Exile in the Land of the Badbh, Part 1 Sam/Dean NC-17

[texankate]

Fic Title:  Exile in the Land of the Badbh, Masterpost
Author Name: texankate 
Artist Name: davincis_girl 
Genre:  SPN Slash
Pairings:  Sam/Dean
Rating:  NC-17
Word Count:  11300+
Disclaimer:  I own nothing but my twisted brain.
Warnings:  Boy sex, violence.



Prologue

Dean folded the last of the clean laundry and stuffed it into his duffel. Sam was out trying to scare up dinner, leaving Dean to be the little woman doing the housework. He zipped up the flap and tossed it onto the floor by his bed. He grabbed a beer from the cooler and kicked off his boots before sitting down at the laptop.

They hadn't had much luck scaring up a case lately. You'd think the Apocalypse would flush all of the big bads into the light, trying to get in some good old-fashioned mayhem before the world went, quite literally, to Hell. But either the big bads were getting better at hiding their tracks or they had gone to ground, trying to stay out of the way of the bigger and badder.

He'd never had Sam's luck with finding cases online. There were only so many variations of 'sudden unexplained death in county x' that he could type in before he was ready to chuck the damned laptop out of the window.

He clicked on to his email to break up the unhelpful search results. He deleted two ads for Viagra and penis enlargement. He was happy with both size and performance, thank you very much. He skimmed an email from a couple in Delaware who'd had a problem with a poltergeist. There were pictures of Sylvia and Mark, along with Austin and Lila, their kids. Dean smiled at the pictures, with only a little bit of jealousy. He'd never have that life, and he was okay with that most of the time. But every once in a while…

The next email was from gabe@poeticjustice.gov. Dean figured it was more spam, but when he opened it up there was only one sentence and a link. 'More wacky relatives entering the fray,' it said. No signature, no other explanation.   Dean clicked on the link and was directed to the website of the Meath Standard. The article in question discussed the strange deaths of Mitchell Scott and his family, some two weeks earlier.

The family appeared to have died from a horrific car crash. At least that's what the coroner's report said. But no one could explain how Mitchell had glass from his windshield embedded in his forehead while his car was in pristine condition. There were apparently a whole slew of inconsistencies, and no one seemed to have any answers.

Dean took a long pull from his beer. The case certainly sounded like it could be one of theirs. And with no direct moves to make against Lucifer, and Cas striking out on the God-hunt, it was better than sitting around with their thumbs up their asses.

He heard the purr of the Impala outside of the room, and his heart sped up with happiness. The slamming car door confirmed that Sam had come back; these days Dean didn't take anything for granted, let alone his brother's promise to stick around. Moments later, Sam let himself inside, key in one hand and a bag full of takeout in the other.

"Dude, they didn't have pie, so we got cake," Sam said. He leaned over and dropped a kiss on Dean's frown.

"No pie? That's gotta be against the law," Dean groused, taking the bag from Sam. He pushed the laptop to the side and started unloading styrofoam containers.

"I think they got hit by a big rush earlier," Sam said. "They were out of hamburger buns, too."

"No pie. No burger," Dean sighed, with a mournful look on his face. "Lemme guess. All they had was salad."

"Not that it would hurt you to eat more vegetables, but no," Sam said, sitting down across from Dean. "There's pot roast with mashed potatoes and broccoli, and chocolate cake for dessert."

"Mmmm. Meat," Dead said. He popped open the container and took a big whiff of the contents. "Damn that smells good."

"Eat up," Sam said. "Then we can return to sitting around with no clue what to do."

"About that," Dean said. He turned the laptop around to face Sam. "I have no idea who sent this to us, but it looks like our kind of fucked up."

"'Gabe at poetic justice?" Sam snorted. "Dean, c'mon. You really have no clue?"

"The only Gabe we know is… Son of a bitch."

"Exactly"

"Well, that makes the whole 'wacky relative' thing just that much more terrifying," Dean said. He poked at his roast, hunger deserting him.

"So do we go check this out?" Sam asked.

"You got a better plan?"

"No. Dammit," Sam said.

"I know. I'm sick of dancing to his tune, but if these guys are angels, some of them may be on our side. We're running low on allies."

"Let's do it."

"Cool. Finish your dinner and let's turn in. I don't want to face this on no sleep," Dean said. He dug into his meal with a little less relish than before, and even chocolate cake couldn't cheer him up.

Sam was up to the job, though. One blow job and a half hour on his hands and knees later, Dean went to bed with a smile on his face.

"I feel like I'm in the middle of a Lucky Charms commercial," Dean said, gazing in a mixture of wonder and horror at the sight before him.

"We're in a town called Meath two days before St. Patrick's Day," Sam said with a shrug. "What do you expect?"

"Meath?"

"Yeah, County Meath in Ireland is the home of a lot of historical sites," Sam said.

"Okay Rick Steves," Dean said. "So they've turned this week into the Irish equivalent of Mardi Gras? Think they're already serving the green beer?"

"I think we shouldn't be thinking about celebrating until we figure out why we're here," Sam said.

"Okay O'Killjoy," Dean said. "First stop?"

"I'll hit up the coroner's office," Sam said. "Maybe you could find out where they took the Scotts' car? You can take a look for yourself and see if it's as pristine as the article says. You probably know more about rebuilding cars than their guys, anyway."

"Awww, Sammy," Dean said, wiping away an imaginary tear. "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me." Sarcasm aside, the praise put a warm glow in his belly.

Sam grinned. "Yeah. Don't know what I was thinking."

"Bitch. You go get suited up and I'll go look for the impound lot."

"Jerk. See you back at the motel."

Dean found the impound yard without a problem. He managed to strike up a conversation with the guy running the yard under the guise of looking for his sister's car, which had been stolen two towns over a week before. The guy, Ed, seemed pretty lonely and happy for the company. Meath wasn't that big, and they really didn't have much in the way of crime.

"I can go two weeks without seeing a soul," Ed said with a sorrowful frown.

"I dunno," Dean said. "I'd pay cash money to have some time alone sometimes."

"I, however, am a people person," Ed said. "Me and lonely don't do well together. But at least things start to pick up this time of year."

"How so?"

"It's St. Paddy's," Ed explained. "We get people from all over the state wanting to celebrate in a town full of Irishmen. That much beer and whiskey wreaks havoc on the tourists. Last year I had to impound thirty cars before the weekend was over. I towed a mint condition '64 Porsche 356C. Thing of beauty, I tell you. Felt bad when I scuffed the bumper."

Dean shook his head and laughed. "That's why I am always so careful with my baby," he explained.

"Watcha got?" Ed asked.

"A '67 Impala," Dean said. "I rebuilt her a couple of years back."

"Can I see her?" Ed asked, bouncing like a little kid.

"Sure thing," Dean said

Dean showed him his baby, trying to keep the guy sweet. They oohed and aahed, and discussed engine specs. Ed talked more about the classics he'd had to impound, and Dean talked about Bobby's salvage yard and some of the vehicles he'd worked on. They talked cars for nearly a half hour, until Ed got a call from the police station to go out and tow a car back to the lot. He said he figured Dean was a good sort, and sent him out into the yard unsupervised, to look around even though Ed was certain there was no 2001 Camry to be found.

Dean saw him off with a little wave and then headed into the yard. He found the Scott's SUV in the corner of the yard, set a little bit away from the other vehicles. He dropped to the ground and inched his way under the vehicle. None of the major structural elements looked like they'd been repaired. Everything looked almost factory new. He crawled out from underneath and popped open the driver's side door. There weren't any weird stains on the upholstery, and it even had the new car smell. He looked down at the odometer and noticed that the vehicle had forty thousand miles on it-certainly wasn't as new as it seemed.

He popped the hood and took a look inside. Even with all of the new-fangled technology the newer cars had, Dean knew enough to know that the car looked like it had just rolled off of a showroom floor. There was no dirt, no grime. All the fluids were topped up and ready to go. From what he could see, there was no way this car had a damned thing wrong with it, now or ever.

He dropped the hood and stepped back to take a better look at the SUV. Not a scratch in the paint, not a hint that anything had happened. He made his way around the vehicle, looking for some sign of trauma, but it was perfect. He peered into the back seat and finally saw something weird. There was a silver coin sitting on the rear passenger floorboard. It wasn't anything he'd seen before. He reached out to open the door when he heard a raw scream behind him.

He reached for his gun as he spun around and put his back to the vehicle. He immediately had to throw up his hands to avoid the wings and claws of the huge crow that flew at him. He dropped into a crouch and tucked his gun back into his jacket. With his arms over his head, he managed to crawl away from the car, feeling the bird's claws slip off of the leather time and again. When the bird finally stopped, Dean turned around and looked back at the SUV.

It was covered in crows. There had to be several dozen of the bastards perched on every available spot. It was as creepy as hell, but he wasn't going to stick around to investigate. He could come back later and check out the coin if Sam hadn't come up with any leads.

He left Ed a note of thanks and headed towards the police station. He managed to get in the front door, but had to stop just a few feet in. The waiting area was full of angry people shouting. Most of them appeared to be drunk, and most of them seemed moments away from kicking the ass of the guy next to them. Dean was certain he could take any of them in a brawl, but he didn't want to blow his cover before he even had a chance to get near the incident reports.

"What are you looking at, pretty boy," one of the drunken men asked. "Nothing, that's what you're looking at. You keep looking my way and I'll kick your ass!"

"None of that now, Judge Houlihan," said a petite police officer. She placed a hand on the judge's chest and pushed him away from Dean.

"Are you here to complain or to bail?" she asked, once she made her way back over.

"Uh, neither?" Dean said. He pulled out his ID. "FBI. My name's Agent Lynott. I'm here about the Scott case."

"What? Are you some sort of Mulder?" she asked. "I know the case is weird, but it's hardly something the FBI usually worries about."

"We have some concerns that it might have something to do with an ongoing investigation," Dean lied. "Do you think I might be able to look at the files, Officer…?"

"Gordon. Julie Gordon," she replied. "Let me make some sense out of this and I'll be right with you."

"Take your time," Dean said.

Dean watched her sort through the throng of drunks in a quick and cool manner. Half of them were escorted to the tank while the other half waited sullenly for their wives, daughters, mothers, and in one case elderly grandma to pick them up.

His phone rang while she was halfway through, and he stepped outside to answer. "What's up, Sammy?"

"I just got done with the coroner," Sam said. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the police station," Dean said. "The good officers have to wade their way through a sea of drunks before I can get a look at the files. You on your way back to the motel or do you want to stop by."

"I'll come to you," Sam said. "After talking to the coroner, I want to see those crime scene photos."

"See you in a few," Dean said.

He held open the door for a very classy looking older lady who turned out to be Judge Houlihan's wife. After a quiet exchange with Officer Gordon, she grabbed her husband's arm and dragged him towards the back. At Dean's quizzical look, Officer Gordon smiled.

"He's up for reelection in a couple of months," she said. "His wife thought it best if he left through the rear entrance."

Dean snorted. "Is this a regular thing for him? Getting drunk and ornery?"

Officer Gordon sighed.  "Not normal at all.  He volunteers at the children's hospital, for Christ's sake.  He grows award-winning roses."

"Something sure set him off," Dean said.  "Where'd you pick him up?"

"There was a brawl at the Rotary hall," she explained.  "They normally don't serve anything stronger than iced tea, but when Manny and I got there, it was a mad house."

"So the most upstanding citizens of your town got drunk and started beating the crap out of each other at a club luncheon?" Dean asked.  Sam could have normal if that was what passed for it.

"I found the scholarship winner and her mother hiding under the head table," Gordon said, trying to keep a straight face.  "One of the county commissioners grabbed her ass while I was escorting them out."

"The student or the mother?"

"The mother.  I think the student was more horrified at how her mother giggled."

They both broke down with laughter.  Dean leaned against the wall to hold himself up, and was wiping his eyes when Sam made it in.  His brother surveyed them both with a tilted head and a look that melded confusion with a tiny bit of jealousy. That just set Dean off again.  Sam looked like nothing so much as a confused puppy that'd lost his toy to another dog.

"What?"

Dean and the young officer composed themselves.  "Nothing Sam," he said.  "Officer Gordon, this is my partner, Agent Morrison."

Sam stuck out his hand.  "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," she said, with a firm handshake. She gave Sam an appraising look.

"Officer Gordon has been dealing with a station full of drunks this afternoon," Dean explained.  "She was just getting ready to show me that file."

"Follow me, gentlemen," she said, leading them back towards the squad room.

She grabbed a couple of folders from her desk, and then led them to a small conference room.  She left them to look over reports and crime scene photos while she retrieved the physical evidence from the locker.

"What did you find at the impound yard?" Sam asked, flipping through the photos.

"I found one SUV in pristine condition.  Not a scratch on her, and looking like she was fresh from the showroom floor," Dean said.  "I swear, Sammy, I popped the hood and she didn't even look like she'd been driven."

"Do we know how old it was?" Sam asked.

"A 2007," Dean said.  "It had over forty thousand miles on it.  No way should it look like that, especially if they had kids."

"Anything else weird?" Sam asked.

"There was a weird coin in the back seat, but I got Tippi Hedren'ed by a bunch of crows before I could check it out," Dean said.

"Crows?"

"Yeah, musta gotten too close to their nest," Dean said, shrugging. He got a thoughtful look on his face. "Though I'm not sure how all of those sons of bitches would fit in a nest. Maybe they have some sort of crow condo thing going on."

"Crows don't nest," Sam said.  "They roost."

"Roost?  I'm so sorry for not being up on my crow info," Dean said.  "I got too close to their turf and it pissed them off, end of story."

Sam shifted in his seat, an uneasy look on his face.

"What?"

"Nothing.  It's just that I could have sworn that a crow was following me when I left the coroner's office," Sam said.

"Following you?"

"Dean, man, I'm not crazy.  Every time I looked around he'd kept pace with me, sitting on trash cans, street signs, benches.  It creeped me out," Sam said, with a shiver.

Dean didn't know what to say.  They'd seen enough crazy in the world that neither of them were easily spooked.

"Did it do anything besides follow you?" he asked, not sure if he wanted to laugh or worry.

"It's not like he mugged me," Sam said.  "He just kept following me.  I know I'm probably being paranoid."

"How many times have we told ourselves we were just being paranoid and it didn't end in an explosion of shit?" Dean asked.

"Not many," Sam admitted.

"Then whatever is going on, these damned birds are most likely involved," Dean said.

Officer Gordon picked that moment to bring them the box of evidence. She placed it on the table between them.

"It's not much," she said. "Most of the personal effects already went to the family. The rest is toys, DVDs, and a couple of sippy cups."

"Did you guys pull out anything weird, like a coin?" Dean asked.

Officer Gordon frowned. "Coin? Nope. Just normal stuff you'd expect to find in the car of a family with little kids."

Sam continued to look at the photos. "What is the black stuff here at the base of this tree?" he asked.

"It's hard to tell from the photo, but it's feathers," she replied. "There were a ton of black feathers at the scene, but no dead bird. We thought maybe he'd hit a crow or something, but there weren't any on the car itself, and no blood or spoor that we could find."

"Can we get copies of these?" Dean asked, collecting the files and photos. "We have a couple of more places to check out this afternoon."

"Sure thing," Officer Gordon said, eager to please. "If you have a flash drive I can give you the electronic copies."

Sam dug a battered black thumb drive out of his pocket. "Here you go. We appreciate your help."

"If you two can figure out what in the heck went on, I'm happy to help however I can," she said. Giving Dean a cheerful grin, she took the flash drive and went back to her desk.

"So I guess we're off to research crows?" Dean said. He didn't look overly happy with the thought of research.

"Yep. If you're a good boy and don't complain too much, we can go check out the green beer after," Sam said. "After I suck your brains out through your dick," he added in a soft growl.

Dean perked up. "Awesome." He loved it when Sam got the notion to stake his claim.

Sam spent about twenty bucks making copies at the library while Dean surfed around coin sites looking for something that resembled the coin in the SUV. He hadn't gotten a close look at it, but it looked old, and vaguely Celtic. Given the time of year and the number of Irish surnames he'd seen around town, that didn't really surprise him.

Back at the hotel, Sam spread out his research, along with the police reports and photos. Dean settled on the bed and started cleaning his gun, waiting patiently while Sam gathered his thoughts.

"Okay, so there's lots of lore about crows," Sam began. "Here in America, it's mostly in the Pacific Northwest with the Native Americans. While we can't rule it out, we're in Ohio, which is pretty far removed."

"Yeah, I doubt whatever it is hauled its cookies away from Oregon all the way to Ohio. Nobody comes to Ohio if they can help it," Dean snarked.

"Maybe they want to see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?"

"Lame."

"Anyway. I'm thinking we can also rule out the Hindu and Buddhist ties to crows," Sam said. "Which leaves us with Norse and Celtic. Granted, they're both even further removed from here than the Pacific Northwest, but there are a lot of settlers here that have ties to the old countries."

"I swear, if I find an apple orchard…"

"Burning it to the ground, yeah, I remember," Sam said with a smirk. "So as for Norse, Odin has two ravens who accompany him wherever he goes."

"There were a helluva lot more than two of those fuckers," Dean said.

"Which leaves us with Celtic," Sam said. Dean could tell he'd been saving that one for last for a reason. "In Celtic mythology, crows are associated with Badbh, one of the war goddesses. If fact, she's called the 'battle crow'."

"That sounds more like it," Dean said. "So what does this Badbh chick do?"

"Well, she embodies rage and fury. Battle madness. She's also thought to be one of the bean sidhe, banshee," Sam clarified.

"Death omen. Peachy," Dean said. He swabbed out the barrel of his automatic. "But the rage and fury sound about right. Apparently the local Rotary Club luncheon turned into Fight Club today.  A bunch of upstanding citizens started brawling over their dry chicken and green beans."

"Sounds right up her alley," Sam agreed.

"So how does our merry Trickster fit into this?" Dean asked.

"He was probably being truthful when he said wacky relatives," Sam said. "There's a lot of lore that says the Sidhe were actually angels who fell who weren't quite bad enough to be imprisoned with Lucifer. They didn't take sides in the war, so they were denied both Heaven and Hell."

"So they have angel mojo and no pony in the Apocalypse race?" Dean asked.

"Could be," Sam said. "But Gabriel seemed to suggest that they were getting ready to join in."

"Christ. That's just what we need. What lore I remember says that the bastards are fickle and basically batshit insane," Dean said. "We don't need more crazy."

"Some of them weren't too bad," Sam said. "Don't get me wrong, a lot of them were, but some myths have them helping humanity develop arts and crafts."

"I don't need a fairy to teach me how to make a macaroni pencil holder, Sam," Dean said. "This is not Camp Apocalypto."

Sam gave him the patent pending 'Dean is a moron' bitchface. "Metal working. Music. Writing. That sort of stuff."

"Whatever. Back to the matter at hand. What the hell does the Badbh chick want here?"

"I don't know," Sam said with a defeated sigh. "Let's hang around here until it's time to clean up and head out for a beer, okay? Maybe we can scare up some gossip at the pub."

"Sounds good. Now strip."

"What?" Sam asked. The smirk on his face told Dean he knew what.

"I believe I was promised an earth-shattering orgasm," Dean said. "Suck my brains out through my dick, if I recall correctly."

"I dunno. You were flirting with that cop. Maybe I shouldn't reward bad behavior," Sam said, with a dramatic sigh.

"She was a foot too short in height and eight inches two short in length for me to have any interest," Dean said.

"That so?" Sam asked, stepping closer. He herded Dean toward the bathroom. "She can't give you what you need?"

"Only you, Sam," Dean said. He reached for Sam and pulled his brother down for a kiss. "No matter what."

"Even if…?" The past few months had shown them that their relationship had all of the pitfalls and landmines of any regular couple. In fact, there were a whole lot of pitfalls that other couples would never have to face.

"Even if."

"Then get naked. I believe I have a promise to keep."

They stripped and climbed into the tub. The motel was one of the few and far between with both good pressure and plenty of hot water. Dean leaned back against the wall and groaned as Sam dropped to his knees. As big as Sam was, it was a tight fit in the small tub.

"God, look at you," Sam groaned. "So hard for me."

"Jesus, Sammy."

"Gonna make you scream, Dean."

Sam teased the head of Dean's cock for just a moment before opening his mouth and swallowing Dean down to the root.

"Gah, Sammy."

Sam groaned happily, bobbing up and down. There was water in his eyes, and he couldn't really look at Dean, but he could hear every gasp and every moan. He reached between Dean's legs and played with his balls, rolling them gently in his hands and running his fingernail down the seam.

"Fuck. Sammy!" Dean yelped. He tangled his hands in Sam's hair.

Sam kept going, sucking and slurping and driving Dean crazy. Dean had no idea where Sam had learned that trick with his tongue, but it was quite possibly the best thing ever. Sam reached up and pressed his fingers on Dean's lips. Dean opened his mouth and closed it around the long digits. Too soon, Sam pulled them out. He grabbed Dean's right leg and set it on the edge of the tub. Then he reached behind and started playing with Dean's hole, teasing just a little before pushing in.

Dean came the moment Sam brushed up against his prostate.

Sam clambered up and spun Dean around. He reached for the little bottle of conditioner and squirted some of it onto his fingers. He pushed his fingers into Dean and worked his brother open, thrusting and scissoring until Dean was begging.

"Fuck, Sammy. Fuck me, please," Dean whined.

"Gonna stop flirting with the girls, Dean?" Sam growled, lining himself up with Dean's hole. "Maybe I need to mark you. Let them know you're mine."

"Please, Sammy. Whatever you want. Just fuck me."

"Love it when you beg," Sam said, pushing in to the hilt in one long, slow thrust.

He rode Dean hard, snapping his hips and drawing beautiful noises out of Dean's throat. He wasn't going to last long, but he wanted Dean to come again before he finished.

"Touch yourself for me, baby," he said, before latching on to Dean's neck.

Dean reached down and grabbed his cock, moving his hand erratically up and down. Sam adjusted his angle ever so slightly, until he was hitting Dean's sweet spot on every stroke.

"Sammmmyy."

Sam released Dean's shoulder. He could see the dark red bruise already forming. "Come for me, Dean."

He buried himself in Dean one last time gripping his brother's hips so hard he'd probably leave a bruise. He spilled into Dean, shouting his brother's name. Dean grabbed Sam's hand and wrapped it around his cock, fucking into Sam's loose fist. He came moments later, sobbing Sam's name.

They stayed like that, joined together, for several minutes. The water was still hot, and it cascaded over their muscles, relaxing them even further. They finally got down to the business of washing up, and then stumbled back into the bedroom. Dean thought about getting dressed for a moment, but Sam pulled him down onto the nearest bed before he had a chance to grab clothes.

"Dress later. Nap now," Sam said, pulling Dean close. Dean didn't have the heart to argue.

They woke up two hours later and dug out clean clothes. They took turns getting shaved and dressed, and were ready to go in about twenty minutes.

"You ready?" Dean said, shoving his wallet into his pocket and grabbing his coat and gun.

"Let's go," Sam said. "I think I must have worked up an appetite."

Doherty's Pub was packed with revelers. They were still two days out from St. Paddy's, but that didn't stop people from starting the celebration early. To Dean's disappointment, they weren't serving the green beer yet, but he managed to get a beer and burger with a little green flag on top.

For the most part the crowd seemed fairly laid back. The both had a couple of beers before heading back to the pool tables. Dean managed to sucker a couple of guys into a game while Sam looked on. He'd dropped the first game, ready to run the table for double stakes when the mood shifted.

Sam heard the shouting first. He turned around and saw the bar patrons squaring off like they were in a music video about gang fights. Dean came up beside and grabbed his elbow. They both moved off to the side, while the men in the back room poured out to join their friends in the showdown.

Dean wasn't sure what the actual spark was, but one moment they were staring daggers at each other and the next there were fists and barstools flying back and forth. He pulled Sammy even further away from the crowd and looked for a back entrance. He spotted a door just on the edge of the fray, and dragged his brother towards it.

"Dean, what the Hell is happening?" Sam asked, whispering his question into Dean's ear.

Dean suppressed a shiver. "I don't know, man. But I'm thinking there are probably a shitload of crows outside." They dodged a flying chair and ducked out of the back door.

"Why isn't it affecting us?" Sam asked.

"Hell if I know," Dean said. "Maybe it's the whole vessel thing."

"For you, maybe," Sam said, staring down at his shoes. "I tend to lose my temper a lot quicker these days."

"Sammy," Dean began.

"No, Dean," Sam said. "Don't. We both know I've been on the edge lately. You'd think of anyone, I'd be susceptible. Which makes it even stranger that I'm not. That has to mean something."

"All I know is that we're fucking lucky that neither of us is back in there," Dean said. "Let's get somewhere safe so we can stop and figure this shit out."

They headed up the alley towards the street. They had just stepped out of the alley when the pub doors burst open and the fight spilled out. The tone of the fight had changed again, and instead of hitting each other, they bar patrons turned their fists and weapons on the town itself.

Barstools carried out as clubs were thrown through storefront windows. Cars were turned over and two giant men picked up a motorcycle and tossed it off of a bridge into the creek below. Everywhere they looked, Sam and Dean saw mayhem.

They tried to backtrack down the alley, but more men poured out of the back entrance and headed right for them.

"What are you two faggots doing out here," one man asked.

"We're not looking for trouble," Sam began.

"Well you found it, kid," another lout cackled. Three of the men jumped Sam, while two more tackled Dean. Normally, they could have wiped the floor with the drunks, but once the others saw their buddies beating up two guys, they started piling on. The last thing Dean saw before the blackness claimed him was a bloodied Sam curled up next to the dumpster. He tried to crawl over to him, but passed out before he managed to move an inch.

Part 2