A/N: This was inspired by a scene in "The Walking Dead," and no, it has nothing to do with zombies.

Special thanks to: Scribble2Much, who was nice enough to look this over for me and give me some input. Thank you so much!

Warnings: language, violence, angst, and uh, crying. Yeah.

Timeline: Pre-series: Sam's 17-ish and Dean's 21-ish.

Brutality

Sam scoots down lower in the booth and grimaces as his jeans stick to the ripped vinyl. Backwoods bars are weird in the sense that they're all the same. They all have more cigarette smoke in the air than actual oxygen, more peanut shells on the floor than dirt, and more beer on the seats than in actual mugs. So when Sam moves he inevitably grinds and cracks some shells on the ground, and sticks to tacky alcohol. If it weren't for the fact that he's watching his brother's back, he'd have been outta here hours ago.

Sam huffs. The shit he puts up with for Dean. Speaking of…

Sam glances over to the pool table casually, assessing the situation. Dean's leaning over the pool table with a hidden, cocky grin on his face. This is the third and last game that he's playing, and it's time to really reel in the dough. Sam just hopes he manages to do it without pissing someone off. Sometimes Sam thinks that's half of why Dean loves doing this so much. He's never really understood it but Dean loves being a hunter, in every sense of the word. Right now his prey is the poor schmuck that is (hopefully) unaware that he's being hustled. Behind Dean, three of the schmuck's friends watch the game, making comments that Sam can't hear as they drink their beer. If this goes south Dean could very well be stuck in a bad situation and he knows it. That's the other thing about hunting that Sam thinks Dean loves; the danger. He likes the adrenaline, the challenge, the thrill. And that's what always scares Sam.

Sam's not big on hunting. He doesn't like being uprooted every month, doesn't like being in danger all the time, and he doesn't like seeing his family get hurt. He just wants to know what it feels like to have a legitimate house that he comes home to every day, and sleeps in every night. He wants to know what it feels like to have friends and go through an entire school year at the same school. Normal. Safe. That's all he wants. Now that he's older and is this close to graduating, he wants it even more. He wants it so much that he knows he's going to leave. Sam swallows and looks back at Dean, who's leaning against the pool cue and smirking. Dean doesn't know about that yet.

Sam shakes his head and goes back to his book, trying to focus on the words and not the clock. Sam shifts again, rolling his eyes as his jeans lift off the bench seat with a Velcro-esque sound. Then he hears the indistinguishable sound of glass breaking. Instantly, Sam's eyes are drawn to the pool tables. The schmuck that Dean was hustling has him by the shirt collar and his goonies are crowding the two of them, like hyenas coming in for the kill. Sam can see the brown shards of a beer bottle smashed on the pool table. A closer glance tells him that Schmuck has the jagged bottle neck in his hand, a makeshift weapon that he's apparently planning on using on his big brother.

Sam scrambles out of the booth in record time, cursing himself for not keeping closer tabs on the hustle. He uses his long legs to his advantage and crosses the bar in no time flat. Once there, he twists Schumuck's shirt collar in his hand and yanks hard. The move takes Schmuck by surprise and he releases Dean, giving Dean the chance to recover and fend off the Hyenas. Schmuck loses his balance from being tugged and stumbles backwards into Sam. The broken beer bottle neck falls to the ground and breaks. Schmuck whips around. His face is red and his eyes are wild, blazing in fury as he glares at Sam. Behind Schmuck, Sam can see Dean throwing the first punch towards one of the Hyenas.

"Not a smart move, kid," Schmuck taunts threateningly, preparing to close in on Sam's defensive position.

Sam doesn't respond to the baiting. Instead, he focuses his attention on his enemy's moves and attempts to map out any potential attacks.

The sound of a shotgun cocking halts everything.

Everyone looks towards the sound and is faced with the bar tender, who's aiming a freshly loaded shotgun at the group.

"Talk a walk, boys," He warns. The gun is steady in his hands but his glare is even steadier. "Now. Before I call the cops."

Sam and Dean exchange looks and then slowly maneuver themselves away from the men, staying alert in case someone decides to lash out.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean grunts, eying Schmuck as Sam walks in front of him. Schmuck's near inhuman glare never leaves Dean's gaze.

Dean makes Sam walk in front of him and out the door. Dean follows and makes sure to give a final one-finger-salute to the bar before the door slams shut behind them. The cold night is a welcome reprieve from the hot, dirty bar, and Sam takes a second to breathe it in before starting in on his brother.

"Damnit, Dean! Why do you always have to piss people off?" Sam demands as he stalks across the gravel parking lot to the waiting Impala.

Dean scoffs, "I didn't piss anyone off, Sammy. Dude was just a sore loser. Not my fault he couldn't play pool for shit."

"You're telling me that you didn't say anything to make him mad?" Sam's tone clearly indicates disbelief.

They're now on their respective sides of the car, Dean on the driver's side and Sam on the passenger's, staring at each other from over the roof of the Impala.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Dean replies with a shit eating grin.

Sam glares and opens his door, "You're unbelievable."

"Look on the bright side, Sammy," Dean says as he reaches into his pocket to pull out a wad of green, "We're up six hundred bucks."

Sam rolls his eyes and tries to hide a small smile as he ducks inside the car. That's his stupid big brother: walks into a bar, hustles some jackass, pisses off said jackass, and then walks back out like the smug bastard he is, crowing over his winnings.

In his musings, Sam reaches over to pull his door shut. He gets his hand on the door handle and pulls, but he's met with resistance.

"Sam!" Dean's shout is a warning with more than just a hint of panic. It's enough to send Sam's heart rate through the roof.

Sam looks over and sees that it's a hand preventing the door from shutting, and said hand is now reaching inside to pull him out of the car.

"Son of a bitch," Sam hears Dean grunt, followed by the sound of a fist hitting a face.

Sam struggles, using his legs to try and hook himself into the car. The person who has a hold of his shirt and arm yanks hard, making Sam fall out of the car and kiss the dirt ground. Before he even has the chance to process what just happened, he's being pulled back up onto his knees. He tries to regain his footing so that he can attempt to get the upper hand, but he's shoved right back down into place. Someone reaches out and strikes him hard across the face for his troubles. Sam can feel his lip split from the punch, followed by the warm blood that dribbles down his chin. He spits, removing the substance from his mouth. Sam looks up, still pulling against the hands that have him captive, and comes face to face with the pack of Hyenas from the bar.

It now occurs to Sam that two of them have hold of his arms and shoulders, and that's why he's not having much luck getting up. Another one, the one who just hit him, is standing in front of him off to the side, giving him just enough room to see what's going on with Dean.

Dean's fighting Schmuck, who Sam should probably start thinking of as Beast, because that's what he really is. He isn't all that big, maybe a bit broader than Dean, but it's his palpable and savage rage that makes his size. Schmuck's intent is nothing less than obvious and it has Sam absolutely terrified.

Schmuck charges Dean like a battering ram, sending them both to the ground. Dean hits the dirt hard; Sam can see him gasp for air as the wind gets knocked outta him. While Dean struggles to re-set his breathing, Schmuck pins Dean and looks down on him with a mixture of victory and glee. Then he pulls back his fist.

Sam struggles, feeling the panic building up higher and higher in his chest. His lungs tighten and his eyes water, "Dean!"

The hands on his arms and shoulders tighten to a bruising grip as they push down. Sam's not going anywhere. Dean's struggling too, attempting to dislodge Schmuck even though his knees are pinning Dean's arms, and he's in the wrong position for Dean to lock his legs around him. Sam and Dean are both well and truly trapped.

"Lemme go!" Sam demands, pulling against the Hyenas' hold, "Dean!"

Schmuck lands a punch, then another, and another, and another, again and again, over and over. Dean's face is quickly turning into an indistinguishable smudge of red as Schmuck's fists relentlessly pummel his features. It's more than a fight; it's a beating, a punishment, something that Sam would expect to see in prison or a gang initiation. Even with the distance between them, Sam can hear bones and cartilage breaking and cracking in Dean's face. Blood is splattered in the dirt around his head.

Sam's yelling, trying desperately to twist away from the restraining hands as he's forced to watch the cruel thrashing, "Stop! Please, stop!"

Dean's not moving, Sam can tell. His head is snapping back and forth with the force of the blows, but he's out. Sam's caught between being terrified of the implications of Dean's unconsciousness, and thankful that Dean can't feel it any more.

"Please," Sam pleads with another weak tug against the hands, "Let him go. Please, let him go!"

The salt from his tears are stinging the cut on his mouth; snot is starting to run from his nose and his top lip from the cold and crying. The hits keep coming and Sam is absolutely powerless and useless in the attack against his brother.

Dean's going to die. Oh God, Schmuck is going to literally beat Dean to death, or into a level four coma. And Sam has to watch, knowing that he did nothing to stop it.

A shotgun blast is what finally ends it. The hands that were holding his arms let go and Sam almost face plants for a second time. He quickly steadies himself and then half crawls, half scrambles over to his fallen sibling. Schmuck is still standing over Dean and Sam has no idea who shot the shotgun, but he really doesn't care. Right now he cares about Dean and making sure he's alive.

"Dean!" Sam cries as he crawls up to his brother's side, staring in horror at Dean's mangled face, "Oh my God."

Dean's a wreck. His nose is visibly broken; his face is a giant mass of blood, cuts, and already dark bruises. His right cheek looks like it might be shattered and his lips are swollen and split.

His shaking fingers reach up and press against Dean neck, and Sam sobs out of sheer relief when he finds a steady thump thump thump. He has the urge to hold Dean's face in his hands and press their foreheads together, like Dean used to do when Sam was young and scared. He's scared to touch the damage though, so he settles for clenching Dean's tee shirt in his hands and laying his forehead on Dean's sternum. Sam feels the rise and fall of Dean's chest with every breath his brother takes. Under normal circumstances, even normal injured circumstances, Sam and Dean aren't clingy or touchy feely. What Sam's doing right now is seriously breaking Winchester code, and if Dean were able to, he'd be bitching about it. But Jesus, Sam really thought he was watching Dean being murdered, and he just needs to be close to him. Just for a minute.

"Ambulance and cops are already on their way." The voice comes from above him, and Sam immediately tenses, curling closer to Dean. "Sorry, about this, kid."

A quick glance upwards tells him that it's the bar tender, the one who scared off Schmuck and the Hyenas. The man looks legitimately sympathetic and worried. Sam nods once and feels his tears smear into Dean's shirt.

"Anyone you need called?" The bar tender asks.

"No," Sam croaks.

Their dad is on a hunt six hours away. Sam will call and leave a message once he's at the hospital, and knows what condition Dean's really in. John probably won't get it until tomorrow anyways.

Sam sees red and blue lights bounce off the cars and the bar as the wail of the ambulance draws near. He curls his fists tighter in Dean's tee shirt. He's not quite willing to separate himself from his brother yet but he knows that he's going to have to, if he wants Dean to be helped. And Christ, does Dean ever need help.

As predicted, the EMTs come and immediately tell Sam that he needs to move. Reluctantly, Sam releases Dean's shirt and moves back, letting the emergency team do their job. He watches as they strap Dean to the stabilizing board. They won't let him ride in the ambulance but Sam's ok with that; he doesn't want to leave the Impala here and he knows Dean will kick his ass if he does. Wiping his face with his sleeve, clearing off the remaining traces of tears, mucus, and blood, Sam gets in the car and follows the ambulance to the hospital.

"This is John Winchester. Leave a message."

Beep.

"Dad, it's Sam. We got jumped outside a bar and Dean's in the hospital, and he's…he's pretty messed up. The doctors say he'll be ok but…" Sam sighs, "Just call me when you get this."

He shuts the phone and walks back into Dean's room, wincing as he catches sight of his sibling's face. Severe concussion, broken nose, one LeFort midface fracture, massive swelling, and endless cuts and bruises are the final diagnosis. They were able to reset Dean's nose just fine but the midface fracture required surgery, which Dean is going to be pissed about once he wakes up.

Sam sighs again, feeling exhausted but still too wired to sleep. He sits in the chair that he moved next to the bed and reaches over to grab Dean's hand, holding tight.

Sam's a hunter and it's safe to say that he's seen some scary shit in his life, but he's never been as terrified as he was tonight. Being forced to watch Dean get the life beat out of him, and being helpless to do anything is a hundred times more terrifying than any monster. He's going to be having nightmares about it for the rest of his life. When he closes his eyes he can still see the blood on the ground and Dean's head snapping back and forth with the force of the hits. He can hear Dean's bones breaking. It makes his eyes sting and gut churn. Sam's hand reflexively tightens even further on Dean's. That bastard could've killed Dean, killed him. He almost did.

Sam's breathing hitches and he bites down hard on his lip, cursing himself for feeling the need to cry again. It makes him want to vomit; the idea of his strong and proud big brother, dying helpless and slow in a backwoods parking lot, at the hands of humans. He knows Dean's going to feel humiliated and degraded, which just breaks Sam's heart even more. To Dean, the only way to die is in a hunt protecting your family. Getting your ass handed to you by some bar thugs and almost dying from it is not acceptable.

Sam huffs and uses his free hand to scrub away a few of the tears that has gathered in his eyes. He stares contemplatively at Dean, wondering how much shit he'd get in if he crawled into the hospital bed, and curled around his brother. Probably an infinite amount of shit. He sighs, slouches down in the chair, and decides to settle with keeping an iron grip on Dean's hand while he sleeps.