Sorry that updates have been taking so long...between a monster head cold and lots of training seminars for work, it's been a struggle lately. Please review, give me reasons to continue. :)
Dean did his best to fight, to escape from Elijah's grip, which pinched like steel around his wrist, but he couldn't seem to get his body to cooperate. The best he could do was flail ineffectually and eventually he just gave up, going limp and letting himself be dragged along the ground like a sack of potatoes. Dean's mind was foggy, clouded with pain and confusion. All he knew for certain was that they were separating him from Sam, and he damned well didn't like it.
He lashed out with all the force he could muster, catching Elijah in the back of the knee with his fist. Elijah stumbled with a curse. He turned, eyes blazing, and landed a stinging punch to Dean's temple. Dean sagged back, head spinning. He gave a retching cough and winced as he tasted blood. He went limp and allowed himself to be dragged along, figuring at least he could tire his captor a bit.
Now puffing with exertion, Elijah dragged Dean into a ramshackle shed, which was constructed of scrap plywood and broken two-by-fours. A busted-up potbelly stove listed slightly to port in the corner, occasionally belching out little puffs of smoke. Elijah dropped Dean's arm in the dirt and shoved him roughly with his foot. "Don't you move, boy," he ordered. He stepped backward to the door, still eyeing Dean with anger. "Colleen!" he bellowed.
After a moment a young girl, dark-haired and with a constellation of freckles scattered across her nose, appeared at the door. "Go get Sully for me." The girl regarded Dean for a few seconds, eyes wide, then turned and trotted away.
"We're peaceful folk here. Been here 15 years and never had no problems with nobody, never hurt nobody." Elijah turned back toward Dean, glowering. "But then that townie boy had to stick his dick where it didn't belong."
"But she was just a little girl." Bits and pieces were coming back to Dean as his head began to clear. The more he remembered, the more nervous he got. He needed to get back to Sam. The door opened and Sully lumbered in, fairly dragging his knuckles on the ground. He scowled at Dean.
"Seph knew all along what would happen if she didn't stay pure. She knew good and well." Elijah stooped at the stove and drew out a long metal rod. The end, which glowed eerie orange-red, was shaped into an intricate sigil an inch across, but Dean couldn't read it, what with the terror clawing inside his chest. Elijah turned back, the gleam in his eye accented by the light of the glowing brand. "I'd venture you ain't so pure, but you'll have to do."
Elijah reached down and tugged up Dean's shirt, then hooked his thumb in Dean's belt-loop, pulling the denim away to expose the curve of Dean's right hipbone. "Best start prayin'," Elijah said, a hidden laugh in his voice. With that he thrust the brand against Dean's hip.
Dean clamped his jaw tight, feeling blood spurt as he bit down on his tongue. Heat seared his hip to the bone like a bolt of lightning, setting the nerves screaming. The sound of his skin popping and sizzling like meat in a pan made his stomach churn, and he swallowed back a wave of bile. The smell of burning flesh, nauseating and sweet, tickled his nose and he retched, trying to buck away from the searing touch of the brand.
He could hear the sound of a freight train clicking over the tracks somewhere nearby and he focused on the sound, trying to drown out the sizzle of his burning skin. He ground his teeth around a scream, instinctively refusing to give the men the satisfaction of hearing his pain.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Elijah pulled the brand away, taking little bits of charred and smoking skin with it. Dean fell back against the dirt, his head reeling, and couldn't stop a cry when his jeans rode up and scraped against the brand.
Elijah knelt at Dean's side and pulled a small silver flask from his back pocket. He unscrewed the lid with his thumb, and pressed the flask to Dean's mouth. Thick, lukewarm liquid caressed Dean's lips, but as he registered the taste he shuddered with revulsion. Blood. He spat, spraying a delicate pattern of crimson across Elijah's cheek. Elijah responded with a powerful right hand, lashing Dean across the face.
Sully dropped to his knees and grasped Dean's jaw in his massive paw of a hand, forcing Dean's mouth open. Dean tried to twist away but Sully's fingers cut like claws into his cheeks, and Dean was just too weak. Elijah again touched the flask to Dean's mouth, dribbling in the thick, clotted blood. Dean choked against the intrusion, but Sully clamped his hand over Dean's mouth and nose, cutting off his breath, and after a long moment of resistance Dean was forced to swallow. He did, however, manage a vicious bite to the meat of Sully's palm, causing the big man to howl with pain.
Elijah capped the flask, grinning like a canary-eating cat. "Most folks just don't realize the power of blood. Ya have it, that's life. Ya don't, that's death." He cocked his head, an oddly philosophical look crossing his face. "Some blood is better than others. Purer. Pure blood can even clean dirty blood, make the blood of a mutt like you mighty powerful." Elijah ducked his head to leer into Dean's face. "You won't make up for losin' Seph. But you'll be a start."
With those words, Elijah grabbed a rusted length of heavy chain and locked Dean's cuffs to the wall. The clicking of the train on the rails rose and fell in Dean's ears as he lay with his cheek pressed against the cold dirt floor. He forced every breath, in and out, in and out, trying to breathe away the flame at his hip and the taste of blood on his tongue. He heard the scuff of boots as Elijah and Sully left the hut and pulled the door shut behind them. Dean heard the heavy clack of a padlock being closed.
Dean waited for what seemed an eternity, then opened his eyes. He rolled to a seated position, taking a long moment to collect himself and clear the pain from his mind. He gave an experimental tug on the chain connecting his cuffs to the wall, but gave up when it was clear that there was no give.
He took a deep breath and drew his knees to his chest, wincing as the burn on his hip throbbed. He stretched his arms out before him, and then placed one boot against each wrist, balancing his insteps against the edges of the cuffs. Setting his jaw, he pushed with all his strength, straining to straighten his legs. The metal of the cuffs ground and gouged at his hands, scraping raw gashes from the flesh, sending rivulets of blood to muddy the ground. He grunted against the pain, squeezing his fingers together and pushing harder still.
With a clatter that Dean fully expected to bring Elijah running, the cuffs shot from his wrists and crashed against the wall. Dean tucked both hands beneath his armpits, trying to ignore the throbbing in his wrists. He breathed deep, allowing the pain to collect beneath his sternum, pushing it into a roiling orb of anger and pain. He swallowed it down and stored it. He was going to pay it back, every bit of it. But first he was going to find Sam.
"Hang on, Sammy. I'm comin'."
