so yeah, i know this is a short chappy, but figured this was as good of spot to end it as any...thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! bambers;)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

When Deacon returned with an old blanket he'd found, he was more than a little surprised to find John sitting on the bottom step leading into the cellar. John's head was lowered, and even from where he was, Deacon could see that his friend was trembling. He slowed his pace as he descended the stairs, hearing the anguished heart-wrenching sobs coming from the hunter. John Winchester was just a man who didn't cried, he held his emotions very tightly in check, and to see him so broken right now, tore at Deacon's heart. The only other time he'd seen his friend in this bad of condition, it was shortly after Mary's death, and that sent a wave of fear galloping through his entire body. If he's here does that mean . . . no, Sam's not dead . . . he can't be.

Shoulders slumped dejectedly, head resting against balled fists as he continued to tremble, John appeared defeated, his undeniable pain and anguish showing clearly through, and it was enough to steal Deacon's breath away. Placing a comforting hand on John's shoulder, Deacon took a seat beside him. For several very long minutes, he waited, saying nothing as John continued to sob.

"Sam . . . he's not . . . ." Deacon's voice trailed off, not wanting to actually say the word dead, and heaved a grateful sigh of relief when John shook his head. Brusquely raking his fingers through his hair, he glanced in the direction of the cells and craning his neck, he heard Dawn talking to Sam, although he couldn't make out what she was saying. Returning his attention to John, Deacon wondered once again why John was here when Sam needed him.

"He — he wants to die," John mumbled brokenly before Deacon had the chance to ask, "he thinks I . . . he jus' wants to die." His head sunk even lower, his fingers slipping into and curling tightly around his hair. "They hurt him so bad . . . God, why'd they have to hurt him so damn bad, Deacon?"

Deacon swallowed the information John had just shared with him, worrying that if Sam lost the will to live, there might not be anything they could do to save him. "John," he said in his most authoritative tone, pushing back his fears to the furthest niches of his mind, needing to remain strong for his friend, "why the hell are you over here instead of with Sam? He needs you there."

"Couldn't take it . . . needed to walk away for a minute," John reluctantly admitted. He cocked his head to the side, and peered into Deacon's eyes. "Jus' made matters worse when I was there. Hell, he didn't even know it was me . . . thought I was one of those bastards an' was gonna hurt him some more."

"Then you need to make him see that it's you," Deacon responded with a curt nod, "get your ass up an' get the hell over there." With that said, he rose to stand, gripped hold of John's arm and dragged him to his feet, not about to take no for an answer, knowing John would do the same if the situation was reversed and it was Deacon's child who was in pain.

Like a man condemned, John trudged back to the cell and went inside, with Deacon following close behind. He knelt beside Sam and very lightly touched him on the arm, feeling his son flinch and shy away at the subtle gesture.

"Sam," he began in a low and comforting voice, but quickly change it to that of a more authoritative tone, realizing that Sam would more likely respond to the familiarity of it. "It's me . . . Dad. We're going to get you out of here. Understand me? We're gonna get you out, an' you're gonna be okay."

"N-no . . . Dawn, please," Sam begged, completely ignoring John's attempts to reach him. "Jus' n-need a little . . . ." his voice trailed off as his unsteady gaze wavered toward her pocket. "Pl-please make th-the pain go away . . . jus' a little."

Dawn looked to John, fear registering in her eyes before she hastily lowered her head in shame. "I'm so sorry . . . this is all my fault. God, I'm so sorry, John."

John drew in a sharp intake of air, understanding dawning on him as to what his son was pleading for, and again he had to forcefully swallow back the bile rising in his throat. "No, Sammy, no more drugs . . . no more torture, we're taking you home." He gripped hold of Sam's chin, and forced his son to look him in the eyes, grimacing and cursing under his breath when Sam cried out in pain. "Look at me, Sam. No one's gonna hurt you anymore. I'm here an' I'll be damned if anyone ever touches you again."

"Sam," Dawn gently placed a hand on Sam's arm, "you're Dad is here. I found him, an' he's come to take you away from here. You an' me," she gestured between the two of them, "we're leaving this place together, just like I promised we would."

"D-Dad," Sam muttered, and for the first time since they'd entered the prison, it seemed as if he recognized who John was. "D-didn't think y-you'd come . . . n-needed y-you s-so damn much." Tears rolled down Sam's dirt-stained cheeks as he fell limply into John's trembling arms.

"I gotcha, Sammy . . . I gotcha." For what seemed the longest time, John held as firmly as he possibly could onto his son, fearing that if he let go, Sam would slip away and die on him. Sam sobbed brokenly in his arms as John continued to quietly reassure his youngest that everything was going to be okay. Yet, deep down inside himself, John was terrified that there nothing he could do to fix what the madman had done to his two sons. They were both just so completely broken that John couldn't even begin to think how to make things right again.

"John," Deacon gently prodded as he handed John the blanket that he'd found, "we gotta get him out of here now."

John gave a curt nod as he wrapped the blanket around his son, and then very carefully, he and Deacon helped Sam to his feet. Although John tried his damnedest to remain strong, he couldn't block out the agonizing cries of pain coming from Sam as his arm came in contact with hideous wounds on his son's back. If it hadn't been for Dawn's reassuring words as she took hold of Sam so that Deacon could lead the way out of there, John would have crumbled.

"It's not that far, Sam," Dawn uttered in a soft encouraging tone as they slowly made there way through the cellar and up the stairs. "Just you an' me," she choked on a sob, and John realized that she feared that Sam wouldn't make it out of there alive either. "We're gonna make it out of here, just like I promised you."

"L-love ya . . . D-Dawn," Sam managed to utter in a hoarse, raspy whisper, "w-wanted ya t-to know that . . . ."

His eyes slowly fluttered closed as he stumbled over the steps, and if John and Dawn weren't there to hold him upright, he would've fallen all the way back down the staircase. John felt Sam grow heavier in his arms, and moved all the quicker, knowing his son was losing the will to move onward.

"Don't you dare say that to me now," Dawn commanded, her voice now stronger and full of determination, "Damn it, you wait until we're out of here, an' you're better. Got me? Not about to let you give up on me." Sam's eyelids flitted back open as he smiled weakly at Dawn, and John's heart caught in his throat, knowing that if it hadn't been for Dawn, his son would have given up.

"Y-you an' m-me . . . I r-remember." As Sam cried out in pain, Dawn drew him closer to him, now taking the brunt of his weight into her arms. "N-nothin' else m-matters but that . . . ."

At the entrance leading out of the underground bunker, Deacon held out his arm to stop them as he opened the door and peered outside into the darkness. When he was certain they hadn't been spotted by anyone, he cautiously stepped out the door, and motioned for them to follow. Once outside, John reluctantly released his hold on Sam, and yanked his gun out of his waistband. Although the sounds of gunfire was becoming less and less frequent, he was still fairly certain Dominic was around somewhere, and knew Sam would be the only target the madman was gunning for.

"Can you handle him on your own, Billy," John asked, as he eyed the young woman with nothing but pure admiration as he noticed the strong determined set of her jaw. "Yeah, I'm sure you can."

John took the lead as they headed for his truck, and Deacon fell back to make sure no one snuck up behind them. Sam staggered and stumbled several times, but to her credit, Dawn never let him fall as they edged closer and closer to the vehicle. They were almost to the truck when a shouted voice stopped them dead in their tracks.

"Took most of my family, John," Dominic hollered in a crazed voice, and John swung around trying to find him. "So I figure fair is fair," he'd barely finished saying that as a crack of rapid gunfire echoed through the night.

In stunned horror, John stood dumbstruck as he turned just in time to witness Billy jerk forward and fall on top of Sam who lay motionless on the ground. As a growl of pain erupted from Deacon's lips as he dropped his gun and clutched his arm, John rushed forward and dropped to the ground beside his son.

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Hey, I am auctioning off a story for a very good cause to help a fellow writer, so if you get a chance, take a look!! If you bid and win, i'll write any kind of story your heart desires!! Bambers;)

"We're running a Supernatural fanfic auction for the next two weeks (June 28 - July 12) benefiting a fellow writer, publisher, and friend who is in need of a wheelchair. Twenty-two writers (and one vidder!) have generously offered their talents and time to this endeavor, and every penny goes to the fund. The auction can be found at , under Miscellaneous-General, and registering to bid is fast and free. Donations are also gratefully accepted. For questions or to make a donation, please contact me at . I hope you'll come check it out and not only have some fun bidding on some great writers, but also help us raise money for a good cause!"
K Hanna Korossy