes, stretched a bit.

 

Sam glanced at the arena, “Dean.”  A fight between some of the spectators in the cages ringing the arena broke out, drawing both their attention that way.

 

Winding his fingers around Sam’s neck, squeezing gently Dean smiled, tried to be encouraging.  “It’s a fist fight Sammy, how bad can it hurt?  I don’t like this either, but until we can find a way out, we have to play along.  I’m not risking what could happen if we—I, don’t.”

 

“What could happen, what did they tell you?”

 

“Mr. Personality, Marlin, was pretty specific on what could happen to you if I didn’t do what was required.  So, Sam, you and me both, we’re gonna suck it up and do this.”

 

“I don’t need you fighting battles for me, how many times do we have to do this?”  Sam’s voice dropped, thickened, anger flooded his face, eyes. 

 

“No Sam.”  Giving Sam a gentle shake, “No.  Don’t look all bitchy on me.  After I get my ass kicked and handed back to me someone has to get me out, that someone would be you.  Find us a way out of this hell hole Sammy, and I’ll occupy their attention.  Hopefully get us some freedom.  Sam we need to be together on this, stick together, on everything.”

 

Before Sam could offer more arguments…because heaven knew the kid could argue something all day…Dean walked to the entrance of the arena, before going in he turned, glanced back at his brother.   Sam stood, looking some mix of pissed off and lost, watching Dean walk away.  One brief nod, Dean winked, flashed his brother a quick smile and a thumbs up.  Returning his nod, Sam gave him half a smile and a soulful expression.  As he went in he caught a glimpse of Sam moving to a bench where he’d be able to watch and stay in the prep area and away from the main population.

 

The noise from the men in the surrounding cages, the spectators, was as before deafening.  Dean ignored it, closing his mind to everything other than the man he faced.  He’d been given no instructions, no win or lose.  Dean would hang upside down from the rafters and imitate a punching bag if they wanted him to, as long as Sam was left alone, safe.  Unless he was told otherwise, he’d fight to win.

 

Sweat trickled down his back, across his shoulder blades, as he moved in, muscles taut and ready.  Dean usually had the same advantage Sam did, though not to the same extent, taller, with a longer reach than most his opponents. Combined with speed and well honed skills, Dean’s greatest advantage was his ability to convince himself he wouldn’t lose, no matter what.  This opponent wasn’t unusual, other than he probably out weighed Dean by a good fifty pounds.

 

Wasting no time circling or challenging, Dean moved in fast.  He wanted to get this done, preferably with a minimal amount of pounding on him.  He’d been in plenty of bar room brawls, this was no different really.  Moving in quick, a few punches to the guy’s gut in rapid succession, Dean had him spun around, arm cranked behind his back, Dean shoved up with all he had.

 

“Heh, like it rough do you?  How’s that little boy of yours like it, that way too?”  The guy snarled out, then sucked in a breath, gulping a pained noise back into his throat when Dean cranked again on his wrist and arm.

 

“You’re real funny.”  Dean snapped in his ear.  Bringing his knee up, he drove it into the back of the guy’s knee, dropping him to the ground, stepping back half a foot. The noise from the surrounding cages escalated, if that was even possible.  Something flashed higher up along the wall, for a split second his attention was drawn there. 

 

Pulling his arm back, going for a well placed punch that would hopefully knock his opponent out, he caught sight of Sam being shoved into one of the cages.  Grabbed, and forced to his knees near the cross bars, Sam elbowed his captor in the shins.  The man’s hand came down and slammed the side of Sam’s head, forcing him still.  Fingers grabbed Sam’s hair, forcing him to watch the arena.

 

The man in his grip used those few seconds of distraction to twist around far enough and kick Dean’s legs out from under him.  Hitting the ground with enough pain and force to leave him breathless for a few seconds, he took a few hard, pounding hits to his abdomen, before managing to roll clear.

 

Hearing Sam’s single shouted, “Dean!” He ignored it, ignored Sam.  It hurt worse than the punches to do that, but if he was distracted again they’d both suffer for it.  No way was a pack of sickos going to make his kid brother sit and watch him being beaten to a pulp, watch him lose.

 

As the other man moved in on him, Dean curled up his legs, kicked out with enough force to throw the man back several feet.  Up and moving, Dean pounced on the man, hitting first under the man’s ribs, then smashing his fist into the man’s face with power enough power to render him unconscious.

 

Standing, he gave into the impulse to kick the man’s ribs before stepping away. 

 

Dean turned, searched out his brother.  Sam was no longer in the cage.  Getting the signal to return to the prep area, Dean stalked the distance, eyes focused ahead, ignoring the shouts aimed at him.  When he reached the outer part, away from the arena he relaxed, rolled his head on his shoulders and came face to face with the realization Sam was nowhere to be seen.

 

Sam was gone.

 

 

---

 

Chapter 6

 

 

Not even a few minutes into this fight, and Marlin saw Mr. Del Villar give the signal, the lone flash from a light mounted near his observation booth.  This new guy, this Dean, was already chosen as one of his personal fighters.  It’d taken Marlin months to attain that status.  Months!  Now this newcomer, a man he brought in no less, was taking over.  He’d moved almost immediately to the position of one of Del Villar’s chosen. 

 

He’d hurt the man. Make him suffer in ways only dreamt of in nightmares.  Marlin wanted Dean to suffer, and he knew just how to do it too.  He couldn’t touch the boy with Dean, his brother, but he had plenty of ways to make him hurt.  Make them both hurt.  If this Dean guy thought he was coming in here and taking over he was sadly mistaken.  Marlin planned to teach him a lesson he’d never forget.

 

And the little brother, Sam, he was going to help.

 

Using the end of the match for cover Marlin had Sam out of the cage and ushered away from the arena part of the complex in minutes.  He’d follow the rules; the kid wouldn’t be hurt, not really.  Marlin sure planned to put fear into him, make sure he understood once and for all who Marlin was, how important he was, and what could happen if the brothers didn’t do what Marlin required of them.  He’d given the boy a few hints, showed him Marlin deserved the fear he inspired and more.

 

This time was more. It was what Marlin wanted this kid here for in the first place.  This was for pure pleasure.

 

He prepared carefully, keeping Sam blindfolded, bound until everything was just perfect.  Marlin had seen the younger of the two brothers, Sam, at the bar, noticed him the minute the kid walked through the door.  Even though he arrived at the bar, settled across the room from the pool tables, nearly fifteen minutes after Dean, Marlin was fairly certain they traveled together.  He’d seen what most others never would, the covert, silent looks passing between the younger and older man.  How the older one kept watch over him, how he returned the favor.  Well there’d be no one to watch over him for the next few hours.

 

Marlin hadn’t known at first what sort of relationship they shared, but theirs was a deep, powerful bond.  Finding out they were brothers, seeing how they depended on each other, that just made it sweeter.   As skilled at hiding his emotions the new fighter was, Marlin saw at once he couldn’t hide them when they concerned his brother.  Toying with Sam for a while in the bar gave him such a deep satisfaction, watching the kid squirm, watching his older brother struggle to keep at bay what Marlin knew…knew…his own actions toward Sam that night in the bar did to Dean.  Watching them suffer because of each other sent a thrill through Marlin, ignited every nerve ending until his whole body quivered and shook with delight.

 

So he’d prepared quickly, efficiently.  This time was just for himself, himself and a kid named Sam.

 

+++++

 

Sam recognized Marlin’s bitter odor, rough hands the minute the man came close to him.  Marlin gripped his bicep, fingers digging in painfully when Sam recoiled out of sheer reflex alone.  This man made his skin crawl, literally, as few things he’d encountered ever had.  Led a short distance, still blindfolded Sam tripped and stumbled.  Each time his arm was yanked, Marlin’s hot breath against his ear with threats of retaliation, should he not keep up the pace. 

 

They’d gone through two doors before stopping.  There was a slight temperature change. This room was much warmer than anywhere else in the complex.  Sam suspected it wasn’t part of the main area, and the ventilation wasn’t as good as the inner section.  Shoved to a chair, arms securely bound behind him, though the gag was left in his mouth the blindfold was removed.

 

He was in an empty space, maybe some sort of garage, or storage area.  With Marlin.  Wonderful. 

 

Sam immediately took a look around, cataloging everything about the room, its possible location.  He could see sunlight filtering from high, small windows.  There was no sunlight, no windows in part of the complex he’d been in.  Nor were there any in the clinic.  The room was just a barren space. There was nothing he could use as a weapon, no escape route readily visible.

 

“Just you and me.  Again.”

 

Looking up, Sam shivered despite the heat, despite willing himself not to.  Marlin blocked a rather large part of his view of the room.  Straightening, he pulled his head away from the man’s foul breath.  The back of the chair stopped him from moving more than a few inches, his hands held fast in cuffs behind the chair back.  Cuffs locked his ankles to the chair legs.  Rope he might have been able to free himself from eventually, or at least gotten some wiggle room.  But cuffs, cuffs were impossible. 

 

Sam was well and truly trapped.

 

Marlin bent in front of him, grasping Sam’s chin, turning his head so Sam had no choice but to look straight at him.  Marlin’s face inches from his, breath moist and warm on Sam’s skin.  His free hand moved behind Sam, fingers skimmed up his neck before winding in Sam’s hair, pulling his head around.

 

“Let’s just have a chat, have some fun.  You…” he gave Sam’s head a slight shake.  “Me and brother Dean.”  Still holding onto Sam’s hair, Marlin sidestepped far enough for Sam to have a clear view of the area just in front.

 

There was a table, a man…Dean?...arms tied down at his sides.  His knees bent making it difficult to judge how tall he might be, ropes around his ankles anchored somewhere under the table. A black hood covered his head, neck and shoulders.  He, the man, wore nothing but a pair of black sweat pants.  Isn’t Dean, can’t be, not enough time.  Or had there been?  Dean wore black sweat pants into the match.  The man moved slightly, toes twitching, trying to flex his arms free.  The muffed noises from under the hood led Sam to think he wasn’t coherent enough to make words, just moans and rumbles.  Not enough for Sam to know for sure the voice wasn’t Dean’s.

 

Marlin’s finger ran under Sam’s jaw, pulling his attention away from the man on the table.  Flinching away from the touch Sam could only glare; the harsh words he spit out were caught and jumbled by the mouth gag.

 

“Yeah.”  Marlin sniggered, patted Sam’s cheek before he could jerk his head to the side.  “I thought so.”  Moving away from Sam, toward the table, Marlin bent, picked something off the floor.

 

Holding it up for Sam to see, making the younger man straighten in the chair, struggle against his bonds despite knowing it was a futile effort, Marlin ran one finger along the side, not quite touching the blade he held.  Sam’s breathing was nothing but stuttering jerks, he knew what sort of knife that was, hell he owned one, though he’d never used it.  Sam didn’t do a lot of gutting. He wasn’t sure why he even had his.

 

Marlin grinned at him; eyes sparkled like a little kid on Christmas morning.  The knife he held by a solid black, dull handle; there was a shiny band of gold at the base, and another near the blade.  The six inch blade itself was a glistening contrast to the handle.  Smooth, glossed stainless steel, Sam saw the finely honed cutting edge, how it reflected the light a bit differently.  Broadening out near the tip, the cutting edge was hair thin, smooth, lethal, hungry to cut, sharp enough to slip with ease through flesh, devouring everything in its path.  The sharp tip arched gracefully around to a curved hook, maybe an inch in length with its own razor-sharp edge, its own desires radiated just as vibrantly.

 

Sam dragged his eyes from the blade to Marlin’s face.  The man’s eyes were a bit wide, from excitement, not fear. They glistened and shone too brightly.  His face had a thin sheen of sweat, breath quickening when he licked his lips, gaze sliding between Sam and the table…man on the table.  Sam’s stomach knotted viciously, making his insides hurt and protest self imposed abuse.  Hot burning liquid crept up his throat, making him swallow hard and push out big puffs of air around the gag.

 

“See, I picked you the other night, picked you special Sam.  The minute I saw you I knew we’d have so much fun.  Too bad for your brother you didn’t think I was worth your time then.”

 

All this, Sam wondered, because he’d blown off the guy in a bar?

 

Marlin crossed the room, was next to Sam in a few strides.  He was close enough Sam felt the heat rising off the man, the soft tremors of thrill going through his arms, chest.  Sam tried pulling away, there was nowhere to go.  Hand in his hair again, Marlin forced Sam’s face right up to the point of the blade.  He turned it slowly, giving Sam a view from all angles. 

 

“A beauty isn’t it?”

 

One convulsive nod was all Sam could manage.

 

“You don’t seem too excited by my favorite knife.  See, I’m not so excited by how you and your brother here have been acting.  Trying to find a way out.  Expected I suppose. You think I can’t get to you, either of you whenever…”  His mouth pressed close to Sam’s ear, words hot and moist. “However I want?  Do whatever pleases me?”

 

Sam concentrated on stopping the trembling taking over his entire body.  It didn’t work.

 

“Let’s just see how this knife does on brother Dean’s tough hide.”

 

Shouting, “NO!” Through the gag, it came out a deep roar.  “Please….NO!”  The words were known only to Sam, the sounds getting beyond the gag too jumbled to make sense.  He jerked side to side uselessly.  Completely panicked, his eyes darted from Marlin to the man on the table, to the gutting knife and back again.  His vision swam, tears spilt over, impossible to stop, his breathing deteriorated to something ragged and broken.

 

Marlin’s grin widened. 

                                                                                                                                                                 

Stepping back to the table without preamble, Marlin drove the tip if the knife into the man’s flesh in the center of his abdomen just over his hips.  Sam tried shouting more pleas to stop, the rough material in his mouth scraped over his dry tongue, against drier lips.  The man shouted, screamed, back arching, feet slapping against the table, muscles visible along his chest and arms went tight.

 

It’s Dean’s voice…no, not, not deep enough, maybe…Sam wasn’t sure.  The screams escalated when Marlin angled the knife slightly down to the man’s skin, and ripped up.  Screams surrounded Sam, the man’s…Dean’s?...his own, he wasn’t sure.  They closed in around him, pressing against his head, threatening to crush his skull.  Sweat, tears, he had no idea what it was trickled down his face, along his neck, over his collar bone.  Something clammy slipped down his back.  Breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t hold his breath either.  His ribcage expanded, contracted, wet sobs rolled out from somewhere deep inside him, he was barely aware of them.

 

Hardly conscious of Marlin’s movements, Sam watched lines of blood trickle from the slash created by the knife.  Black closed in, Sam squeezed his eyes shut, sobbing, helpless to stop the man—his brother?—from being cut apart.

 

“Oh no boyo.”

 

Sam heard Marlin’s steps close in on him, silently begged Marlin to plunge that knife into his chest, anything to make him stop what he was doing to the man…Dean?  Marlin’s rough fingers grabbed his chin, shaking hard.  “You watch, you watch every minute.  This is your fault and you will watch or I’ll do this so it lasts for days.”

 

Looking up at Marlin, Sam barely croaked out any sound at all.  He could do this to someone for days? Sam had no clue.  But the man bound to the table was still alive, there was still some chance. 

 

“This brother of yours thinks he can come in and take over.  Thinks he can keep me from you.  You’re gonna learn otherwise.”

 

Marlin was back at the table, fingers wound around the knife handle, digging into the soft flesh, cutting through as if it were a starved beast with no other thought than to feed.  Jerking and stopping, eyes traveling to Sam every few seconds, Marlin’s laughter mixed with the man’s screams.  The sounds coming from the table softened with each yank of the hooked blade; turned to agonized whimpers….then stopped.

 

Sam’s entire body felt as if crushed in a vice, nothing made sense, there were screams, then not.  Blood oozed from the length of the man’s body…long enough to be Dean’s?  Looked the right build, but…Dean?  One thin line from somewhere near his middle flowed a bit more actively, pooling on the table, and dripping off in slow, drawn out threads.  The knife made a sickening sound as it caught on bone near the man’s chest.  Marlin giggled with delight, he had to twist and turn it, work it free.

 

“Ohh, that really had to hurt, don’t ya think so Sam?”  Marlin’s fingers clamped around his neck, brushed through his hair, across his ear, “Just think what fun we’ll have when it’s just you and me, no Dean to look out for you.”

 

Without warning he was on hands and knees on the floor, free of the cuffs.  Before he could react to the fact he was free, Sam was hauled to his feet, a thick, powerful fist slammed into him, catching ribs as it drove him back.  Sam stumbled away, crashed into the table with enough force to move it, causing everything to tilt and spin.  Sam crumpled to the floor, fingers yanking frantically on the mouth gag, pulling it over his head and off.  Again rough hands grabbed at him, Sam scuttled away out of reach. 

 

Marlin was right after him, grabbing Sam’s hair, yanking his head around to face Marlin’s, then shoving him the opposite direction, to see the man, body, on the table.  Pulling a pistol from behind his back, Marlin stood, pulling Sam partially up with him.  One shot into the man’s skull, Sam was forced to watch as the body twitched, toes wriggling, his head jerked a bit under the hood.  His entire torso convulsed, fingers bound to the table curled then extended. His chest stopped moving.

 

Sam lurched far enough forward to grab the hood and jerk it away, falling backwards, catching himself on his free hand, then kicking himself farther from the table.  “Dean.”  He could barely get the word out.  Grey hair, blue eyes…grey hair, blue eyes…”I-itsss n-not D-deeen.”  The sound of his own voice startled him.  Not Dean, it wasn’t Dean, his brother was younger, had blonde hair, green eyes.  Sam lifted his eyes to Marlin’s, glared at his tormentor with the coldest stare he could muster.  “He’ll kill you when he finds out.  You’re scared shitless of him or you’d never have done this.”  Sam hissed from between clenched teeth.

 

Grabbed from behind, lifted up and again a fist slammed into his gut, doubling him over.   “You listen up kid,” Marlin snarled in his ear, “Next time it is Dean.  One word, you breathe one word, it’s him.  You two don’t follow the rules, play my way, it’s him.”  Let go so fast Sam dropped to the floor as Marlin moved off.  “Then it’s just you and me.”

 

One arm wrapped around his middle, Sam stood, swaying and staggering across the room, shouting.  Marlin laughed, slipped through the door, slamming it shut behind him.

 

Sam was alone.  He turned back to the man…Dean’s alive, alive, he’s alive…there was nothing Sam could do for this other poor man.  Spinning, anger surging through him like an electric shock he smashed his fist against the door. “Come back here you goddamn bastard, hit me now!  I’m not tied up, hit me now!”

 

The door flew open, banged against the outer wall and swung partially shut.

 

Straightening, Sam stared at it.  Leaning forward he inched out, looking at the corridor.  The empty corridor.  Sam got a few feet down the corridor before his knees began jumping wildly, his heart hammered.  Unable to bear his own weight he slid down the wall, head back, panting in huge gulps of air, nausea swirled up from his middle, wrapped around his throat, threatening to choke him.

 

Finally, he didn’t know how long, his head stopped spinning, the pain in his middle eased enough and his legs cooperated enough he could stand up.  Leaning one shoulder against the wall, Sam started walking.  He had no idea where he was in the complex, or how to get back.  Find Dean…he chanted it over and over in his head. 

 

Coming to a junction in the corridor Sam rolled to one side, found himself looking at the desert, at outside.  It was a huge door, the kind for trucks to pull into. Wire gating was the only thing between him and freedom.  He’d find Dean, they could cut through this…somehow…they could get out.  Staggering forward the few steps, Sam’s fingers wound through the gating, he immediately jumped back, yelping, and grabbing one hand with the other.

 

It was electrified.

 

A quick scan of the immediate area didn’t show him any power source or fuse box, but there had to be a way to shut this off.  It had to be plugged into something.

 

He had to find Dean, and do it fast.  Having no idea how long he’d been gone, he knew by now Dean would be frantic looking for him.  The last thing Sam wanted was Dean dying for real.  He pushed off the wall, just picked a direction and walked.  The place couldn’t be that big, he’d find his way back sooner or later, hopefully sooner.

 

They’d get out, or die trying.

 

 

---

 

 Chapter 7

 

Dean made a fast search of the prep area.  They’d taken Sam out before he’d finished the other fight, so the fact his brother wasn’t here now was disturbing, but not wholly unexpected.  Making his way to their cell, Dean hoped Sam had done as he’d asked, gone there, locked himself in. When he discovered it empty his stomach knotted up to a hard, burning ball.  He headed back to the main area, checking the supply room, Sam wasn’t there either. 

 

Flat out commanding that neither of them go anywhere in here without the other had gotten no arguments from Sam.  His younger brother never openly defied him a day in his life, Dean didn’t expect him to start in here.  The few times Dean truly put his foot down, refused to relent or out and out issued an order to Sam, the kid always went along willingly.  He’d bitch about it all the way, but he’d go.

 

Ducking into the work out room, an older man was there.  He looked up, surprised to see someone it seemed.  Nodding at Dean, he was cleaning the equipment.  A fast scan of the room showed no one else in it.

 

“You don’t want to be in here laddie.”

 

That surprised Dean.  “Why?”

 

“Never want to work out where others can see what you can do, what you have.  Keep it to your quarters; find somewhere out of the way.”

 

“Yeah, thanks, I’ll remember that.”  Dean decided it actually made sense.  “Anyone else come in here today, the last couple hours?”

 

The man bent down, made some adjustment to a Nautilus, straightened and looked Dean up and down.  “You mean the kid with you?”

 

“I mean him.  My brother.”

 

“Nope.”  The man shook his head.  “But then Marlin wasn’t in here either.”

 

Dean was about to thank the man for the information he’d just offered, probably at the risk of injury, when he felt a presence behind him, saw the old man’s stance, demeanor change, his gaze dropped to the floor.  Dean didn’t turn around. He did ball both hands into fists, tensed and prepared to strike out.

 

“You have things to do elsewhere Harry.”  Marlin’s voice was hard, and not more than a foot from Dean.

 

“Yes sir, Mr. Marlin.”  Sliding past the two men, Dean offered small smile, nod of thanks as Harry slipped out the door.

 

Dean swallowed, turned slowly on the balls of his feet, stared emotionless at Marlin.  Drawing in a deep breath he kept his voice, low, lethal, all business.  “Where’s Sam?”

 

Marlin made a big show of moving his eyes around the room.  “Not here.  But I’m sure he’ll show up.  Eventually.”  He smirked, folding his hands in front of himself.  “Mr. Del Villar wants to see you.” 

 

Dean leaned back when Marlin reached for him, moved his arm away.  “I’m not going anywhere until I know where Sam is.”

 

A toothy grin and bad breath came with the response, “I honestly don’t know where he is just now.”

 

“You hurt him, so much as touch him and I’ll—“

 

“You’ll what?”  Marlin openly taunted.  “And how do you know I haven’t already?  Touched him?  Tastes so very sweet he does.”

 

Dean ground his teeth together, took one step back and in the next instant brought his fist up, slamming it into Marlin’s jaw.  His knuckles scraping across the man’s face, making Dean’s skin sting and bite.  The beefy man was caught off guard, staggered back, hitting the wall.  He’d slid halfway down before bouncing to his feet, coming at Dean like a charging bull.  Head down, roaring wordlessly Marlin rushed him, slamming into Dean.  

 

Flung backwards, thrown completely off balance, their combined momentum sent both men crashing over a lifting bench.  The clang and clatter of the bar and plates plummeting to the floor made Dean’s ears ring.  Multiple points on his back protested from sheer pain when he hit the sharp framework of the bench.  Marlin’s knee slammed into Dean’s leg just under his knee.  A throbbing blossomed there, spread down his leg, the denim of his jeans scratched and chafed a raw spot.  Clenching teeth against the pained howl wanting out, Dean brought his fist up, hitting Marlin’s head repeatedly; making the sore, abused skin on his hand hurt more. 

 

Straddling Dean, Marlin reared back to land his fists again. Bucking his hips, partially tossing the man off, Dean stretched one arm, fingers finding one of the free weights they’d sent smashing to the floor.  Grabbing the plate he cracked it against Marlin’s ear, eliciting an angry, satisfyingly painful snarl as the man dropped away from him. Rolling to his feet, Dean was moving at his opponent at once, striking hard and fast at the other man.  Ignoring the pain he caused himself each time his fist landed on Marlin, the ache and sting going from each connecting blow straight up to Dean’s shoulders.  He drove Marlin back, grabbed one of his wrists, spun the man around and slammed him face first into a wall.  His free hand punched twice into Marlin’s kidneys.

 

“You damn well better not have…”  Dean growled in Marlin’s ear.

 

The beefy man groaned and laughed.  “One more move and that boy goes so far out in the desert his bones won’t be found for centuries.”

 

With a snarl Dean shoved away from the other man, panting harsh and deep, forcing himself still.  Marlin straightened, wiped the back of one hand across his mouth, then over his jeans.  Bringing his fist up, he drove it into Dean’s face, making the world gyrate and whirl, sending him spinning to the floor.  He hit with a hard, aarruufff, catching himself on his hands just before his face slammed the floor.  Biting his lip to keep any noise escaping, Dean slowly gathered his arms and legs, pulling them under him, lifting his torso off the floor.

 

“I said,” Marlin’s foot shoved against Dean’s side, rolling him to his back.  “Mr. Del Villar is waiting for you.”

 

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.”  Dean grumbled, with an effort straightened, and climbed slowly to his feet.  Muscles along his back, ribs, legs ached more than when he’d fought in the arena.  There at least he’d been able to stretch, warm up.  Marlin’s hand reached for Dean’s arm, stopped by the menacing glare Dean produced. 

 

With a shrug Marlin turned, not even checking to see if Dean followed or not, he stalked the corridors, leading Dean to the upper level of the complex.  Stopping at a wood door, he knocked once, waited with hands clasped behind his back.

 

They were let into what Dean could only describe as an office.  A neat, upscale, plush office, complete with muscle-bound goons on either side of the door.  The dark wood paneling went three quarter the way up the walls, the top part painted a deep green.  Three walls were adorned with paintings, ugly paintings in garish colors.  Sam had done better with finger paints when he was two, Dean decided.  The third wall was covered with animal heads and trophies.  An Oriental rug (Dean was willing to bet it was authentic) covered most the floor, cherry wood flooring peeked out from the area near the walls.  The room was lit with lamps placed every few feet, their light a cheery yellow glow.  Dean was disappointed, no fire place.

 

The man he faced, Marcos Del Villar, was just as neat and upscale as his room.  He might very well be the neatest looking man Dean had ever seen; nothing…absolutely nothing was out of place.  Shorter than Dean by a half foot, compact, muscular build—the man had probably boxed, fought—cold light brown eyes and short (neatly cut) brown and gray hair, he looked the picture of nice, normal businessman.

 

Dean resisted the urged to hop right over the large, cherry wood antique, neat desk and seriously muss the guy up.

 

Del Villar motioned to one of the two leather, wing-backed chairs in front of the desk.  When Dean didn’t move from his spot in the middle of the room the man shrugged, “Suit yourself.”  He sat behind his desk, folding his hands, neatly, on the desk in front of him.

 

“Where’s my brother?”

 

“So much for pleasantries.”  Del Villar’s eyes flicked to Marlin and back to Dean.  “I’m sure he’s safe and snug.”

 

“He’s not with me, he’s not safe.”  Dean spoke measured and even.

 

“Everyone in here knows the rules.  Everyone follows them.”  This time Del Villar aimed a pointed stare at Marlin for a few seconds.   “He’s wandered off and gotten himself lost, but no one will bother him.  Not as long as you do what I need you to do.”

 

Dean damn well knew Sam hadn’t wandered anywhere.  On a regular day Sam never just wandered off, both brothers being dependable in that regard, each letting the other know where they were, and with whom.  It had been that way as far back as Dean could remember.

 

“I’ve already gotten the pep rally.”

 

“You’ve been added to my personal collection of fighters.  That will afford you some extra,” another glance at Marlin, “Privileges.  I suggest using them wisely.”

 

“Oh, well another star to my resume.”  Dean replied, yawning for effect.

 

Del Villar ignored the remark and the yawn.  “I’m sure you’ll find your brother right where you left him.  Anything beyond that for him, or you, is entirely up to you.”

 

Dean had to admit the man wasn’t bad, but he’d verbally sparred with demons, and more importantly Sam.  Sam being the better opponent by far.   “How many fights exactly is it I have to win before we’re let out?”

 

“That’s not one of the perks.”  Del Villar actually smiled at the question.

 

“Surprise, surprise.”

 

“Don’t give me any trouble, or you’ll be very, very sorry.”

 

Palms firmly against the back of one of the chairs, leaning forward Dean snapped, “If you didn’t want trouble from me then you shouldn’t have let big and brainless here grab my kid brother and bring us both here.”

 

Dean caught a definite twitch of one corner of Del Villar’s mouth.  “You’re here now.  Your brother is here now.  Guess you’ll both have to make the best of it.  His safety is all up to you.”

 

Really done with the repeated threat Dean was about to give this dickhead his opinion of it when a sharp cough behind him accompanied fingers wrapping around his bicep.  Turning he yanked free of Marlin’s grip, gave Del Villar one final scrutiny over his shoulder before stalking out the door. 

 

Losing track of Marlin, Dean went immediately to the prep area outside the arena, the last place he’d seen Sam.

 

“Dean.”  Sam’s voice was raw, husky and had a definite edge to it.  Ducking out of the arena Sam was next to him in a flash, looking haggard and shaky, but otherwise all right.

 

“Are you ok?  I’ve been looking all over for you.  Where were you?  Did anyone-”  His words faded away, realizing Sam was no longer focused on him, but at some point over Dean’s shoulder.  He’d gone completely still.  “Sam.”  Dean lightly touched his brother’s arm, drawing Sam’s eyes to his.

 

“Y-yeah.  I’m fine.”  Sam’s voice was barely above a whisper.

 

Dean turned slowly, moving sideways in front of Sam, a surge of pride swelling through him.  The kid might have been scared to death of Marlin, but he sure wouldn’t back down either.  Standing between them, Dean glared, again projecting MINE from every pore.  Marlin smirked, snorted a half laugh and backed off.  He gave Sam one final stare before turning and leaving.

 

“What did he do to you?”  Dean asked without turning around.  He felt Sam’s breathing slow as he took a few deep breaths, held them and let them out again.

 

“Nothing.”

 

This time Dean turned to face his brother before asking again, “What did he do to you?” 

 

Sam’s lack of response was pretty much all Dean needed.  He’d gotten two steps before Sam grabbed his shirt, tugging back.  “Dean, no.  He just hit me, that’s it.  Leave it alone.”

 

Whirling back to face Sam he didn’t get the chance to say anything.

 

“Nothing more than a bar fight Dean.”  Sam threw his own words back at him.  “He didn’t even have a chair to hit me with.”  Dean really hated having his own argument tossed back in his face.  “Don’t you dare go off half cocked and leave me alone in here.  Don’t you dare.”

 

The expression Sam wore when he forced the last words out, stopped Dean cold.  His insides rearranged themselves, bit into each other with frigid teeth.  Marlin had indeed done something to Sam, and Dean doubted this was the first time.  He didn’t know what, and Sam, for whatever reason, wouldn’t say.  One sure feeling Dean had was Sam’s silence wasn’t his choice.

 

“C’mon.”  Turning, he took the sleeve of Sam’s shirt, not letting go until they were back in their cell and locked in.  “Looks like the welcome basket arrived.”  Piled on the floor were blankets, a case of bottled water and some food.

 

“Oh goody.”  Wincing, Sam slid down one wall across from the barred door.

 

Dean watched for a minute.  Taking one of the blankets he hung it over the bars.  Focusing his attention again on his brother he saw Sam at once relax.  “Let me see.”  Settling beside Sam he lifted his shirt, gingerly probed the bruising under his brother’s ribs.

 

Digging in his pocket Sam tossed the antiseptic Carter had given him onto Dean’s lap.  “You look like you’ve been hit by a freight train.”  Stretching his legs out, Sam relaxed a bit more, leaning more heavily against Dean’s shoulder than the wall.

 

“Probably feel better if I had.”  Dean leaned his head back against the wall.  Lifting the arm Sam leant on; Dean bumped the top of Sam’s head until he pulled it forward, Dean’s forearm slid between his head and the wall.  “Sam…”

 

“Drop it.  Please?”  Grinning suddenly, “You’ve hit me way harder.  Marlin hits like a girl.”

 

Having been hit by Marlin, Dean knew the statement wasn’t true, but he decided not to press the issue.

 

“I found an access to the outside.  But it’s electrified.  Couldn’t find the power source.”

 

“There’s a computer in the clinic.”

 

“Hmm.  Might be helpful.”  Sam’s words slurred ever so slightly, his voice thick, a yawn made him wince again.

 

“We go back to the clinic then.”

 

“You do have that freight train collision look.”

 

“Sammy, gimme my arm back, it’s starting to fall asleep.”  Dean wiggled his fingers, trying to keep what little circulation he had there going.  “And that was the only thing on me not hurting.”

 

“You put it there.”  Sam mumbled, shifting down farther, putting more pressure on Dean’s arm.  “They didn’t give us any pillows.”

 

Dean could tell by the way Sam’s words drew out, softened with each syllable he was adrenaline crashing just as fast as Dean was.  A minute later Sam’s breathing evened out, deepened and softened.  Dean’s arm was stuck until the kid decided to wake up.  What was one more ache at this point anyway?  His final thoughts as he too gave into crashing adrenaline and dropped to sleep was they had a plan.

 

They were going to get out.

 

 

---

 

 

Chapter 8

 

“You think you can find the access door again?”  Dean asked, for the second time, adding a poke to Sam’s foot with his toe hoping to grab his sibling’s attention.  Trying not to wince every time he moved his legs was a challenge.

 

Sam looked up from the food they’d been left, nodded, “Yeah.”  His voice was rough and soft.  Not a combination Dean cared for at all, it meant there was too much wandering around in Sam’s head.

 

“Let’s check that out before anything else.”  Stretching, turning his torso side to side until his spine popped Dean took a minute to rub grating, swollen wrists, working to rotate them, grimacing from joints giving him only a partial range of motion.  “Ahhh.”  Dean exhaled in stutters, “Better.” 

 

Sam simply looked at him, sort of smiled and dropped his gaze to his lap while he ate.  “Uh huh.  Sure.”

 

Dean sighed.  “Sam.”      

 

“We’re gonna suck it up and do what we have to and get out.  Remember?  So stop asking if I’m ok.  He hit me Dean, that’s it. I promise he didn’t do anything else to me.”  There was no heat or malice behind Sam’s words.  The enunciation of the word ‘to’ left a seriously bad taste in Dean’s mouth.  Simple fact was whatever had gone on while Sam was with Marlin was going to stay inside Sam’s head for now.  The fact his brother had been threatened, somehow, to enforce that silence ate at Dean relentlessly, viciously, chewing a considerable hole in his middle from the inside out. It would take a lot of threatening to stop Sam from confiding in him.

 

Stretching again, standing and moving his legs back and forth, adding a few knee bends to work the kinks out Dean nodded.  “Ok Sam.”  He’d gotten sleep, though neither of them had any idea if it was day or night, nor exactly how long beyond a few days they’d been there.  The lights inside never changed, they were on all the time. 

 

Sleeping on concrete hadn’t exactly helped sooth already achy muscles and joints.  Wiggling his fingers was an exercise in anguish, but if he didn’t move them, do something for the pain and stiffness, his hands would be useless in the next fight.  Punches hurt long after the hit was complete.  At least bleeding from the cracked skin had pretty much eased off…for now.  He’d cleaned them with the bottled water, was happy for the cream Carter gave Sam.  His kid brother was more than willing to share.  Waking every few hours hadn’t exactly helped stave off his weariness.  It was his weariness, and waking every few hours responsible for Sam’s guilt-laden attitude.

 

“You going to tell me about them?”

 

A sharp shake of Sam’s head, “I don’t really remember much.”  He said without looking up.

 

Demons might lie, but so does Sam Winchester…only badly.  “Uh-huh.”  Dean caught the sheepish expression when Sam looked up, gaze dropping a second later.  “It’s ok Sammy.”   He reached down, patted Sam’s shoulder.  “How about while we’re out looking for that door, and its power source, we find somewhere to take a shower that doesn’t include an audience?”

 

That earned him a brighter look, a more enthusiastic nod.  Dean squatted down, resting his weight on his heels.  Reaching out, he lightly tapped Sam’s knee, “You know there isn’t anything you can’t tell me.  Right?”

 

Sam’s eyes warmed, he smiled in earnest this time.  “Yes.”  

 

Fully expecting Sam to add there wasn’t anything to tell, Dean watched him for a few seconds before realizing that was all Sam was going to say.  Pushing to his full height again, he stretched some more.  Whether Sam remembered the exact details of the nightmares he’d had or not, Dean was never sure. One thing was certain, the kid always knew what caused them and what they were about, if not the exact details.

 

Three times Dean had been woken up, though the last two Sam maybe really didn’t remember, he’d barely thrashed, and only grumbled, not screamed in his sleep.  The first time, in his haste to shut Sam up, not draw attention to them, Dean mistakenly pounced on the kid, clapping a hand over his mouth, which brought a fresh round of pain from his swollen hands.  Not completely awake, not realizing it was Dean, Sam panicked and fought.  There were a few tense minutes of wrestling before Dean got his brother pinned down, woken up and shut up.  Consistently Dean’s name was screamed, whimpered or sobbed out of Sam’s mouth, his pleading for something, during the nightmares.  That combined with fighting in the corridor outside their quarters, and no un-bruised part of his body to lie on made for one restless stretch of trying to sleep for Dean.  Whatever transpired between Marlin and Sam, Dean had been a major component.  He suspected, and dearly hoped, that once they were out, free of this place and far away, Sam would give him all the details Dean so desperately needed, answer his questions.

 

“How many hours till you fight again?”

 

Dean shrugged, “I think a good fifteen or twenty.”  He glanced at his watch being careful to turn his arm slowly, trying to avoid more stabs of protest from his wrist, elbow and shoulder, “I think it’s been three days in here, maybe closer to four.”

 

“Too long whatever it is.”  Sam talked mainly to the floor between his feet.  He might not have pursued his argument against Dean fighting more, but he was plainly still thinking it.  They didn’t have a choice right now, they both knew it.  Arguing over it did absolutely no good.

 

“Gotta agree with you there Sammy.”  Taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly, Dean knew his next statement was a waste of perfectly good oxygen and energy, but he was going to try anyway.  Sam watched him expectantly.  Dean realized his silent words and body language herald something coming out of Dean’s mouth Sam probably wouldn’t much care for.  “Sam, he…Marlin said I had to win when they said, lose when they said.  I don’t know exactly what the losing means.  Don’t…” how could he ask his brother to do what he wouldn’t?  “Please, Sammy, don’t…I want you to stay here.”

 

“What?”  Sam’s voice pitched higher than normal, his head moved forward, eyebrows nearly meeting they scrunched close together.

 

“Sam, I can’t…I came out and you were gone, and I went nuts looking for you.  If you’re here, locked in, then I know you’re all right and I can concentrate.”

 

“No.”

 

“Sammy, please-“

 

“NO!” Sam was on his feet, in Dean’s face so fast it was all he could do to not step back.  “Tough shit Dean!  I can’t sit here, wondering if you’re alive or not.”

 

“I need to know you’re safe.”  Dean shouted back.

 

“And I need to know you are.”  Sam shot back.  In another breath he crumpled from large, angry and twenty-four to small, twelve and the kid who wanted to be everywhere and do everything his big brother did.  “You demanded we stick together in here, no matter what.  I can’t stay here.”  Sam’s voice dropped to a shaky whisper.  “I can’t.  I can’t.  If you have some stupid idea this is about watching you get beat in a fight, news flash Dean I’ve seen it before.”

 

“No, Sam that has nothing…” As if Sam would believe him.  As if he believed himself.

 

“I don’t care about anything but knowing you’re ok.  I can’t stay here.  You have no right to even ask.”  His arm jerked up, waving in the general direction of Dean’s wrists.  “Maybe we can find something for the swelling.”

 

Dean sighed, reached up to scratch the back of his neck, thought better of the move and let his arm drop.  “Show me this door you found, and let’s find out how to get out.  Because seriously Sammy?  I don’t know how much more of this I’m gonna be able to do.”  Admitting as much nearly did him in, and from Sam’s expression, he saw it broke his brother’s heart.

 

Getting down to the corridor, finding the access door wasn’t difficult. No one paid much attention to them for once. 

 

“How long did you wander around down here, this is a freaking maze.”

 

Sam shrugged, “I don’t know for sure.  I finally got pointed in the right direction by some old guy.”

 

“It stinks down here.”  Dean pressed the back of hand to his nose, immediately regretting it, since that set off a fresh round of throbs going straight down to his finger tips.  “Figures Marlin would live down here, with the other sewer rats.”  When he got no response from Sam, Dean turned, arched an eyebrow at his brother.

 

Sam’s arm lifted as far as his waist, pointing out a spot just beyond where Dean stood.  “It’s just down there a few more yards.”  

 

Glancing up and down the corridor, Dean cast another curious look toward Sam, who seemed to have stalled out a few feet from the door Dean stood in front of.  The rancid odor came from whatever room was beyond the door.  A step closer, close enough to poke at it, caused the door to swing open, Dean was sure Sam paled a shade or two.  Curiosity piqued by Sam’s not so subtle, but silent response to the section of corridor Dean randomly decided to stop and rest in, he nudged his shoulder through the partially open door.

 

Sweet creation, Sam was in here?  Dean froze, held a breath for a few beats before being able to calm his breathing.  Blood, or more to the point blood stains covered the floor, a table near the far wall.  Another glance back at Sam, he was far too pink and had too much energy to have lost the amount of blood evidenced here.  Dean would have seen the wounds.  But some of it could have been Sam’s, some wounds concealed by his clothing.  Sam had been here, in this room, Dean was as sure of it as he was every movement of his fingers sent splinters of pain through his knuckles.  Sam didn’t just stop walking and lose color from his face because of a few bad smells and poor décor. 

 

“Ya’ll right?” 

 

Sam’s response was a sharp swallow, one jerked nod.

 

Attention back on the room, Dean scanned the space, taking in every detail.  There was no other furniture other than the table, a table with restraints.  What the HELL did that asshole do to my brother?  Anger rose from his belly, swelled through his chest, a fiery, slow burning, slower moving wave that settled around his heart, in his throat, threatening to choke him and stop his breathing.  Dean’s mind dredged up half a dozen scenarios, none of them pleasant or good.

 

The soft rustle of cloth, a softer voice reached Dean’s ears, now just a foot or so behind him.  “He said it was my fault.”

 

“Who said what was your fault?”  Dean pushed the door closed as he stepped back into the corridor.  He had no intention of going farther into the area if it disturbed Sam so much. No intention of making Sam feel required to follow him inside.

 

“Marlin.”  Sam wouldn’t meet Dean’s eyes.  “Said…he…he said if I’d not ignored him when we were in that bar the other night, none of this would have happened.”

 

“And you believe him?”

 

Sam’s chin dipped a bit closer to his chest, gaze now focused on the floor.  The stupid kid believed Marlin?  “Sam.”  He moved closer to his brother, reached out and pulled on his shirt.  “Sammy.”  His tone insisted Sam look at him.  “Why is it when I tell you something is your fault you don’t believe me, but when some total stranger, who is loony tunes I might add tells you something is your fault, him you believe?”

 

Lips twitching up a very small bit, Sam finally looked at Dean.  “You never blame me for anything, even if it is my fault.  I mean, man I shot you….twice…and you said it wasn’t my fault.”

 

“It wasn’t and that’s not the point.  The point is none of this is your fault Sam.  Jesus, why would you even think to believe that bullshit?  He’s a wacko, psychotic, nut job Sam.  No matter what you did we’d have ended up here, or dead.  He targeted us.”  He stopped, giving his words a minute to sink in, giving himself a minute to calm down.  “You were in here?”

 

A slow nod, Sam’s eyes shifted briefly to the door, then settled on Dean.

 

“The blood?” 

 

“Not mine.”

 

“Sam…”

 

“It’s not.  Can’t you just take my word for it?”  Sam snapped.

 

Nodding, Dean tugged on Sam’s arm gently, “C’mon, let’s check out the escape route.”

 

Shooting another look at the door, Sam willingly trailed after Dean the few yards to the door.  As Sam described it was covered with wire grating.  They wandered up and down the corridor, carefully checking the walls for access panels, wiring, junction boxes, anything to give them a clue as to the power source.

 

“Must be on the outside.”  Dean mumbled. 

 

“Yeah.  The only place I’ve seen so far that might have plans or blueprints or something helpful is the computer in the clinic.  And there’s no guarantee we’d find anything in there anyway.”

 

“I was up in Del Villar’s office, didn’t see anything obvious, but really didn’t have the chance to take a good look around.”

 

“When were you there?”  Sam grabbed his arm, spinning Dean around so fast he nearly lost his balance.

 

“When I was looking for you, don’t get so pissy, you didn’t miss much. The guy’s a bigger jackass than Marlin.  I think it was nothing more than him wanting to check out the new guy for himself.”

 

Making their way to the more populated section of the compound they discovered getting into the clinic was more difficult.  Unless he was actually injured, or the doctor there requested their presence, the clinic was off limits.

 

Returning to their cell they found more food left for them, part of Del Villar’s perks Dean reasoned.  He managed to doze, made sure Sam got some sleep too.  This time they took turns.  The second time Dean woke up it was to the sound of material tearing.  Jerking awake and sitting all in one less than fluid, not so coordinated move he stared around, at first disoriented.  Sam straightened, frozen in place a few feet away, staring at him.

 

“You ok?” 

 

Dean coughed, took the bottle of water Sam offered in a slow, deliberate stretch.  “Yeah.”  He sighed, glancing down.  “Achy, but yeah.  What was that noise?  I thought I heard something.”

 

Sam grinned, “About that noise, and the achy part.”  He held strips of what had been a blanket up for Dean to see.  He continued when Dean prompted with an arched eyebrow.  “I can wrap your hands and wrists.  Maybe that’ll help.  I swiped these too.  But I couldn’t find any ice packs.”  He produced some squares of gauze from his jeans pocket.  “Extra padding.”  He added with a small shrug.  “Don’t know if it’ll help any, but it can’t hurt.”

 

“You went out there alone?”  Dean growled.

 

Rolling his eyes, Sam gave him a pained look.  “What and leave you in here alone? No way.  There was a supply cart near the clinic.  I boosted this stuff when we were trying to get in.”

 

When Marlin showed up, announcing it was time for Dean to fight again, he did nothing to Sam beyond smile ruthlessly.  Ignoring him Sam stayed away from him, which was more than fine by Dean.

 

They made their way to the arena, this time no one bothered either of them.  Dean’s status obviously a well known fact now.  Sam wrapped his hands, then waited as before on a bench across from the entrance.  Not a soul went near him, which gave Dean a deep sigh of relief.  Stepping into the arena, he felt a hand around his arm, pulling him back a step.

 

“Lose.”  Marlin’s breath hissed hot in his ear.

 

Dean gave him a dirty look, yanked his arm free and went into the arena.

 

 

---

 

Chapter 9

  

Dean’s head snapped back for the third time in a half minute.  Ducking the next thrown punch, Dean moved in, ramming fists into his opponent’s middle, driving the man back, allowing him a few seconds’ breather.  Feeling his face already starting to swell from the hits, he needed a new plan.  Lose, he had to lose.  Dean didn’t know how to lose.  He thought about going down with the first hit, but that probably wasn’t what Del Villar had in mind.  If he didn’t lose this fight, he might very well lose Sam, something he’d not even consider. 

 

Dean had to lose.  Worse yet, Sam was going to see him lose.

 

Hands clasped together the man swung full force, catching Dean’s jaw, sent spinning away and down, pain erupting along his shoulders where he contacted the ground.   Another glance at Sam who had no clue he’d been told to throw this fight, but had seen him fight enough to know when Dean was allowing the hits to have probably figured it out by now.  His brother’s face was nothing but agony.  Funny that, Dean was the one getting beat on, and Sam was the one feeling worse.

 

Forcing himself to roll to one side, get up, Dean shouted, going at his opponent with rapid punches.  The man backed away, regrouped and surged forward, throwing himself off the ground, kicking out.  His foot landed at the base of Dean’s neck, forcing breath from his lungs, clouding his vision, driving him back.  Gasping for air, struggling to reel in spinning senses he saw Sam literally lunge at the arena opening, shouting words Dean couldn’t process.  Someone grabbed the kid’s hair, wrenching him back, shoving him to a bench.  Dean felt a twinge along his own back when Sam’s connected with the wall.

 

One arm wrapped around his ribs defensively, Dean gulped for a breath again driven out of his lungs when the man’s foot rammed his side.  He was ready when the second kick came at him, fingers clamping the man’s ankle, and twisting hard, he flipped his attacker away.  The man’s considerable bulk slammed the ground hard enough Dean swore it shook.  Drawing in a deep breath, Dean was up again, the roaring in his ears he realized was cheering and shouts from the ‘audience.’

 

With a burst of energy he moved forward, spinning around, kicking out, Dean’s foot connected squarely with the other man’s chest, sending jolts of electric pain shooting right through to his hip.  The man stumbled back, regained his balance far too quickly, charging Dean, flattening him.  More solid, knuckle punches to his ribs and side had Dean panting for breath.  Aiming for the man’s head, and connecting with his neck instead, Dean rolled far enough to throw his assailant off.  Backing up a step he heard Sam shouting his name, shouting at them to stop.

 

Wrist trapped in a steel grip, Dean was turned around fast, arm yanked up to his shoulder blades the other man’s knuckles drove into his lower back.  Howling through clenched teeth, Dean dropped to his knees.  Pain rocketed straight through the epicenter near his kidneys, spread in powerful waves through his entire body.  Muscles along his back and sides seized and cramped, ripples of spasms clenched at him as if he was being squeezed in a giant vice.

 

Stumbling to his feet, straightening far enough to brace his hands on his oncoming opponent’s shoulders, Dean brought one knee up fast and hard, crashing it into the man’s inner thigh.  The guy’s weight fell against his arm, throwing him off balance. They went down together, knees and fists making contact wherever they could.

 

Catching a glimpse of his brother, Sam was watching him fight, watching him lose.  Deep down he knew Sam’s expression, the pain in his eyes had nothing to do with Dean losing and everything to do with Dean being hurt.  It didn’t make it any easier for a man whose prime motto was never give up, take out the bad guy.  Dean had won plenty of fights watching out for his kid brother, he could lose one too if need be.

 

Except Dean didn’t know how to lose. 

 

The man was on his feet again slamming his heel into Dean’s side. He managed to shove away far enough to get to his knees, holding himself up on shaky arms.  Again Sam’s voice drew his attention.

 

Lose, he had to lose.  In front of Sam.  For Sam.

                            

For the briefest instant his eyes locked with Sam’s.  Barely aware of the movement above him, in the next second shattering pain flashed through his head, down his neck, coursed his spine and radiated out stopping only when the world went black.

 

+++++

 

Carter decided to leave the two of them alone for now.  Dean’s injuries, while painful, or would be when he woke up, weren’t life threatening.  The younger one didn’t seem to like Carter doing anything to his brother while he was unconscious.  Since he didn’t have to, though it was always easier to patch these guys up when they were out, he just let it go for the time being.

 

That wasn’t to say he didn’t keep a close eye on the two.  Or rather the one, since one of them was out cold in a bed in his clinic.  Sam’s actions caused him to wonder yet again what sort of life did these two lead.  Sam didn’t pace, or even seem overly worked up his brother was unconscious.  He appeared angry at the damage caused to Dean, but not terribly worried, like he’d seen it before.  While he hadn’t gotten more than a few feet from his brother, and finally settled against the counter near the bed, watching everything going on near them.  Carter fell under Sam’s scrutiny each time he’d come near the older brother, it was a bit unnerving, but the kid was polite and non-threatening.  Carter was willing to bet he’d be plenty of threat if provoked into it.

 

If he was going to help them, he had to get them to trust him somewhat.  Problem was he wasn’t entirely sure which one to start with, whose trust he needed more.  Deciding he’d start with the one awake and work his way from there Carter grabbed some sandwiches and water, headed to the back of the clinic where the two young men were.  Food, he’d found over the years, worked on boys, especially hungry, stressed, scared boys.  It was a basic fact, nothing anxious ate, if he could get them eating his food, he could get them trusting him.  Make the flight or fight response scale back and the hunger/survival response increase and he’d be in business.

 

Turkey, he’d discovered, worked the best.

 

“I brought you some lunch.”  Carter set the sandwiches and water on a table near the bed.  “Hungry?”

 

Dark eyes went to the table, then to the unconscious man, then to Carter’s face.  “No, thanks.” 

 

Carter smiled, the soft voice and eyes that took in details he probably didn’t even know about his clinic told a different story. The kid was plenty hungry. Adding a short laugh to his smile, he pointed to the sandwiches again. “You know you’re brother isn’t going to get the rest he needs with the grumbling coming from your stomach.  I can hear it from here.”   Gaze shifting to the young man in the bed. “He’s sleeping, you’re going to wake him up.”

 

A second glance at him, Sam apparently decided he’d been busted, and might as well eat.  Taking one of the sandwiches and bottles of water, he retreated back to the spot between the bed and counter.  “Thanks.”

 

Carter took another sandwich, “There’s cots in that back room, pull one in here if you want for yourself.” 

 

That caught the kid’s attention. He stopped chewing and nearly choked when he tried swallowing and speaking all at once.  “We don’t have to go back to our cell?”

 

“Not right away.  It’s my job to keep Del Villar’s fighters healthy.  If he needs some recoop time, I can keep him here for a day or two. He’s done what he was supposed to, which means you get to stay too.”

 

Sam looked down, obviously overwhelmed.  “Thank you,” he exhaled.

 

Carter waited patiently for the kid to compose himself, watched him without being obvious he was doing so.  “I’ve got some pretty decent pain killers. They’ll likely keep him out a while longer.”

 

Sam chuckled, short and soft, “He’d kick my ass into next week.  You can ask him when he wakes up, but I can tell you his answer will be no.”

 

“Is it just the two of you?”  The question nagged at Carter since these two arrived, what it was about them that was so different, set them apart from others having gone through here?  Their bond wasn’t the normal sort; the devotion they showed one another was far deeper than what he’d seen in most.  Someone had loved this boy his whole life, no matter what that life might have been like, and he supposed it hadn’t by any means been normal.  Carter heartily suspected that someone was the other kid, asleep in the bed separating them.

 

Giving him a somewhat surprised look, Sam nodded.  “Yeah.  Our mom died when I was a baby.  Our father…he…uh worked a lot.”  Sam ended his words with a small shrug.  Carter didn’t miss how the softly spoken words stuck and hitched.

 

So, that was it, they’d always had only one another to depend on, and could trust it would continue.  It made him wonder what something like that was like, made him think how lucky the two of them truly were.  Silently he again renewed his promise to himself to get these two out.

 

Nodding, Carter left them alone again, retreating to another part of his clinic, keeping a keen ear on them when they weren’t immediately in his sight.  He’d made a start, now he simply had to wait for the older brother to wake up.  He sensed he’d get no farther with the younger one until both brothers were coherent and alert.

 

It wasn’t too much longer when Carter heard voices coming from the back room of the clinic.  This time Sam’s soft voice mixed with the slightly deeper, slightly slurred, thicker voice of the other one, Dean.  Grabbing up some bandaging materials, and a few other supplies, he headed back to join them.  The first thing he noticed was Sam had indeed moved one of the cots into the room.  As soon as Carter rounded the corner, two mouths snapped shut, two sets of eyes watched him.  Sam’s hand slid out from behind his brother’s shoulders, Carter reasoned he’d been helping Dean sit up.  Backing away a few steps, Sam sat on the cot.

 

Dean leveled an absolutely chilling glare at him.  Carter had to work to put a pleasant expression on his face, and stop the shudder wanting out from coursing through him.

 

“I have to say, you might be the most over achiever at throwing a fight I’ve ever seen.  Next time just lose, go down and don’t get up, don’t get yourself knocked silly.”  Carter began un-wrapping the material around Dean’s nearest hand.

 

“That’s what I said.”  Sam grumbled.

 

Dean rolled his eyes, moved Carter’s hand away, and began the task himself. “I can do that.”

 

“I have stronger pain killers.”

 

“No, ibuprofen is fine.”  Dean winced when the material pulled away from bloody, raw knuckles.  He dropped them in a small basket offered by Carter.

 

“Told you.”  Sam said.

 

Shrugging, “Suit yourself, let me know if you change your mind.”

 

Surprisingly he was given a small, sincere smile. “Thanks.”

 

“You did a good wrap job there.”

 

“Sam did them.”

 

Gaze shifting to the younger brother, “Good job.”  The only response was a slight nod.  “I need to get these cleaned and re-bandaged.”  Motioning with one hand to a small bathroom in the corner, “Can you go get cleaned up?”

 

Moving stiffly and slowly, sucking in a few deeper breaths, Dean inched off the bed, stood up. “Yeah.”  He reemerged a short time later, water dripping off his hair, cleaner.  When Sam grabbed him under one arm to help him back onto the bed Dean gave him an annoyed look, but nothing more.

 

“Blood in your urine?”  Carter asked.

 

Dean snorted a quick laugh. “What do you think?  Hell ya.”

 

“You’re pissing blood?”  Sam was up, in motion, at his brother’s side so fast Carter took a step back, even though he was on the opposite side of the bed as Sam.  Most the color left the poor kid’s face.  Dean was apparently as surprised by Sam’s response as he.

 

Closing his eyes, leaning back, Dean patted Sam’s wrist, then folded his hands over his middle.  “Yeah, Sammy, it happens a lot when you get hit a in the back hard enough.  I’ve had it happen before.  It’s not gonna kill me.”

 

“Not…what if your kidneys fail, that could happen, couldn’t it?”  Sam’s eyes went to Carter.

 

“It’s not likely, and he’s right, it’s fairly common to anyone who fights on a regular basis.  However if it’s not gone in a few days you will tell me.”

 

Dean looked up at him, this time actually managing to keep a neutral expression to his face and eyes.  He nodded and grinned suddenly. “Trust me when I say if I don’t, he will.”  A thumb jerked in Sam’s direction.  Sam offered them both a scowl and a disgusted noise.

 

“All right, let’s get these taken care of.”  Grasping Dean’s closest wrist and turning the man’s hand for a better look, or rather trying to, since Dean immediately reclaimed his hand.

 

“It’s ok, I just need some rest.”

 

“It’s not, and you will sit here and let me take care of it.”  Carter grabbed again, this time managing to get some bacitracin applied, haphazardly, before the hand was jerked away again.

 

“I said—”

 

“Dean!”  Sam grabbed the bandages and bacitracin from Carter, “Stop being an ass.”  Taking all of a minute, Sam had the cuts pulled together, bandages expertly applied, all the while ignoring protests and rumblings from his brother.  “He said we could stay in here for a day or two.”  Sam’s eyes went back up to Carter’s, a mix of gratitude and hope.

 

Dean turned to Carter, but not before pulling his hands away, sticking them under the sheet, hissing, “Stop.”

 

“Yes, you can.  You’re, uh, pretty good at that.”  Carter pointed to Dean’s now hidden hands.  He was offered the most patient, pliant smile he’d ever seen from anyone.

 

Sam turned his gaze from Carter to Dean.  “And that somehow surprises you because why?”  It was Dean’s turn to snort a disgusted noise.

 

“If you two are going to stay here any longer you’re going to need to earn your keep.”  This could work for them all Carter suddenly realized.  The younger of the two wasn’t squeamish about blood; he had the size to back up his actions.  “I could use an assistant, someone who knows how to put on a bandage?  I can arrange it so the both of you stay here longer.”

 

The two of them exchanged a brief look before Dean nodded. “Thank you.”

 

“Good,” turning to Sam.  “Some supplies were just delivered, you can start by hauling them in and helping me put them away.”

 

Another silent exchange between the brothers, Dean’s chin dipped a small fraction.  Sam nodded, headed for the door, stopped there briefly, looking back at his brother.

 

“Don’t take all day.”  Dean grumbled, leaned back and closed his eyes.

 

“You know,” Carter began once Sam was occupied with moving the boxes.  “The absolute only person on this planet who cares that you got beat is you.”

 

“I didn’t get beat.”

 

“The end result was the same.  Your brother cares you got hurt, not that you lost, for whatever reason.”  Carter snapped.

 

“Is it that obvious?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Dean huffed an elongated sigh.  “Can I get some sleep now?”

 

“There’s some sandwiches if you get hungry.  Give a shout if you need anything.  Make sure you drink a few bottles of water.”

 

Eyes moving to the tray of food, Dean nodded.  “Thanks again.”  It was honest, sincere and grateful.  Carter had a suspicion this man knew what he was up to, he was trying to help them, give them some small amount of safety.

 

After he and Sam finished moving and storing away the supplies, he’d gone with the kid to check on Dean.  The older brother was fast asleep, the tray of food, and the required bottles of water empty.

 

 

---

 

 Chapter 10

 

 

Sam paced through the clinic’s rooms, lost count of the number of laps he’d made.   Glancing through the doorway, he watched Dean sitting in front of the clinic’s loan computer.  As far as he could figure it’d been about three days.  Three days since Dean’s last fight, three days of trying to find out if his brother pissed blood still, three days of Dean not looking him in the eye.  Three days of watching his brother suffer.  Three days of knowing what to do, but not knowing how.

 

Dean’s movements were almost normal, though Sam caught him rubbing his sides a few times.  His appetite returned enough to make Dean bitch Sam could eat all the steak and chicken he could stuff in, while Dean was limited to pasta and as few proteins as possible.  A necessity for his bruised kidneys Carter explained.  Sam explained Dean might very well kill them both for a burger, but Carter seemed unconcerned, bravely—or maybe foolishly—giving Dean meals of fruits and meatless spaghetti. Peanut butter was allowed because the protein was different than in meats according to Carter, Sam was sure Dean’s confused expression mirrored his own, and Carter insisted Dean consume gallons of water.

 

The look in his brother’s eyes, when he could catch a glimpse of them, tore Sam in two, ripping a wound, like no monster could, straight through Sam’s heart.  Not exactly sure what went through his brother’s mind, Sam knew one thing for certain, Dean’s thoughts revolved around losing his last fight.  Dean’s body was well on the way to back to normal.  Dean’s mind was far more pained than any bruise or hurt caused by the physical abuse.

 

For days Sam desperately cast about for the words to make his brother understand; to ease the hurt Sam knew he’d caused, was fully his fault.  There were few things beyond Sam or the Impala Dean treasured, felt a deep pride in; one of those things was his ability to take care, protect.  It came naturally to Dean, the drive to watch over the world in general, Sam in particular.  It was who his big brother was.  Sam managed, without a lot of effort on his part, to crush that, maybe destroy it totally.  Sam didn’t have to ask, he’d seen it in his brother’s face, how was Sam to trust Dean to protect him if he lost fist fights?  How was Sam to convey to his brother it was he who personified safety, protection, family, everything for Sam, to Sam?  How was he to convince Dean it had been so since Sam’s earliest memory, and would continue straight to his final thought in life?

 

How was he to apologize for forcing this on Dean, express his considerable gratitude?  How was he to face Dean after the damage Sam caused?

 

The first day or two he’d taken a page straight from the Dean Winchester handbook of difficult life situations and tried to pretend the problem didn’t exist.  When that didn’t work, Sam tried waiting it out, hoping the whole thing might blow over.  That didn’t work either, so Sam got serious with himself, and sought out the words to convey to his brother, the single most constant in his life, his single most important person, his only family, the volumes Dean’s actions spoke.  He sought out the words to make things right with his brother.

 

“Find anything?”  Sam asked, pulling a chair up beside Dean, straddling it, arms crossed over the back.

 

“Yeah, I did.”  Dean grinned, leaning back from the computer to give Sam a better view.  Instinctively they both glanced around, being sure their conversation stayed private.  “See this?”  Dean’s finger traced a line along the screen.  He’d managed to find pictures and simple layout plans of the building.  “This is a shot of the door you found, from the outside.  Look close just to the right, near the roof, right under that overhang.”

 

Leaning forward Sam peered at the screen, nodding.  “It’s outside, might as well be on the moon.”

 

“Something has to come inside little brother, it’ll give us an idea where to look.  The walls are cinder block; someone had to drill holes through to get the power source inside.”

 

“We can cut it if we can find it.”

 

“Yep.”  Dean leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, smug smile spreading across his face.  “And now we know where to look.”

 

“Dean.”  Sam took a deep breath, when his brother twisted in his chair to face him, Sam immediately shifted his gaze to his hands resting on his lap.  He had no idea how to even begin.

 

“What?”  Dean prompted gently when Sam didn’t say anything else.

 

“We need to talk about this.”  Sam blurted out.

 

Smiling Dean turned his attention back to the computer, “We are talking about it Sammy.”

 

“Not this.”  He motioned to the computer. 

 

“What then?”

 

“The fights.  Dean, I know it’s been bothering you, but—”

 

Holding up one hand, literally moving his chair farther from Sam, “Stop, right there, I know what you’re going to say, and just don’t.  I know you’re going to say it doesn’t matter to you, but it does to me.  I know you’re going to say how you can fight your own battles, well I wasn’t given a lot of choice this time.”

 

“No, you have no idea what I was going to say.”  Sam snapped out more harshly than he’d intended.  Dean straightened, giving him an odd look before turning away.  “Dean.”  Reaching out fast, Sam’s fingers curled around his brother’s closest bicep.  “Please?”  When Dean’s eyes met his, they were wary and guarded, but at least he’d looked at Sam, wasn’t, for the first time in days, trying to avoid him.

 

Dean raised his eyebrows, made no other gesture, no sound.

 

A small victory Sam decided, his brother hadn’t gotten up and left.  Pulling in a deep breath Sam forged ahead, not so bravely, but at least with determination.  Keeping his voice from shaking was nearly impossible.  “You did that for me.  You think I don’t know what was going on, you lost for me?  I know what the threats are, believe me.  I know what Marlin told you could happen.  You could’ve flattened that guy anytime if you’d wanted, and you didn’t because of me.  You let him hurt you this much because of me, for me.  I know it’s harder to lose than it is to win.”

 

“Sammy—”

 

“Shut up and listen to me.  They tell you to lose, just do it, don’t get beat half to death.  It’s not worth it.”

 

“You sure as hell are worth it.”  Dean’s voice rose on each word.

 

“Not if I’m in here alone it isn’t.  You die; they’re not going to let me go.  If we don’t get out together, we don’t get out.  If we don’t get out together nothing is worth it.”

 

“I was only trying to make it look good.”

 

Sam huffed, “Don’t make it look that damn good.  Don’t think I’m not grateful, because I am, I can’t even describe how much I am.  I don’t care if you don’t want to hear it, but you’re going to…thank you, for doing that for me.”

 

Dean’s free hand reached up, patted Sam’s.  “Neither one of us is getting left behind in here.  We’re going to get out Sammy.”  His eyes dropped to the computer keyboard.  “I’ll try to not be so bad at losing.”

 

“You’ve always watched out for me, even when I don’t want you to.”  Sam puffed a short laugh, “And I guess maybe I should have said more often how damn good you are at it, no matter how unorthodox your methods…how important it is to me, how much I’d miss it, how good it feels to know I’ll always have that.”

 

Sam’s words obviously surprised Dean.  He sat quietly, patiently, watching his brother.  What he’d said sunk in, albeit a bit slowly, but his words wormed their way into Dean’s head, nested firmly.

 

Nodding slowly, meeting Sam’s eyes and not looking away Dean stood up.  “Ok.”  He took a few deep breaths, nodded with more conviction. “Come on kiddo, let’s show these morons they messed with the wrong damn brothers.”  He dropped one hand to Sam’s shoulder, solid and reassuring.  “We’re not losing this game Sam, not you, not me.  Whatever it takes, I intend to beat them.  We are going to win Sammy.”

 

Something loosened in Sam’s chest and stomach. A vice lost its grip on him.  As scary as this place was, he and Dean were scarier, more determined.  It amazed Sam how Dean could convey so much with one simple touch, we’re alive, we’re together, we protect each other, it stays that way.

 

+++++

 

Despite Carter’s protests, Dean was back in the arena twenty-four hours later.  As before Marlin escorted him to the prep area, Sam right with him.  Sam wouldn’t have stayed even if Dean dared ask again, which he had no intention of doing.  He’d come to realize the only place either was safe in here was with each other.  Truth be told seeing Sam outside the arena, knowing he was there, no matter how the fights progressed, gave Dean comfort and confidence.

 

Sam hung back when Marlin was near, not getting near the man.  Dean wasn’t sure what disturbed him more, Sam’s actions around Marlin, or his admission he was scared and welcomed the defensive shield Dean became when either of them was threatened.  He didn’t miss the way Sam’s eyes tracked Marlin’s movements, how Sam went completely still if Marlin managed to get within touching distance.  How Sam’s shoulders relaxed when Dean stepped between them.   Whatever threats Marlin levied against Sam, they’d been powerful and convincing.  If Dean had any lingering doubts over how Sam looked at him, his ability to protect his brother, they were washed away by Sam’s actions near Marlin.  Nothing changed for Sam, Dean would always be his big brother, Sam would always view him that way.

 

Marlin went as far as the entranceway to the arena. He stood there, folded hands resting on his middle, smug glint in his eyes.  “Remember boy’o, screw up and he’s all mine.”  Marlin’s eyes slid to Sam, standing a few yards away.  Sam didn’t flinch, didn’t move, didn’t back down from the stare either.

 

Dean snorted, “As if you’d get anything but hate and a split lip from him.”  He paused at the entranceway, looking into the arena as he spoke to Marlin.  “What?  No words of wisdom this time?”

 

“Better not screw up.”  Marlin breathed hot in his ear.

 

Dean met Marlin’s menacing glare with an equal one of his own.  As he made his way to the center of the arena, faced off his opponent he caught a glimpse of Sam moving away from Marlin, settling on one of the benches, keeping away from the other men in the area. 

 

It was a quick fight, Dean was angry and painful, not a good combination.  He made short work of his opponent, not wanting to spend a second longer in there than needed.  He was sick of this, sick of being hit, sick of having his brother, himself, constantly threatened.  He took his aggression and frustration out on the man he fought, beating the guy unconscious.

 

Barely feeling any of the few hits and kicks he’d received, going on pure adrenaline, Dean stormed out of the arena.  A second later he slammed to a halt, his eyes meeting Sam’s.  It took a few seconds for the facts to process, for Dean to slow down enough to grasp what was going on.  Sam sat straight, back pressed fully against the wall behind him.  Marlin stood between them.  Smiling, the muscle-bound creep was smiling.  Chills ran through Dean when Marlin threw his head back and laughed.

 

Sam flinched, began inching along the bench, moving away.  Color drained from his face.  Sam had only been permitted to see the outcome of the fight when Dean was to lose.

 

Dean stared at Marlin for another few seconds before a feral shout ripped out of him.  He lunged at the man, was immediately grabbed by two others, thrown back.

 

“Guess you screwed up boy’o.”

 

Tackled by two of Marlin’s goons Dean watched as at the same instant Marlin spun, grabbed Sam, yanking him off the bench.

 

“DEAN!”  Sam nearly managed to jump away from Marlin, skirt closer to Dean. 

 

There were too many of them, Marlin had men all over the area.  Dean was forced down, back.  One guy’s fingers snaked through Sam’s hair, jerking him back, while another slammed his fist into Sam’s middle, stopping him from fighting back.  By the time Dean was back on his feet, clear of his attackers Sam was gone.

 

Biting back a complaint that Marlin hadn’t given him the instructions he should have, Dean contented himself with shouting, “Bastard!” at the man.

 

Marlin chuckled; it was a low, vicious sound.  “Don’t screw up the next fight, you get him back.  Until then, he’s gonna spend some time with me.  But, since I’m such a nice guy, I’ll make you a deal, to make up for my…”  Marlin sighed, paced closer to Dean, but remained out of reach, “Indiscretion.  You find him, you get him back.”

 

Dean lunged again, this time Carter appeared beside him, one arm across Dean’s chest, forcing him back.  “You hurt him, so much as touch him—”

 

Marlin’s chortling filled his ears. “Like I said before, how do you know I haven’t already.  That sweet boy of yours is just so tasty.”

 

The air closed in on Dean, so heavy it pressed against his ribcage, prevented him from filling his lungs.  The huge room suddenly too small, the floor unstable.  Surging forward again, trying to press through Carter’s arm, Dean was surprised by the man’s strength.  Carter shoved back, shouted at him.

 

Again Carter pushed against Dean’s chest, causing him to stumble back.  Moving his hands to Dean’s shoulders, Carter shook him hard.  “Listen to me.  LISTEN!”

 

Dean dragged his eyes from Marlin, focused on Carter.  When he looked back, Marlin was gone.

 

Carter was talking at him, the words finally getting through.  “He won’t kill your brother.  He’s got no control over you without Sam, and he knows it.  You can’t help your brother if you’re dead.  Marlin needs you, or he gets it from Del Villar.  He needs you, so he needs Sam.”

 

Gulping in a few deep breaths, Dean stepped away from Carter, nodding.  “Let me go.  I’m ok, lemme go.”

 

“You two look like guys who’ve been in rough situations before.  So tell me, when you taught your brother to survive, to fight, what was the first thing you taught him?”

 

Dean stared at him.  When he didn’t reply Carter gave his arm a jerk.

 

“What was the first thing?”

 

“D-don’t panic.”  Dean collected his thoughts, started planning.

 

“Yeah, don’t panic.  So don’t panic.  Sam’s here somewhere.  We’ll find him.  I’ll help you.”

 

“I got an idea where to start looking.”

 

No way was that creep Marlin going to hurt his brother.  No way in hell.

 

 

---

 

Chapter 11

 

 

Sam’s eyes riveted to the arena entranceway.  Marlin was too smug, too excited when Dean exploded through the door, fast, sure strides carrying him forward.  His eyes met Sam’s at nearly the same instant Marlin laughed, a low, vicious sound bringing mirth to absolutely no one.  The realization of what happened stampeded through Sam’s mind, simultaneously showing on Dean’s face.

 

The sound Marlin made sent cold spikes straight through Sam, stabbing his spine, ribs, slithering through him, turning to ice in his chest and stomach.  He had no control over the way his body jerked and repeated spasms flinched across his torso. 

 

Move!  His brain screamed the single word over and over.  Yet, the jello the muscles of his legs and arms became was less responsive, less cooperative.  The best he managed was to inch along the bench, stay out of Marlin’s attention.  If he could get away, Dean would follow, not challenge Marlin, not risk his life for Sam.  Something hard and cold and unyielding gripped his ribcage, making it nearly impossible to inhale for a few seconds, breathing becoming painful.

 

Dean stilled; he and Marlin staring each other down.  Face darkening, clouding in rage, sheer hate, Sam couldn’t remember when he’d seen Dean so angry, beyond angry.  Violence and panic chased one another across Dean’s features before finally landing on enraged in a way Sam had never seen before.

 

Then Dean went ballistic.

 

The primal yell coming from Dean scared even Sam, he was sure Marlin took a step back before taunting them both with words of how Dean screwed up.  Neither of them, Sam was sure, had to guess what Dean’s punishment was to be.  Dean was in motion, going so fast he was a blur. It was frightening, his speed and power. Sam saw it in Marlin’s face, his eyes, Dean scared him in a way he wasn’t accustomed to, maybe in a way he’d never been. 

 

Marlin wasn’t alone; he had his men with him.  It took two of them, and even then they barely held Dean at bay, shoving him back.  Sam didn’t have a chance to move, Marlin was fast too.  Shouting Dean’s name, Sam nearly ducked clear of Marlin’s grasp, using his height advantage he barely missed being able to jump clear, skirt around Marlin. Marlin grabbed his wrist in a bruising hold, spun him around, arm shoved up his back.  More men appeared, descending on Dean, pushing him farther away.  Sam reached for Marlin’s head with his free hand, but was blocked.

 

Fingers slithered through Sam’s hair, closed to a fist and yanked hard.  Pain seared through his scalp extending down his neck as his head was jerked back with enough force to throw him off balance, make him dizzy.  A fist slammed into his abdomen, low, just above his hip.  The blow left him gasping for breath, hard knots of pain skimmed straight through to his back, reverberated through him for several seconds.  He had the sensation of being dragged back, pulled and shoved somewhere.  Second and third blows landed on his back, just below his hips.  A voice far back in the corner of Sam’s mind wondered at that oddity.  The blows to his back hurt momentarily, would never stop him, barely even slowed him down.  He’d have a few bruises maybe, nothing more.  It was a stupid, useless place to hit someone.  Sam wouldn’t have wasted his energy on such a move.

 

When his breathing finally came in harsh gasps, but at least he could inhale, and the gray cloud covering his eyes cleared, which maybe took in reality less than half a minute Dean was no where in sight, Sam couldn’t even hear his brother’s voice anymore.  He had a good idea where he was being taken, even though he was still disoriented, not able to pinpoint the direction, his location. 

 

Marlin was no where in sight, just the three men who dragged him along.  Catching his breath, he managed to free himself, took a swing at one, downing him, then kicking out hard and fast, caught one man just above his knee.  The guy staggered back, but the third man was on him.  Grabbing Sam’s hair, jerking back and down, a thick arm wrapped his neck, pulling back, cutting off his air. Again he was knuckled hard and low on his back, high on the backs of his thighs, across his hips.  He’d feel the tightening and bruising in a day, but right now Sam barely registered the hits.  The fist connecting three or four times with his face definitely registered.  Sam felt those.

 

The corridor tilted and swayed, spun erratically in waves making his stomach lurch and flip, his intestines crawl around themselves, his body kicked and protested from the inside out.  His knees became nonexistent; Sam’s weight slid toward the floor.  The sound of voices, rough, nasty, protesting having to haul his heavy ass somewhere…really they could have just left him.  Sam wouldn’t have minded or complained.

 

As they dragged him, Sam got flashes and glimpses through the haze that was his head of the twists and turns.  How much time past eluded him.  Twice he staggered; fell out of the hands holding his arms.  Before being hauled halfway up he was kicked along his thighs and butt, the sharp toes of the men’s boots creating dull throbs where they landed.  The muscles of his back and legs started to cramp and ache.  Just as the world stopped oozing around him in slippery waves he was punched again in the side of the head, stars and lights burst across his vision, clouding out all else.

 

Sam startled back to partial awareness when he was lifted off the ground, thrown onto a hard, cold surface.  Pain ricocheted through his back when the newly acquired bruises met hard surface.  He was stripped to the waist, boots and socks removed, leaving him wearing nothing but his jeans.  Restraints were cinched around his wrists and ankles with enough force to bite into his skin.  One was pulled around his chest, cranked on until it made breathing difficult.  Flat on his back, knees bent, he could barely turn his shoulders, his head was the only thing left moving freely. 

 

One of the men elbowed him a few times along his groin.  Body jerking reflexively brought stabs of pain along his shoulders and arms from the pull against his restraints.  The actions made no sense to Sam.  The injuries wouldn’t stop him from running if he’d been free; but he wouldn’t have run, running here was useless, there was no where to go anyway.  Neither would they stop him from fighting, maybe slow him down a bit.  The blows hurt, they’d bruise, were frightening and intimidating; nothing more.  But then Sam didn’t get his rocks off hurting people, so what did he know?

 

Finally, blissfully they left him.

 

+++++

 

Dean barely avoided slamming his fist into Carter out of sheer reflex when his arm was jerked on again.  He whirled on the man, and to his credit Carter winced, sucked in a breath, but didn’t move, didn’t back off, just stared at Dean with calm eyes.  The only other person who ever did that, held his ground against Dean like that was Sam, and for a whole other set of reasons.

 

Sam.

 

Where was he, what were they doing to him, going to do to him?  Marlin already intimidated Sam to the point of the kid keeping his mouth shut, not telling Dean what methods were used against him.  That in and of itself was frightening to Dean.  Nothing kept Sam’s mouth shut, not even demons prevented Sam from relating any detail to Dean, and he usually knew far more details than he generally cared to.  Keeping secrets from each other was in neither brother’s nature; was difficult at best and not something either chose to do unless powerfully forced into it.  Dean managed it once, and not with a lot of success, doing so nearly killed him.

 

This all left Dean with nothing but his imagination to fill in the blanks of what Marlin might have done, might again to do his brother.

 

Carter tugged insistently on Dean’s arm.  “We gotta go.”

 

“No.  This way.”  Dean pointed to the corridor leading down to the access door, the room Sam had been taken to before.

 

“Uh huh.  There’s something I have to make sure of first, there’s other places.”  Carter tipped his head to a wall, indicating outside.

 

A shudder ran though Dean, thoughts of Sam abandoned far out in the desert, no food or water, exposed to the elements with nothing but a t-shirt, light weight button down shirt, jeans and boots banged around his head.  With no weapons, no way to hunt or protect himself, no shelter at night, how long would someone last in those conditions?  Dean had no idea.  How long would it take Sam to drop from exposure, exhaustion, trying to find his way back to their prison?  Back to Dean?  How would Sam even know which direction to pick? 

 

Numb, Dean followed Carter to the clinic, agreeing to wait while Carter checked whatever it was he wanted to check.  The second the man was gone, Dean was at the computer.  The layout he’d found and the pictures weren’t the best, but they were better than nothing.  He printed them off, folding and tucking them into his pocket just as Carter returned.

 

“He’s in here somewhere, they haven’t taken him outside, and there’s no one in the sweatboxes.”

 

Dean felt his stomach drop, closed in on itself and clenched into a hard, hot acorn.  He’d forgotten about the sweatboxes, remembering only Marlin’s previous threats to dump Sam so far out in the desert he’d never be found.  Mental images of Sam in one of the sweatboxes invaded his mind, sent new shudders through Dean.  Sam, who was kind and gentle, would ask Dean not to hurt these men, they were victims.  Yet, it was these men who thrived on Sam’s pain.  Dean figured he had it coming at times, but not Sam, never Sam.  Dean hated how often Sam was targeted in someone or something’s efforts to make Dean suffer, pay somehow.

 

Sam had been snatched to force Dean into fighting. That much was clear.  But there were pieces missing, it didn’t all add up.  Dean fought, did what they’d wanted as long as Sam was left alone, left with him.  So why target the kid?  Why harass and threaten him?  What purpose did that serve?  Dean didn’t know.  His only conclusion was it served some purpose not involving Dean.  It brought Marlin some sick pleasure. 

 

“He’s intimidated by you, afraid of you.  You know that?”  Carter broke into Dean’s thoughts.  “I bet he thinks you want to take over, have his job.”

 

Dean snorted, “I have a crappy job, why would I want a crappier one?  He damn well better be afraid of me after what he’s done, after hurting my brother.”

 

They moved through the corridors without further comment to one another.  Carter seemed to have an idea where Dean was going.  They headed toward the door, the room Sam had been in before, but were immediately cut off at the top of the corridor.  Unlike his previous visit, this time it was swarming with men. 

 

Carter’s hand on his arm stopped Dean before they were spotted.  “I think you’re right, he’s in there.  We can’t get close right now.”

 

“You got any guns, any sort of real weapons?”  He knew it was a silly question, but asked anyway.

 

Chuckling softly, “No.” He tapped Dean’s shoulder.  “Come on, we’ll get your brother back.  But we can’t fight these guys off.  There’s too many of them.  If we try they’ll hurt him more.  They won’t stay here long.”

 

“How do you know?”  Dean whispered over his shoulder, eyes leaving the door for nothing but seconds, skimming across Carter’s face before being drawn back to the door.

 

“Because that’s how he operates.  I’ve been here a while.  It’s what Marlin does.”  Carter’s hand rested against Dean’s arm, fingers curling around slightly, firmly.  It made Dean turn to him fully.  “I’ve always been alone.  It sucks.  We’ll get your brother back, you won’t be alone.”

 

+++++

 

Sam howled, shaking his head a few times.  Small water droplets flew in all directions from his hair.  Only his head moved freely.  He could barely move his shoulders, shift one at a time off the table.  His voice stuttered, gasps and harsh yells from the cold water poured over him ripped from his throat.  Shivers coursed through him, rattling every part of him.  Giving a jerk with his arms, legs, he confirmed what he vaguely remembered.  He was wearing nothing but his jeans, tied to a table.  The table.  A quick glance around showed Sam he was in the same room as before.  Only this time it wasn’t some stranger on the table, it was him. 

 

Marlin’s harsh laugh drew his attention to his left.  There was no knife in Marlin’s fist…yet.  Sam shuddered, was he next to be sliced open, left to die?

 

Teeth clenched tight, Sam swallowed convulsively, forcing a sob and a plea for his brother’s presence back into his chest.  He wouldn’t give Marlin the satisfaction.

 

Pacing the length of the table several times, Marlin’s eyes never left Sam.  They skimmed, wide and excited over Sam’s neck, down his arm, the length of his torso.  More shudders ripped through Sam, causing his muscles to shiver and jump of their own volition.  He tried to quiet his body, tried to be still.  The harder he tried the more he shook.  The more Marlin’s face and eyes lit up with sheer anticipation and glee.

 

Sam’s stomach clenched, his chest tightened to a hard knot, making it nearly impossible to draw a deep breath.  His fingers curled so tightly to a fist his nails dug into his palms.

 

Marlin bent down, his face close to Sam’s.  One finger brushed lightly over the swell of Sam’s shoulder, down the length of his arm, tracing the veins of his forearms.  Sam tried pulling away from the touch, but he was bound too tightly.  Each hitching intake of breath sent slivers of pain through Sam’s chest.  Clamping his mouth shut, he glared back at Marlin.

 

“Guess it’s just you and me now.  Breathe one word to big brother, Dean and—”

 

“What is this, the sixth grade, don’t tell?”  Sam sneered back, sounding braver than he felt. 

 

Rough fingers skimmed through Sam’s hair, across his cheek.  “One word and Dean gets everything I showed you, and more.”

 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam turned his head away, tucked his chin against his body.

 

“No.”  Marlin demanded, jerking Sam’s head around so he was forced to look at Marlin.  “Not again.  It’s you and me, and this time you’re not going to ignore me.” 

 

Sam cringed, skin crawling when Marlin’s finger tips ran across his neck, down his chest.  Breathing deep to quiet the shivers running freely through him, it didn’t entirely work.

 

“You need to learn not to ignore me.  Your brother needs to learn he can’t waltz in here and take over.”  Marlin’s other hand rubbed his own thigh and groin, his body rocked in time with his motions.    “Your brother, he was just a bonus, some icing on the cake, see?  But I’m in charge, not him. I knew I had to have you, know what you feel like; bring you here as soon as I saw you walk in the bar.  The fact you have that brother of yours, willing to do anything, fight to the death for you.  Think he’d so willingly kill someone for you?”

 

Hysterical, cackling laughter bubbled out of Sam.  It took him nearly a full minute to comprehend the noise came from him.  “My brother is already wanted for murder.  That guy hit me too.”  He supposed that should have impressed Marlin, but he couldn’t tell if it did or not.

 

Marlin’s fingers moved lower, pressing against his hip, inching across his leg, to his groin.  Sheer reflex had Sam rolling away, or trying to; he was bound up too securely to move much.  Snarling some low, guttural noise Marlin pulled his hand away, but Sam wasn’t relieved.  In the next instant white, shattering pain ripped through him as Marlin’s fist slammed into his testicles, pulled back and repeated.

 

Arching, screaming, Sam had nowhere to escape.  Nauseating pain throbbed through his belly, up his chest, crawled to his head.  His stomach lurched.  Barely able to turn his head in time to keep from asphyxiating, Sam vomited.  The putrid contents of his stomach puddled next to his head, dribbled down his cheek, oozed into his hair and ear.

                   

“You need to learn.  You both need to learn.” 

 

Marlin was gone in a whoosh of air.  Sam heard him move to the door, it opened.  A muffled voice sounding more like crying, whimpering, came into the room, closer to Sam.  When the room stopped its spinning and tilting Sam had a good view of Marlin and the newest arrival. 

 

A boy, probably two or three years younger than Sam, fair-haired, sort of chubby was thrown to the floor, hands bound behind his back, mouth gagged.

 

“Leave him alone.”  Even as Sam rasped out the words he knew it was useless.  He was totally unprepared for what happened next.

 

The kid’s face was shoved against the floor, Marlin’s foot between his shoulder blades, he grabbed the boy’s shirt and pulled, ripping it off.  The boy trembled and sobbed, begging around his gag. 

 

“Stop it.  Don’t hurt him.”

 

Marlin ignored him.  Taking his knife out, he cut away the boy’s jeans, underwear, pulling the cloth away, leaving him completely naked, then shed his own jeans.

 

What was happening rampaged through Sam’s brain.  Jerking and straining against his bindings he shouted, pleaded with Marlin to stop.  The kid tried shoving away from Marlin, but got nowhere.  Bending over him Marlin slipped the knife around the boy’s neck, pressing but not moving it, not cutting.  The boy screamed when Marlin pushed closer, completely over him, hips ramming forward into the kid with more force than needed. 

                                                                                           

“You’re next, when your brother is gone, maybe I’ll kill him myself, just like this.”  Marlin’s voice was harsh and raw.

 

Sam’s breath caught in his chest, acrid bile rose up, burning his insides, his throat.  He squeezed his eyes shut to the sight of Marlin raping the boy, but he couldn’t shut his ears off from the sounds.  The boy’s crying, begging for mercy, the slap of skin against skin in an unwanted act assaulted Sam’s ears.  Sam begged Marlin to stop, not even sure his words were spoken aloud or simply screamed inside his head.

 

 A sickening sound, and suddenly there was quiet from the kid.

 

“We’re going to have so much fun when it’s just you and me.  He can’t really keep me from you, not forever.”

 

Sam heard Marlin move, pull his clothes on.  There was not another sound, other than Sam’s own harsh breathing, his pathetic attempts to stop his sobs.  The door opened, closed, and Sam knew Marlin was gone.  Turning his head, cracking open his eyes, Sam saw the boy through swimming vision.  Head cranked back at an odd angel, naked and in a pool of blood, his throat slit.  Lifeless eyes stared at Sam.  Staring back for a few seconds, Sam barely got his head turned to the side before he vomited again, succeeding in mostly covering himself in more of the vile fluid.

                                                                                         

Sam shouted, beat his head against the table, struggled against his bonds.  All to no avail.  Another person died because of him.  Marlin may have actually completed the act, but Sam was just as much to blame.  Dean, his brother, Dean was next.  Marlin intended to see Dean die, beaten to death in some fight.  What Marlin did to Sam after that, he didn’t care.

 

 

---

 

Chapter 12

 

 

 

Dean drew up fast and short when Marlin appeared in the corridor outside the clinic entrance.  Fists clenched, he had to consciously tell himself to inhale, exhale; count his breaths to keep from slamming the man to pieces.  That would have to wait for now.

 

He’d be saving that for when Sam was beside him. 

 

“You and I, we’re not so different.”  Marlin’s voice was low, threatening, trying to goad Dean, bait him.

 

Dean’s answer was to lift the corner of his upper lip, growl rumbled from low in his throat.

 

“I had someone once.  His eyes were very much like your brother’s so deep and emotional.”  Marlin cracked a grin that made Dean want to shiver.  “Didn’t have your brother’s delightfully long legs though.”

 

Dean stood stock still, following Marlin’s pacing with his eyes.  Don’t do it, don’t let him bait you, don’t start anything, not until Sam is back.

 

“He looked at me like I was Superman.  Thought I was some kind of special hero when Del Villar picked me for one of his personal fighters.  Took me a month or more to earn that position.”  Marlin stopped, standing in front of Dean, inches from him.  “But that was a long time ago.  He’s not here anymore.”

 

Almost curious enough to ask who, and what happened, Dean swallowed the words, pressed his lips shut, concentrated on evening out his breathing.

 

“See I would have done anything for him, to keep him safe.  I did everything I could.”  Marlin’s right eye twitched, he crossed his arms over his barrel chest.  “Not so different.  Just what exactly would you do for your brother?  Anything?”

 

Dean responded with one tight nod.

 

“Eighteen hours.  You get eighteen hours until the next fight.  There’s someone I want taken care of.  This fight is to the death.”  One corner of Marlin’s mouth twitched up to a slow, vicious smile.  “You win, you get him back, and I get another of my little problems taken care of. You lose…” shrugging, “I get your brother, and his delightfully long legs and pretty eyes.  The way I see it, I can’t lose.  We’re in my territory, this place is mine.  MINE!”  Marlin stopped, eyes settling on Dean’s.

 

Fighting the almost overwhelming urge to look away Dean snapped out, “The only thing I want is to get my brother and get out.  I don’t want this. You want it?   It’s all yours.  Everything except Sam.”

 

“I have him too.  Pity you’ve no way of getting to him before you fight.”  Marlin sneered.  “You’ll never survive with the weakness in you your brother is.”

 

Staying rooted to his spot, Dean stared after Marlin as he walked away, stride casual, sure.  Dean’s entire body vibrated with anger, tension, plain fear.  The man was insane, completely off the deep end.  Marlin was crazy dangerous.

 

Kill a man he didn’t know, had never done a thing to either him or Sam.  This wasn’t some possessed guy he could shoot, end quickly and fairly painlessly, mercifully.  This was a guy, maybe like he and Sam, an innocent victim he’d have to beat to death, kill with his bare hands.  Hardly quick and painless.  Certainly not merciful.

 

Stumbling back, Dean braced against the wall, pulling deep, unsteady breaths into his chest.  Dean treasured his brother above all else, and now this man, Marlin, had taken him away.  Dean had no options.  Refuse to fight and Sam was gone, Marlin’s prisoner until someone else came along who piqued Marlin’s interest more.  Or until Sam died from the abuse he was sure Marlin would inflict on his young brother.

 

Kill his next opponent and Sam would be released back to him, until the next time Marlin had a ‘little problem’ to take care of, turning Dean into a murderer, a monster no better than Marlin.  Sam would never forgive him that, murdering a man in cold blood, never see it as a necessity, saying Dean should have refused; Sam’s life wasn’t worth it.  His brother would be lost to him forever, but at least Sam would still be alive.  Sam would hate him.

 

If he lost?  The thought thundered through Dean’s head.  Losing this fight wasn’t an option. The dangers to Sam were far too great should that happen.  The simple question remained, when it came right down to it, would Dean be able to kill an innocent man?  Yes, he decided, for one reason and one reason only, for Sam.  His resolve was frightening, the desire to end a life posing no threat to anyone, not Sam, not him.  Either way he looked at it Dean’s life was over.  He’d either literally die at the hands of his opponent, or he’d lose his brother one way or another.  Without Sam, Dean simply wouldn’t survive. There was no reason to; no point in living.

 

However this played out, Dean had eighteen hours of life left.

 

Carter’s fingers around his arm, pulling him back into the clinic jolted Dean back to the here and now.

 

“Hey, you with me?”  Carter gave him a slight jerk.

 

Turning to the voice, Dean’s eyes took a few seconds to focus.  Swallowing hard, he nodded.  Trailing behind Carter, into the clinic Dean mumbled, “I have to get into that room.”

 

“We will.  What did Marlin do?”

 

“Nothing,” Dean shook his head.  “I have another fight in eighteen hours.”  Scanning the room, he lowered himself slowly into a chair.  “Sam has our lock picks.”  He wasn’t making sense, but didn’t much care.

 

“Why do you two have lock picks?  Just what is it you do?”

 

Lifting his eyes to meet Carter’s, Dean didn’t have the energy or inclination to lie.  “We hunt demons, ghosts, that sort of thing.”

 

“And for those you need lock picks?”

 

“You’d be surprised.”  Dean snorted.  “Sam’s got them, in his pocket.  I made him hang on to them, in case he needed to lock himself back in our cell.  I need something I can pick a lock with.  I have to get into that room, and I don’t think kicking the door in is an option.”

 

Carter rubbed at his jaw, “I don’t know, we can look around, there has to be something you can use.”

 

“I have to get him out of there.  Sam’s going to hate me forever.”  Dean watched Carter move about the room, pulling open drawers, giving the contents a quick look.

 

“I doubt your brother would ever hate you.  And I told you before, we’ll get him out, you’ll get him back.”

 

“My next fight is in eighteen hours.  Marlin said I’d have to…” The words caught and snagged painfully in Dean’s throat.  How would he ever be able to look Sam in the eye again, provided of course Sam hung around long enough after finding out Dean killed an innocent man?  Not just killed him; beat him to death with his fists.  Sam wouldn’t look at Dean as his big brother any longer, he’d look at Dean as if he was a monster, and he would be. 

 

“He said you’d have to do what?”  There was a definite tremble to Carter’s voice. 

 

Dean dragged his gaze up to Carter’s face, the man looked concerned.  “I have to get Sam out.”

 

“We will.”  Carter produced something from the drawers, held it up triumphantly.  “What about this?”  He crossed the room, stopping in front of Dean, knelt down beside him.  “Dean, what did Marlin say?”

 

“If I want...for Sam, to get Sam…I have to…the next fight, it’s a death match.  I have to get Sam out.”  Dean looked at the object Carter held out.  “Dude, that’s a harpoon.”

 

Cracking a smile, “Well not quite, but it’s a damn long needle.”

 

“I’ll have to file the end down, but yeah, I think this will work.”  He held the needle carefully. It was nearly two inches long, and beveled to a sharp tip.  “Tell me the truth; what will Marlin do to my brother if I don’t win?”

 

Carter shook his head side to side slowly.  He sighed; spoke softly, “I don’t know.”

 

They left the clinic; walked in silence to the area Sam was being kept.  The corridor was long and narrow, at both ends crossed by other corridors.  There was no where to hide, no place to conceal himself to get closer to the room Sam was in.  None of the men milling around in the space either side of that door had any sort of weapons Dean could get away from one, use on the others.  He couldn’t take on the dozen or so of them there, he’d never win.

 

Thoughts of Sam left in the desert, or the sweatbox, worse yet spending the rest of his life here at the mercy of Marlin took him over.  What would the man do to his brother, what had he already done?  Dean had too many questions, not enough answers.   He’d seen armed guards when he first arrived, if he could get one of the guns he’d have a chance.

 

“You said they’d leave soon. They’re still here.  I still can’t get inside to Sam.”  Dean snapped out, not meaning to take his frustration, and fear, out on the man who’d done nothing but try to help them since this whole nightmare began.

 

Carter drew in a breath, his voice low and annoyingly patient.  “That’s usually Marlin’s M.O.  He usually likes to have his handiwork seen, keeps his fighters in line better.”

 

Eyes sliding to his side, glancing at Carter, Dean didn’t even try to suppress the wince working through him.  Sam wasn’t out in the desert lost, alone with no provisions, nor was he trapped inside a sweatbox half his size.  He was in a room.  Albeit a room with a metal roof from what Dean was able to tell from the pictures.  Sam was in there, maybe hurt, probably frightened and suffering discomfort, but he was alive.  No matter what he had to do, Dean intended his brother stay alive. 

 

“Sorry.”

 

Nodding, Carter offered a quick pat to Dean’s shoulder, “We’ll get him, and work on getting the both of you out.”

 

“Thank you.”  Dean drew in a deep breath.  “You go on back to the clinic.”

 

“What are you going to do?”  Carter sounded suspicious, reminding him of Sam so much Dean let his mouth turn up into a small smile for a few seconds.

 

“There’s something I need to do, check out before this fight.  I won’t be long.” 

 

He left Carter, headed down the corridor to the main part of the complex.  Dean walked through to the section everyone gathered in for food, supplies.  Looking at the groups of men as he moved through the large space, not sure who or what he was looking for.  Spying Marlin near the far end of the room, Dean didn’t even try to be subtle in his approach.  Those near Marlin edged away, giving Dean cautious and wary looks.

 

“Which one is he?” Dean ground out, standing squarely in front of Marlin, glaring defiantly into the man’s eyes.

 

Marlin stood, silently glaring back.

 

“Which one?!  You want him taken care of, then I need to know what I’m up against.”

 

The grin that broke apart Marlin’s face sent slivers of cold poking through Dean’s insides.  Marlin nodded slowly before stepping around Dean, jerking his head, indicating Dean to follow.  Marlin led him through the area, to the opposite corner.  Nodding at a man probably in his forties, sitting with two other men, laughing, eating their meal, “That’s him.”  Marlin smirked.

 

“Go away.”  Dean didn’t take his eyes off the group.  He heard Marlin’s snort behind him, then heard as the man turned and stalked off. 

 

Mind churning at light speed, Dean had no idea what he was doing here, why he’d wanted to see this man, confront him.  He’d maybe hoped the guy would reek of child molester who left small bodies in fields for distraught parents to see.  Then at least Dean could say he did the world a favor, justify to Sam killing him.  Maybe he’d been a stock broker, an innocent victim just as Sam.  Whoever he was, he must have felt Dean watching. In the next instant Dean found a pair of pale, cool eyes sizing him up and down.  This man, the opponent he was to kill didn’t reek of child molester, didn’t exactly fit the stock broker mold either.

 

Saying something to his friends, the man rose, walked slowly, purposefully to Dean.  They stood for a moment, each one evaluating the other.

 

“I’m not surprised it’s you; I’m to fight you.”  The man said.  There wasn’t even a hint of a question in his words. 

 

Dean nodded curtly, tried swallowing, but his mouth and throat completely dried up.

 

A half glance over his shoulder to the two men he’d been sitting with.  “You have someone here. Marlin is holding someone over you, making you do this.”

 

Another nod.  “My brother.”  Dean let his eyes wander from the man’s face to the two sitting farther away.  The lankier of the two had shoulder length, unruly black hair.  Dean’s heart seized, nearly stopped.  The expression on his face, the way he moved, the baleful, innocent looking eyes all reminded him too much of Sam.

 

“We all came in here at different times; I’ve been here the longest.  But now we’re a family of sorts, all I have left, those two.  I’m sure you’ve figured out there’s safety in numbers here.”

 

Dean certainly understood that.  “Sam.  My brother, his name is Sam.  Marlin has him squirreled away, locked up.”

 

“Inside?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“If I…if you win…”  Another glance at his friends.  This man didn’t want to die any more than Dean did.  He had loved ones he wanted to protect just as deeply as Dean strove for Sam’s safety.

 

“Without question.”  Dean was having a difficult time meeting this man’s gaze.  “My brother?”

 

“Without question.” 

 

Dean was about to leave, when the man’s fingers snagged his arm.  His other hand he held out to Dean.  “Name’s Tim Hren.”

 

Spending a few seconds contemplating the man’s outstretched hand, more like a paw. Tim Hren was dark skinned, mostly bald, wide, and about as tall as Dean.  Nodding thanks and understanding, Dean shook the outstretched hand.  “Dean Winchester.”

 

Tim took a few deep breaths, then landed one of his paws on Dean’s shoulder for a brief second.  “You’re a good man Dean Winchester.”  

 

Before he could offer a response Tim returned to his friends—family—back to his meal, Dean’s presence ignored.

 

Returning to the clinic, Dean lay on his bed, one arm over his face, trying to block out the images in his head.  Images of a man just like him.  A man who would die, kill for those he loved.  A man who shouldn’t have to do either.  A man who in another place Dean might have a game of pool or cards with.  Perhaps just sit at a bar with his little brother, trading remarks with this man over women, cars, or whatever game played on the TV.  A guy willing to forgive Dean for killing him, being killed by him.

 

Other images rammed Dean’s thoughts.  Sam’s horrified expression when Dean told him how he’d killed Tim Hren, the betrayal, disgust in Sam’s soulful eyes when he realized what a monster his own brother became, murdering an innocent man in cold blood with his bare hands.  Dean clung to the thought Sam would be alive.

 

The seed of a thought dug into his mind, rooted around, something Marlin said earlier nagged at him.  The thought grew, formed, along with it a plan.  Swinging off the bed, Dean left the clinic, moving silently through the complex to the cells.  Pacing along, trying to look into cells without being too obvious he finally found the one Tim Hren shared with his two companions.  He must not have been able to sleep anymore than Dean.  The minute Dean neared his cell Hren met him in the corridor.

 

“I see I’m not the only one staring at the walls.”

 

Dean took a deep breath, this was an incredible chance he was taking, but he saw no other way.  “I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to die, especially like this.  I certainly don’t want to leave my brother abandoned in here.”

 

“Yeah, well, we only have two options, you die or I do.”

 

Eyes dropping to the floor for a second, then skimmed the walls behind Tim, before meeting the other man’s holding them steadily.  “I think there might be option three.”

 

Cocking his head to one side, arms crossing over his chest, Tim leaned against the wall, one leg pulled up so his right foot rested next to his left knee.  “I’m listening.”

 

 

---

 

Chapter 13

 

 

Taking up position near the corridor junction, Tim drew a deep breath, this was either going to work, or not.  The or not most likely culminating in his death.  It was either here and now or in a few hours in a fist fight.  Either way he looked at it, he might die, but this was far preferable, and at least served a purpose.  This Winchester kid might have the right idea, just might be able to pull this off.  They’d still have to fight, but it wouldn’t be a death match.  What exactly they’d do after they pulled this off, he wasn’t sure.

 

Tim made sure this new kid understood, getting his brother back now in no way assured the other boy’s safety.  In fact it was probably going to drive Marlin straight into crazy mode.  The brothers would have maybe twenty-four hours if they were lucky before Marlin pulled something else.  Right now he was still not physically damaging the younger brother, but that would change, and change fast if Dean didn’t cooperate.  Marlin set it up for Dean to be uncooperative.

 

He suspected Marlin might see this current plan as not cooperating.

 

Getting those two out meant getting the whole damn lot of them out.  Tim agreed to help, he wanted out.  He’d spent a good portion of his adult life in here, it was time to stop living in fear and fight back.  Before now he’d never really had an ally.  Dean Winchester, he’d discovered in a few short hours, was one damn fine ally.  He was tough, smart and driven.  Three admirable qualities in any man Tim long ago decided.  His strongest point was his brother, Sam.  Turned out Sam was an excellent motivator, even if he was locked away at the moment.

 

Those two brothers would do anything for each other; Tim didn’t have to talk to the other one to know that.  The type of love and sheer devotion Dean showed toward his brother wasn’t given to someone who didn’t give it back.  Tim long ago realized bonds such as those two had were the most powerful weapon a man possessed.

 

So, he’d go along with Winchester’s plan, things certainly couldn’t get worse.

 

The men he’d chosen to help, who’d gone along after only a small amount of persuasion were men he’d had open animosity toward for years.  Tim was hoping that might cover their tracks for a bit at least.  Over the years plenty tried standing up to Marlin, but always alone.  This was the first time anyone managed to get some partners, some type of organization, though Tim tried unsuccessfully a few times.  He’d never found anyone with the right combination of motivation, skill and plain determination to win until Dean walked up to him and announced there was option three.

 

The least he could do was pay the man back for his efforts and help him keep his brother—his family—safe. 

 

Motioning to the other men taking up their positions along various points of the corridors, the message was passed along.  Stepping out to full view, daring Marlin’s goons with his eyes, body language Tim strode halfway down the corridor.

 

“Hey, asshole!”  He shouted to one of the others at the far end of the corridor.

 

Yeah, one way or another, this was going to end, these men, those two brothers, them all, they were getting out.

 

+++++

 

The first thing to hit Dean was the stench. 

 

Carter’s needle Dean fashioned into a lock pick worked better than he thought it might.  It’d taken him less than a minute to get the door blocking him from Sam open.  He stopped, bracing one wrist over his nose, letting his eyes adjust to the lower lighting, his nose adjust to the awful combination of blood, vomit, urine and things Dean didn’t want to identify.  It was bad enough knowing his brother was in here, had been in here for as far as he could figure out about a day.  No food or water, Dean reasoned, no clean air to breathe either.  The air was foul, rancid, the dampness from condensation off the metal ceiling making it worse.

 

Carter gave a shove to his spine, moving him completely into the room. He heard the man’s quick inhale and turned far enough to see him pull his shirt over his nose and mouth.  If the smell bothered a doctor, it must be bad Dean decided.  Blinking to clear his eyes, they stung, and swallowing to wash away the foul taste collecting at the back of his throat Dean went straight to the table his little brother was tied to.  He did his best to ignore everything, the puddle of gelatinous goo he knew had once been blood, now with flies collecting and buzzing around it.  Small white specks squirmed about, maggots. 

 

Lying on the table, tied securely, Sam wore nothing but his jeans.  Even from a few feet away Dean saw they were filthy and soaked with urine and sweat.  A quick scan of Sam confirmed in Dean’s mind very little, or none of the blood was his.  There was too much of it on the floor, and Sam was too pink to have lost so much blood.  On second thought, Dean decided Sam was too much alive to have lost that much blood.  Thankfully he had no open, gaping wounds.  The flies buzzing around him, over him hadn’t had much choice of egg-laying locations.  The cinches around his wrists and ankles were pulled tight enough to chafe, hurt and tug at the skin, but not to cause open, bleeding lacerations, at least not yet.  Whether Sam had the sense to keep still preventing bleeding and subsequently maggots or he’d done so because of the pain, Dean had no idea.  He didn’t much care either; the main thing was no maggots writhed around Sam’s flesh.

 

His first instinct was to cut Sam loose, snatch him off the table and run.  However, since his brother was more unconscious than conscious Dean knew he couldn’t, he’d scare the kid needlessly.  He’d have to get Sam somewhat coherent to get him back to the clinic.  Carter was there to help, but Sam being a good eight inches taller than their new found friend, it’d go much simpler if he could walk somewhat under his own steam. 

 

“Sam.”  Dean kept his voice low, but firm, he wanted Sam’s attention on him, not on what was happening around them.

 

Stirring immediately, Sam mumbled something close to Dean’s name, head turning to the sound of Dean’s voice.

 

Laying one hand gently against Sam’s shoulder, relieved he was neither feverish, nor too cold, “Sammy.” Voice softer, gentler this time, “C’mon, let’s get you outa here.”

 

“Dean?”  Sam blinked a few times, eyes jerking around the room, slipping into and out of focus.  His voice was rough, scratchy.  He tensed, trying to sit up. Muscles along his chest and abdomen jerked as he flinched fully awake.  “Dean.”  Stronger, clearer this time.

 

“Right here, buddy.  I’ll get you outa here.”  It took Dean less than a minute to release the cinches trapping Sam’s wrists and ankles.  Aware the entire time Sam’s head rolled side to side, keeping his eyes on Dean.  “Can you sit up?”

 

Sam moaned, bit his lip and winced a few times as he straightened and bent stiff arms and legs.  Dean’s arm slipped under his shoulders, helping him up. 

 

“Ya with me?”  One hand resting on Sam’s shoulder, Dean peered closely at him.  His brother’s eyes slid over his face, took a few seconds to focus, to recognize. 

 

Nodding, Sam’s hand pushed weakly against Dean’s side, trying to move him away, “No…I’m…it’s…”

 

Dean’s chest constricted, squeezing tight against his ribs, “Hey, stop, it’ll wash off.”  Refusing to let go his grip on his brother’s shoulders, or allow his hand to be moved away, Dean nudged at him until Sam’s weight was against him.  Seeing Sam left like this, in this condition wasn’t anywhere near what Sam was feeling, Dean was sure.  Deciding his brother would make a piss poor hobo, Dean’s hatred for Marlin intensified.  Something he didn’t think possible.  Leaving the kid covered in his own filth was probably one of the cruelest things that could be done.  Giving Sam’s lax shoulders another squeeze, “It’ll all wash off.”  He reassured. 

                                             

How one person could do something like this, be so intensely cruel to another human being was completely beyond Dean’s realm of understanding.  Neither one of them had ever done a thing to harm people, the opposite in fact.  Yet, Sam seemed to have a bulls-eye emblazoned on his back, he was targeted so much, and so often for no other purpose than hurting Dean.

 

This hurt Dean, wounded him so deeply and painfully he felt it straight through to his soul.

 

Reaching up to pry Sam’s hair loose from the side of his head, move it back, Sam’s arm blocked his, pushed away and down, “D-don’t…please, don’t t-touch…”  Again Sam tried waving him off. 

 

This time Dean took firm hold of his brother’s chin, turned Sam’s head, forcing him to look straight at Dean.  “Sam.  Stop it.  It’s okay, kiddo, it’ll all wash off.  Now come on, off you go.”  Dropping the arm he’d had around Sam’s shoulders to loop around his waist Dean eased him off the table.

 

Carter stepped up to take some of Sam’s weight; Dean had to consciously stop himself from pulling Sam away, putting himself between the two, reminding himself this man was helping, not hurting.  Laying his arm across Dean’s shoulders, Sam couldn’t stand on his own yet, but having Dean and Carter take some of his weight he seemed more able to hold himself up against Dean.

 

Stopping at the door, Carter stepped away; being sure Sam was well balanced against Dean before he ducked out to the corridor for a few seconds.  Back in he nodded once to Dean.  “All clear.”

 

Tightening his grip on Sam, Dean gently urged him forward.  A quick scan of the corridor, Dean was thankful it was empty for now.  Their diversion worked.  Seeing no bodies brought a sigh of relief he wasn’t expecting.  These men had helped him, they didn’t even know him, and had very little reason to go along, other than the small hope of ending this insanity.  Dean wasn’t kidding himself in the slightest, the hope of an end, a safe route out were miniscule at the most.  It was better than no hope at all.

 

With Carter helping they made their way back to the clinic without much fuss or trouble.  The entire complex was eerily quiet, the normal amount of men in the corridors gone.  They saw no one.  The small diversionary skirmish Tim organized worked.  He and Tim knew they’d still have to fight one another in the arena, but Marlin’s bargaining chip, his way to force either of them into making it a death match was gone.  Pulling the same tactic again with Tim’s friends wouldn’t happen, everyone was on guard, everyone protected for now.  It wouldn’t last forever, a day if they were really lucky, but a man could do a lot of work and planning in a day.

 

Dean made a start, he wasn’t backing down.

 

Getting Sam in the shower proved a bit more of a challenge.  After getting him to empty his pockets, Dean wanted the lock picks back, and drink a bottle of water, he shoved Sam, still clothed, in the shower, got the water on to get the first layer of filth off.  Letting go, he planned on leaving Sam with instructions to get his jeans and underwear off, and scrub down good while Dean went and hunted down something else for him to wear.  When he stepped away from the shower stall Sam suddenly turned to him, pale, eyes widening.

 

“Dean!”  He was breathless, one hand outstretched toward Dean, swaying precariously.

 

Dean managed to jump forward, not slide off his feet on the wet tiles and catch his tumbling brother all at once.  Staying as far out of the water as possible so he wasn’t soaked through, “Okay, okay…it’s okay Sammy.”  Bracing one hand against Sam’s chest, holding him to the wall and still under the spray of water, Dean figured Sam could cope with the rest if he had help staying balanced.  “C’mon get those off.” 

 

Peeling his jeans off while Dean kept him upright, Sam flinched and grimaced, but got a bit steadier on his feet.  Dean took the offensive garment between his thumb and forefinger, holding it away from him he couldn’t help wrinkling his nose, “We’re burning these.”

 

“Won’t have anything to wear.”  Sam grumbled, his voice barely above a weak whisper.

 

“We’ll find you something.”  Dean tossed the jeans away from the shower.  Turning back, reaching forward to get the soap for Sam, reasoning the less Sam moved around the better off they’d both be, it’d be easier for the kid to stay on his feet that way.  Dean hadn’t a prayer of stopping the harsh gasp rolling out of him.

 

Bruises, hidden by Sam’s jeans, covered his skin between his knees and hips.  Along his side, across his lower abdomen, and down his groin and thighs were large purple and blue explosions of discoloration, abuse and damage.  Without warning Dean’s own legs wobbled, becoming too weak to support both of them.  Pushing Sam against the wall, “You okay?  Stay there…it’ll wash off.  Ju-just use lots of soap.”  He backed away, couldn’t breathe.

 

Sam was busy shaking water and lathered soap from his hair, sending a second shower of water to bounce off the walls and Dean.  “Huh?”  Looking up sharply when Dean’s support and hand withdrew so fast, he slid a bit, hand slapping the wall, fingers trying to find purchase on the slick surface, “Dean, what the—?”  Then a deep groan.

 

“Sam?”  He needed to get away, but needed to be close, Sam needed him.  Leaning against the wall beyond the shower to stop the room from twirling, breathing fast, trying to remember to take even, slower breaths, hoping the gray and black haze would clear soon.  Dean shoved one fist against his mouth, closed his eyes, concentrated on inhaling, exhaling.  “Sam…he…”

 

The water cut off after another minute.  “I’m…Dean…it’s just bruises, you’ve seen me with bruises.  They didn’t do anything; just hit me, that’s all.  Dean?”

 

Pushing to his feet, using the wall for a brace, not remembering when he’d bent his knees and slipped down, to rest on his haunches, Dean wiped one hand over his face.  “Hang on Sammy.”  Stepping away, still not sure he wasn’t going to meet the floor face first, willing his jumbled stomach to quiet the hell down, Dean saw the pile of towels, a blanket and some sweat pants Carter must have put there.  Sam’s jeans were gone. 

 

A few more deep breaths, he could do this, he could.  Sam was his brother, and no matter what was done to him, Dean could take care of it, focus on the task at hand and cope with his own feelings later.  Right now Sam needed him, maybe more than ever.  Dean was at his best when needed, it was what drove him forward.  Taking care of his brother was his number one priority, and frankly, he was damn good at it.

 

Closing his eyes, taking in one deep breath and letting it out long and slow, Dean snatched up the towels, and headed back into the shower.  Sam sagged along the door frame, “I thought you abandoned me.”  He offered a half-hearted grin that faded the second his eyes met Dean’s.

 

“Needed to get the towels.”

 

Sam took the offered towel, dried his legs and torso while Dean rubbed one across the top of his head.  Sam’s movements were slow; he was obviously uncomfortable, the bruised skin and muscles pulling.  But Dean could see he wasn’t in horrible pain, in a few days soreness and stiffness would fade away.  It wasn’t Sam’s bruised muscles Dean was worried about, tormented by.

 

Dean didn’t leave Sam until he was settled in the bed, cocooned in the blankets Carter supplied, at the back of the clinic, the section the two of them made into living quarters for now.  He was back a short time later, arms loaded with water, soup and pain killers.  Setting everything on one of the counters close to the bed, Dean debated whether to let Sam doze more, or get the water and food down him.  Deciding his brother needed to re-hydrate, as instructed by Carter, more than he needed to rest, he laid one hand on Sam’s shoulder, gently waking him.

 

“Hey, how you feeling?”

 

Taking the offered water, Sam nodded, smiled a bit, “Cleaner.  Thanks.”

 

“I brought you some soup too.  Carter says if you don’t finish all of it, and the water, he’s sticking a tube down your throat and pouring it in.”  Dean settled on the cot beside the bed, “And I’d believe him if I were you.”

 

Sam grimaced, nodding.  He unwound the blanket enough to allow him to sit straighter.  “Dean—”

 

“Sammy, you know there’s not a thing you can’t tell me, we can’t talk about, work through.”  He hadn’t meant to just blurt it out like that.

 

“You’re not listening to me.”  Sam spoke slowly, taking in spoonfuls of soup between every few words.  “They just hit me, Marlin didn’t do anything else.  And you know what, even if he did…as long as we both got out…”

 

“You can tell me, anything, you’re my brother, you can tell me.”  Splinters of fear prickled through him, thinking what might have been done to Sam, what his brother might be too ashamed to admit, talk about.

 

“I know.”  Sam’s voice was so soft, drained, Dean didn’t know whether to believe him, dare to hope Sam had truly been nothing but hit. 

 

“We’re not going to have a lot of time.  Marlin won’t stop, not now.  I don’t know how long—”

 

“I’m not leaving here without you.”  Sam glared at him, daring Dean to continue.

 

“Sam, I don’t know what’ll happen, they’re going to come after you again.”

 

“You think I don’t know that?”  Sam’s voice rose, deepened to a thicker timber.  “We leave together.  Together!  Or I don’t go at all.  I don’t give a crap what I have to do or put up with to make sure we both walk out.  I’m not leaving without you Dean, just get it through your thick skull.  Get rid of any of your stupid, self-sacrificing ideas about dying so I can go free right now.”

 

“Sam there may not—”

 

“I’m not leaving without you.  You die, I stay here. I won’t leave even if they open the door and shove me out.  You even so much as dare leave me alone in here and I’ll hate you forever.”

 

“Sammy!”

 

“I mean it Dean.  I won’t leave and Marlin or whoever can do whatever the hell they want.  I stay here for however long I live.”  Sam was dragging huge, too fast breaths in, his fingers clenched the bed frame, watery eyes betrayed what his angry expression covered. 

 

Wiping one hand over his face, closing his eyes for just a few seconds, Dean nodded.  “Yeah, okay.”  He had no way of knowing if he’d die here or not, but he could at least do everything in his power to live, to make sure they both lived.

 

“Dean.”  Sam insisted, though his voice now soft.

 

“I can’t promise you one of us won’t die.  But I can promise to do my best to make sure neither of us does.”  Reaching out, Dean’s fingers gently combed through Sam’s still damp bangs, moving them away from his eyes.  “Together.”  He managed a lot more conviction in his voice than he was feeling.

 

A few hours later Dean sat in the dimmed lights of the room, Sam had fallen sleep, curled on his side.  Dean hated when Sam slept like that, he mostly only did so when he was troubled, frightened.  He had no way of knowing for sure exactly what Marlin had done to Sam, to others before Sam.  One thing he did know, no one hurt his brother, touched his brother like that and got away with it.

 

Marlin was done terrorizing, hurting.  Marlin was done.

 

 

---

 

Chapter 14

 

 

Ducking the punch aimed above his ear, Dean smirked, wheeled to the side and grumbled, “You’re gonna hafta do better than that old man.”

 

“Who you calling old?”  Tim returned with a smirk of his own and a sucker punch to Dean’s gut.

 

Exaggerating his ooommpppff, making a show of staggering back a few steps, Dean turned on his heel, jammed his elbow into Tim’s side, sending the other man sprawling to the ground amongst a chorus of cheers and hoots from the ‘audience’ surrounding the arena.  A chuckle Tim stifled a second too late got loose, sounding more like a moan.

 

“Dude!”  Dean’s arms dropped to his sides for a second, “Please do not sound like you’re enjoying it.”

 

Rolling to his feet just in time to miss Dean’s foot connecting with his side, “Sorry.  What they tell you?”

 

“Lose.”  Dean ducked another punch more or less aimed in his direction; dropped half way to his knees then came up, shoulder pushing against Tim’s middle.

 

“Me too.”  Tim grunted.

 

“You watched way too much WWF as a kid, didn’t you?”

 

Tim cracked a grin. Dean covered it up quick with a fist across his face.

 

“I loved it.  How much longer?”

 

“We gotta give Sammy ten minutes; figure he’s been at it for a few minutes now.”  Dean hit the floor again, rolled clear as Tim launched at him. Bit back his own laugh when the man belly slammed the floor.

 

“Not funny.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.  That pot belly you’ve got going should pad you.”

 

“I do not,” Tim flipped around, catching Dean’s legs between his own, yanked hard, taking Dean down.  “Have a pot belly.”

 

Pulling air into his lungs, rolling on his shoulders, Dean pushed off the floor, “Whatever.  You’re still old.  I shouldn’t have let him go alone, not in here.”

 

“Not like there was a choice, a group going down there is too noticeable.  One man, alone, stands a far better chance.”  Tim twisted, elbowing Dean’s ribs.

 

Dean faked a wince, doubled over. “Don’t have to like it though.”

 

“Nope, you sure don’t.”

 

Simultaneously both clipped the other’s legs, taking each other down.  Dean’s back hit with a hearty grunt.  Tim flashed a quick grin, “Really do you have to sound like you enjoy it?”  A bell sounding once had them both glancing at Del Villar’s observation room a story above them.  Up first, Tim reached down, grasped Dean’s hand, letting him pull up against his grip.  “Think we pissed them off enough?” 

 

Dean’s gaze slid to the empty area behind the glass.  “I don’t know.”  Glancing at his watch, “I’m not sure we gave Sam enough time, only been eight minutes.”  He pulled in a few deep breaths. “I shouldn’t have let him go.”

 

Tim kindly patted his shoulder, “You had no choice, and I’m sure he’s already back, waiting on your sorry beaten ass.”

 

Snorting, eyes again shifting to the empty observation room, Dean said, “I won.”

 

+++++

 

Another quick glance over his shoulder, Sam was still alone in the lower corridor.  Gulping a few quick breaths, he hurried past the door to the room he’d spent too much time in lately.  The electrified gate to outside, freedom, was a few yards further, the access panel covering the wires supplying the electricity to it just a few feet beyond.  Once they knew where to look, they’d found it, well concealed along the wall near the ceiling, painted to match the cinder block walls.  Get there, disable it, get back to the clinic.  If Dean repeated it one more time he wasn’t going to have to fight Tim, Sam was going to knock his brother out himself.

 

Sam was probably even less thrilled about coming down here alone than Dean, if that was even possible.  They’d timed it out, he’d need just under ten minutes to get to the access panel, cut the wires, and get back to the clinic.  Dean and Tim were to provide the distraction of a fight, keeping up their ruse long enough for Sam to complete his mission.  Marlin, Del Villar and their respective goons would all be at the arena.  Carter was required to be there too.  Having been forced away from Dean’s other fights, except when Marlin wanted Sam to see Dean beaten, and considering the events of the last few days, Sam’s absence from this fight was perfectly acceptable.  Marlin would expect Dean to leave Sam locked in the clinic, where he’d think Sam would be safe.

 

Simple fact was there was no other way they could come up with to do this.  Another simple fact was neither Sam, nor Dean, would be safe until they were miles away, sheltered inside the Impala.  Sam’s drive to keep Dean safe was just as great as Dean’s drive for his safety.  So, he swallowed his fear and set his mind to his task.

 

Even standing on tip-toe, stretching his arms as far as they’d go, Sam just barely reached the access panel to the outer junction box.  A butter knife and suture cutters were all the tools he carried.  Unscrewing the panel with the butter knife, Sam held the cutters between his teeth.  The metal covering came loose; Sam caught it and lowered it carefully to the floor before it could clang and clatter.

 

“Well aren’t you a bright boy.”

 

Every one of Sam’s muscles froze for a beat. First to unfreeze was his mouth, scrunched into a self-defeating grimace.  Shit.  SHIT!  Turning to face the source of the voice, Sam found himself nose to nose with a rifle.  A second man stood just to his right, pistol aimed in the general vicinity of the space between Sam’s eyes.  A third man stood between them.  He was shorter, compact, terribly composed.

 

Marcos Del Villar.

 

Sam wouldn’t have needed Dean’s description to know this was who he faced.  Raising his hands, palms out, Sam took a deep breath trying to calm jangled nerves and kept his expression placid. At least he hoped it was.  He didn’t want to antagonize this man, or anyone else in this place.  Del Villar’s eyes skimmed him head to foot, and back again.  Sam barely suppressed the shudder trying to work down his spine.

 

“So, you’re what Marlin is making such a fuss over.  Understandable.”  He turned to the man holding the rifle, nodded toward the electrified door.  “Open it.”

 

Sam watched as the man moved a tiny, fake stone panel along the door’s frame to one side, hit a button.  The soft sound of electricity going off was followed a second later by the clink of machinery. The door pulled up along a track to disappear into the ceiling. 

 

Del Villar took a step back, nodded once at the opened door to the desert outside.  “Go on.”

 

Sam’s mind whirled.  Out.  Freedom.  Runrunrun.  He did some fast calculations.  His feet literally itched, the muscles of his legs trembled, straining to stand still, think this through.  If he could get to the Impala there were weapons, tools to get back inside and to Dean.  He’d be armed, he’d be prepared.  But where was their car exactly? Sam didn’t know.  The car might have been moved, leaving Sam locked out, no food, no water, no way back to his brother, in worse trouble than he was now.  Dean told him he’d driven it here, parked it near an air strip.  How far was that?  Sam had no clue, he’d been brought in at night, blindfolded; he’d never seen the outside of the complex.

 

It’d be a race between him and Del Villar.  Could Sam get to the car, get back before Del Villar had Dean outright killed?  Not a chance he’d take. 

 

Pulling his eyes from the opened door, Sam let them meet Del Villar’s for a few seconds, kept his face calm, then dropped his eyes to the man’s shoulder.

 

Del Villar crossed both arms over his chest.  “Like I said, bright boy.”  He stalked around Sam, eyeing him up and down again.  “Quite the prize Marlin has picked out for himself.  See, you present an interesting problem and opportunity for me all at the same time.  Your brother, he’s an interesting man, best I’ve had in here in a long time.  First one in years to really push Marlin, give him a good run for my money, take him on.  But, he needs to take care of Marlin, get him out of the way first.  He’s already got some behind him.”  Del Villar stopped, facing Sam once more.  “How far will your brother go to have you back, safe, unharmed?  Keep you from Marlin, from me?”

 

The shudder imprisoned at the base of Sam’s spine won out, ripped free and skimmed a few laps up and down his back.  The other man’s eyes slipped over him as if he were indeed some prize to be won, some fantasy fulfilled; nothing more than flesh and muscle.  Sam’s breath caught and held when Del Villar reached out, ran one finger down his face, along his neck.  The urge to flinch away nearly overcame his resolve to stay still, don’t fight, but don’t give in either.  The implications weren’t even remotely veiled. 

 

“He’ll kill you,” Sam bit out.  He barely got the words to come out in a somewhat normal tone.  How he managed to stay upright was a mystery.

 

“Oh, I know.”  Throwing his head back, his laugh, hollow and taunting echoed around the corridor.  “I guess it’s a good thing I have you, isn’t it, boy?  A nice insurance policy.  See, I can’t have your brother and Marlin around.  Too much to try and keep control of.  Marlin wins, he gets his reward, free and clear.  Your brother wins, I have you to keep him in line.  It’s win, win all around for me.  And in the meantime, I’ve got you to myself.  Your brother’s little display earlier didn’t win him any points.  I don’t like being embarrassed, but if he comes out the winner, I can overlook one infraction.”

 

Sam didn’t know what to say.  His opinion wasn’t really wanted, so he kept quiet, still.

 

“You can cooperate, behave yourself; do what I tell you to, what I want you to do.  Or…”  Del Villar paused, shrugged the smallest bit. “I can have your brother put down where he stands in minutes.”

 

Barely moving, Sam’s chin dipped in a small nod.  After all his making Dean promise not to sacrifice himself, what was Sam doing?  The same thing.  Except not.   Sam wasn’t offering up his life, not really, just himself.  No matter what he had to do to ensure he and Dean walked out of here, he’d do it, and survive out of nothing more than plain spite.  He could fight for Dean just as stubbornly as Dean fought for him.  Dean would surely kick his ass for this, but too bad.  Sam wasn’t losing his brother.

 

Del Villar jerked his chin, and the door was closed.  Without further comment, Del Villar turned, led the way along the corridor.  The two armed men followed, with Sam between them.  He’d go with this monster pretending to be a man, do what he had to do so he and his brother could get out.

 

+++++

 

Dean paced the clinic.  Carter and Tim both chose, wisely, to keep out of his way, stay silent.  He felt them watching him, felt their concern.  Carter, Dean knew, genuinely liked Sam.  Though Tim hadn’t much contact with Sam, Dean knew he cared about what happened to his brother. 

 

Thoughts of Sam alone, hungry, thirsty, in the desert, dumped out there, left to the elements mingled with thoughts of Sam once again at Marlin’s mercy.  Having no clear idea what Sam suffered at Marlin’s hands, other than what he imagined, the images he dredged up now went from bad to worse to downright horrible.  Sam being abused, tortured all for no other reason than Marlin’s sick entertainment, and to provoke Dean.

 

Sam alone, hurt, frightened each thought, each word Dean’s brain came up with intensified his anger, his hate exponentially. 

 

He was caged, hands tied until he knew where Sam was.  They’d planned for this, but Sam wasn’t in the room he’d been held in previously.  Dean was unwilling to confront Marlin outright until Sam’s whereabouts were known.   It was obvious Sam was discovered trying to cut the power to the door; not so obvious was where the hell his young brother was. 

 

If Marlin didn’t show his hand soon, Dean was going to have to figure a way to draw him out.

 

“I shouldn’t have let him go, let him do it.”

 

“We’ve been over this, there wasn’t another way, and he’d have just done it while you two were in the arena anyway.”  Carter said from across the room.

 

“It’s been hours, too long.”  Dean spun, pacing back the way he’d just come.  “That’s my brother, I’m responsible for him.  I’ve taken care of him his whole life, and I’m not losing him here, not now.”  He couldn’t help shouting.

 

“It’s been five hours, enough time.  Dean’s right.  Think it’s time we take a walk, find Marlin.”  Tim headed to the clinic door.  “No one is losing anyone.”

 

+++++

 

Sam was led up a flight of stairs directly connecting the corridor with Del Villar’s private suite.  He suspected there was access to the lower levels of the compound all through this upper level.  That would certainly explain how Marlin managed to move around so quickly, be everywhere at once.  He was left in a small bedroom, nothing fancy, but not a prison cell either.  Marcos Del Villar offered him a predatory, cocky smile, promising to be back soon.

 

Sam couldn’t wait.

 

Ten steps in either direction had him from end to end.  There was one thing of interest in the sparse room, a window.  Sidling up to it, glancing out Sam nearly whooped with glee.  Sitting a few stories below and not too far from the compound was one 1967 black Impala.  There couldn’t be two here.  Now he just had to get out of this room, get from here to there.

 

One idea sprung to mind, he searched for others, but they’d gone and run away.  Sighing, he was going to have to do this, but there really wasn’t another way he could think of, and it wasn’t like he had a lot of time.

 

Moving to the bedroom door, Sam tried the handle, locked of course.  He jiggled at it a bit, tapped with two fingers against the wood, cleared his throat loudly. 

 

“Whaddya want?”  A thick, raspy voice barked from the opposite side.

 

“I…um…will Mr. Del Villar be back soon?”

 

Snickering, then, “Why, getting ants in your pants kid?”

 

Sam rolled his eyes, sagged against the door frame, he could do this, he really could.  “Well, yes, no, I mean I’m not exactly presentable, if you get my drift.  Can I get a shower?  Before he comes back?”

 

The lock turned, the door opened.

 

He shoots…

 

“Please?”  Sam turned on the smile that impressed most girls, having no idea if it would work, since he’d never actually tried with the alternative, and added a touch of round-eyed boyish innocence for good measure.  “I want to impress him.”

 

The guy made no effort to hide the leer, how his eyes moved up and down Sam’s frame.  He was going to need that shower from the visual alone.  “Maybe you need some warm up.”

 

he scores…

 

“Maybe.”   Sam had to make a conscious effort not to gulp and licked his dry lips instead.

 

Face softening the guy nodded, grinned and rubbed his thigh.  “This way.”

 

“Thanks.”  Sam said softly, reaching out and letting his finger tips brush down the man’s shoulder, over his arm as he stepped clear of the locked room. 

 

The guy half turned back to him—this was too easy—lecherous grin all over his face.  In the next instant he swaggered away, head snapped back, out before he hit the floor from the impact of Sam’s fist.

 

The crowd goes wild!!!!

 

Sam bolted, deciding as he ran down the hall, headed for the access to the lower corridor, he was never, ever telling Dean how he’d done that.  Not ever. 

 

There were far less people up here, and he’d seen the way, wasn’t lost as he’d been before.  Racing along, trying to keep his breathing and footsteps quiet, Sam was back at the electrified door in minutes.  Just as he moved away the panel covering the control he heard voices, shouts behind him, coming for him. 

 

“Come on, come on.”  He huffed impatiently at the door, waving it along faster.

 

When the door was halfway up, Sam hit the button again, getting just the results he’d hoped for.  The door’s progress up stopped, it shivered for a second then started back down.  Sam rolled underneath to the desert, to freedom.

 

The Impala was on the opposite side of the complex.  To his left was the air strip, it was the shorter distance.  To the right was nothing but desert, it was a longer distance, but less people were there.  Sam veered right.  Running hard, not taking the time to see if his pursuers had gotten through the door or not yet, Sam put his long legs to good use, stretching them fully he turned on the speed.

 

Running in the sandy desert was difficult; he was sweating almost immediately in the midday sun.  Rounding the corner of the complex he was rewarded with the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.  A black shinning pearl against the nearly white sand, paint job glimmering in the sun was his, their, salvation.  Sam was never going to make fun of Dean again for being unnaturally affectionate to the car. He planned on planting a big kiss on her hood just as soon as he got there.

 

Racing across the expanse of desert, all he had to do was get there, get the spare key from the wheel well and these creeps would really learn who they’d messed with.

 

Hearing the men behind him, shouting, Sam was maybe five feet, almost close enough to touch, from the car, a shot gun being fired exploded the air.  He felt the heat and friction from the bullet as it whizzed by his ear.

 

Bending his knees mid-stride, he hit the sand, sliding on his knees a few more feet, Sam came to a stop, hands clasped behind his head, panting.  The rough sand tore through his sweatpants, stinging and grinding in bits of sand along his knees and shins.

 

“And here I thought you were a bright boy.”  Del Villar snapped, fingers winding in Sam’s hair, yanking his head to the side.

 

“Did you expect us to just lie down, roll over and take it?” Sam spat.

 

“And we were getting along so well.”  Del Villar knelt beside Sam, pressed his face close enough Sam felt the moisture from his breath.  Standing, he shoved Sam back at the same time.  Holding out one hand, one of his men laid a pistol in it.  Pressing it to Sam’s temple. “What I want, I get. Remember that boy.”

 

Sam closed his eyes, tried to quell the sudden shaking of his limbs.  Behind his head his fingers clamped to each other with enough force to ache. 

 

“Find the brother, bring him here and—” Del Villar moved the pistol through Sam’s hair, ran his free hand over Sam’s head, let his fingers skim down the back of Sam’s neck.  “Put him down.”

 

“No!”  Sam shouted, his voice thick and wet.  “No, please, no.  This was my idea, not his, no.  He had nothing to do with this.”  Sam’s heart jack-rabbitted erratically, the men and desert before him swam.  “I’m sorry.  Sorry, let me make it up to you.”

 

“Cooperative all of a sudden, aren’t you?”  Del Villar stood, stepped away.  “Your brother thinks he can take over from Marlin, might be more bother than he’s worth on second thought.”                      

 

“I’ll do anything you want, no argument, no trouble.  Please, leave Dean alone.”

 

Eyeing Sam, seeming to enjoy his begging, “Wait.”  

 

Sam watched as the men stopped, turned, waited orders.  His stomach clenched around itself, his chest constricted.  “Please.”

 

“Touching.”  Del Villar sneered.  “But you need a lesson.  You need to have some of that fight taken out of you, learn who is in control around here, who you answer to.  Who owns you.”  He turned, walked away a few steps, then said over his shoulder to one of the men, “Put him in a box for now, that’ll cool his jets.”  He swung around to face Sam again.  “You’ll be so grateful when you see me again.  I’ll have to think about what to do with your brother, if he survives his little meeting with Marlin.”

 

It took Sam’s befuddled mind a minute to process.  A sweatbox; he was being kept in a metal box in the desert.  Trapped inside, sweltering, fading away while Dean was possibly executed.

 

Fighting to control his breathing, not look at the cramped inside of the dark box, Sam closed his eyes to the dizziness overtaking him, focusing on one thing, one thing alone to get him through this, get him out. 

 

Dean.

 

+++++

 

Tim had to nearly run to keep up with Dean. They both knew where to find Marlin, and Tim wasn’t surprised Dean made a beeline straight there.  He also wasn’t surprised when Marlin acted as if he was expecting them.  They faced one another off just outside the arena, near the cages.

 

“Don’t tell me, let me guess.  Where’s Sam?”  Marlin sneered at Dean, openly taunted.

 

Dean stopped a few feet from him, barely glancing at the men moving in, encircling them.  Tim watched Dean’s entire body tremble, sheer power preparing to unleash.  He couldn’t help thinking how happy he was it wasn’t he it was being unleashed on.

 

“You hurt my brother.”  The words were low, vicious. 

 

“It was so good, such pleasure.”  Marlin circled, his voice purely sadistic.

 

“I want him back.”

 

Marlin snorted.  “Talk to Mr. Del Villar. I hear he’s taken a liking to your boy.  A fine prize he is too.  Such a shame you don’t stand a chance of winning, getting that prize back.”  He swung at Dean, who ducked clear, did nothing but stare down Marlin with cold hatred.  Tim sensed something gathering inside the younger man, something that once let loose couldn’t be stopped.  He’d gotten an answer to his question, where Sam was, there’d be no keeping him from Marlin now, not that Tim even considered it.

 

One of Marlin’s goons moved in, but Tim was fast.  Grabbing the guy from behind, he wound his arms under the man’s shoulders, picked him up, swung him around and dropped him back down.  “Nope.  No one interferes.”  He swept an evil stare over the rest of the gathering group, knowing who was behind them, there to help.  “No one!”  He shouted.

 

Marlin swallowed harshly, took a few steps toward Dean, “Get out of my way.”

 

Dean’s arm shot out, hand landing with a thud against the wall, stopping Marlin’s progress.   A sneer and a slight shake of his head, Dean’s voice came out razor sharp, even, determined, lethal.  “It’s just you and me.”

 

 

---

 

Chapter 15

 

Sam wasn’t so much different than his brother.  Not really.  For a couple of guys who lived mostly in their car they were both a bit claustrophobic.  Granted Dean’s was worse than his, but Sam’s was bad enough.  Sam was quieter, didn’t have Dean’s bravado, swagger, but he had plenty of Dean’s other traits.  Hell, he even liked Dean’s music, not that he’d ever tell Dean that.  His big brother was the standard Sam judged all else in the world by, including himself.

 

Dean wouldn’t panic, not even in here.  He’d stay calm, wait patiently, plan his moves, strike like a rattle snake when given the opportunity, fast, sure, deadly.

 

Sam prided himself on having Dean’s traits, the good ones, worked for them, strived towards them.  Everything good in him came from Dean, learned from Dean, everything he needed nurtured by his brother from before Sam could remember.  He’d spent his life with his personal hero, watching him, emulating him, living up to the man that was Dean Winchester.  Even when Dean wasn’t with Sam, he still was.  It was Sam’s strength, his salvation.  Dean’s too.   It had always been that way, always would be.

 

Dean wouldn’t panic.  He’d draw inward, keep calm.  Be ready. 

 

Sam wouldn’t give into the panic.  He’d live up to the standard he’d studied his whole life, the one set by his brother.  Sam’s brother was a hero and nothing or no one would ever convince Sam otherwise. He’d be ready.  He’d make Dean proud of him.   

 

Fighting the urge to pound his fists against the dark, rough metal above him, try to kick out of the cramped space, shout his brother’s name, Sam knew he had to stay calm, conserve energy, slow dehydration. 

 

He might be quieter than Dean, stay back behind his brother, in his shadow, behind Dean’s walls, but that didn’t mean he was any less resilient.  Any less a fighter.  He and Dean, they were going to win this game.  This, Sam was determined to do.

 

+++++

 

Dean’s free arm shot out, hand balled into a fist he slammed into Marlin’s jaw, sending him reeling away.

 

Immediately off the floor to his feet, head down, Marlin charged Dean.  Bracing, Dean was knocked backwards into the wall with a muffled grunt.  He bounced off the wall, the momentum from his weight propelling him forward.  Two fast, hard hits to Marlin’s head jarred Dean’s arm straight to his shoulder; pain ripped down his spine.  He didn’t care, ignored it.  This man hurt Sam in ways Dean could only imagine, barely comprehend.  No way was he getting away with that, no way was he going to repeat it, further terrorize the kid, anyone.

 

Marlin hit the ground, legs swiping in an arch, taking Dean down.  The impact from his back connecting with the solid floor caused pain to bloom across his back, sent shudders through his frame.  Rolling on his shoulders and away from Marlin, Dean was up a split second before the other man.  He instantly whirled, striking out, his foot smashing into Marlin’s side, catching him off balance, tossing him farther away.  Marlin’s body made an audible thud against the concrete.  In a blur of motion Marlin came at him.  Dean blocked a punch to his face with his arm, ignoring the jolt coursing from wrist to shoulder.  The two quick hits to his ribs landed solidly, driving pain straight through to his spine, breath from his lungs.

 

Staggering back, Dean gasped for air, barely recovering when Marlin’s weight pressed him to a wall.  Thick, stubby, powerful fingers wound around Dean’s neck, pressed his windpipe, further cutting off his oxygen, darkening his periphery vision.  Marlin’s knee came up, drove hard and fast into his groin, doubling Dean over with a grunt.  Struggling to breathe, spit dampening the sides of his mouth, Marlin shoved him upright, slammed him against the wall again.  Using the wall as support, Dean struck out with one foot, kicking Marlin’s leg just above his ankle, making Marlin shift away just enough.  Dean bent the same leg at the knee, in one smooth, sure movement drove it into Marlin’s groin with all the speed and power he could get. 

 

Marlin’s grip on his throat loosened just enough, Dean got both hands between Marlin’s arms, shoved away, then slammed them against his head, just above each ear.  Kicking out, Dean’s foot hit Marlin’s middle, and again a shot to his groin, dropping him to his knees.  Dean jerked his leg up, clipping Marlin’s chin with his knee.  The other man reeled away, dropped to the ground, catching himself and stopping his fall with both hands.

 

+++++

 

Sam scrunched his eyes shut.  Ignore the feel of the sand as it bit, hot and sharp into his exposed skin.  He tried.  Ignore the stifling, oppressive heat as it closed in around him, on him, shrinking his world to a four by four foot bit of space encased in broiling metal.  He tried desperately.  Ignore was what his brain commanded, rationalized.  Problem was his body wasn’t so intent on listening and complying. 

 

The pinpoints of light from the small holes drilled along the top of the box moved, elongated.  The day was drifting toward night.  Sam knew that would bring with it a whole other round of unpleasantries.   This physical hardship he could endure.  It was the mental one, the thoughts of what these monsters would, might have already done to Dean.  How many different ways they could kill him.  Those thoughts plagued Sam, pushed away thoughts of all else.  Image after image of Dean being brutally slaughtered because of him stampeded through Sam’s head, unrelenting.

 

He tried licking his lips, so dry even after a few hours they were starting to crack.  He couldn’t move around too much in the cramped space, so he concentrated inward, kept still.  Each shift in position brought a wave of dizziness, disconcerting in the least since he was already on the ground.  Dean wouldn’t give in to dizziness, the pangs of hunger and thirst.  Dean wouldn’t give up.

 

Light and dark played a game of tag, swirling about his head, somewhere behind his eyes, drifting between conscious and unconscious.  Stay awake some voice commanded in his head, a voice sounding more like Dean’s than his own.  He’d do what Dean wanted, stay awake. He’d try.  Dean never failed, the good soldier, the good son, always followed orders, did the right thing, put others first.  Not Sam.  He was never the good son.  Yes you are.  The voice more Dean’s than his poked around his brain.  Sam was a good son, just not John Winchester’s.

 

His lower half, centered on his bladder, ached mercilessly, throbbing, every move bringing stabs of pain to jab his spine.  If he fell asleep he’d have no control.  Dean wouldn’t fall asleep; he’d concentrate on the growling of his stomach to keep him awake.  Dean wouldn’t fall asleep, it’ll all wash off, Sammy.

 

Dean wouldn’t care if Sam fell asleep, wouldn’t blame him, would understand.

 

+++++

 

“I should have known having your brother was more bother than his long legs would be worth.”  Marlin sneered, pushing off the ground.

 

“Yeah, well, you wanted a fighter.”  Dean shot back, keeping his distance to catch his breath.

 

Marlin circled, breathing hard, apparently needing to catch his breath too.  “Ya…what I really wanted was him.”

 

“All this to get at Sam?”  That caught Dean off guard.  “You sick bastard.”

 

The laugh from Marlin was low, evil.  “Looks like I got him too.  You live, he does anything I want.  I’ve had a taste, and I want more.  He’s my leash for you.  You die,” a shrug, “he’s still all mine.”

 

Shouting, enraged, Dean charged him.  Two fast punches landed on Marlin’s face sending the other man spinning away.  He would have hit the ground had Dean not had hold of Marlin’s shirt collar with his free hand.

 

Knee jerking up in three rapid hits, Dean connected solidly and squarely with Marlin’s groin, hoping he ruptured something on the other man.  Doubling over Dean’s arm with a harsh grunt, Dean let go long enough to pull his arm free, clasp both hands together and smash them into the back of Marlin’s head.  Sprawling to the floor, Marlin immediately struggled to get up.

 

“Lemme help you out there.”  Dean growled.  Grabbing Marlin’s shoulders he hauled him to his feet.  One hand braced against Marlin’s neck, holding him, Dean drove his right fist into the man’s middle until he felt cartilage give. 

 

Grunts turned to a more gurgling sound, blood and spit drooled from the corners of Marlin’s mouth.  Lifting his head far enough to meet Dean’s eyes they glared at one another for a few seconds.

 

Using both hands, Dean spun Marlin around, dropped him near the group surrounding them.  His eyes swept the crowd before landing on Marlin again.  It took a few minutes of panting to catch his breath enough to speak.  Crouching in front of the man, Dean’s voice was calm and low.  “You and I both know you’re drowning in your own blood right now.”  Dean shook his head.  “And you’ll never hurt anyone again.”

 

As he stood, Marlin’s fingers clawed at Dean’s boot.  His mouth moved, forming words, but nothing but phlegm and blood emerged.

 

Whirling around, Dean’s foot struck out, connecting again with the soft, vulnerable spot at the base of Marlin’s solar plexus.  “Get off of me.”  He looked around at the others.  “Do whatever you want to him, but no one…NO ONE kills him.  He dies on his own.  You should have ten, maybe twenty minutes before he’s dead.”  Taking a few fast steps, Dean wanted away from there, the scene, the whole thing.  I just killed a man.  He stopped, looked back over his shoulder, “And burn his body when he’s done.”  A cynical laugh and a shrug.  “Or get a head start and do it now, I don’t care.  Just make sure he burns.”

 

Dean left the area, the sounds of Marlin’s wordless pleas, then screams mingled in his ears with the jeers and taunts of those he’d terrorized for so long.

 

 

---

 

 Chapter 16

 

Dean barely felt Tim’s fingers curl under his elbow as he was propelled away from the arena. Killed Marlin.  Killed him.  Sam. Did it for Sam.  Sam will never forgive me, hate me.  A man, a human, though Dean could make a case otherwise, Marlin hadn’t actually been a spirit or demon.  He half expected to see foul, black haze spew from Marlin’s mouth as he died, but he hadn’t. He was strangely disappointed at that.  Sam would never think badly of him if he’d killed a man containing a demon or spirit.  They avoided it at all costs, but it did sometimes happen, they’d come to accept it as a necessary and inevitable evil. 

 

Marlin was a human, a man, not possessed, evil nonetheless. A different type of evil and at the end of it all wasn’t the stopping of evil important in and of itself?

 

Killed him, I killed him, Sam will hate me.  Not likely jackass; it was Sam’s soft voice and kind smile Dean heard and saw in his head. 

 

Dean stopped, pulled away from Tim’s grip, staggered back until he braced against a wall.  Doubled over, one hand braced against a knee, Dean gulped in ragged gasps.  He pressed the heel of his other hand against his forehead, trying to stop the room from tilting wildly, the world from spinning out of control.  He was vaguely aware of Tim’s hand on his shoulder, his voice floated around just outside of Dean’s comprehension. 

 

Thoughts in the form of Sam’s voice filtered through the haze of his brain…he would have killed you, I’d be alone.  Killed him, killed Marlin, beat him to death…monster…heartless, cold-blooded murdering monster…Sam will hate me…never see me the same again…Sammy!

 

Get a grip, again his thoughts manifested in Sam’s quiet voice.  You’re my big brother, you’ll always be most important to me…you’re my big brother, now goddamn act like it!  Eyes pinched closed, Dean concentrated on calming his rapid breathing, his racing heart…killed him.  Marlin may not have been demonic, or some other supernatural thing, but he was evil just the same.  Maybe even more so, he’d turned on his own.

 

Straightening, using Tim’s hand to steady himself, Dean caught his breath, brought the world into focus.  “I’m okay.  I’m okay.” 

 

Tim’s hand dropped away, he nodded curtly, watched Dean with a sharp gaze.

 

“Really, I’m okay now.”  Pulling his eyes to meet Tim’s, “I have to find Sam.  Marlin…” Dean’s voice faltered, his balance betraying him.  The only thing keeping him from tipping forward and smacking the floor was Tim’s quick reflexes.

 

“Easy.  Take it easy for a minute.”

 

Dean nodded, righted himself once more, cleared his throat.  “Marlin said Del Villar took a liking to Sam, has him.”

 

“I heard.  I’m betting Del Villar let this go on, you and Marlin. I think he didn’t want the two of you, thought it would be too much for him to control.  You were too much a threat to Marlin, which ultimately threatened Del Villar.   Set it up so only one of you was here to rule for him, was probably counting on you losing.”

 

“Guess he needs to rethink his plan.  What will he do to my brother?”

 

“Nothing Marlin wouldn’t have.  You’re alive. He needs Sam in a big way to keep control of you.  Or at least that’s what he thinks.  I don’t think he’s had anyone challenge Marlin.  I tried, but without enough backing, I didn’t get very far.”

 

Killed him, murdered him, cold-blooded murderer.

 

Sam’s voice overrode again, not murderer, protector, defender…family, my family.  Dean drew more deep, calming breaths, drove out his panicked thoughts, let his mind settle on Sam’s voice of calm reasoning.  Whether it was somehow really Sam’s voice in his head, or all his imagination, nothing but his own mind, it didn’t matter.  Dean focused. There was nothing he couldn’t do when he focused.  Sam had always been his prime focus, always would be.  It was all he really needed.

 

Squaring his shoulders, one final, slowly pulled in deep breath, Dean mentally shook himself free.  Determination took root, digging in deep somewhere in Dean’s chest.  There it sat, grew, spread.  Leveling an even gaze at Tim, “I want my brother back, and this is the last time I’m saying it.  Because this is the last time these assholes threaten him, or me.”

 

+++++

 

Needles of cold, moist condensation dripped slowly onto Sam’s exposed skin.  Sweat from earlier in the day turned frosty, leaving a frigid covering over his arms, legs, chest and back.  Each of the spears from the top of the sweatbox falling to him spread out, added to the layer of chill encasing him.  Night brought far more than dark to his tiny prison.  The temperature dropped to near freezing, the desert was a study in extremes.  Sam didn’t like deserts.

 

Somewhere deep down, away from the torture his own body had become, Dean’s hands, warm, sure, strong, wrapped a flannel around Sam’s shoulders.  The flannel Sam swiped on his way out the door to Stanford; the one he had still, folded neatly in the bottom of his duffel.  It was warm and comforting, smelled of Dean, of home, safety, family, love.  How many times had Sam pulled it on during those years apart for no other reason than it took him home, brought them together, even if only for a few minutes in Sam’s mind?  Sam lost count in the first month.  The Dean inside his head gave his back a pat, told him they weren’t engaged or anything, he just didn’t want Sam sneezing all over his car.  Dean seemed to worry a lot about whether or not Sam might sneeze.

 

He ignored the fact the sand beneath him moved, itched, crept over his skin leaving its own icy tendrils along his flesh.  Moving brought stabs of pain through his back and legs, made his chest ache.  Try as hard as he could to stay still, every so often he had to try and shift, grateful for the deep rumble of his brother’s voice distracting him as he did so.  Fire burned from his middle, piercing and agonizing threads whisped from his stomach.  It circled his lungs, made his parched throat raw, enflaming him from the inside out.  Maybe it was a good thing his vision blurred; he didn’t have to see what crawled around in there with him.  Instead he concentrated on the picture his mind formed, made larger than anything.  His brother, stable and steady as ever.  His brother was with him, would never let Sam be alone, lonely. 

 

Dean’s voice told him to forget how his intestines, stomach cramped, seemed to wrap around themselves and tie into a tight knot of misery.  Sam might have cried he was so hungry, so hungry it hurt, but he had no tears left.  Blinking became like rubbing sandpaper over his sensitive eyes, they scratched and burned, even when he didn’t try to pry his lids apart.  He focused on Dean’s voice, how even a growl seemed like a security blanket, how it demanded attention using nothing but pitch and timbre.  Dean was always that way, out in front, the contender, the guy on the front lines, but forever focused on the guy at his side, on Sam.

 

Sam could focus too, he’d learned from the master after all.  Dean always had a plan, always knew what to do, how to get through, survive.  They’d get through this too.  Sam focused on Dean, his words, his face, his every movement.  Nothing outside could get through the barrier that was his big brother to harm him, really harm him on the inside.  Sam was one of the lucky few, he had not only a focus to fight for, he had a shield fighting for him.

 

+++++

 

Carter might not have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.  This kid, Dean Winchester, was some sort of cosmic force.  Their discovery Sam was caught, taken and put in one of the boxes looked to be the thing to destroy Dean, bring him to his knees.  The anger, hate that sparked and smoldered in those green eyes was beyond intense.  It frightened Carter, and no doubt everyone else who witnessed it too.  Dean’s words no one hurt his brother, they weren’t just words, it was the code the man lived by.  Coming between Dean and Sam Winchester might very well be a fatal action in any circumstance.

 

Dean went through a string of emotions right before him.  Carter felt the punch to Dean’s gut when they knew what had been done to Sam as if it were he feeling it for himself.  He was sure if Dean could have blown through the walls to the outside he would have, his resolve was so great.  Del Villar, through Marlin, tried to take from both brothers the thing they most cherished.  It backfired on them.  Dean did tell him how he’d reminded Del Villar, taunted him with the fact, Marlin’s death was Del Villar’s own fault.  Dean simply was the weapon.  If they’d been left alone, none of this would have happened, Marlin would still be breathing.  Pity his breathing stopped was Carter’s wry response.

 

If the Winchesters had been left alone a whole lot of people would still be suffering, live and end their lives knowing nothing but hate and fear.

 

Del Villar’s anger was palpable.  Drawn out by the young man brought in here to fight, waiting for Del Villar, Dean was like some cunning viper sizing up its prey.  Del Villar left no room for doubt.  Dean killed Marlin.  Marlin who was—had been—Del Villar’s favorite for years, his right hand man, a partner in more than one regard.  He’d expected Marlin to win, for Dean to be dead.  However, Dean won.  Somehow Del Villar twisted it around into Dean’s fault, when it was in fact Del Villar who set Marlin against the Winchester kid in the first place.

 

Word was spreading fast through the compound; another fight was on the horizon.  Not one for money, or entertainment.  Not one to fulfill some sick fantasy, or save the life of an innocent boy trapped in a sweatbox.  This fight was for control, survival of the masses, for what was good, to put down what was evil.  This, Carter understood, was what Dean and his brother did, in whatever manner they needed.  Put down evil; defend those who maybe even didn’t recognize what evil existed.

 

What words Dean used, Carter had no clue.  All he knew was in fact Dean and Del Villar were moments away from confrontation.  Carter was damn happy he wasn’t on the receiving end of Dean Winchester’s argument against Del Villar.  There was one way to the outside, to Sam, and for Dean that was a straight line through Del Villar.

 

Carter watched Dean, coiled and ready, waiting.  The viper was about to strike.  Dean Winchester didn’t know how to lose.

 

 

---

 

Chapter 17

 

Dean’s eyes shifted from Del Villar’s face to the three men following a few steps behind him.  The three men with automatic guns.  “Guess you plan on a real fair fight.”  Crossing arms over his chest, he cocked his head to one side, used his best smart-ass smile.  “Then again I haven’t seen a real fair fight since I got here.”

 

Del Villar stopped just beyond Dean’s reach, though Dean made no move toward him.  “Insurance.”

 

“Coward.”  Dean curled the corner of his mouth.  “You’re afraid I’ll win.  If you weren’t you wouldn’t need guns.  You wouldn’t need my brother locked in a box.  You wouldn’t need to keep me in line.”

 

“But I do have your brother, and I will keep you in line.  You’ll do just what I want, when I want.”  Del Villar removed his sport jacket, held it out to one side, not even looking to see if anyone would take it, trusting someone would.  “But first we have the matter of Marlin to discuss.”  He rolled his shirt sleeves up.

 

Keeping still was more than a major effort on Dean’s part, but no way this asshole was baiting him into doing something rash.  He was smarter than this freak, and Dean damn well knew it.  “What’s the matter, missing your pet already?”

 

“You killed him.”

 

“Yes, I did.”  Dean glanced down at his boots, let his eyes roam slowly back up to Del Villar’s, smile spreading slowly over his face.  “But then, that’s what you wanted wasn’t it?”  Flexing and bunching his fingers a few times, Dean dropped his hands to his sides, shaking them gently, then stilling them.  “Marlin tossed you aside, didn’t want to be your…friend…anymore, did he?  See, Marlin wanted someone he thought he could push around, terrorize.  He thought along with that would come someone who’d do your dirty work for the both of you.  Someone you could keep in line indefinitely.  Guess neither one of you got what you thought, now did you?”

 

Del Villar barked a few short laughs.  “I’m the one who still has my insurance policy.”

 

“Sam and I, we’re both going to walk out of here, one way or another.  So, why don’t you just save yourself the aggravation, give me my brother back, because I will go right on through you to get him.”

 

“Big talk.  Not buying it.”  Del Villar side stepped, began circling Dean.  The guys with the guns, Dean noted, stayed rooted in place.  “But, tell you what I will do.  That brother of yours, he comes out of the box, I think I’ve made my point anyway.  He comes out. You do what I tell you to do.  He’s safe, unharmed,” Del Villar’s face morphed into a wolfish grin making Dean’s blood run cold.  “Cared for.  When I decide you’ve learned your place, maybe—maybe—I’ll let you have him back.  Until then he stays with me.  He can bunk with me, I’ll make sure he’s nice and warm.  My insurance.”

 

Dean stood perfectly still, the meaning of Del Villar’s words sinking in, settling deep inside every fiber of what made Dean Dean.  Staring the man down, a breath, then two, and Dean became an explosion of action.  He was done talking.

 

Not even entirely sure how he’d done it, Dean was on top of Del Villar before the command from his brain to move his muscles was completed.  The other man staggered back, not a hope of stopping Dean’s assault.  They hit the ground, Dean pulled back as soon as he connected with Del Villar, fisting the man’s designer dress shirt in one hand tightly enough to partially cut off his air supply.  His other fist was a blur moving rapidly up and down, delivering powerful blows to Del Villar’s face, wiping that wolfish grin away with almost no effort at all. 

 

The entire part of the complex near the arena erupted in shouts and cheers.  Most the inhabitants congregated, watching.  Del Villar’s armed guards, Dean noted, did nothing to intervene, hadn’t moved.

 

Hauling Del Villar to his feet, Dean shoved the man ahead of him, tossed him inside the arena.  “Let’s just make this official.”  Long, sure strides moved Dean forward.

 

“Think you can beat me boy!?”  Del Villar wiped the back of one hand over his mouth, scowling at the blood mingled with spit streaked across his skin.  Bringing his hand to his face he smeared the blood over his cheek, down his neck, giving the impression of war paint.  Lips curling to a snarl, he screamed, barred his teeth and charged Dean.  “Shoulda never let go of me, boy.”  Dean stood his ground, waiting, smart enough to bring the fight to him, not the other way around.

 

In the next instant Dean was knocked flat, Del Villar’s hands around his throat, pressing in and down, cutting off his air.  It was merely an inconvenience.  Pulling as much air into his chest, expanding his rib cage as much as possible with the weight of the other man on him, his hands around his neck, Dean let loose a roar.  Both fists coming together, smashing against Del Villar’s head with enough force the skin over his ears split, blood oozed out.  Stunned, Del Villar swayed, losing his grip on Dean.

 

Rolling to his knees and throwing the other man off in the same motion, Dean drove his fist repeatedly into Del Villar’s middle. Knuckles raw from previous fights ground against the material of the man’s clothes, sharp stabs of agony punched through Dean’s hands, to his wrists.  Pain rocketed down Dean’s spine, radiated out, driving him.  How Del Villar got away from Dean, to his feet, staggering back, Dean wasn’t exactly sure.  Where the knife in Del Villar’s hands came from either was a mystery to Dean as well.  Jumping away from the first few swipes, Dean ducked under the third assault, Del Villar’s wrist in a vice grip.  Still the man kept moving, bringing one knee up, driving it hard into Dean’s inner thigh, stunning him, doubling him over.  Those few seconds Del Villar used to get Dean in a choke hold, knife pressed against his side, just under his ribs.

 

Ignoring the pain in his groin, the dizziness caused by Del Villar’s forearm pressing against his neck, Dean drove his elbow into Del Villar’s side, brought his heel down, grazing Del Villar’s shin, smashing into his arch.  Snaking his other hand up, Dean’s fingers wound in Del Villar’s hair, shouting again, Dean yanked as hard as he could, jerking the man’s head around.

 

Del Villar was thrown off balance.  That slight bit gave Dean the opening he needed.  Twisting around, he landed another solid punch to Del Villar’s jaw, sending him reeling away.

 

A shouted, “HEY!” caused Dean to turn instinctively.  A metal pipe sailed end over end at him.  He wasn’t sure where it’d come from, or who, and he didn’t care. 

 

Del Villar charged with the knife, running full tilt at Dean.  Standing his ground, feet shoulder width apart, he held the pipe like a batter preparing for a home run hit.  Taking the advantage of Del Villar’s obvious manic anger over the fact Dean was still standing, he took two steps forward. 

 

Bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, two outs…Dean Winchester swung the home run hit.

 

The mushy, sickening sound of the pipe connecting with Del Villar’s skull brought instantaneous and utter silence to the complex.  So much so Dean heard the crinkle of his clothing as Del Villar crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

 

Pulling ragged and desperate breaths into his lungs, panting through the dizziness buzzing through his ears along with the pounding of his blood, Dean dropped the pipe.  It’s hitting the floor next to his feet, bouncing a few times, making the air ring was the only thing beyond his own harsh breathing he heard.  The world narrowed to one focus point, one tunnel leading to that end.

 

Turning to the men carting guns, the men staring at their dead boss, Dean moved forward.  Slowly at first, then his stride lengthened until he was running.

 

+++++

 

Carter jerked when the arena went deathly silent.  Eyes traveling to Dean, he watched him attack Del Villar’s stunned men.  Silence turned to thunderous, ear shattering clamor.  Everyone was shouting, screaming, hell Carter didn’t even know what.  Attention skipping back to Dean, he looked on, fascinated as Dean grabbed the weapon from the nearest of the guards with one hand, smashed his fist into the man’s face with the other.  The guard dropped backwards, hit the ground.  Carter saw his chest rise and fall, but the man was out cold.

 

Dean aimed the weapon up, fired off rounds, then swung it around to the two guards on their feet.  One man visibly blanched, backed away, even though he still held his weapon.  Carter could imagine what Dean’s wild, fire-filled green eyes must’ve looked like to the guy.  The other one stood still, but didn’t challenge Dean in any way.

 

“Where is he?”  Dean shouted, his face red, veins and muscle cords standing out along his neck. 

 

One of the men shook his head once.  Moving forward, Dean shoved the barrel of the weapon close to the man’s face.  “Now, I want him NOW!  Get him out!” 

 

Color draining from the guard’s face, he slowly bent, laying his weapon at Dean’s feet.  When he straightened he held both hands up and out in surrender.  Nodding to the other guard, Carter saw his lips move, but couldn’t hear his words.  The other guard followed his lead.  Like a flash of electricity ricocheting around his skull, Carter understood with crystal clarity.  It was one of the most primal laws of life.  Del Villar was dead, killed by his challenger, a more powerful alpha male.  Dean was in charge now, whether he wanted to be or not.

 

What Carter also recognized was Dean didn’t care a hoot about being in charge.  Dean had one, single-minded goal, get he and his brother out of this place.

 

Shoving the man who’d just put down his weapon ahead of him, Dean and the guy disappeared to one side of the arena, in the direction of the main gate.  The sweatboxes were close to that entrance, standing as a silent warning to everyone coming inside.  When Carter reached the entryway, struggling to breathe properly, he paused, let his eyes adjust to the brighter desert sunlight glinting off the sand.  The change from temperature controlled air, to the natural, much warmer air made him puff and drag in air, forcing himself to slow his breathing.

 

Holding the automatic tucked to his side, aimed up, Dean ran at the sweatbox, the other man a step ahead of him.  Carter didn’t think about how his lungs already burnt from the exertion, he sprinted after them.  It frightened him, the wild, desperate flash to Dean’s eyes.

 

He was close enough he heard Dean’s enraged, heartbreaking demand to open the box.  The other man shook his head, backed away a step.  No one but Del Villar had access to the key.  They had no idea where it was kept.

 

“Open it!”  Dean thundered, this time pointing the weapon at the man’s chest. 

 

Tim Hren appeared beside him, and then outdistanced Carter in a few strides.  Sliding between Dean and the other man, he defused the situation faster than Carter thought possible.  Pushing the man away, “Go find an axe or crowbar or something.”  Tim snapped at the guy, giving him another shove.  The man ran to the airplane hanger nearby. 

 

Carter stopped beside them, leaning over, hands against his knees, breathing hard.  “We’ll…get…him out.  It’s just a metal box.  He’ll get out.”  His words, meant to comfort, came out rushed and uncaring.  He simply wanted to stop Dean, afraid he’d turn the gun on the lock, likely shooting Sam in the process of liberating him.  Dehydration and hunger from being in there for two days, Carter could fix, gunshot wounds were slightly more difficult.

 

Fortunately Dean didn’t seem to notice, he was too focused on the box.  Carter saw, Dean had surpassed his limits, his drive to free his brother moving him dangerously beyond rational thought processes.

 

“Gimme that.”  Tim took the gun from Dean, apparently having the same thought from the look and small, relieved smile he offered Carter once the gun was safely away from Dean’s hands.

 

The man returned, pry bar at his side.  With trembling hands he slid the bar’s end between the lock and box.  Tim helped him, pushing down, but the steel refused to give.  When Dean shouted again to get it open, to get Sam out, Carter grabbed his arm, tried making Dean focus on him.  It simply proved to enrage Dean even more.

 

Grabbing the pry bar, Dean yelled at the box, “Sammy, close your eyes.  I’m gonna hit this thing, get you out.” 

 

What he was likely going to do was give his brother a heart attack from the deafening noise about to reverberate around the small, metal box.  Honestly, Carter couldn’t see another way either, finding the damn key would take a lot of time; it was probably in Del Villar’s safe anyway.  Besides which getting Dean to leave the box would in all likelihood prove deadly.  Two powerful hits to the lock and it popped apart.

 

The end of the box fell away. Sam tumbled out in a heap, squinted, jerked away from his prison.  Weakly dropping an arm over his forehead, shading his eyes, Carter still saw him trying to focus, eyes flitting to each face until settling on the only one Carter was sure the kid hoped to see.  Dean dropped to his knees, at once scooping Sam up, pulling him away from Tim and Carter.

 

“We have to get him inside.  I can help him.”  Carter reached for Dean’s arm, again meaning to reassure.

 

Jerking away violently, taking Sam with him, Dean’s rage turned on Carter, snarling out, “Get away from him.”

 

Carter did a quick assessment.  Sam was only somewhat coherent, and more focused on Dean than anything else.  “Dean listen—”  Carter resisted the impulse to recoil when his words brought a murderous glare from Dean.  Twisting to face Tim, he mouthed, “Get a stretcher.”

 

“Dean.”  Sam’s breathless plea silenced Carter.  His eyes met Carter’s for the briefest instant.  “Let him.  Don’t want to die.”  Sam’s hand dropped from his face to his brother’s arm.

 

More unconscious than not, Sam still knew his brother, and knew how to bring him back from whatever brink Dean teetered on. Carter went with it, knowing Sam wasn’t anywhere near dying, though he probably felt like it at the moment.  The kid had to be horrendously thirsty, the hunger pangs, Carter knew, would be torturous by themselves.  The sweatpants Sam wore were ripped near his knees.  The skin along his shins and knees scraped raw, and must have been bleeding, were now dotted with maggots.  The poor kid had to be a mass of agony, confused from what must have been terrifying noise inside the box, and just plain miserable, maybe wishing he’d die about now, but nowhere near dying.  Sam and Carter both knew it.

 

Dean’s attention immediately riveted to Sam.  His features clouded over at the sight of the abused skin, writhing with maggots, split lips and desperate eyes.  Dean’s own eyes moved up, meeting Carter’s, quietly, desperately pleading, begging. 

 

Moving painfully slow, Carter reached out, touched Dean’s bicep lightly with his finger tips.  “We need to get him to the clinic.  Tim’s coming back with a stretcher.”  Getting no further violent reactions, Carter’s fingers gripped Dean’s arm.  “He’ll be fine.  He will.  You got him out in time.”

 

Dean swallowed, nodded tightly.  Sam’s hand slipped away from Dean’s arm, his body sagged into Dean’s.  Apparently Carter was getting no further help from Sam for a few hours at least.  Relief flooded Carter when the wild, panicked glaze left Dean’s eyes, replaced by determination and reason.

 

Dean had won.  In the short time Carter had known the Winchester brothers he’d learnt one thing about them, they didn’t know any other way.

 

 

---

 

Chapter 18

 

If Carter thought getting Dean patched up while Sam stood scrutiny was nerve wracking, it’d been nothing compared to taking care of Sam while under Dean’s intense gaze.  Sam phased in and out, during the brief times he stayed awake, he was quite cooperative.  During the in between times, Carter was happy for Dean’s help, keeping his brother still.  He had a difficult time, keeping the tremor from his hands, knowing one wrong move, one unapproved action and Dean might quite likely snap.  Carter could honestly lose a finger, or more.

 

He felt sorry for Dean.  There was only so much a person could take, being on edge constantly like that, and Dean obviously had reached his limits.  In another day or two, Carter was sure, when Dean saw his brother was recovering, when it sunk in they weren’t under constant threat any longer, Dean would revert to himself.  Feeling sorry for him and staying on the safe side of him right now were two entirely different things.  Carter concentrated on staying on the safe side, he’d offer up some sympathy for both boys later.

 

Mainly concerned with getting some fluids into the younger brother, his injuries attended to, Carter started with the maggots and gashes.  While Dean distracted Sam by coaxing him into drinking, Carter cut away the material of his sweats.  As much as cleansing the wounds had to hurt, Sam barely flinched, though his fingers wrapped in Dean’s shirt so tightly his knuckles were white, his breathing hitched and deepened, coming in rapid gasps.  As he had previously with Dean, he offered Sam a sedative, but just as his brother had, Sam refused.  Carter wasn’t surprised.

 

Once Sam was showered, Carter considered an IV until he saw that everything he set in front of the boy to eat or drink Sam literally inhaled.  If anything, Carter had to slow him down.  Throughout the entire process Dean stood nearby.  Any action or motion not absolutely needed earned a glare, every touch analyzed for necessity, Carter was sure.

 

Carter was afraid to even think about suggesting Dean move away from his brother long enough to have his own injuries seen to.  Retreating away from the section of the clinic the Winchesters stayed in, Carter stayed where he could keep an eye on them, but give them plenty of privacy.

 

+++++

 

Sam worked to keep from hissing every time he moved.  He wanted to bend and unbend his stiff limbs to ease locked muscles, to get things circulating the right way again.  At the same time he wanted to be still, his legs ached, throbbed relentlessly.  Though the small white bugs were no longer crawling over his skin, stinging, eating away, every time he closed his eyes he saw them, felt them.  Being only half lucid while he’d been brought back to the clinic, during the process of attending to his wounds, made the horror worse, not better.  Every flutter of the sheets now had him wanting to scramble away from his own skin.  He was quite sure if he’d had to care for them himself, he’d have just let his legs fall off.

 

Every wrong inhale, the slightest wince, ratcheted Dean back into overdrive.  Try as much as Sam saw Dean did, he couldn’t hide the trembling of his hands, the unsteady breaths he took.  It was almost as if he’d been pushed into permanent fight or flight mode.

 

Leaning his head back, concentrating on staying still, forcing relaxation, he wasn’t locked in a dark box, he was in a bed, a room with lights, his brother not two feet away. Pacing.

 

“Dean, sit down, relax man.”

 

Dean sat, for about three seconds before his leg started bouncing.  In less than a minute he was back up, shuffling around the room, antsy and agitated.  Sam sighed, opened his eyes, and watched his brother for a minute.  Dean had hardly said three consecutive words in the past few hours, but he didn’t need to say anything for Sam to know what was going on in his head.  There was a time Sam constantly pushed Dean to talk.  It took him sometime to learn, Dean told him plenty, never kept his feelings inside, not really.  Sam had simply needed to learn to listen a different way. 

 

Spotting the now too familiar tube of antiseptic cream, some gauze and tape on the counter near the bed, Sam mentally thanked Carter for his foresight.  Pushing up, slowly moving his legs to the side of the bed a rebellious groan got up his throat and by his lips. 

 

Dean was beside him so quickly it made Sam dizzy.  “What’s the matter, what do you need?”

 

Dipping his head at the cream and gauze, “Can you hand me those?”

 

“Yeah, sure.”  Gauze and cream were set gently on the bed beside Sam.  “You need to change the ones on your legs?”

 

Shaking his head no, Sam snatched Dean’s wrist before he got wise and got away.  “C’mere, get these taken care of.  You wouldn’t let Carter do it again, would you?”

 

“He didn’t even try.”  Dean grinned suddenly.  “I think I scared him a bit.”

 

Sam snorted, spread the cream over Dean’s split knuckles, then taped the gauze across the raw skin.  “Dude, you were pretty scary.  I’m glad you warned me about hitting the box, it was like hearing a bomb, from the inside.”

 

“Sorry.  Seeing my little brother in that thing, well it shook me up.  A lot.”

 

“Yeah, me too.”  Sam let go of Dean’s wrist, bandaged his other hand, willingly set on the edge of the bed.  “Maybe you should ask Carter to suture this one?”

 

“Just pull it together, wrap it good, it’ll be okay.”

 

Sam nodded, smiled, he’d expected as much.  Finished applying the bandages to his brother’s hands, he spoke quietly, stared down at his own hands now still in his lap.  “I think if you didn’t get me out when you did I might have just gone crazy, or given up, anything to get away from—”

 

“Sammy.”  Dean’s voice was rough, raw.  Sam looked up at him, really studied him for the first time since tumbling free of the box.  His face was puffy from abuse, the bruises had bruises.  A small cut under his eye wasn’t looking too good.  Yet, Dean could smile at him.  Sam knew there was one and only one reason his brother hadn’t been beaten to a lifeless, bloody pulp while here.

 

“Thank you.”  Sam blurted out.  Lifting his hand far enough to point for a second at his brother’s face, “You should get cleaned up, that cut will get infected.”

 

Dabbing at it with one finger, Dean nodded.  “Little sucker hurts like hell.”  He pushed gently against Sam’s shoulder, “You need some rest.”

 

“Dean, I’ve been in one spot for two days.”

 

Giving him the first genuine smile Sam had seen in too long, Dean pushed more insistently until Sam slid down in the bed.  “Unconscious from exposure and resting are not the same thing.”

 

“Where are you going?”  Suddenly, with no reasonable explanation Sam didn’t want Dean leaving him alone. 

 

“Gonna get cleaned up, and uh,” Dean rolled his shoulders, wincing and moving his head side to side as he did.  “And I think get some of those pain killers Carter is always bragging about.  I won’t be long, half hour at most, I promise.”

 

“Okay, thanks.”

 

“When you’re rested up, we’re outa here Sammy.”

 

Sam’s eyes darted to Dean’s face. He couldn’t help the fast stutter of an inhale.  Dean nodded, not meeting Sam’s eyes, turned abruptly and walked slowly away.

 

There was more to Dean’s statement, much more.  Sam simply had to extract it.  He didn’t let himself relax f