Made of Scars (1/?)
Now here they sat in yet another shady bar, Dean alternating between hustling pool and flirting with every life form with boobs that walked within his range. He rolled his eyes as he watched the display, taking another drink from his bottle. Dean's ways usually always got him in trouble, and from the way some of the guys in the corner were eyeing his brother, tonight would be one of those troubled nights. When a particularly busty blond woman passed by Dean more than once, he immediately turned all of his attention to her, trying to score a phone number and maybe one wild night.
That was short-lived, however, when one of the burly men from the table Sam had been watching rose, a furious expression on his face as he pushed his way through the bar. Sam set his beer down as he watched the man near his brother.
Great. This is gonna be fun…
He thought, readying himself for when Dean would inevitably need his assistance in getting out of the scuffle that was about to begin.
It started with just an exchange of words, Dean leaning casually against the pool table, smirking as the man in front of him balled his fists, face turning a deep shade of red. Then things quickly got out of hand. The large man grabbed Dean by the lapels of his jacket and shoved him roughly away from the table, which of course brought his own temper up. As the man charged at him, he quickly dodged it and used his momentum to send him straight into a table. Straightening up, Dean looked over to where Sam still remained seated, a triumphant smile on his face.
But a moment later, that smile was gone as the burly guy quickly recovered and retaliated against Dean, throwing him bodily into a table full of glasses and empty beer bottles.
The landing was impressive. As Dean's head connected with the glass, it shattered, the leftover liquid splattering his clothing. Once his body came to a stop, he lay there, out cold. That was about the time that Sam decided it was time for them to get out of there. Leaping off his stool, he walked over to his brother and grabbed him under the armpits, pulling him into an upright position, slapping his cheeks lightly.
It didn't take much to rouse him, and once he was semi-coherent, Sam pulled Dean the rest of the way to his feet, apologizing to the massive biker man as they made their way quickly out of the bar.
When they got back to the motel, Sam helped his brother out of the car and into the room, laying him gently down on the bed and wincing at the nasty, jagged cut just above his left eyebrow. Running a hand down his face, he retrieved the first aid kit and set about stitching up the deep cut.
"You're gonna have a scar from this," he mumbled to his unconscious sibling. "And I'm never gonna let you live down how you got it."
That was short-lived, however, when one of the burly men from the table Sam had been watching rose, a furious expression on his face as he pushed his way through the bar. Sam set his beer down as he watched the man near his brother.
Great. This is gonna be fun…
He thought, readying himself for when Dean would inevitably need his assistance in getting out of the scuffle that was about to begin.
It started with just an exchange of words, Dean leaning casually against the pool table, smirking as the man in front of him balled his fists, face turning a deep shade of red. Then things quickly got out of hand. The large man grabbed Dean by the lapels of his jacket and shoved him roughly away from the table, which of course brought his own temper up. As the man charged at him, he quickly dodged it and used his momentum to send him straight into a table. Straightening up, Dean looked over to where Sam still remained seated, a triumphant smile on his face.
But a moment later, that smile was gone as the burly guy quickly recovered and retaliated against Dean, throwing him bodily into a table full of glasses and empty beer bottles.
The landing was impressive. As Dean's head connected with the glass, it shattered, the leftover liquid splattering his clothing. Once his body came to a stop, he lay there, out cold. That was about the time that Sam decided it was time for them to get out of there. Leaping off his stool, he walked over to his brother and grabbed him under the armpits, pulling him into an upright position, slapping his cheeks lightly.
It didn't take much to rouse him, and once he was semi-coherent, Sam pulled Dean the rest of the way to his feet, apologizing to the massive biker man as they made their way quickly out of the bar.
When they got back to the motel, Sam helped his brother out of the car and into the room, laying him gently down on the bed and wincing at the nasty, jagged cut just above his left eyebrow. Running a hand down his face, he retrieved the first aid kit and set about stitching up the deep cut.
"You're gonna have a scar from this," he mumbled to his unconscious sibling. "And I'm never gonna let you live down how you got it."