okay, so from here on out, i would have to say the story gets quite brutal...so fair warning!! hope everyone enjoys!! thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! let me know what you think cause i really do live for your comments!! bambers;)

Chapter Five

Dean wasn't really sure anymore how long he'd been trapped in the cell. It felt as if it must have been at least a week, but in truth it probably wasn't more than a few days. He was well beyond tired, and the pain in his back never seemed to easy up for even a moment. But every time his eyes closed for more than a few seconds one of the Father's men would find some cruel way in which to wake him up again.

The constant droning of the Father's voice over the loudspeaker was slowly starting to wear him down, and he thought it odd that none of the other men in the room even seemed to notice it. Dean knew the Father was trying to break him, to make him into one of his followers, and realized that things would get a lot worse for him if Sam didn't find him soon.

Yet, Dean was terrified that Sam would find him, only to get trapped there as well. There were just way to many of the Father's men, and Dean really didn't believe Sam would be able to find their father to help, and so he would be all alone. And if he was alone, Dean would rather Sam never found him at all.

"Deep in thought, Child?" came the Father's stern voice from outside the cell. "Trying to figure out a way to escape?"

"No, was jus' thinkin' how it's gonna feel to plunge my knife into your freakin' heart," Dean mumbled as he wearily glanced up at the man dressed in crimson robes. "Probably will cut your freakin' hair off first . . . owe ya for that." Dean swallowed hard, thinking how pathetic he must look, kneeling naked on the ground with his hair all shaved off.

The Father laughed as he strode to where Dean was, gripped the top of Dean's head, and jerked it backward so Dean was forced to look him straight in the eyes. "Such a willful determined little child you are. But then again, it's only been three days. I would say that within a week or two, you'll fall in line very nicely."

"Never gonna happen."

"That's what they all say at first," the Father chided. "But somehow everyone seems to change their tune after a while."

"Maybe cause they're not me." Dean yawned tiredly, but tried his hardest to suppress it, not wanting the older man to know how truly exhausted he really was.

"Tired, Child?" A self-satisfied smirk lit across the man's craggy features. "Bet you're hungry as well." Hearing the Father say this, one of his men brought forth a plate with scraps of meat on it and a bowl of water and set them just out of Dean's reach.

As Dean stared at the meager portion of meat on the plate, he felt his stomach rumble uncomfortably and wondered how long it had actually been since he'd last eaten a meal. "Not hungry."

"Maybe not yet, but you will be. It's a basic human need. Eventually even you will get hungry, Child. I have no doubt of that." The Father knelt down beside Dean. "You know that no one is coming to look for you, right?"

"Not true," Dean weakly replied, having trouble keeping his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time.

"Then where are they? If anyone cared about you, they would have found you by now."

"They'll find me," Dean staunchly replied, but even as the words slipped from his lips, he realized that his brother might not ever be able to find him no matter how hard Sam might search. "They'll come for me."

"They don't care about you. To them you are worthless and pathetic," the Father said in a cruel and calculating manner.

"If they'd wanted you they would have found you by now," Curly taunted, from where he stood sentry outside the cell, "They're glad you're gone."

"They're glad to be rid of you," Larry agreed as he stepped inside the cell, and dropped down beside Dean. "You're so weak and pathetic in their eyes, don't you see that? It's why they haven't come looking for you."

"That's not . . . it's not true," Dean muttered, trying to block out what they were saying, but couldn't quite manage it.

"It is true."

"They hate you."

"Never wanted you."

"Wished you'd never been born."

"They never cared about you."

"They're glad you're gone."

"They hope you never come back."

"Think they're better off without you."

"To them you're pathetic and weak."

The words came at Dean so fast and furious he couldn't make out who was saying what, and didn't know how to respond. His sleep-deprived mind was so muddled that he couldn't think straight, and their verbal attacks were only making matters worse.

"It's not . . . I mean . . . you're tryin' to . . . ." Confused, Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold onto one clear thought. In his mind, he recalled the day he'd showed up at Stanford, and remembered how angry and disappointed Sam had been to see him there. There hadn't even been a single hint of happiness in Sam's hazel eyes to see Dean that night. Sam hadn't wanted him there, he'd made that point quite clear. Maybe they were right, maybe no one did care if he disappeared. No, they're just tryin' to confuse me. Can't let them do this to me. "Not true."

"Where are they, Child?" the Father asked. "If they really loved and cared about you, then why aren't they here right now?"

"You're worthless to them."

"Weak."

"Pathetic."

"You mean nothing to them."

"They're better off without you."

"They hate you, wish you were dead."

"Wish you were never born."

"Glad you're gone."

"Hope you never come back."

"They don't care about you. Never did."

"Not true . . . you're tryin' to confuse me." Dean buried his head beneath his arms, trying desperately to block out what they were saying, but their voices only grew louder in response to his efforts.

"Where are they, Child?"

"They aren't coming for you."

"Glad you're gone."

"They hope you're gone for good."

"They hope you're dead."

"They never wanted you."

"They wished you were never born."

"Think you're pathetic."

"Weak."

"Useless."

"Never wanted you."

"They hate you."

"It's not true," Dean mumbled dejectedly. Slowly shaking his head, he lowered it to the ground, and curled himself up into a tight ball. "Jus' stop . . . please, jus' stop this . . . they do care about me."

"Tell me your name," the Father commanded, quickly changing his tactics and further confusing Dean as he motioned for his men to unlock Dean's shackles.

"Dean."

"No, your name is Child." The Father rose to stand, and glanced down at Dean. "Say it. Say that your name is Child."

"N-name's Dean," Dean muttered again as he glared up at the Father.

"Very well, Child, I see that I'm going to be forced to punish you yet again for your continued disobedience."

With that, the two men grabbed hold of underneath Dean's armpits, and roughly hauled him to his feet. Dean stumbled, his legs numb and useless from being kept in the same bent, awkward position for the past several days. Curly and Larry's grip tightened around his arms as they dragged him across the room.

Dean weakly fought against them, but lack of sleep, hunger and his injuries had drained him of all his normal strength. But as he noticed they were about to chain him to the wall, making escape once again impossible, he redoubled his efforts. His legs were still all but useless, but that didn't stop him from trashing about wildly. Bending forward slightly, Dean jerked his head back and slammed it into Curly's face.

Curly let out a yelp of pain as he clutched at his face with his free hand, and his grip on Dean's arm loosened. Dean yanked free of Curly's grasp and then Larry's as well, but without them to hold him upright, Dean immediately dropped to the floor in a heap. Cursing silently under his breath, Dean slowly crawled toward the entrance, all-the-while hearing the Father's merciless laughter at his pathetic attempt to escape.

"Maybe I should have called you Baby instead as you're crawling feebly around on the floor like a tiny little infant," the Father said as he strode toward Dean, and stomped on his back.

Dean fell flat to the ground, and the Father stepped on his throbbing back, pinning him to the floor. The Father turned, grounding his foot into the welts that covered Dean's back, and motioned for Curly and Larry to pick Dean up.

The two men made quick work of chaining Dean to the wall, not about to let him get the upper hand on them a second time. With his bare stomach to the cold cement wall, Dean couldn't see what the Father planned to do to him now, but had a feeling it was going to be far worse than the cane he'd beat him with before.

The Father stalked to Dean, leaned in and menacingly whispered into his ear, "What is you name?"

"Dean."

"Huh, you know what, I was really hoping you would say that." He laughed as he moved out of Dean's line of vision.

A moment later, Dean heard the hiss of a whip as it whizzed through the air and cracked against his back, slicing through his flesh. Squeezing his eyes shut tight, his fingers clenched as he suppressed a cry of pain.

"Your name?" the Father asked again.

"Dean," Dean said, breathing hard against the burning pain trailing down his bare back.

Again he heard the sound of the whip slice through the air, leaving another fiery trail down his muscular back and cutting deeply into his buttocks. Two more times the whip sliced through his flesh before the Father hesitated again.

"Your name?"

Dean trembled uncontrollably as his legs gave out on him, the iron chains firmly secured around his wrists the only things keeping him upright. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down in to his eyes, and it took every ounce of sheer willpower he had not to give into the madman.

"D-Dean," he managed to choke out, and felt the sting of the whip once more as it blazed another fiery path down his skin.

Again and again the leather whip unfurled across Dean's flesh with his cries of pain growing louder with each searing cut of flesh. Bloodied crisscrossed patterns riddled his skin before the Father finally stopped once more. Even the chains were not enough to keep Dean standing any longer. With knees buckling, he hung limply by the chains, the muscles in his arms straining and burning against the full brunt of his weight.

"Your name?" the Father asked, and without having to see it, Dean could picture the gloating smirk on the man's face.

Dean swallowed hard, his throat constricting painfully as he muttered, "Child,"and lowered his head as stark humiliation overwhelmed him.