so, new chappy...hope everyone enjoys...thanks so much for reading and reviewing!! bambers;)
Chapter Thirteen
Dean kept his eyes downcast as the Father entered the cell, all his thoughts on Shannon and what she must have endured at the hands of her own father. His body trembled as he relived the night he'd found her dead on the floor of Pastor Jim's cabin, and how he'd covered up the crime to protect himself. In truth, he'd been no better than the man who now stood before him. He hadn't protected her as he'd promised, had covered up her death, had burned her body as if she'd meant nothing to him at all, and now he was deservedly paying for his crimes.
"You chose to disobey me, Child," came the Father's deceptively calm voice, interrupting Dean's troubled thoughts. "You understand that I cannot allow for any sort of disobedience or the family would suffer for it."
Dean gave a curt nod, still not raising his gaze to meet that of the Father's. From the Father's earlier warning, he knew he was about to endure even more torture, and his gut clenched painfully. Although a small part of himself didn't believe it was deserved, a larger more desperate part thought any punishment he received was well-warranted. And truthfully, he would almost welcome the physical pain, to ease some of the overwhelming guilt he was feeling.
"Answer me, Child," the Father commanded as he knelt beside Dean.
"I-I understand, Father," Dean managed to choke out.
With a curt nod, the Father quirked a brow as he gestured to his men to unlock Dean. "You are weak, Child. I thought I had taught you better than to disobey me. My mistake." He hesitated for a moment as he glanced toward a long wooden table with sturdy metal cuffs attached to it, and then looked back at Dean. "In the future you will always remember it."
The Father's men unlocked the shackles and hauled Dean to his feet. Dean twisted and jerked, struggling against his captors, but all too quickly his strength and will to fight gave out, and he slumped weakly into their arms. A pain-filled hiss escaped Dean as the men hefted him into the air and dropped him onto the table. The moment his torn and bruised flesh came in contacted with the coarse wood, he jerked upward, a cry of pain erupting from his lips. Two men roughly pushed him back down as another two clamped the cuffs around his wrists and ankles. Tears welled in his eyes as he vainly thrashed around and yanked on the shackles, all-the-while listening to the jeering sounds of the mens' malicious laughter.
"It gives me no pleasure to have to punish you, Child," the Father said, feigning a look of sadness as he came to stand beside Dean. "But willful children often need to be reminded of their place in the family. You are nothing but a weak and insolent child. Do you understand this?"
A flash of brilliant blue off to his side, caught Dean's attention and he turned his head, cringing as he noticed one of the Father's men had just lit an acetylene torch. Smirking at Dean, the man grabbed for the knife holstered at his side, and held it in the flames until it gleamed reddish-orange. Unmitigated fear coursed through Dean, his body shaking uncontrollably as he watched the bald-headed man with hateful brown eyes remove the blade from the torch and hand it to the Father. Dean turned to the Father, eyes rounding and pleading for forgiveness.
"Please, Father . . . please . . . I'm beggin' you . . . please, d-don't do this." Dean squirmed against the shackles, the pain in his back along with everything else forgotten as he stared at the fiery blade. "Pl-please . . . I'm sorry . . . I'll never disobey you again."
The Father lovingly placed his free hand against the side of Dean's face, and Dean leaned into it searching for comfort and forgiveness. But the cold callous look in the Father's pale blue eyes clearly said Dean would find none until he was properly punished for disobeying.
"It pains me greatly to have to punish you, Child." The Father's hand trailed downward over Dean's chest and came to rest just above Dean's own hand. "But to spare the rod is to spoil the child, you must understand this." His hand gripped firmly around Dean's and he squeezed it reassuringly. "Remember, I do this out of love for you, Child. You know that, right?"
Swallowing hard, Dean looked from the red-hot blade to the Father and back again, then squinched his eyes tightly shut. With a weak nod, he muttered, "I understand, Father."
"Very good, you are learning."
A scream burst from Dean's lips as the searing knife sliced into his skin, the sounds of his cries echoing in the expanse of the room to join with the sounds of mocking laughter. Tears slipped down Dean's cheeks as again and again the Father cut into his skin. Dean squeezed the man's hand tightly, hoping to draw on the older man's strength to survive the excruciating pain. The putrid scent of his burnt flesh filled the stale air, gagging Dean. Acrid bile burned at the back of his throat, and he barely managed to turn his head to the side before he threw up the meager contents in his stomach. Heaving violently, Dean continued to gag long after there was nothing left for him to throw up.
With a smile, the Father lowered the knife and took a backward step to appraise his handiwork. "There, now you will never forget just what you are, Child, and neither will anyone else."
Amidst jeering laughter, Dean glanced down at his chest and read the word, WEAK, etched into his red swollen skin. Thin trails of blood slipped down his chest as tears rolled down the sides of his face. His heart shattered and crumbled to dust as he continued to stare at the hated word that would now forevermore brand him as pathetic, and silently cursed Sam and his father for allowing it to happen. Hatred for them swelled within his soul, and burned hotter than the blade that had seared his flesh. They had done this to him, they were solely to blame, and he would never forgive them.
"Will you ever disobey me again, Child?" the Father asked, breaking in on Dean's thoughts.
Dean shook his head, though he couldn't manage to look the older man in the eyes. "No, Father," he hoarsely responded, a tight knot forming in his throat.
"Then I will be merciful." The Father smiled at Dean, his face softening considerably. "This really was for your own good, you do realize that don't you?"
"Uh huh," Dean mumbled dejectedly, his well-placed walls crumpling to ash, leaving his broken heart exposed to all those who cared to look into his sad, lifeless eyes. "Jus' wanna belong . . . jus' want a family to care about me."
"That's what we're here for, Child." The Father gestured around at the men standing beside him, and they all fell silent. "We all love you and want nothing more than to protect and shelter you from those who would cause you pain. We would never desert you. Don't you deserve to be loved and cared about?"
Whatever little shreds of reason that screamed the Father was a manipulator and a liar, and warned not to give in to him were lost to Dean amidst the desperate need to be wanted and cared about. Too exhausted and in too much pain physically and emotionally to fight the good fight any longer, Dean's battered soul yearned for what the Father offered and found he could not deny the craving any longer.
Blocking out the fleeting image of his own father and Sam, Dean smiled wearily as he glanced at the Father, and then gave a slight nod. "I do . . . I'll make you proud of me, Father . . . can be the best damn son you ever had."
Lightly caressing Dean's cheek with the back of his hand, the Father's smile deepened. His pale blue eyes shone with such love and warmth for his newest child that Dean found himself lost to the feeling of being at home and at peace for the first time in his life.
"That's my boy, I have no doubt that you will."
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Bobby stood in the open doorway of the hospital room, mouth gaping as he stared at the empty bed Sam had been in only a few hours before, and mentally kicked himself for leaving the younger hunter alone. Although he couldn't have known that Sam would wake up and be foolish enough to leave in that short amount of time, it still did not quell the feelings that it was somehow his fault.
Yanking his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, Bobby searched his contact list until he found Sam's number and then jabbed the button. The sound of a phone ringing broke the quiet of the hospital room, and Bobby searched out the sound until he found Sam's phone lying on the ground underneath a chair, and a tremor of fear coursed down the older hunter's spine. Bobby strode to the phone and snatched it off the ground, glanced at it for a second and then pocketed it. Damn it, Sam, why the hell would you leave here without callin' me first? You're brother's missing an' now I don't know where the hell you are either.
From what he had seen and had heard from the doctor about the extent of Sam's injuries, Bobby knew the younger man was in no condition to leave the hospital, much less look for Dean. But Bobby also knew the two youngest Winchesters probably better than almost anyone else, and knew if Dean was in danger nothing would prevent Sam from trying to find and save him. Bobby also had a gut feeling that Sam did not leave the hospital of his own accord. Sam may have left his room on his own, but Bobby had no doubt that something or someone had been waiting for him, and now not only was Dean in danger, but Sam as well.
With that solemn thought in mind, Bobby searched his contact list on his phone again until he found John's number, and hit the button. He'd called John several times to tell him about Sam being in the hospital, and the phone had always gone directly to voice mail, and didn't really think he would have any better luck this time either, but he was at a loss as to what he should do.
After several rings, John finally answered. "Bobby?" came the older Winchester's stern voice. "What's up with my boys? Been out huntin' an' my phone's been out of range. Just got back an' was bombarded with messages from Sam, but haven't been able to get a hold of him."
Bobby was silent for a moment as he absorbed all his friend had to say, an inkling of doubt in his mind that John hadn't responded to his son's calls for help until now because he was out hunting. He knew that John believed it was safer for his sons if they were separated while he was hunting the Yellow-Eyed Demon, and couldn't help but believe that was the true reason he hadn't called to find out what was going on. John also believed that he'd raised his sons to be able to take care of themselves no matter what kind of creature entered their path, but Bobby suspected that whatever had a hold of the two youngest Winchesters was not a creature but human, and John's training really hadn't covered what to do in that situation.
"Yer boys are missin'," Bobby stated simply, but the tone of his voice left little in disguise that he believed it was partly John's fault that Sam was gone now too. "Someone beat the hell outta Sam, an' pretty much left him for dead, an' now he's gone . . . left him for while to get some rest, an' when I got back to the hospital he'd just disappeared."
"Why the hell did you leave him?" John boomed into the phone, and Bobby could just imagine the look of scarcely controlled rage on his friend's face.
"Why the hell didn't you come when he called you?" Bobby quickly defended. "An' don't give me the same bullshit story about yer phone bein' outta range, cause I ain't stupid."
John was silent for a moment, and from that, Bobby knew his earlier assumption was right on target. "It's not safe for me an' the boys to be together," John finally conceded with a weary sigh. "Gotta get this damn demon or my boys will never be safe."
"So, Sam called ya, beggin' for ya to help him find Dean, an' you stayed away to keep them safe?" Bobby knew his voice was dripping with sarcasm, but didn't care. John needed to realize at some point that his sons needed him, and he wasn't doing them any good by staying away. "Course it won't matter much if ya kill the damn demon when ya have nothin' left to come back to when it is all said an' done, now will it?"
"Know I was wrong, Bobby, don't need to rub my face in it," John gruffly replied. "So you think it's a demon?" he went on to say, his mind now solely on rescuing his sons.
Bobby thought about the question for a moment, and about all Sam's injuries and Dean being abducted, and shook his head. He was pretty sure if it had been a demon, it would have killed Sam. "No, pretty damn sure that whoever beat the hell out of Sam and took Dean was human. An' I'm guessin' probably more than one from the looks of things."
"Alright, I'm on my way." John heaved another bony-weary sigh, and then fell silent for another moment, before finally continuing. "Gonna call in some favors, and see who I can round up to help find them. You scour every damn bar, diner, and motel until you find out where Dean was last before he disappeared so we have a place to start, got me?"
"Yeah, not a problem."
Several more moments went by without John saying anything, and Bobby heard the distinct sound of John's truck roaring to life in the background. When John finally spoke again, Bobby could hear the sound of fierce determination and heartache in his voice. "Someone chose to wage war on my boys, and their gonna wish to God they hadn't."