so, thought i had updated this a couple days ago, but apparently i was wrong, thanks to rennispice for reminding me to get my butt moving and post!! thanks to everyoen for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)

Chapter Eighteen

"Showers are five minutes, no longer," a medium built man with dark green eyes said to Dean as he handed him a bar of soap, "the water cuts off after that an' if you aren't finished, you're pretty much out of luck." He then grabbed a new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste off the shelf and handed them to Dean as well. "All personal hygiene is to be taken care of while in the shower, which includes brushing your teeth." The corners of his eyes crinkled as a genuine smile crossed his features. "An' I'd suggested you brush first cause your breath smells somethin' fierce." He chuckled when Dean grimaced at him. "What, like you didn't realize that?" He cocked a brow, his smile deepening as he handed Dean a towel. "I mean, I could smell you about five minutes before you walked through the door."

"Do I have to shave my head in the shower, too? Or can I do that at the mirror?" Dean asked as he scrubbed his hand through the tiny bristles of hair on his head. A momentary wave of uncertainty crashed down upon him, and he took a backward step toward the door leading out of the bathing area. Two men standing guard at the entrance, immediately blocked the exit, and Dean reluctantly realized he was too weak to overpower them, and too damn tired to try for that matter.

"Naw, you have to do that in the shower as well. Takes some getting used to, but after a while you'll be able to get it all done in five minutes."

"How the hell am I supposed to get all that done in five minutes?" Dean scowled, knowing there was no way he was going to get it all done in that short amount of time. He was used to taking long leisurely showers, only getting out after the last of the hot water was gone, but knew there was no point in arguing.

"I'd suggest shaving your head first, cause you don't wanna make Father angry," the bathroom attendant warned. "Then brush your teeth and scrub up at the same time. Not so tough when you get the hang of it." He gestured toward the first shower stall, and then handed Dean a razor. "Better hurry up, breakfast is in ten minutes, an' if you aren't there on time, you go without."

Without another word, Dean trudged to the shower stall and turn on the water. A blast of lukewarm water sprayed across his bruised and damaged body, and a weary groan ushered past his lips. He quickly set about the task of shaving his head, wanting nothing more than to get it over with as rapidly as possible, and then stood directly beneath the spray, rinsing off. He squeezed some toothpaste on his toothbrush, and hurried to brush his teeth as he simultaneously scrubbed his body with the soap. Not even halfway finished with the whole process, the water cut off just as predicted, and he was left covered in grimy soap.

"Guhh . . . come on, damn it." He slammed his open hand against the wall. "Who the freakin' hell can take a shower, shave, and brush their teeth in five freakin' minutes." Twisting the knob on the faucet, he glanced up at the showerhead, wanting nothing more than a little water to rinse off with, and that was just what he got; a few droplets of water sprinkled out of the showerhead, and then it ran dry.

"Told you showers were only five minutes," came the bathroom attendant's mocking voice. "Shoulda washed faster."

"Not really in the freakin' mood for an I told you so at the moment, Spanky," Dean grumbled as he toweled off all the soap. The crisp white towel quickly turned brown from all the dirt that still clung to Dean's body, and his scowl deepened as he spit out the remaining toothpaste in his mouth, nearly gagging on the overly minty taste of it.

"The name's Lucas, Child," the attendant said as he strode over to Dean, and handed him a pair of clean white boxers. "Here, put these on."

Dean tilted his head to the side, hoping to find more clothes lying around that he could wear, but saw none. "What about pants an' a shirt?"

"You have to earn them. They're considered a privilege, an' as you're a new member of the family, you haven't earned the right to wear them yet."

With brows furrowing together, Dean glared at the older man. "You gotta be kiddin' me, right? Clothes can't be a privilege . . . I mean, they're clothes . . . that's just freakin' ridiculous."

"Clothes are a privilege," Lucas tapped his right index finger against his left, "food is a privilege," he tapped against his middle finger, "water and sleep are privileges," he tapped the two remaining fingers on his hand. "You earn your right to be a member of this family."

"Is breathing a freakin' privilege, too?"

"Thought you already knew the answer to that one," came the Father's low sinister voice, and Dean swung around on the spot to stare at the gloating man. The Father had slipped quietly into the bathing area, and was now leaning against the wall with arms crossed. "However, if you're still unsure on the matter, we can work on that one."

The Father pushed away from the wall, and stalked to Dean. Four more of his men entered the room, and followed closely behind. The two others who had been standing guard took up their paces behind the men, and within a matter of seconds all seven men surrounded Dean. Father gripped a hold of Dean's chin and jerked his face from side to side. "You forgot to shave, Child," he said as he trailed his hand down the sides of Dean's cheeks.

"Didn't have time, Father," Dean muttered as he lowered his gaze to look at the ground.

"You didn't have time," the Father gave a curt nod as he pivoted on his heel to look at all his men, and then turned back to stare at Dean. "Seems as if you were the only one who didn't have the time as everyone else here is cleanly shaven."

"Jus' needed a few more minutes . . . coulda finished if I had a few more minutes." The moment the words slipped past Dean's lips, he instantly regretted them, and by the look of the deep-set scowl on the Father's face, he knew that he was going to suffer for them.

"Just a few more minutes," the older man rubbed his hand across his stubbled jaw as if contemplating the validity of what Dean had just said, then smiled, "that's all you needed . . . just a couple of minutes more. You should have just said so." With a half-turn toward Lucas, he nudged his head in the direction of the shower. "Turn the water back on all the way," he shifted to look at Dean again, his grin widening, "only the cold."

As Lucas hurried off to do the Father's bidding, the other men grabbed a hold of Dean and hefted him into the air, and carried him toward the shower stall. Dean kicked and squirmed in their arms, but they tightened their grasp on him until he could barely move a muscle. The moment Dean's face was under the showerhead, the water came on full blast. Ice cold water sprayed down onto his face, filling his nostrils, and he sputtered and gasped as the water slid down into the back of his throat. Opening his mouth, he tried to draw in a breath, but instead drank in more water. He jerked his head from side to side, thrashing wildly as his heart hammered away inside his chest. His lungs burned as he coughed and choked on the water, and he knew if the Father didn't relent soon he would drown.

"Showers are five minutes. No longer. Do you understand, Child?" The Father asked as he gripped hold of Dean's chin. Dean gave a weak nod as he continued to cough and gasp for air. "Very good. Lucas, you can turn off the water."

Within a few moments the water turned off, and the Father's men dropped Dean on the ground, a sputtered cry of pain escaping his blue-tinged lips as his back collided with the cold tile floor. Hard racking coughs to dredge up all the water in his lungs, left Dean feeling dizzy and lightheaded, and as he struggled to get back on his feet, he grabbed a hold of the Father's crimson robes for support. The Father reach out a hand to him, and Dean weakly gripped onto it.

"Get dressed, Child." The Father smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he lightly patted Dean on the cheek. "Breakfast is about to be served, and you don't want to be late." With that said, he turned on his heel, and strode out of the bathing area, leaving his men behind to wait for Dean.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean entered the eating area of the compound with three men flanking on either side of him. He glanced around in surprise at how much it reminded him of a school cafeteria. Long tables lined the expansive room in columns with narrow rows in between each for walking. In the far left hand corner there was an area set up for serving food, and behind that was the kitchen itself. People carrying bright orange trays were already in line waiting to be served their breakfast, and Dean couldn't help but notice that quite a few of them looked as undernourished as he felt. Through lowered lashes, he watched as several of his new brothers and sisters were turned away with nothing on their trays, and briefly wondered what they were being punished for.

One of the Father's men nudged Dean forward toward the line, and he hastily took up his steps. The savory scent of bacon and eggs wafted through the overly warm room. Dean's mouth watered, his stomach rumbling uncomfortably, and for a moment he could've sworn that everyone in the room must have heard it as they all turned to stare at him. He quickly realized the reason was not his overly loud stomach, but the fact that he was the only one there wearing just boxers and nothing else.

As he passed by each table, men and women would smile politely at him, and say good morning, then turn back to their breakfast as if his haggard appearance was commonplace and didn't warrant any special interest. Oddly enough, after a few moments, Dean found himself saying good morning back to them as if he'd been doing it everyday of his life.

At the end of the line, he grabbed a tray and silverware then stood to wait his turn, his stomach protesting violently as he drew in a deep breath, and smelled the tantalizing aroma of coffee brewing. The girl who stood directly in front of him, turned and smiled sweetly at him.

"Morning, Child," she said, and then bit pensively at her lower lip as she looked to the men who stood guard over Dean. "I'm Morning Dawn, but most people just call me Dawn."

"Morning, Dawn," Dean cautiously glanced at his guard to make sure it was all right to speak to her, and when none of them made a move to stop him he continued, "what I meant to say was hi, Dawn." He returned her smile with one of his own, but all too quickly it faded.

"See you are being well looked after by our brothers . . . real brothers are very important, you should never forget that," she said, and for some reason Dean had the feeling she wasn't referring to any of the men in the room. She narrowed her startlingly clear blue eyes on Dean then peered beyond him toward the center table at the head of the room. Dawn then refocused her attention on Dean.

Brushing up against the person in front of her, Dawn jerked forward, dropped her tray and collided into Dean. At the same time, they both stooped to pick up the fallen tray and plastic silverware off the floor, almost bumping heads.

"Don't forget your real family, Dean," she whispered in a breathless rush as they hurried to pick everything up.

"Huh?" Dean murmured in stunned surprise, his eyes rounding slightly at the sound of his own name.

They both grabbed for the fork at the same time, and Dawn pulled him closer. "Things are not always what they seem," she muttered through clenched teeth, her voice barely audible with the sounds of dishes and pans clattering in the background. "An' sometimes people aren't as far away as you might think."

She stood, a disarming smile gracing her delicate features for the benefit of all her brothers, and they grinned back, totally enchanted by her. "Like I was saying, there is nothing that can compare to having a real brother who would risk his life to protect you. Someone who has your back even when you don't realize it."

For a split second, Dean could've almost sworn she was talking about Sam, but then he saw all the brothers nodding in agreement, and whatever small hope that he might have had that Sam hadn't left him was crushed beneath the weight of his new brothers' smiles. "I'll remember that," he managed to utter as he handed her the silverware he'd picked up.

Dawn leaned in as she took her silverware, and made a very slight gesture toward the word etched on his chest, and whispered, "He can only take from you what you allow him to take, Dean. Don't let him take all of you." Without another word, she turned away and walked away from Dean, quickly getting lost in the crowd of people.