Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sam Resisted the urge to look around, opting instead to look as oblivious as possible. He could feel eyes on him as he pulled out his phone. He walked a little faster as it rang. 

“Did you find anything?” Dean asked by way of greeting. 

“Nope, I’m good,” he said casually and laughed. He paused and scraped his shoe on the ground for a moment. “Ugh, I’ve got something stuck to my shoe.” 

“You sure?” his brother asked, already in hunter mode. 

“Pretty sure. Something is definitely there.” He could hear the sounds of tires screeching behind him. “I've gotta go.” 

“Sammy, do not hang up on me-” Sam pulled the phone away from his ear and stuck it in his pocket, spinning to face the van that was pulling up behind him. Two large men hopped out and he fell into a defensive stance. 

“You might wanna rethink this,” Sam warned them. They rushed him at the same time and he cursed under his breath. He kicked one of them in the chest, sending him stumbling back. The other grabbed his arm. He used the hold to flip the guy. He moved to stand again and Sam kicked him in the face. 

Sam was sure that he had both of his attackers in his sight when he felt a large arm wrap around his chest as a needle was jammed into his neck. He stumbled, falling against the arm that held him. His whole world tilted as darkness closed in. 

His last thought before everything went dark was I forgot about the driver. 

~~~ 

When Sam woke, he was sure that he had been taken by humans. The men he fought had no supernatural strength and they definitely drugged him. So. Just shitty humans. Dean would get a kick out of this, he was sure. 

The door to the van slid open and Sam squinted against the light. Luckily for him, he didn't have to squint for long, as a sack was pulled over his head. He grunted behind the gag that they must have put on him while he was out, scowling behind the fabric. He was manhandled out of the van and dragged down what felt like multiple hallways. He tried to track how many turns they took, but it was hard to do without sight. 

A door opened and he was shoved to his knees. He grunted as his knees made contact with what felt like concrete. The bag was removed and he once again squinted against the light, trying to shake his hair out of his eyes. 

There were two men standing on either side of him. He was satisfied to see that they were the ones he had fought earlier. They both were in considerably worse shape than Sam himself. Their hands remained on his shoulders, keeping him down. He looked up at the man standing directly in front of him. He was looking at Sam with a critical eye. 

“This one was a good choice,” he said after a moment. Sam narrowed his eyes. “Though his hair is long… I'm sure we could do something about that.” He reached out and gripped Sam’s hair, pulling his head back. Sam made a sound in the back of his throat, something between a growl and a snarl. The man blinked. “Or, maybe not.” He released Sam’s hair. 

Sam glanced around the room. It was just the four of them, but he was sure that there were more in the hallways. Besides, he didn't like his chances if he tried to escape now. His attention was brought back to the appraiser, who tilted his chin up, forcing him to make eye contact. 

“You said he did this to you? All on his own?” The two men nodded. He hummed. “He definitely has training. Military, maybe.” Close enough, Sam thought. “Take him to the kennel. Mark him as experienced.” 

The appraiser released him and he was pulled to his feet. He was, unsurprisingly, once again manhandled down the nearly identical hallways. He had a better time keeping track now that he could see them. They eventually came to a door with an impressive amount of locks. 

“The Kennel”, Sam found, was aptly named. Long rows of cells containing rough and tumble looking people lined the room. Many were shouting, hitting the bars. Sam frowned. What were they here for? They came upon an empty cell, which was promptly opened and he was shoved in. 

The cell door was shut and locked. Sam pulled off the gag, scowling. He stood, deciding that it would be a good time to assess the situation. His hands were cuffed, which he resigned himself to. They were at least cuffed in front, so not as bad as it could be. 

The cell was small, especially for him. There was a solid concrete wall to his left, but the other side of his cell was not a wall at all. It was another row of bars connected to the cell next to him. The cell was empty. He wondered if it would stay that way. 

Next, he searched his pockets. They definitely took his phone, wallet, gun, knife, other knife, and keys. But… yes. He pulled the hair tie out of his pocket with a grin. He was lucky that his hair was now long enough to actually stay when he put it up. 

The shouts of the other prisoners grew louder and Sam figured that one of the guards was back. There was one of them and he was dragging a woman with him. She wore a sports bra and joggers and her hair was in box braids. She was thrown into the cell next to his and she glared after the guards as they left. 

“You're new,” she commented when she glanced in his direction. 

“Um, yeah, I guess I am,” he said with a chuckle. She smiled. 

“I like you. You’ve got a better sense of humor than most of these guys.” He tilted his head. 

“I take it they're a tough crowd?” She snorted. 

“Yeah, you could say that. Most of ‘em don't want to be here, but they aren't exactly opposed to beating the shit out of people.” She shrugged and winced. Sam frowned. 

“And, what exactly are we here for?” 

“Oh, you're new new. It’s fight club. They put us out there, we fight, and if we lose our opponent, generally, decides our fate.” Sam had suspected something like that. 

“So like gladiator rules,” he said. She hummed. 

“Yeah, like that.” They sat in silence for a while before he spoke again. 

“Did you win?” He asked. She grinned at him. 

“Oh, honey, I always win.”

Chapter Text

Eventually, they came for him. He stood and stared cooly at them as they unlocked his cell. He wasn't too worried about having to fight for his life; that was pretty much every Tuesday night for him. He knew that Dean was coming for him. He almost pitied the people responsible for his capture. Almost. 

He was shoved into a room full of people. They shouted and jeered at whatever was in the middle of the room. It turned out that what they were yelling about was a cage. He clenched his fists. Of course, it had to be a cage. He was uncuffed and shoved into it.

He wondered briefly if this is how athletes felt during a competition. The crowd was distracting to say the least. Some of the people were even bold enough to reach through the bars to grab at him. He tried his best to ignore them as he pulled his hair back. He finished tying it as his opponent entered the cage. 

The man was large. Not quite as tall as Sam himself, but definitely more muscled. Sam wondered where they found these people. The two of them sized each other up. Sam decided that he would let his opponent swing first. 

“Done doing your hair, Princess?” The man mocked. Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything. As he had hoped, this riled him up. “What, too good to say anything?” Sam still didn’t respond. “I’ll teach you to be a pretentious asshole.” Sam let the corner of his mouth curl up. 

“You can try,” he drawled lowly. This seemed to be the last straw for him. He rushed Sam, who dodged with surprising speed. He kicked the man’s now exposed back, causing him to topple forward. He regained his footing and charged Sam again. Sam leaned back, avoiding a punch to the throat, but it left him open to a gut punch. He doubled over with a gasp. Hands were on his shoulders and they slammed him back against the bars of the cage. He shoved the memories threatening to overwhelm him aside as those same hands moved to his throat. 

He broke the hold and, despite knowing it would hurt like a bitch, slammed his forehead into his opponent's nose. The man cursed and stumbled back. Sam followed the retreat and followed it up with two good punches to the face. The man went down and didn't get back up.  

Sam felt two sets of hands on his arms and resisted the urge to lash out at them. They locked his hands behind his back and dragged him back to his cell. He was relieved when they unlocked the cuffs before throwing him back into his cell. 

“Did you win?” His cell-neighbor asked. 

“I always win,” was his response. She laughed. 

“Don't get too cocky just yet,” she cautioned. “You got a name?” 

“Sam.” He didn't offer a last name. 

“Jen.” They fell silent. Sam inspected his bruised knuckles and prodded at his forehead until he decided that he was fine and there was nothing more he could do. He settled in for a long night of probably not sleeping. 

Right as Sam managed to fall asleep there was the sound of someone hitting their cell bars. Sam flinched and his eyes flew open. 

“Please!” Sam was on his feet as someone screamed. Whoever it was, they sounded terrified. Sam could hear some of the others complaining about the noise. His brow furrowed and he stood, pacing to the edge of his cell. 

“You alright?” he asked loudly, hoping that they could hear him. There was no response and he frowned. He resigned himself to not knowing if they were okay and sat back down. 

~~~ 

Sam was shoved into the cage again and he sighed. He was hoping that Dean would find him faster, but… oh well. He listened as a voice over the speakers announced him and his opponent. 

“Next up we have…” the crowd roared and Sam didn't catch his opponent's name. “Against The Moose!” Sam blinked. He briefly pondered the idea that Crowley was behind all of this, but quickly dismissed the idea. The demon would have already come gloating to him about being superior if he were involved. 

His opponent was shoved through the door and he felt his stomach drop. Of course, it had to be her. Jen looked as disappointed to see him as he was to see her. They began to circle each other. 

“No hard feelings?” She asked. He smiled. 

“Sure. As long as you don't kill me if you win.” She laughed. 

“Right back at'cha,” she said and struck. He dodged and swung back. She blocked his strike. They began circling again. He decided to strike first. He feigned left and she went for it. He swept her legs out from under her. She went down and rolled, grabbing his leg and bringing him down to her level. She quickly punched him in the side and he winced, blocking her next strike. He moved to return it and clipped her shoulder. She stumbled back. 

“You're pretty fast for a moose,” she commented. He tilted his head in response. He planted his legs in a wide stance and swung at her. She ducked and went down completely, rolling between his legs. He didn't have time to turn before she was on his back. Her arms went around his neck. He reacted as fast as he could and bent forward, flipping her off entirely. She landed hard on the ground, stunned. She didn't get up and they declared the match over. 

Both were dragged out of the cage. Sam got back to the cells first. He wondered if she needed medical attention. He hoped not. He felt bad about flipping her to the ground so hard. 

When they returned with her they put a water bottle and cold turkey sandwich in his cell. He blinked. Interesting. He ignored it in favor of checking on Jen. 

“Are you alright?” he asked softly. She turned to him. 

“Yeah, I’m good. Minor concussion, but not much worse than usual. You?” 

“I'm fine. This is pretty much every Friday night for me,” he said with a chuckle. She raised her eyebrows. 

“What, the kidnapping or the fighting?” She asked. He snorted. 

“Both?” She blinked. “My work is dangerous,” he said by way of explanation. 

“Sounds like it. You definitely kicked my ass,” she said. 

“It was a close one,” he said with a shrug. “I'm sorry for flipping you so hard. That really was just instinct.” 

“It’s fine. I mean, I was the one who climbed you like a fuckin’ tree.” He laughed and grabbed the food and water. He split the sandwich and offered her half. She frowned. 

“Peace offering,” he said. She took it reluctantly. 

“Thanks.” He nodded. The sandwich wasn't good, but ‘not good’ was better than nothing. He drank about half of the water and offered her the other half. 

“Why?” she asked. He shrugged. 

“We were evenly matched. I think you earned it.” She hummed. 

“Well, thank you.” 

Chapter Text

Sam stared at his opponent. He literally could not believe that they were making him fight this guy. He was tiny! Not to mention injured. They circled each other. Sam wasn't particularly surprised to see that he was sizing Sam up. Assessing him. He had to be smart if he lasted this long. 

He feigned to the left, but Sam didn't go for it. It was too blatant. The man tilted his head. 

“I don't want to hurt you,” Sam said lowly. “You're clearly injured from previous fights and, well…” he sighed and gestured at their height difference. 

“Yeah, well, we don't have much choice.” The man’s voice was vaguely familiar. Sam nodded slowly. He swung at him, telegraphing the punch loudly before he actually struck. He was relieved that the man blocked it. 

“It's Sam, by the way. Winchester,” Sam offered. 

“Malcolm Bright,” Malcolm returned with a nod. “And I, uh, kind of need you to injure me.” He looked almost regretful as he said it. Sam blinked. He trusted that this strange guy had a reason. He still felt the need to make sure. 

“You sure?” He asked. At Malcolm’s nod, he sprung forward, much to the enthusiasm of the crowd. Damn vultures. His punch sent Malcolm sprawling and the smaller man slammed into the bars. Sam hid a wince and advanced on him. He wrapped his forearm around Malcolm’s throat. He hoped he wasn't cutting off his airflow. “Is there a reason I'm injuring you?” He murmured. 

“I have a plan… sort of,” he managed. That was good enough for Sam. He could feel Malcolm shift and readied himself for a blow. His elbow jabbed Sam in the side. He released Malcolm and backed away, holding his side. Malcolm swung at him. He dodged and grabbed Malcolm’s arm, tugging harder than he meant to. Malcolm went sprawling and Sam quickly knelt over him, twisting his arm up. Malcolm smacked the ground three times and Sam immediately released him. 

“Good luck with your plan, Malcolm,” he said quietly before two guards descended upon him, locking his arms behind his back once again and dragging him away. He glanced back, trying to catch a glimpse of Malcolm. The crowd blocked his line of sight and he turned away. 

~~~ 

Dean grumbled about incident prone little brothers as he entered the building. He looked around the crowded room, trying to see past the sea of people. He forced his way to the front of the crowd and growled under his breath. Sammy stood in a cage, circling another, much shorter man. He was clearly injured and bruises littered his upper body. His hair was up in a stupid ponytail. 

Sam said something and threw a sloppy punch, which they guy blocked. Dean frowned. Sam was holding back. The two of them exchanged more words that Dean couldn't hear before Sam nodded and pounced on the poor guy. 

Dean watched them fight and his frown deepened. Sam was holding back, but he was pretty sure the other guy was too. Did they know each other? They continued their conversation until Sam suddenly threw him to the ground and pinned him with a hold that looked painful. They quickly removed Sam and the other guy. 

Dean tried to follow Sam but soon lost his trail. The hallways in this place were all the same. Every person that Dean encountered was soon subdued, but none of them told him anything helpful. He eventually came upon a guarded door. That was better than nothing. 

“Heya, fellas!” Dean called jovially. 

“You're not supposed to be here,” one of them growled as they moved toward him. 

“Woah, oh, I’m just looking for the bathroom,” he said. One of them reached out to grab him and he dropped the friendly persona. He grabbed their arm and twisted. The man shouted as Dean kicked his knee. There was a crack and the other guy grabbed Dean in a chokehold. Dean slammed his head back. He felt the cartilage of their nose crunch under the force. He turned and slammed his head into the wall. The guy slid down, unconscious. 

Dean stepped over them and twisted the handle on the door. He was surprised to find it unlocked. He drew his gun and pushed open the door. 

The man who fought Sam stood next to the desk, a cell phone to his ear. He stared at Dean, eyes drawn to the gun in his hand. He could see a pair of legs sticking out from behind the desk. 

“You know where they keep the prisoners in this place?” He asked. The guy blinked at him. 

“Uh, yeah. I mean, all of these hallways look the same, but probably,” the guy rambled. Dean nodded and gestured with the gun.

 “Put down the phone and come with me.” 

He did as he was told, if a bit reluctantly, and stepped out of the room. They walked for a moment before the guy said anything. 

“So, is this supposed to be a rescue for someone or should I be worried?” He asked nervously. Dean still wasn't sure he trusted this guy, 

“Rescue,” he said shortly. “Whether you should be worried depends entirely on why you are here.” 

“I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter,” he heard him mutter. He gestured to a door as they approached. “This should be where your rescuee is.” Dean considered the locks. He didn't have time to pick all of them, so… 

“You might wanna back up,” was all the warning he gave the other man. He shot the locks. Dean pushed open the door and strode in. All of the prisoners were shouting, but he would recognize his brother’s voice anywhere. 

“Malcolm?” he shouted from the other end of the room. “Is this part of your escape plan?” Malcolm, who was a few steps ahead of him, snorted. 

“Not mine, ” he said. Dean pushed past him. 

“Sammy!” Thank god he looked okay. “Are you alright?” Sam snorted. 

“I'm fine, Dean. Just bored waiting for you to get here; took you a whole day this time,” his brother teased. Dean resisted the urge to tell him that it had been more than a day , and shook his head. 

“Let's just get out of here.” Sam backed up and was unsurprised when Dean shot the lock. “Alright, let’s go.” Sam opened his mouth to say that they should free his cell-neighbor but Malcolm spoke first. 

“We should wait for backup.” Sam froze. His brother turned distrustful eyes on Malcolm. 

“Backup?” he demanded. Malcolm looked sort of like a deer in headlights. 

“Yes.” He swallowed nervously. “I’m with the police. They’ll be here soon.” The last part of his sentence sounded like a warning. Sam saw Dean clench his jaw before he took a step toward Malcolm. Malcolm, like any rational person would when faced with an advancing Dean Winchester, took two steps back. Sam threw his hand out, halting his brother's advance. 

“Dean,” he warned. A glance at Malcolm showed him that he wasn't doing well. He was pale, his pupils were blown wide, and he was shaking. “It's not his fault we’re here; we have to leave before they get here.” He watched as Malcolm glanced at the door behind him. Dean must have done something because Malcolm bolted. 

“Malcolm, wait!” Sam shouted, sprinting after him. He didn't know if Dean had taken care of all of the guards, and Malcolm was not equipped to deal with them in his state. 

Malcolm was surprisingly fast. Though Sam had his long legs to his advantage and he soon caught him. For lack of a better idea, he wrapped his arms around the smaller man, pulling him to an abrupt stop. Malcolm thrashed and there were tears streaming down his face. 

“Let go, let go, please, I’m sorry, PLEASE!” He rambled and Sam suddenly knew where he recognized his voice. The night before. He was starting to get that this was more than just shock or fear. He had seen that look on himself more times than he would like to think about. 

“Malcolm, you have to calm down,” he said, taking deliberately slow breaths. “Please. Deep breaths, just like this. Good, you're doing so well, just breathe.” Once he was sure that Malcolm was calm he released him. They both sat on the floor facing each other. 

“S-” Malcolm stopped, clearing his throat. Sam winced in sympathy. “Sorry about that, I’m not sure…” he trailed off, sounding lost. 

“You don't need to apologize,” he assured with a small smile. He got it, he really did. There had been times when he was so out of control, so afraid that he needed to be restrained. 

Sam could hear Dean shuffling behind him and turned to glare at his brother. Dean, at least, looked contrite. 

“I, uh, I just wanted to-” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to say sorry for freaking you out.” He saw Malcolm nod out of the corner of his eye. This was good enough for Dean. “I'm going to look for an exit. You good here?” Sam nodded and Dean fled. Well, at least he had apologized. 

“Sorry about my brother,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “We don't have a particularly good relationship with the law, and he can get… protective,” he settled on. “But he means well.” Sam stood, offering Malcolm a hand. He was glad when the smaller man took it. He pulled him to his feet as Dean came flying around the corner. 

“We gotta make our exit, man,” he warned. Sam sighed. The police would be here, which reassured Sam about leaving both Malcolm and Jen. 

“Will you be okay here?” the by yourself went unsaid. Malcolm nodded. “It was good meeting you.” Malcolm offered him a smile. 

“You two better get out of here,” he said. Sam nodded. Dean was right; it was time to make an exit. 

His brother led him down several hallways, dodging what sounded like SWAT the whole way. They finally make it out through a place that looked like it was once a kitchen. The Impala was parked a few blocks away. Sam relaxed into the leather as Dean started the engine and peeled out of there. 

“So, uh,” Dean said, sounding a bit awkward. “You think that kid’s gonna be fine?” Sam sighed. 

“I hope so.” 

Chapter Text

Sam wasn't sure what he was doing. He had asked Charlie to find this guy’s number, but… he couldn't figure out why he felt the need to know. It was like something was nagging at the back of his mind. He just felt like he had to make sure that Malcolm was alright. Yet he couldn't make himself hit the call button. 

He stared as his thumb hovered over it. What if Malcolm didn't want to hear from him? But what if he did? He was sure that Dean would tell him to stop being such a girl if he knew about Sam’s dilemma, but… 

He hit the call button abruptly and put the phone to his ear before he could back out. It rang once, twice, three times. He was about to just hang up when the line connected. 

“Bright.” Despite how much Sam had thought about calling, he still didn't know what to say. 

“Uh, hey Malcolm. It’s Sam. Winchester.” He nearly facepalmed. Smooth, Sam, really smooth. 

“Oh...hi,” Malcolm said, sounding surprised. Sam took his lack of hostility as a good sign and continued talking. 

“I just wanted to check that you were doing alright,” he said, which was true. He knew he sounded awkward and wanted to sigh. He pressed on instead. “And apologize for hurting you. Even if it was necessary,” he tacked on. Sam heard someone say Malcolm's name in the background. 

“Sorry, I have to go,” Malcolm said hurriedly. “Thank you for calling. We should keep in contact.” Sam blinked. 

“Well, you have my number,” he said.

“Great. Bye.” Malcolm hung up. Sam chuckled as he pulled the phone away from his ear. 

It was a bit of a shock when, about a week later, Malcolm actually did call him. He wasn't complaining though, even if he would soon find out that Malcolm was the most incident prone person he had ever met.