Translations
Author: Cheryl W.
Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.
Authors note: This is the start of some shorter chapters but my hope is that then I can manage to update this story on a weekly basis. Also, if you're looking for Dean and Sam to catch a break, this isn't the chapter for you….ah…or the story for you. I'm having a fine time torturing the brothers, physically and emotionally which, of course, gives me an opening to write all those sappy brotherly moments. But don't worry, there will be no irreparable damage done, no death throes for those beautiful Winchester boys…cause when the story finally wrap up, I'm a sap for a happy ending.
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Chapter 10: Incentives
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Having willingly provoked the reaction in the younger man, Dylan, anticipating Sam's punch, easily dodged back out of the arc of Sam's strike, let the younger man's fist harmlessly pass his face. As Sam tried to compensate for his fist meeting air, tried to regain his balance, Dylan latched onto his right elbow, yanked him forward and slammed him against the wall of the barracks. Not underestimating the younger man's skills or desperation, Dylan twisted Sam's right arm behind his back as high as the muscles and tendons would allow, causing Sam to grunt of pain.
With Sam pinned, right cheek pressed into the wall, head turned in his brother's direction, Dylan crowded against Sam's back. "I'm guessing you're the little brother," Dylan gambled, his eyes dropping to Dean who was once again struggling to sit up, to come to his brother's defense. "See that's what's wrong with this whole scenario," Dylan drawled, as if he had made a happy revelation. Twisting Sam's arm higher up his back, eliciting a surprised cry of pain from the pinned man, Dylan leaned in closer to Sam's ear, his eyes, though, were locked on Dean. He enjoyed the lethal fury, the blazing fire in the green gaze as Dean barely found the strength to sit upright. "It isn't the job of little brothers to protect their big brothers. Doesn't work that way. It screws up the whole scheme of things. And besides, what kind of pathetic big brother needs his little brother to hold his hand, to protect him from the school yard bullies," Dylan stoked the rage in the two Winchesters, relishing the pain that flickered in Dean's eyes, the tension that poured off Sam's body as he kept the taller prisoner trapped helplessly against the wall.
At Dylan's taunt, Sam's eyes flew to Dean's and he could see it clearly: Dean believed the soldier's words! Dean actually thought that he was failing him, that big brothers, that he wasn't allowed to ever be weak, to be human. As a grimace of pain marred Dean's face, Sam watched as Dean managed to sit up, struggled to maneuvered his legs in the right position to lever himself to his feet, to come to his little brother's aid. 'Darn it Dean! Dylan's wrong! It is a brother's place to protect one other.'
Taking a page from Dean's handbook, Sam looked over his shoulder to Dylan and hissed out, "So what's your excuse for not protecting your little brother?" drawing on the insight that had come to him, forging it into a weapon like Dean would. "You screwed up, right? And he tried to save you. But he got hurt doing it, didn't he? And that's on you. "
"Sam, no!" Dean yelled in panic. Because, out of all the people in the world, he knew the cost of this type of retaliation better than anyone, woke up some nights, heart pounding, trembling hand reaching for his chest, certain he was again getting eviscerated from the inside out by the thing wearing his father's face.
Sam didn't look to Dean, couldn't, not if he wanted to stay focused, stay coldhearted. Instead he watched the results of his verbal strike, saw the almost imperceptible change in Dylan's eyes, felt the soldier's fingers shift their grip on his arm. He had made a direct hit.
When Dylan spoke his voice was a low growling sound, his eyes piercing Sam's. "My brother is none of your business," punctuating his statement by landing a punch to Sam's kidneys.
Had Dylan not been pinning the taller Winchester brutally to the wall, Sam would have sank to the ground as his knees crumbled their stance under the assault of unexpected pain. Distracted by the haze of throbbing pain, it took Sam a moment to comprehend Dylan's next words, to realize that Dylan was stepping back from him, that Chase had replaced Dylan's bruising hold on him with his own.
"What you should stay focused on is trying to keep your own brother alive."
Looking over his shoulder at Dylan, Sam screamed "No!", struggling to get free of Chase's hold, to stop Dylan. The gunshot sounded like a bomb explosion in the enclosed area.
Having stilled as Dylan's gun sighted on his head, Dean had pulled on his deadly mask, the look in his eye daring, prodding Dylan to just do it and get it over with. To his credit, Dean didn't flinch when the bullet whizzed by his ear to embed itself in the barrack's wall behind him, though the heat of the bullet's close passing put a chill down his spine.
In relief Sam sagged against the wall, his eyes closing tightly only to instantly open them to lock onto Dean, to reassure himself again that Dean hadn't been shot, wasn't dead. "Just tell me what you want from us," Sam tiredly surrendered his words for Dylan but his eyes meeting his brother's. He easily read the frustration, anger and bitter agreement in the look Dean shot him. They were backed into a corner, helpless, beaten. If they wanted to survive, a truce had to be made.
"Want?" Dylan's false laugh was back online as he shook his head, "Who says I want anything? I mean, this, this has been the most fun I've had in awhile." Walking around to the other side of the mattress on the floor, his eyes meeting Sam's, Dylan crouched down beside Dean, kept his eyes on Sam a few heartbeats before he looked down to Dean. The soldier wasn't surprised to see the deadly glint in the wounded man's eyes when they lanced into him, promising him a long painful death. A look he had seen before, a look that he had generated before.
"But I have to say I'm curious about you two," Dylan said with a smile but it vanished the next second, was replaced by the implacable determined look of a commanding officer prepared to do what he had to do to gather the intel he wanted. "I think you're as deadly as they come and I've got to question the circumstances that got you into my little camp here. So I think it's time for us to have a little conversation. To find out who you really are…because you're not cultists," Dylan denied, a friendly smirk twisting up his lips as if he were enjoying the joke. "Or terrorists or…. archeologists. See, me, I have my own theory." Unexpectedly Dylan's hand fell heavily upon Dean's wounded side, his fingers digging in, further abusing the torn flesh.
Before Dean could lock down his agony, a choked grunt of pain escaped him and he tried to twist away from the torture. But Dylan unmercifully applied more pressure to his clawed side, sending Dean crashing back onto the mattress with a yell. Latching onto Dylan's wrist with his right hand, Dean tried in vain to dislodge the man's hand from his wound.
"Stop it!" Sam shouted struggling to be released, wanting to kick Dylan away from his brother. But his struggle was put down ridiculously easy when Chase's forearm pressed into the base of his neck, pressing his cheek harder into the wall and his arm was pulled higher until Sam expected to feel tendons rip in his arm. "We got arrested! The sheriff brought us here! Talk to the sheriff, ask him why he brought us here!"
When Dylan unexpectedly removed his hold on his side, Dean rolled to his right and wrapped his arm around his waist. Drawing his knees up and bowing his head, Dean practically curled into a ball attempting to stem the agony, to channel it, as his breath raggedly slipped out of him. He didn't even make protest or struggle when, a moment later, Dylan shoved his left arm away from his stomach and the solder pulled up his shirt.
Dylan's practiced eyes catalogued the younger man's injuries. Raising Dean's shirt further up, the soldier wasn't entirely surprised to see a scar from a bullet wound on the Dean's left shoulder. Dropping the t-shirt, Dylan shook his head and looked to Dean's face, saw the younger man was meeting his stare steadily though pain still hitched his breath, dulled his eyes. "Chase, I have to say our two guests here are quite the mystery," he admitted, looking up to his second in command. "Problem is, I don't particularly like mysteries, they always take too long to solve. I say we convince big brother here to give us the plot twist right out of the gate."
Sam felt some hope flare to life when Chase's forearm left his neck but it was soon replaced with fear and dread as he felt cold metal press his left hand to the wall. His blood ran cold when the sound of a gun being cocked echoed in the barracks.
At the all too familiar sound, Dean instantly rolled unto his back, his eyes flying to Sam. He was greeted with the sight of Sam's hand pinned to the wall with the muzzle of Chase's gun. "No!" he shouted in Latin, his back coming off the mattress only to have Dylan's hand wrap around his shoulder and yank him back down.
Leaning over Dean, Dylan drawled, "Yeah, you know, I heard about your little preference to not speak English. But me, I was born and bred in the great American MidWest and I'm pretty partial to English." The smile Dylan offered up was all wolf. "So this is how it's going to be: unless you start speaking English, right now, I'm going to let Chase put a bullet through your brother's hand."
The deadly gleam in Dylan's cold blue eyes gave Dean no doubt that the man played as hard and as dirty as he had to in order to win. Silently, Dean cursed the commando wanna bes for their fascination with threatening to send bullets into legs and hands, to maim, to dispirit. With gut wrenching fear, his eyes swung back to Sam's. Beyond Sam's brave façade, Dean could see his brother's panic and it made his own composure slip. Clamping his eyes shut, Dean coached himself, 'Crap!!! You can do this! Just think of the word you want to say, think of it in English, then say it, in English, in English stupid!' But fear and doubt clawed into him sharper than the wolf had, because, in his mind, he had never stopped speaking English.
Still crouched at Dean's side, Dylan gave a disappointed sigh. "Well, Chase, looks like these boys think I'm bluffing."
His eyes flying open to see Chase's finger on the trigger, to see Sam gritting his teeth, bracing himself for the pain, Dean roared, "No! Don't!" his eyes fixed on his brother's face, fearing that Sam's youthful features would soon be a mask of pain. But pain didn't darken Sam's eyes, mar his baby face features, but disappointment did and dread. 'No!,' tore through Dean like an unuttered sob. He hadn't spoken in English, was still babbling away in Latin, was failing Sam, was going to be the reason Sam got a bullet through the hand…most likely through the head before the game ended. 'Dad was right! My Latin's gonna get someone killed! Gonna get Sam killed!'
In desperation, Dean rolled his head away from Sam to meet Dylan's ruthless stare. Wrapping his hand around the commander's wrist, he begged, "Wait! Just wait!", hoping to God that the man heard the pleading tone in his strange words, saw in his eyes his complete willingness to beg for mercy for his brother.
Dylan gave a half smile, "I know English and that," he wagged his finger at Dean, "that isn't English." Then without lifting his eyes from Dean's gaze, he ordered, "Chase, shoot little brother's hand."
"Favent!" Dean screamed no, using his grip on Dylan's arm to shove the older man backwards, giving himself the room to surge up from the mattress, to make a grab for Chase's gun. His fingers were inches from the gun when an iron like grip wrapped around his ankle, dragging him backwards, away from the gun, away from Sam. Before he could kick to be free, Dean's right arm was grabbed and he was flipped over onto his back. He didn't even draw in another breath before Dylan's gun muzzle was pressed into his forehead. Breathing hard, Dean looked down the barrel of the gun to Dylan's face, grateful that he hadn't heard a gunshot sound in the room, that Sam was still in one piece.
Sliding his gun muzzle down to press under Dean's chin, Dylan tilted Dean's head back until Dean could see behind him, saw that Chase had changed the aim of his gun. It now rested on the back of Sam's head. Dean's eyes flew to Sam's and he tried his hardest to apologize, to let Sam know that he was sorry that he had been saddled with a loser of a big brother, that something as stupid as his inability to speak English was going to get him killed. Dean closed his eyes tightly when Sam spoke, his little brother's voice tender even as he faced the firing squad, "Dean, it's alright, man. I don't blame you for this."
"Crap, Chase, I think I'm getting a little misty eyed here," Dylan sneered, the brother's bond somehow igniting anger in him that wasn't there before. Pressing his gun harder under Dean's chin, making it hard for Dean to swallow, Dylan goaded, "You can save him, you know. Be the big brother he deserves." Easing the pressure of the gun on Dean, allowing the younger man to move his head forward again, Dylan met Dean's lethal green eyes, knew he had garnered the man's unchecked hatred, knew somewhere down deep that it wasn't something he should take lightly, dismiss.
Moving his gun barrel down Dean's throat, Dylan brought it to a stop against Dean's breastbone. "Just beg for your brother's life in English. That's it, that's all you need to do to save him. That's not so hard right? Won't hurt your ego too drastically? Unless your ego is more important than little brother here or maybe your pride's not something you sacrifice even to stop your brother's brains from being scattered on the wall. I mean, I know little brothers can be more trouble than they are worth but I'm getting the feeling that you like yours, would feel kind of badly if he took a bullet to the back of the head. So let's do this One. More. Time. Beg for his life," Dylan hissed, his warm breath sliding over Dean's face.
Dean held Dylan's gaze, returned the man's goading with a dark eyed glare that promised unholy retribution. But beneath Dean's boiling anger, terror ate through his heart like acid, and he felt like he was slowly being crushed under the weight of having Sam's life resting in his incapable hands. It was a weight he had always bore but it had never felt this heavy before. Protecting Sam, saving Sam, he had never truly despaired at failing that job before, until now.
'You can do this! You can do this for Sam! Just a few words, that's all. You've been speaking English your whole life! Speak it now! For the love of God, speak it now you loser' Dean railed at himself, hands fisted, body radiating tension.
"Time's up," Dylan drawled.
"No! Don't kill him!" Dean yelled his voice hoarse and his eyes swimming with desperate tears as he looked to Dylan, begged the man for mercy, to spare Sam's life. "Please. Don't," he choked out as he lay half on and half off a smoky mattress in an outlaw barracks in the middle of some forest, with his words alone sealing Sam's fate, saving his brother or condemning him. "I'm begging you, don't kill him," Dean pleaded, his pride and barriers gone in the face of losing Sam, of failing the only person on God's green earth that ever had true faith in him.
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TBC
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Ok, I freely admit I just couldn't help but make this a cliffie! Sam's gotta get his time in the spotlight too! After all, it's perilous work trying to save Dean's butt!
But I'm hoping to have the next chapter ready to go within a week. I, however, am not too proud to accept bribes via reviews to hurry things up. … After all, Sam and Dean aren't the only ones who need some incentives now and again.
Thanks to every single person who blessed me with a review last chapter! Each one had me smiling ear to ear and I've reread them all a few times over. You guys definitely treat me nicer than I deserve! (But I'm loving it!)
As for Anna's question about when/if we will hear about Dean's rat story: that will come out in some later chapter. And I've been working on writing a companion one shot for that, which I will post after Dean reveals it in this story…for anyone that might care.
Have a wonderful day!
Cheryl W.