Fic: "Battle of the Nations" 2/2
Title: Battle of the Nations
Rating: K+
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester
Word count: ~14000
Summary: The Winchesters go undercover at a Renaissance festival to investigate a strange case of murders. To Sam's dismay and Dean's delight, the best way to blend in is to fight - like men in tights! Hurt!Sam, Protective!Dean.
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Chapter 3
Morning came, and Sam was still out for the count. Although looking pale and rather battered, he was breathing peacefully, so Dean let Sam sleep and went to fetch himself some much-needed coffee and some breakfast from one of the many medieval shops. He knew that Sam probably wouldn't have much of an appetite, but Dean still decided to bring back some food for his brother - just in case Sam wanted a little bit to eat after all.
The Renaissance Festival was already buzzing with people; blacksmiths hammering away in their smithies, troubadours playing their lutes and hitting on the maidens, elderly women embroidering on canvases, men breathing fire, knights doing ring riding on horsebacks, and even a couple of monks updating the scoreboard of the knights tournament. The contestants of the Battle of the Nations camp were also up and running. The first battle of the tournament were set to begin around noon that day, so everybody was doing their own thing to prepare for the upcoming competition.
As Dean returned to the habitat of the Brotherhood team, he quickly realized that rumors about Sam's nightly escapades had already made their way around the campsite. Dean received quite a few judgmental looks from the members of the team, and the tension in the camp was high. Ignoring the looks from the other men, Dean headed straight for the tent he shared with Sam, put down the paper bag with breakfast, and spent a few seconds making sure that Sam was still alright and breathing. Dean then decided to go back outside and deal with the cranky members of the team. Sam would already have enough on his plate when he woke up - he didn't need to be judged by, what Dean thought, was a bunch of yahoos in Halloween costumes, on top of everything else. Approaching the gathered members of the Brotherhood team with determination, Dean stared down everyone he made eye contact with - silently telling them to cut the bullshit or get a beat-down.
"What?" Dean challenged, prepared to kick the crap out of anyone who dared to talk shit about Sam.
The bigger part of the men had the decency to keep quiet and look away, but Scarface, unsurprisingly, took on the challenge in a heartbeat.
"How's your brother?" Scarface asked in a scornful way. "Hungover? Or ready to start the day with another bottle of liquor?"
"You watch your mouth…" Dean threatened in a low and dangerous voice, fists clenched hard at both sides of his body. "What happened to Sam is none of your goddamn business."
"Oh yeah?" Scarface challenged and got into Dean's face. "We're competing in a really important battle today, and your brother decided to crap all over this team by getting wasted last night!"
"You listen to me, you son of a bitch!" Dean spat. "Sam didn't decide to do squat to your team! Something happened to him last night, and when I find out who's behind it, I'm gonna tear them apart!"
Scarface snorted and turned around to look at some of his teammates.
"So now it's someone else's fault that his brother got pissed last night." Scarface said, loud enough for everyone to hear, and then added; "Not our fault that the kid can't control his alcoholism."
Dean let out a humorless snort. Then - two seconds later - he had spun the man around, grabbed a hold of his collar and pulled him so close that their noses were almost touching. Sometimes, it even surprised Dean himself how easily provoked he became when someone bad-mouthed Sam.
"You know nothing about my brother." Dean snarled, feeling pleased when he spotted real fear in Scarface's eyes from the rough treatment. The man might have been bulky but Dean Winchester was a force to be reckoned with - especially when furious.
"Okay, enough!" The team leader, Ken, shouted, and a few of the Brotherhood members separated Dean and Scarface from each other. "We're supposed to compete together today, guys! Not fight against each other!"
"That psycho just attacked me!" Scarface exclaimed, pointing a finger at Dean.
"Really..?" Dean said in a flat tone, raising an eyebrow at the ridiculous comment.
"We all heard what you said, Paul." Red cut in with a sigh. "He didn't get in your face for nothing."
"But that doesn't mean we tolerate violence outside the battle arena." Ken added while eyeing Dean pointedly. "You can both save that for the competition today."
"You know what? I don't owe you guys anything." Dean said with a shake of his head, about done with the situation and these wannabe LARPers. "Someone attacked my brother last night, and I don't care if you believe it or not, but that's the frigging truth! The only reason we got here was to do this team a favor, and if Sam isn't on top of his game, you're gonna have to look for someone else to fill in the spots 'cause we're out then!"
"Whoa, hold on…" Ken began, but Dean didn't stay to listen to the responses from the group of men.
His eyes had caught sight of movement from the tent he shared with Sam, so Dean headed over to check up on his kid brother and to find out how much Sam remembered of the previous night.
"Sammy?" Dean asked, unzipped the tent and found a groggy little brother looking back at him; looking all but five years old with his hair sticking out in all directions and eyes blinking slowly. "How are you feeling?"
"I…" Sam began in a rusty voice, then cleared his throat and smacked his lips together a couple of times. "Wha-… Man… Did we get drunk last night or something?"
"We didn't do squat, Sam - you did." Dean said, zipped up the tent door behind him, and handed Sam a bottle of water that his brother accepted with shaky hands. "You disappeared on me last night, and when I finally found you, you were basically passed out drunk… and had been roofied."
"W-what?" Sam stuttered with wide eyes. "I was…? But… Who? How?"
"I was hoping you could tell me." Dean sighed. "What do you remember?"
"Umm.." Sam began, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't.. I don't know."
"You don't know?" Dean asked, trying his best to keep the worry out of his voice. "Well, let me try to enlighten your scrambled brain then, Bukowski."
Dean then let Sam in on all the details about the hunt - about going undercover at the Renaissance Festival, how they'd promised the Brotherhood team to fight for them in the group battle to be able to get full access to the battle camp, how they'd split up to search the camp only for Sam to go missing. Sam had nodded in recognition to some of the stuff Dean had told him, but his memory apparently became fuzzy when Dean reached the part of their search through the battle camp the previous night.
"Before you disappeared you texted me, saying you were on to something." Dean said.
"I wish I could tell you what I'd found out." Sam sighed, rubbing at his temples - a guaranteed telltale of a pounding headache. "But I don't remember… God, this feels like the wall all over again."
"This time you can scratch all you want though." Dean remarked and received a bitch-face in return for his comment. "Well, maybe something will come back to you once we return to the motel and you can…"
"Wait, back to the motel? Dean, we're not going anywhere." Sam cut in.
"Excuse me?" Dean said, sending his brother an incredulous look. "Sam, someone attacked you last night, hurt you and left you hammered and drugged. If you think for a second that I'm gonna let you continue this hunt - let alone compete in the battle today - you must be insane! I'm gonna be surprised if you can even stand without falling over!"
"People's lives are at stake here…" Sam said.
"Your life is at stake here." Dean exclaimed, not missing the way Sam winced from the loud words.
"Dean, I'm fine." Sam said in a soft voice. "And it's not exactly monster MO to roofie someone. Besides, if the situation had been reversed, you wouldn't lay low either - not when people are in danger."
"Fine!" Dean gave in, throwing up his hands in defeat. "But this whole Battle of the Nations crap is done! You're not battling."
Sam didn't respond to that. He just laid back down on his sleeping bag and closed his eyes with a heavy sigh - as if the words exchanged between them had been physically exhausting for him. They probably had. Hell, it was impressive to Dean that Sam could even form coherent sentences after the state he'd been in the previous night. Dean didn't like how pale the kid still looked, and he could barely detain himself from throwing Sam over his shoulder - fireman style - carry him to the car and drive him to the nearest hospital.
"You sure you're okay?" Dean asked instead, figuring that Sam probably wouldn't appreciate being manhandled. "You want some Tylenol or something?"
"I'm fine, Dean." Sam mumbled into his makeshift pillow. "Let's just figure out how to solve this case."
_ SPN _
Sam was not fine. He felt like he had the mother of all hangovers; his head was aching and his stomach was upset - which was why he'd politely declined breakfast when Dean had offered it. Sam felt dizzy and woozy, and he was having a hard time making his limbs cooperate with his sluggish brain. He could hardly focus on anything else than what should have been the simple task of continuing to breathe - which Sam knew didn't go by his hovering big brother unnoticed.
The biggest issue for Sam was the lack of memory though. There was a big chunk missing and, from what he knew about Roofies, it was most likely a big chunk of memory he'd never be able to get back. Judging by the bruises on his body, the lump on the back of his head and the soreness of his ribs whenever he moved, Sam had obviously been tied up and beaten. Dean had told him that his captor had furthermore forced liquor and pills into him. But why? And who had done this? Had it got anything to do with the case they were working - or had Sam just been at the wrong place, at the wrong time?
The questions made Sam's aching head spin, and he had to stop walking and fight against the nausea that washed over him. The sun was burning hot, and drops of sweat were dripping off Sam's nose, as he was bent over, hands on knees, and swallowing down rising bile. A calloused hand squeezed the back of his neck. Sam closed his eyes shortly before peering up at his concerned older brother.
"You sure you wanna go through with this?" Dean asked. "'Cause we can leave right now, hole up somewhere and let someone else finish this one. We've got nothing to prove."
"I can do it." Sam panted, ignoring the odd looks some of the Brotherhood team members sent him as they passed by. "This armor's just so heavy.. and hot."
"I know." Dean said, and adjusted the medieval, metal helmet he'd placed underneath his armpit.
It had taken a fair deal of energy and arguing back and forth with his brother, before Dean had finally given in and agreed to let Sam be a part of the battle competition after all - although reluctantly. No matter how much Sam had tried to remember what had happened to him the night before, the memories just wouldn't return to him. However, his gut kept telling him that it'd got something to do with the Battle of the Nations competition - and the best way to be close to the contest, was to actually be in it. Dean had only agreed to this arrangement as long as Sam remained outside the battle arena as a substitute fighter for the team instead of being actively involved in the battle. That way, Dean could keep an eye on things from inside the arena while Sam could do the same from outside the battle arena. Sam was perfectly fine with this. Just the mere thought of doing anything strenuous almost brought Sam to his knees anyway, and Ken Woods, the team leader, seemed more than happy to keep Sam benched - as long as the Brotherhood had a full team after all, then it probably didn't matter much to him who competed and who didn't.
A bottle of water appeared in front of Sam, and he gratefully accepted it from his brother with a shaky hand and greedily drank of it. Sam then took a couple of deep breaths before straightening back up, and gave Dean a short nod to indicate that he was ready to move on.
Both Winchesters were wearing their medieval outfits, but this time it was in combination with protecting armor. Since the brothers didn't exactly carry this kind of stuff among their usual gear in the trunk of the Impala, Dean and Sam had had to borrow the armor from some of the Brotherhood team members. Not everyone had extra equipment (or were willing to hand it over to the brothers) so they only had the very basic stuff. Both hunters had metal armor on their arms and legs, and strapped over their chests and backs was a chainmail. To complete it all, Dean and Sam also had helmets, shields and swords.
The battle arena was buzzing with people - both inside and outside the arena. A big crowd of bystanders was seated on the wooden grandstands and was cheering for the battling knights, when the Brotherhood team, accompanied by the Winchester brothers, arrived. The day had not gotten any cooler and, even though Sam had just emptied an entire bottle of water, his mouth felt as dry as the sand underneath his boots. While Ken gave the team an encouraging speech that Sam couldn't even begin to focus on, the youngest Winchester leaned back against the fence encircling the battle arena. He still felt dizzy, and the fence was what provided him with the support he needed to remain upright.
Sam wiped off the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, and squinted at the baking sun. He wasn't even wearing his helmet, and he'd put down the shield and sword - yet he was still sweating profusely. In this heat and with the state he was currently in, Sam felt more than a little grateful for the fact that he wasn't the one about to compete in the battle arena. Dean was going to fight though. Sam didn't know whether it was his frazzled mind or the heat that got to him but, either way, his big brother sure did look like a real knight in that moment - with his shining armor and stoic posture. However, Dean wasn't paying attention to whatever Ken was saying. His attention was on Sam, and Sam could see the concern in his brother's eyes. Dean raised an eyebrow and, from a whole lifetime of knowing Dean, Sam knew that Dean was silently telling him that they could still back out of this. Sam shook his head, turning down the offer. Undeniably, he still felt like shit, but they couldn't back down now - not when innocent lives were on stake.
The current tournament battle came to an end, and the presenter announced that the next teams competing in the arena were the Blue Vikings against the Brotherhood.
"Keep your eyes open and stay out of trouble." Dean told Sam and flashed him a smile before putting on his helmet.
"Yeah, right back at you." Sam snorted, relieved that hewasn't the one wearing a closed armor helmet in this unforgiving heat.
"I am William Wallace!" Dean announced, closed the vizor of his helmet and raised his sword.
Sam shook his head. At least Dean didn't do the entire speech from Braveheart this time around.
Seven members of the Brotherhood team - including Dean - took position in the middle of the sandy ground of the battle arena, while seven people from the Blue Vikings team did the same thing. The remaining two members of the Brotherhood team were seated on a bench next to Ken, the team leader. Sam sat down beside them, no longer having the energy to remain standing.
The match began and the knights started battling against each other. The shouts and cheers from the bystanders were loud, and Sam struggled to focus on his task as his head pounded in perfect harmony with the beat of a drum someone had kindly brought to the event.
The bystanders were a mixed group of people, containing everything from regular tourists and families with kids, to people dressed up in true renaissance styled clothes. How did you even begin to single out suspicious behavior in a place like this? Sam closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in an attempt to ease his headache. As his body continued to be plagued by the effects of the alcohol and drugs, Sam began to regret having convinced Dean of staying. A cool motel room and a pillow were to be preferred right now.
A loud hiss from the crowd, and a collective shout of curses from the members of the Brotherhood teamseated next to him, brought Sam's attention back to the fight happening inside the battle arena. Someone from the team had gotten hurt, and the youngest Winchester was relieved when his eyes sought out Dean and found his big brother unharmed. The team member Alan, whom Sam knew had helped Dean in his search for him the previous night, was not as lucky. A hit from a sword had apparently split his helmet in half and knocked the guy out cold - only barely managed to avoid cleaving his head into two pieces. A pair of first-aiders were already tending the fallen Brotherhood member, and while they worked on the unconscious man, Dean took advantage of the downtime to walk to the side of the fence to get some water. Sam noticed that Dean's hair was sweaty and his cheeks flushed as the oldest brother took off his armor helmet and looked at Sam.
"Another accident." Dean sighed, nodding towards the injured man who was being loaded on a field gurney. "Did you see anything odd?"
"No. Nothing." Sam said with a shake of his head. "You?"
"No. And this helmet blocks out most of my vision anyway." Dean said. He took in Sam's pale and sweaty face for a few seconds, and added; "You look like shit."
"Yeah, thanks." Sam answered with a snort. "How's it like competing in an actual knight's tournament?"
"It's as awesome as it sounds." Dean said, eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiled, and Sam couldn't help but smile at his brother's enthusiasm. He was pretty sure that Dean could now check off another item on his bucket list.
A sudden wave of nausea wiped off Sam's smile, and Dean's expression immediately turned serious.
"You okay? Sam, we can still…" Dean began, but was then cut off by Ken who shooed him back into the battle arena as Alan was carried out of there and the fight was about to continue.
There were now only two substitute fighters left on the bench - Sam and a guy named Billy - since, naturally, Alan had had to be replaced. The match against the Blue Vikings soon ended though, and the Brotherhood team came out of that one victorious. A couple of monks updated the scoreboard and, while looking at the two men, an unnerving feeling crept up on Sam. A lost memory tingled on the edge of his mind, but Sam couldn't quite grasp it or make sense of it before it was lost again. Whatever it was though, Sam knew it had somehow been triggered by the sight of the monks.
"Okay, moving on to the next one." The team leader, Ken, said - effectively interrupting Sam's trail of thoughts. "What happened to Alan was unfortunate, but he's going to be okay and we need to focus on winning this thing."´
"Anything?" Dean asked Sam in a muttered voice, ignoring Ken's speech.
"No.." Sam answered, a bit hesitantly which Dean wasn't late to pick up on.
"What?" He asked.
"It's just… I have this weird feeling," Sam said, nodding towards the monks by the scoreboard, "about those two."
"The monks? What about them?" Dean asked, discreetly eyeing the men Sam had pointed out to him.
"I don't know, really." Sam sighed. "There's just something about them that creeps me out."
"No wonder. The cloaks are one thing, but the pledge of celibacy is just wrong, man." Dean said, then shuddered as if disgusted. "Let me guess; you'd have been even more creeped out if they'd been dressed as clowns, huh?"
"Are you done?" Sam asked, bitch-face in place, and not even a hint of amusement to be spotted in his voice.
"Just getting started." Dean grinned.
"My brother, the comedian." Sam remarked with sarcasm. "Anyways, I'm just saying that we should keep an eye on them."
"Agreed. Now drink some of this." Dean said, pushing his bottle of water into Sam's hands. "You look like you could be fainting any second, princess."
_ SPN _
The semifinals of the tournament came and went by as the first one had done; The Brotherhood team was triumphant - but another team member had bit the dust. This time, a twisted knee was the reason why Sam became the only substitute left on the bench. Dean had done his best to keep a watchful eye on the scoreboard monks while also competing in the Battle of the Nations match. He'd noticed that the two men had left their post just before the Brotherhood had been forced to replace another team member, but they'd returned soon after the fighting continued. Dean had been a hunter for too many years to believe in coincidences, so for the monks to disappear just before another round of "bad luck" hit the team was just a little too suspicious. Especially since Sam had had a bad feeling about those men, and whenever Sam Winchester had a feeling about something, you would be an idiot to ignore it.
Speaking of Sam… As Dean braced himself for the Brotherhood's last group battle of the Battle of the Nations tournament, he made sure to check that Sam was still on his feet and not in a dire need of a trip to the ER. Dean would have preferred to have his brother resting up somewhere safe, but his stubborn kid brother had wanted to finish the hunt, so this would have to do for now. He was relieved that Sam at least wasn't competing.
Dean's relief was short-lived though. They were about eight minutes into the fight when the situation changed. Scarface got his shoulder dislocated as he connected with the side of the fence, and before Dean even realized what was going on, Scarface was out and Sam had replaced him inside the battle arena. The youngest Winchester had his helmet on, and his sword and a shield in hand, but Dean could tell from the way Sam moved that his little brother barely had the energy to hold them up.
"What the hell is he doing..?" Dean muttered to himself, angrily stamping his way towards Sam to have a word with his reckless brother.
Just then, Dean barely avoided taking a hit by a sword to his helmet. He had been so distracted by Sam that he hadn't noticed the competition had continued yet again. Dean's temper flared, and his competitor experienced first-hand what it was like to piss off Dean Winchester.
For a guy who could barely breathe properly, Dean had to admit that Sam was doing remarkably well in the game. Sam was a little slower and less graceful in his movements than usual, but he was handling his sword well. Dean was actually starting to believe that they would get out of this one okay, when a cry from Sam suddenly pierced through all other noises. The bystanders gasped in unison, and Dean's blood ran cold as he spotted Sam, on his knees, with a sword pierced through his shoulder. The knight, Sam had been competing against, was still holding on to the handle of the sword - frozen in place as if he couldn't believe what had happened either. Ignoring everything else, Dean dropped his sword and ripped off his helmet as he ran towards his hurt brother. When he got there, Dean placed a solid punch through the dumbfounded attackers open helmet vizor on instinct, which made the man let go of the handle of the sword immediately to cover his bleeding nose. Dean, on the other hand, dropped to his knees in front of Sam - just in time to catch his brother as Sam fell forward.
"Sam!" Dean shouted, heart pounding rapidly as memories from Cold Oak crept into his mind by the similarities of their positions.
"Can't… breathe…" Sam gasped, desperately clawing at his closed helmet.
Dean brushed away Sam's fingers, and quickly removed Sam's helmet to reveal the pale face underneath it. Sam gulped in big mouthfuls of the warm air, hair mattered to his forehead and eyes squeezed shut in pain.
"Stay conscious for me." Dean ordered, as he lowered Sam onto his uninjured side on the ground, making sure that the sword didn't do more damage than it'd already done.
"Trying." Sam answered between clenched teeth, moaning as the slight movements most likely caused agony to flare through his hurt shoulder.
"Shit.." Dean cursed as he examined the nasty wound.
Blood was freely gushing from it, painting the sand a rusty color underneath his hurt brother. The sword had somehow pierced through Sam's armor, although that was supposed to be impossible. What the hell was going on with this tournament? How did all these so-called accidents happen?
"Dean, take it out." Sam hissed.
"Don't be stupid. You'll bleed to death if I do." Dean said, and instead applied pressure on the wound, as much as it was possible to do because of the sword, to reduce the blood flow - wincing as the gesture made Sam hiss and writhe on the ground.
The first-aiders showed up with a field gurney and gently pushed Dean aside to work on Sam, but the younger brother closed his fingers around Dean's wrist, halting Dean from further movements. Sam then spoke so low that Dean had to lean down to hear what he said, and the oldest Winchester almost recoiled when he heard what Sam had to say.
"You're kidding me, right?" Dean said with disbelief, and continued when Sam shook his head. "Sam, I'm not leaving you to finish this case on my own. You're hurt."
"And it's being taken care of." Sam said, crying out as the sword was removed and cotton pads were pushed down on his injured shoulder.
Dean hissed in sympathy - which seemed to be the case with the many bystanders as well - and watched with concern as Sam's face turned an even whiter shade of pale.
"It's the monks, Dean, I swear it is. There were two of them. One of them… one of them has a big mole on his face." Sam then said, making Dean frown.
"What are you talking about?" Dean wanted to know, ignoring the first-aider who wanted him to step back so that Sam could be lifted onto the field gurney.
"Last night, me disappearing. That's all I remember." Sam explained - just before the first-aiders succeeded in peeling his fingers off Dean's wrist.
Sam was then loaded onto the field gurney and carried out of the battle arena, while Dean tried to decide whether to follow him, or to go find those monks Sam had been talking about. Either way, Dean was done fighting in the tournament. Even if he'd wanted to stay, punching and breaking the nose of one of the competitors had disqualified Dean from the game.
Decision made, Dean ignored the voice in his head screaming of him to stay with Sam, and went in the opposite direction of where Sam had been carried out - towards the scoreboard where the monks had been. If Sam was right, these monks were the ones who'd hurt and drugged the younger Winchester the previous night. Dean didn't know whether or not the monks had got anything to do with the case they were working on, but no one got away with hurting his little brother; not demons, not angels, and definitely not a couple of men in brown frocks!
Just like the other times someone had gotten hurt inside the battle arena, the monks were nowhere to be found by the scoreboard. However, Dean was not a hunter for nothing and he easily picked up a trail. Judging by the clear path on the sandy ground, it seemed like the monks had been walking back and forth between two points; the scoreboard and the old castle.
Dean got rid of the heavy armor - discarding the metal from his arms and legs, and removing the chainmail at last. He needed to be able to move around as easily and soundlessly as possible if he wanted to sneak up on the bad guys unnoticed. As Dean got to the old castle, moved over the drawbridge and disappeared behind the great stonewalls, he reached into his boot and drew out his spare gun. He passed by a row of lit torches and then, before he could decide in which direction to go, mumbled voices caught his attention nearby. Dean raised his gun as he followed the noise - locating it to come from some sort of lattice near the ground of one of the walls. Crouching down by it, Dean carefully peeked through the bars. He was looking down at what appeared to be the crypt of the castle, and his eyes soon caught sight of the two monks. They were standing in front of an altar with lit candles and some other items that Dean knew exactly what was used for. These monks were summoning something, and Dean bet it was somehow connected to the case he and Sam were working on.
The oldest Winchester snooped around until he found a set of stairs leading downwards, and then headed into the darkness below. More lit torches met him on his way, as he got closer and closer to the monks' hideout. When Dean passed by some old dungeons, he stopped up as his eyes caught sight of a familiar bag inside.
"Son of a bitch." Dean muttered, anger flaring as he grabbed the bag and found Sam's stuff still inside it.
There was no doubt that this was where Sam had been held captive when he'd disappeared the previous night. The floor even contained some pieces of rope that could very likely have been used to tie Sam up with. Dean clenched his jaw, swung the bag over his shoulder, and headed in direction of the monks again. In the end of the narrow corridor, a closed door led into what Dean assumed was the altar room. He put down Sam's bag by the side of the door, went a few steps backwards and then kicked in the old door.
"What the hell!" One of the men exclaimed, both of the monks jumping back and raising their arms in the air by the sight of Dean and his gun.
"I suggest you two step away from the altar, boys." Dean said, keeping his gun pointed at the frock-wearing men. "We need to have a little talk."
"Who are you?" The other man asked.
Dean ignored the question, and narrowed his eyes as he spotted a big mole next to the man's right eye. Sam had mentioned a mole, and that just further proved that these men were the ones who'd captured and hurt the youngest Winchester.
As Dean scanned the rest of the room with his eyes, he saw a blackboard where the names of all the teams of the Battle of the Nations tournament were scribbled down - plus names of team members whom Dean knew had suffered from the mysterious heart attacks. He also spotted a table with a pile of bank notes, and Dean wasn't late to figure out what these men's endgame had been.
"So this is what it's all about, huh?" Dean said, nodding towards the blackboard. "You have found a way to earn money on the tournament by doing a little match fixing? That's a dangerous game to play - especially when using dark magic and making human sacrifices."
"It's not dark magic. We summoned a God." The man with the mole said, a smug smile on his face. "You a cop like that other guy we found snooping around?"
"That 'other guy' happens to be my brother." Dean snarled. "And you're gonna regret what you did to him."
"Yeah? You and what army?" The other monk, the shorter one of them, asked.
"Television called - they want their clichés back." Dean told the shorter monk. "Alright, enough of this crap. You two, out!"
Dean used his gun to gesticulate towards the door, and the two monks reluctantly started walking. However, before Dean knew what was happening, one of the men kicked into the dirt on the ground with his boot - making the dirt twirl up and right into Dean's eyes. The oldest Winchester brother cried out and wiped at his eyes, but not fast enough to avoid being attacked by the men in front of him. Dean kicked one of the men away from him, while the other one attempted to choke him from behind with an arm around his neck. Dean pushed back until the man connected with the stonewall behind him, and he then succeeded in tearing the arm off his neck, swung the man around and punched him square in the face. Two more punches, and the shorter monk was out cold.
"Game over." The other monk, the one with the mole, said from behind him, and Dean spun around to find himself face to face with his own gun. "Say; bye, bye!"
The monk smirked and started pulling the trigger. A shot rang out in the small room, echoing between the walls, but Dean felt no pain. He looked astonished as the smirk was wiped off the monk's face, moments before the guy fell into a lifeless heap on the ground. Dean turned his head and saw his brother in the doorway to the room, gun still raised in front of him.
"Bye, bye." Sam said to the dead monk, before looking up and meeting Dean's eyes. "You looked like you needed a little help."
"Nonsense. I had everything under control." Dean claimed, tied up the unconscious monk, and then quickly closed the distance to his brother, as Sam started sagging against the wall.
Sam had his injured shoulder bandaged and secured in a sling, but the younger Winchester looked anything but ready to be moving around on his own. Dean grabbed Sam's bag and once again swung it over his shoulder, before slipping an arm around his brother's waist to support him.
"So how did the tournament end, Lancelot?" Dean asked as he guided Sam back towards the stairs.
"The Brotherhood won." Sam announced. "Even with me out of the game and you being disqualified."
"Good for them." Dean said, and actually meant it. "You ready for some R&R back at the motel?"
"What about the monks? And the altar?" Sam asked.
"I'll call Mackey, let him do some clean-up." Dean said.
"Alright." Sam sighed, relief in his voice. "Motel it is then."
As they left the old castle and headed towards the car, Dean looked back at the renaissance festival with a wry smile.
"You know, it wasn't all bad though - getting to compete in the knights' tournament and all." Dean said, and Sam snorted.
"Maybe you should join a team, be a knight of the Round Table or something." Sam said, then added; "Maybe even ride a horse."
"Dude, the only thing I'll be riding is my Baby." Dean responded. "But you can get to be the damsel in distress as usual, Samantha."
"Don't forget who saved your sorry ass back in the castle." Sam said.
"Told you; I had everything under control back there, Sammy." Dean stated.
"Whatever you say, bro." Sam laughed. "Whatever you say."
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THE END
Rating: K+
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester
Word count: ~14000
Summary: The Winchesters go undercover at a Renaissance festival to investigate a strange case of murders. To Sam's dismay and Dean's delight, the best way to blend in is to fight - like men in tights! Hurt!Sam, Protective!Dean.
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Chapter 3
Morning came, and Sam was still out for the count. Although looking pale and rather battered, he was breathing peacefully, so Dean let Sam sleep and went to fetch himself some much-needed coffee and some breakfast from one of the many medieval shops. He knew that Sam probably wouldn't have much of an appetite, but Dean still decided to bring back some food for his brother - just in case Sam wanted a little bit to eat after all.
The Renaissance Festival was already buzzing with people; blacksmiths hammering away in their smithies, troubadours playing their lutes and hitting on the maidens, elderly women embroidering on canvases, men breathing fire, knights doing ring riding on horsebacks, and even a couple of monks updating the scoreboard of the knights tournament. The contestants of the Battle of the Nations camp were also up and running. The first battle of the tournament were set to begin around noon that day, so everybody was doing their own thing to prepare for the upcoming competition.
As Dean returned to the habitat of the Brotherhood team, he quickly realized that rumors about Sam's nightly escapades had already made their way around the campsite. Dean received quite a few judgmental looks from the members of the team, and the tension in the camp was high. Ignoring the looks from the other men, Dean headed straight for the tent he shared with Sam, put down the paper bag with breakfast, and spent a few seconds making sure that Sam was still alright and breathing. Dean then decided to go back outside and deal with the cranky members of the team. Sam would already have enough on his plate when he woke up - he didn't need to be judged by, what Dean thought, was a bunch of yahoos in Halloween costumes, on top of everything else. Approaching the gathered members of the Brotherhood team with determination, Dean stared down everyone he made eye contact with - silently telling them to cut the bullshit or get a beat-down.
"What?" Dean challenged, prepared to kick the crap out of anyone who dared to talk shit about Sam.
The bigger part of the men had the decency to keep quiet and look away, but Scarface, unsurprisingly, took on the challenge in a heartbeat.
"How's your brother?" Scarface asked in a scornful way. "Hungover? Or ready to start the day with another bottle of liquor?"
"You watch your mouth…" Dean threatened in a low and dangerous voice, fists clenched hard at both sides of his body. "What happened to Sam is none of your goddamn business."
"Oh yeah?" Scarface challenged and got into Dean's face. "We're competing in a really important battle today, and your brother decided to crap all over this team by getting wasted last night!"
"You listen to me, you son of a bitch!" Dean spat. "Sam didn't decide to do squat to your team! Something happened to him last night, and when I find out who's behind it, I'm gonna tear them apart!"
Scarface snorted and turned around to look at some of his teammates.
"So now it's someone else's fault that his brother got pissed last night." Scarface said, loud enough for everyone to hear, and then added; "Not our fault that the kid can't control his alcoholism."
Dean let out a humorless snort. Then - two seconds later - he had spun the man around, grabbed a hold of his collar and pulled him so close that their noses were almost touching. Sometimes, it even surprised Dean himself how easily provoked he became when someone bad-mouthed Sam.
"You know nothing about my brother." Dean snarled, feeling pleased when he spotted real fear in Scarface's eyes from the rough treatment. The man might have been bulky but Dean Winchester was a force to be reckoned with - especially when furious.
"Okay, enough!" The team leader, Ken, shouted, and a few of the Brotherhood members separated Dean and Scarface from each other. "We're supposed to compete together today, guys! Not fight against each other!"
"That psycho just attacked me!" Scarface exclaimed, pointing a finger at Dean.
"Really..?" Dean said in a flat tone, raising an eyebrow at the ridiculous comment.
"We all heard what you said, Paul." Red cut in with a sigh. "He didn't get in your face for nothing."
"But that doesn't mean we tolerate violence outside the battle arena." Ken added while eyeing Dean pointedly. "You can both save that for the competition today."
"You know what? I don't owe you guys anything." Dean said with a shake of his head, about done with the situation and these wannabe LARPers. "Someone attacked my brother last night, and I don't care if you believe it or not, but that's the frigging truth! The only reason we got here was to do this team a favor, and if Sam isn't on top of his game, you're gonna have to look for someone else to fill in the spots 'cause we're out then!"
"Whoa, hold on…" Ken began, but Dean didn't stay to listen to the responses from the group of men.
His eyes had caught sight of movement from the tent he shared with Sam, so Dean headed over to check up on his kid brother and to find out how much Sam remembered of the previous night.
"Sammy?" Dean asked, unzipped the tent and found a groggy little brother looking back at him; looking all but five years old with his hair sticking out in all directions and eyes blinking slowly. "How are you feeling?"
"I…" Sam began in a rusty voice, then cleared his throat and smacked his lips together a couple of times. "Wha-… Man… Did we get drunk last night or something?"
"We didn't do squat, Sam - you did." Dean said, zipped up the tent door behind him, and handed Sam a bottle of water that his brother accepted with shaky hands. "You disappeared on me last night, and when I finally found you, you were basically passed out drunk… and had been roofied."
"W-what?" Sam stuttered with wide eyes. "I was…? But… Who? How?"
"I was hoping you could tell me." Dean sighed. "What do you remember?"
"Umm.." Sam began, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't.. I don't know."
"You don't know?" Dean asked, trying his best to keep the worry out of his voice. "Well, let me try to enlighten your scrambled brain then, Bukowski."
Dean then let Sam in on all the details about the hunt - about going undercover at the Renaissance Festival, how they'd promised the Brotherhood team to fight for them in the group battle to be able to get full access to the battle camp, how they'd split up to search the camp only for Sam to go missing. Sam had nodded in recognition to some of the stuff Dean had told him, but his memory apparently became fuzzy when Dean reached the part of their search through the battle camp the previous night.
"Before you disappeared you texted me, saying you were on to something." Dean said.
"I wish I could tell you what I'd found out." Sam sighed, rubbing at his temples - a guaranteed telltale of a pounding headache. "But I don't remember… God, this feels like the wall all over again."
"This time you can scratch all you want though." Dean remarked and received a bitch-face in return for his comment. "Well, maybe something will come back to you once we return to the motel and you can…"
"Wait, back to the motel? Dean, we're not going anywhere." Sam cut in.
"Excuse me?" Dean said, sending his brother an incredulous look. "Sam, someone attacked you last night, hurt you and left you hammered and drugged. If you think for a second that I'm gonna let you continue this hunt - let alone compete in the battle today - you must be insane! I'm gonna be surprised if you can even stand without falling over!"
"People's lives are at stake here…" Sam said.
"Your life is at stake here." Dean exclaimed, not missing the way Sam winced from the loud words.
"Dean, I'm fine." Sam said in a soft voice. "And it's not exactly monster MO to roofie someone. Besides, if the situation had been reversed, you wouldn't lay low either - not when people are in danger."
"Fine!" Dean gave in, throwing up his hands in defeat. "But this whole Battle of the Nations crap is done! You're not battling."
Sam didn't respond to that. He just laid back down on his sleeping bag and closed his eyes with a heavy sigh - as if the words exchanged between them had been physically exhausting for him. They probably had. Hell, it was impressive to Dean that Sam could even form coherent sentences after the state he'd been in the previous night. Dean didn't like how pale the kid still looked, and he could barely detain himself from throwing Sam over his shoulder - fireman style - carry him to the car and drive him to the nearest hospital.
"You sure you're okay?" Dean asked instead, figuring that Sam probably wouldn't appreciate being manhandled. "You want some Tylenol or something?"
"I'm fine, Dean." Sam mumbled into his makeshift pillow. "Let's just figure out how to solve this case."
_ SPN _
Sam was not fine. He felt like he had the mother of all hangovers; his head was aching and his stomach was upset - which was why he'd politely declined breakfast when Dean had offered it. Sam felt dizzy and woozy, and he was having a hard time making his limbs cooperate with his sluggish brain. He could hardly focus on anything else than what should have been the simple task of continuing to breathe - which Sam knew didn't go by his hovering big brother unnoticed.
The biggest issue for Sam was the lack of memory though. There was a big chunk missing and, from what he knew about Roofies, it was most likely a big chunk of memory he'd never be able to get back. Judging by the bruises on his body, the lump on the back of his head and the soreness of his ribs whenever he moved, Sam had obviously been tied up and beaten. Dean had told him that his captor had furthermore forced liquor and pills into him. But why? And who had done this? Had it got anything to do with the case they were working - or had Sam just been at the wrong place, at the wrong time?
The questions made Sam's aching head spin, and he had to stop walking and fight against the nausea that washed over him. The sun was burning hot, and drops of sweat were dripping off Sam's nose, as he was bent over, hands on knees, and swallowing down rising bile. A calloused hand squeezed the back of his neck. Sam closed his eyes shortly before peering up at his concerned older brother.
"You sure you wanna go through with this?" Dean asked. "'Cause we can leave right now, hole up somewhere and let someone else finish this one. We've got nothing to prove."
"I can do it." Sam panted, ignoring the odd looks some of the Brotherhood team members sent him as they passed by. "This armor's just so heavy.. and hot."
"I know." Dean said, and adjusted the medieval, metal helmet he'd placed underneath his armpit.
It had taken a fair deal of energy and arguing back and forth with his brother, before Dean had finally given in and agreed to let Sam be a part of the battle competition after all - although reluctantly. No matter how much Sam had tried to remember what had happened to him the night before, the memories just wouldn't return to him. However, his gut kept telling him that it'd got something to do with the Battle of the Nations competition - and the best way to be close to the contest, was to actually be in it. Dean had only agreed to this arrangement as long as Sam remained outside the battle arena as a substitute fighter for the team instead of being actively involved in the battle. That way, Dean could keep an eye on things from inside the arena while Sam could do the same from outside the battle arena. Sam was perfectly fine with this. Just the mere thought of doing anything strenuous almost brought Sam to his knees anyway, and Ken Woods, the team leader, seemed more than happy to keep Sam benched - as long as the Brotherhood had a full team after all, then it probably didn't matter much to him who competed and who didn't.
A bottle of water appeared in front of Sam, and he gratefully accepted it from his brother with a shaky hand and greedily drank of it. Sam then took a couple of deep breaths before straightening back up, and gave Dean a short nod to indicate that he was ready to move on.
Both Winchesters were wearing their medieval outfits, but this time it was in combination with protecting armor. Since the brothers didn't exactly carry this kind of stuff among their usual gear in the trunk of the Impala, Dean and Sam had had to borrow the armor from some of the Brotherhood team members. Not everyone had extra equipment (or were willing to hand it over to the brothers) so they only had the very basic stuff. Both hunters had metal armor on their arms and legs, and strapped over their chests and backs was a chainmail. To complete it all, Dean and Sam also had helmets, shields and swords.
The battle arena was buzzing with people - both inside and outside the arena. A big crowd of bystanders was seated on the wooden grandstands and was cheering for the battling knights, when the Brotherhood team, accompanied by the Winchester brothers, arrived. The day had not gotten any cooler and, even though Sam had just emptied an entire bottle of water, his mouth felt as dry as the sand underneath his boots. While Ken gave the team an encouraging speech that Sam couldn't even begin to focus on, the youngest Winchester leaned back against the fence encircling the battle arena. He still felt dizzy, and the fence was what provided him with the support he needed to remain upright.
Sam wiped off the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, and squinted at the baking sun. He wasn't even wearing his helmet, and he'd put down the shield and sword - yet he was still sweating profusely. In this heat and with the state he was currently in, Sam felt more than a little grateful for the fact that he wasn't the one about to compete in the battle arena. Dean was going to fight though. Sam didn't know whether it was his frazzled mind or the heat that got to him but, either way, his big brother sure did look like a real knight in that moment - with his shining armor and stoic posture. However, Dean wasn't paying attention to whatever Ken was saying. His attention was on Sam, and Sam could see the concern in his brother's eyes. Dean raised an eyebrow and, from a whole lifetime of knowing Dean, Sam knew that Dean was silently telling him that they could still back out of this. Sam shook his head, turning down the offer. Undeniably, he still felt like shit, but they couldn't back down now - not when innocent lives were on stake.
The current tournament battle came to an end, and the presenter announced that the next teams competing in the arena were the Blue Vikings against the Brotherhood.
"Keep your eyes open and stay out of trouble." Dean told Sam and flashed him a smile before putting on his helmet.
"Yeah, right back at you." Sam snorted, relieved that hewasn't the one wearing a closed armor helmet in this unforgiving heat.
"I am William Wallace!" Dean announced, closed the vizor of his helmet and raised his sword.
Sam shook his head. At least Dean didn't do the entire speech from Braveheart this time around.
Seven members of the Brotherhood team - including Dean - took position in the middle of the sandy ground of the battle arena, while seven people from the Blue Vikings team did the same thing. The remaining two members of the Brotherhood team were seated on a bench next to Ken, the team leader. Sam sat down beside them, no longer having the energy to remain standing.
The match began and the knights started battling against each other. The shouts and cheers from the bystanders were loud, and Sam struggled to focus on his task as his head pounded in perfect harmony with the beat of a drum someone had kindly brought to the event.
The bystanders were a mixed group of people, containing everything from regular tourists and families with kids, to people dressed up in true renaissance styled clothes. How did you even begin to single out suspicious behavior in a place like this? Sam closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in an attempt to ease his headache. As his body continued to be plagued by the effects of the alcohol and drugs, Sam began to regret having convinced Dean of staying. A cool motel room and a pillow were to be preferred right now.
A loud hiss from the crowd, and a collective shout of curses from the members of the Brotherhood teamseated next to him, brought Sam's attention back to the fight happening inside the battle arena. Someone from the team had gotten hurt, and the youngest Winchester was relieved when his eyes sought out Dean and found his big brother unharmed. The team member Alan, whom Sam knew had helped Dean in his search for him the previous night, was not as lucky. A hit from a sword had apparently split his helmet in half and knocked the guy out cold - only barely managed to avoid cleaving his head into two pieces. A pair of first-aiders were already tending the fallen Brotherhood member, and while they worked on the unconscious man, Dean took advantage of the downtime to walk to the side of the fence to get some water. Sam noticed that Dean's hair was sweaty and his cheeks flushed as the oldest brother took off his armor helmet and looked at Sam.
"Another accident." Dean sighed, nodding towards the injured man who was being loaded on a field gurney. "Did you see anything odd?"
"No. Nothing." Sam said with a shake of his head. "You?"
"No. And this helmet blocks out most of my vision anyway." Dean said. He took in Sam's pale and sweaty face for a few seconds, and added; "You look like shit."
"Yeah, thanks." Sam answered with a snort. "How's it like competing in an actual knight's tournament?"
"It's as awesome as it sounds." Dean said, eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiled, and Sam couldn't help but smile at his brother's enthusiasm. He was pretty sure that Dean could now check off another item on his bucket list.
A sudden wave of nausea wiped off Sam's smile, and Dean's expression immediately turned serious.
"You okay? Sam, we can still…" Dean began, but was then cut off by Ken who shooed him back into the battle arena as Alan was carried out of there and the fight was about to continue.
There were now only two substitute fighters left on the bench - Sam and a guy named Billy - since, naturally, Alan had had to be replaced. The match against the Blue Vikings soon ended though, and the Brotherhood team came out of that one victorious. A couple of monks updated the scoreboard and, while looking at the two men, an unnerving feeling crept up on Sam. A lost memory tingled on the edge of his mind, but Sam couldn't quite grasp it or make sense of it before it was lost again. Whatever it was though, Sam knew it had somehow been triggered by the sight of the monks.
"Okay, moving on to the next one." The team leader, Ken, said - effectively interrupting Sam's trail of thoughts. "What happened to Alan was unfortunate, but he's going to be okay and we need to focus on winning this thing."´
"Anything?" Dean asked Sam in a muttered voice, ignoring Ken's speech.
"No.." Sam answered, a bit hesitantly which Dean wasn't late to pick up on.
"What?" He asked.
"It's just… I have this weird feeling," Sam said, nodding towards the monks by the scoreboard, "about those two."
"The monks? What about them?" Dean asked, discreetly eyeing the men Sam had pointed out to him.
"I don't know, really." Sam sighed. "There's just something about them that creeps me out."
"No wonder. The cloaks are one thing, but the pledge of celibacy is just wrong, man." Dean said, then shuddered as if disgusted. "Let me guess; you'd have been even more creeped out if they'd been dressed as clowns, huh?"
"Are you done?" Sam asked, bitch-face in place, and not even a hint of amusement to be spotted in his voice.
"Just getting started." Dean grinned.
"My brother, the comedian." Sam remarked with sarcasm. "Anyways, I'm just saying that we should keep an eye on them."
"Agreed. Now drink some of this." Dean said, pushing his bottle of water into Sam's hands. "You look like you could be fainting any second, princess."
_ SPN _
The semifinals of the tournament came and went by as the first one had done; The Brotherhood team was triumphant - but another team member had bit the dust. This time, a twisted knee was the reason why Sam became the only substitute left on the bench. Dean had done his best to keep a watchful eye on the scoreboard monks while also competing in the Battle of the Nations match. He'd noticed that the two men had left their post just before the Brotherhood had been forced to replace another team member, but they'd returned soon after the fighting continued. Dean had been a hunter for too many years to believe in coincidences, so for the monks to disappear just before another round of "bad luck" hit the team was just a little too suspicious. Especially since Sam had had a bad feeling about those men, and whenever Sam Winchester had a feeling about something, you would be an idiot to ignore it.
Speaking of Sam… As Dean braced himself for the Brotherhood's last group battle of the Battle of the Nations tournament, he made sure to check that Sam was still on his feet and not in a dire need of a trip to the ER. Dean would have preferred to have his brother resting up somewhere safe, but his stubborn kid brother had wanted to finish the hunt, so this would have to do for now. He was relieved that Sam at least wasn't competing.
Dean's relief was short-lived though. They were about eight minutes into the fight when the situation changed. Scarface got his shoulder dislocated as he connected with the side of the fence, and before Dean even realized what was going on, Scarface was out and Sam had replaced him inside the battle arena. The youngest Winchester had his helmet on, and his sword and a shield in hand, but Dean could tell from the way Sam moved that his little brother barely had the energy to hold them up.
"What the hell is he doing..?" Dean muttered to himself, angrily stamping his way towards Sam to have a word with his reckless brother.
Just then, Dean barely avoided taking a hit by a sword to his helmet. He had been so distracted by Sam that he hadn't noticed the competition had continued yet again. Dean's temper flared, and his competitor experienced first-hand what it was like to piss off Dean Winchester.
For a guy who could barely breathe properly, Dean had to admit that Sam was doing remarkably well in the game. Sam was a little slower and less graceful in his movements than usual, but he was handling his sword well. Dean was actually starting to believe that they would get out of this one okay, when a cry from Sam suddenly pierced through all other noises. The bystanders gasped in unison, and Dean's blood ran cold as he spotted Sam, on his knees, with a sword pierced through his shoulder. The knight, Sam had been competing against, was still holding on to the handle of the sword - frozen in place as if he couldn't believe what had happened either. Ignoring everything else, Dean dropped his sword and ripped off his helmet as he ran towards his hurt brother. When he got there, Dean placed a solid punch through the dumbfounded attackers open helmet vizor on instinct, which made the man let go of the handle of the sword immediately to cover his bleeding nose. Dean, on the other hand, dropped to his knees in front of Sam - just in time to catch his brother as Sam fell forward.
"Sam!" Dean shouted, heart pounding rapidly as memories from Cold Oak crept into his mind by the similarities of their positions.
"Can't… breathe…" Sam gasped, desperately clawing at his closed helmet.
Dean brushed away Sam's fingers, and quickly removed Sam's helmet to reveal the pale face underneath it. Sam gulped in big mouthfuls of the warm air, hair mattered to his forehead and eyes squeezed shut in pain.
"Stay conscious for me." Dean ordered, as he lowered Sam onto his uninjured side on the ground, making sure that the sword didn't do more damage than it'd already done.
"Trying." Sam answered between clenched teeth, moaning as the slight movements most likely caused agony to flare through his hurt shoulder.
"Shit.." Dean cursed as he examined the nasty wound.
Blood was freely gushing from it, painting the sand a rusty color underneath his hurt brother. The sword had somehow pierced through Sam's armor, although that was supposed to be impossible. What the hell was going on with this tournament? How did all these so-called accidents happen?
"Dean, take it out." Sam hissed.
"Don't be stupid. You'll bleed to death if I do." Dean said, and instead applied pressure on the wound, as much as it was possible to do because of the sword, to reduce the blood flow - wincing as the gesture made Sam hiss and writhe on the ground.
The first-aiders showed up with a field gurney and gently pushed Dean aside to work on Sam, but the younger brother closed his fingers around Dean's wrist, halting Dean from further movements. Sam then spoke so low that Dean had to lean down to hear what he said, and the oldest Winchester almost recoiled when he heard what Sam had to say.
"You're kidding me, right?" Dean said with disbelief, and continued when Sam shook his head. "Sam, I'm not leaving you to finish this case on my own. You're hurt."
"And it's being taken care of." Sam said, crying out as the sword was removed and cotton pads were pushed down on his injured shoulder.
Dean hissed in sympathy - which seemed to be the case with the many bystanders as well - and watched with concern as Sam's face turned an even whiter shade of pale.
"It's the monks, Dean, I swear it is. There were two of them. One of them… one of them has a big mole on his face." Sam then said, making Dean frown.
"What are you talking about?" Dean wanted to know, ignoring the first-aider who wanted him to step back so that Sam could be lifted onto the field gurney.
"Last night, me disappearing. That's all I remember." Sam explained - just before the first-aiders succeeded in peeling his fingers off Dean's wrist.
Sam was then loaded onto the field gurney and carried out of the battle arena, while Dean tried to decide whether to follow him, or to go find those monks Sam had been talking about. Either way, Dean was done fighting in the tournament. Even if he'd wanted to stay, punching and breaking the nose of one of the competitors had disqualified Dean from the game.
Decision made, Dean ignored the voice in his head screaming of him to stay with Sam, and went in the opposite direction of where Sam had been carried out - towards the scoreboard where the monks had been. If Sam was right, these monks were the ones who'd hurt and drugged the younger Winchester the previous night. Dean didn't know whether or not the monks had got anything to do with the case they were working on, but no one got away with hurting his little brother; not demons, not angels, and definitely not a couple of men in brown frocks!
Just like the other times someone had gotten hurt inside the battle arena, the monks were nowhere to be found by the scoreboard. However, Dean was not a hunter for nothing and he easily picked up a trail. Judging by the clear path on the sandy ground, it seemed like the monks had been walking back and forth between two points; the scoreboard and the old castle.
Dean got rid of the heavy armor - discarding the metal from his arms and legs, and removing the chainmail at last. He needed to be able to move around as easily and soundlessly as possible if he wanted to sneak up on the bad guys unnoticed. As Dean got to the old castle, moved over the drawbridge and disappeared behind the great stonewalls, he reached into his boot and drew out his spare gun. He passed by a row of lit torches and then, before he could decide in which direction to go, mumbled voices caught his attention nearby. Dean raised his gun as he followed the noise - locating it to come from some sort of lattice near the ground of one of the walls. Crouching down by it, Dean carefully peeked through the bars. He was looking down at what appeared to be the crypt of the castle, and his eyes soon caught sight of the two monks. They were standing in front of an altar with lit candles and some other items that Dean knew exactly what was used for. These monks were summoning something, and Dean bet it was somehow connected to the case he and Sam were working on.
The oldest Winchester snooped around until he found a set of stairs leading downwards, and then headed into the darkness below. More lit torches met him on his way, as he got closer and closer to the monks' hideout. When Dean passed by some old dungeons, he stopped up as his eyes caught sight of a familiar bag inside.
"Son of a bitch." Dean muttered, anger flaring as he grabbed the bag and found Sam's stuff still inside it.
There was no doubt that this was where Sam had been held captive when he'd disappeared the previous night. The floor even contained some pieces of rope that could very likely have been used to tie Sam up with. Dean clenched his jaw, swung the bag over his shoulder, and headed in direction of the monks again. In the end of the narrow corridor, a closed door led into what Dean assumed was the altar room. He put down Sam's bag by the side of the door, went a few steps backwards and then kicked in the old door.
"What the hell!" One of the men exclaimed, both of the monks jumping back and raising their arms in the air by the sight of Dean and his gun.
"I suggest you two step away from the altar, boys." Dean said, keeping his gun pointed at the frock-wearing men. "We need to have a little talk."
"Who are you?" The other man asked.
Dean ignored the question, and narrowed his eyes as he spotted a big mole next to the man's right eye. Sam had mentioned a mole, and that just further proved that these men were the ones who'd captured and hurt the youngest Winchester.
As Dean scanned the rest of the room with his eyes, he saw a blackboard where the names of all the teams of the Battle of the Nations tournament were scribbled down - plus names of team members whom Dean knew had suffered from the mysterious heart attacks. He also spotted a table with a pile of bank notes, and Dean wasn't late to figure out what these men's endgame had been.
"So this is what it's all about, huh?" Dean said, nodding towards the blackboard. "You have found a way to earn money on the tournament by doing a little match fixing? That's a dangerous game to play - especially when using dark magic and making human sacrifices."
"It's not dark magic. We summoned a God." The man with the mole said, a smug smile on his face. "You a cop like that other guy we found snooping around?"
"That 'other guy' happens to be my brother." Dean snarled. "And you're gonna regret what you did to him."
"Yeah? You and what army?" The other monk, the shorter one of them, asked.
"Television called - they want their clichés back." Dean told the shorter monk. "Alright, enough of this crap. You two, out!"
Dean used his gun to gesticulate towards the door, and the two monks reluctantly started walking. However, before Dean knew what was happening, one of the men kicked into the dirt on the ground with his boot - making the dirt twirl up and right into Dean's eyes. The oldest Winchester brother cried out and wiped at his eyes, but not fast enough to avoid being attacked by the men in front of him. Dean kicked one of the men away from him, while the other one attempted to choke him from behind with an arm around his neck. Dean pushed back until the man connected with the stonewall behind him, and he then succeeded in tearing the arm off his neck, swung the man around and punched him square in the face. Two more punches, and the shorter monk was out cold.
"Game over." The other monk, the one with the mole, said from behind him, and Dean spun around to find himself face to face with his own gun. "Say; bye, bye!"
The monk smirked and started pulling the trigger. A shot rang out in the small room, echoing between the walls, but Dean felt no pain. He looked astonished as the smirk was wiped off the monk's face, moments before the guy fell into a lifeless heap on the ground. Dean turned his head and saw his brother in the doorway to the room, gun still raised in front of him.
"Bye, bye." Sam said to the dead monk, before looking up and meeting Dean's eyes. "You looked like you needed a little help."
"Nonsense. I had everything under control." Dean claimed, tied up the unconscious monk, and then quickly closed the distance to his brother, as Sam started sagging against the wall.
Sam had his injured shoulder bandaged and secured in a sling, but the younger Winchester looked anything but ready to be moving around on his own. Dean grabbed Sam's bag and once again swung it over his shoulder, before slipping an arm around his brother's waist to support him.
"So how did the tournament end, Lancelot?" Dean asked as he guided Sam back towards the stairs.
"The Brotherhood won." Sam announced. "Even with me out of the game and you being disqualified."
"Good for them." Dean said, and actually meant it. "You ready for some R&R back at the motel?"
"What about the monks? And the altar?" Sam asked.
"I'll call Mackey, let him do some clean-up." Dean said.
"Alright." Sam sighed, relief in his voice. "Motel it is then."
As they left the old castle and headed towards the car, Dean looked back at the renaissance festival with a wry smile.
"You know, it wasn't all bad though - getting to compete in the knights' tournament and all." Dean said, and Sam snorted.
"Maybe you should join a team, be a knight of the Round Table or something." Sam said, then added; "Maybe even ride a horse."
"Dude, the only thing I'll be riding is my Baby." Dean responded. "But you can get to be the damsel in distress as usual, Samantha."
"Don't forget who saved your sorry ass back in the castle." Sam said.
"Told you; I had everything under control back there, Sammy." Dean stated.
"Whatever you say, bro." Sam laughed. "Whatever you say."
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THE END