Thanks to everyone who is still reading!! So, still a long way to go, loads of angst ahead...hopefully i can do the boys recovery justice. thanks for reading and all the awesome reviews...bambers;)

Chapter Thirty

Dean was biding his time, waiting until John, Bobby or Deacon to let their guard down, and then he would break free and return to his family. However, none of them seemed willing to let Dean out of their sights for more than a few minutes, and that was only when he had to go to the bathroom, and even then they had refused to remove the shackles around his wrists and ankles. Nevertheless, even if they had removed them, there were no windows in the tiny bathroom in which he could escape from. So he was forced to wait until one of them made a mistake, and knowing John, Dean seriously doubted that would happen.

With that thought in mind, Dean narrowed his eyes on John, who was pacing the expanse of the motel room, and began to study him as if seeing him for the first time in his life. Study your enemy and learn all its weaknesses, came a small voice in the back of his mind. It was one of the first lessons John had taught him when he was younger, and was one Dean had never forgotten.

John, who for all intended purposes seemed formidable, had only two weaknesses, ones which Dean knew only too well. The first was his need to kill the Yellow-Eyed Demon at all costs, and the second was to protect Sam. Those were the only things the eldest Winchester truly lived and would die for, and Dean could use this to his advantage.

Dean shifted in his seat, pushing his shoulders backward to stretch his aching muscles, then tilted his head from side to side to work out the kinks that had gathered there. As he did so, he focused his attention on Deacon, who was sitting opposite of him at the table, and briefly wondered where Bobby had gone to when he left the motel room earlier.

When John and Deacon had come back to the room from wherever they had been, they'd called Bobby outside, and within a matter of minutes, the two had come inside without him. Dean had thought to ask where the older hunter had gone to, but didn't want to give any indication to John that he gave a damn in the slightest. Yet, as time ticked by and Bobby hadn't returned, Dean had to admit his curiosity was getting the better of him.

"Can't keep me locked up here forever, John," Dean snarled, locking eyes with the eldest Winchester. "It's only a matter of time before I break free. Besides, John, isn't there a demon you're supposed to be hunting . . . an' Sa — " he stopped short of saying Sam's name, not wanting John to think he could use the youngest Winchester as any sort of leverage to keep him there. "Innocent people who need your protection?"

"Dean — "

"Dominic," Dean corrected, knowing that in a moment of weakness he'd allowed Bobby to call him Dean, but wouldn't make the same mistake with John. The man who stood before him now needed to know that he was no longer Dean, and would make no further concessions in the use of his old name. "That's my name, learn it, use it," he lifted a brow as he glared at John, "or don't even bother tryin' to talk to me."

"Your name's Dean." John strode the short distance to where Dean was sitting, gripped hold of his upper arms, and repeated, "You're Dean Winchester. My son. Sam's brother." His fingers tightened around Dean's biceps. "Say it . . . say you're Dean Winchester."

Dean pursed his lips as he slowly shook his head. "Name's Dominic . . . an' you killed my wife . . . took away my father . . . my family . . . an' I swear to God, I hate you with every damn fiber of my being, you filthy sonuvabitch."

Hearing Dean say this, and also seeing John back away as if punched squarely in the gut, Deacon was on his feet in a shot, ready to diffuse the situation if it got out of control.

"Dean, we didn't kill anyone," Deacon was quick to defend John's actions.

"Tell me, John," Dean hissed, "did ya stick around to salt an' burn their corpses after you killed them all?" He yanked hard on the zip-cuffs around his wrists, wanting nothing more than to break free, wrap his hands around John's throat, and choke the life out of him. "Course you did, all part of the job, isn't it?"

A flicker of remorse flashed in John's eyes, and just as quickly disappeared behind one of the many walls the oldest Winchester had erected to block out everything and everyone except his one true goal of killing the demon who had killed his wife. In life, if it could be said that Dean had built walls to protect himself from being hurt by those he cared about most, then by that same token, John had built a wall of his own that far surpassed even the Great Wall of China.

John turned his back on Dean, took a deep breath, and slowly released it. "If anyone died at the compound, one of Dominic's men killed them. But if they did die, it's no less than what the freakin' bastards deserved for what they did to you an' . . . ." his voice trailed off and Dean heard him swear under his breath. Without saying another word, John turned on his heel and strode out of the motel room with Deacon following behind him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"John, you have to tell him about Sam," Deacon said as he glanced in the window at Dean and then looked to John. "He has the right to know what Dominic did to his little brother."

"You heard what Bobby said, Deacon," John argued, "an' if Bobby's worried that Dean could actually hurt Sam in his present state of mind, then I'm damn sure not gonna risk my boy's life on the off chance that Dean might just snap out of this."

He took a step closer to Deacon, a gesture that would've had any other person backing down, but Deacon knew John too well to be intimidated by him. Instead, Deacon squared his shoulders, and looked John dead in the eyes with a fearlessness born of many years working at Folsom Prison amongst some of the vilest people imaginable.

"No matter what Dominic did to Dean, there are just some things that aren't gonna change no matter what. Sam is one of them. You start peelin' away the layers of what that madman did to him over the past few weeks, and you'll find that his need to protect Sam is still there." Deacon jabbed John in the chest as his voice raised in anger. "An' you damn well know that Sam is Dean's heart an' soul. That boy would do just about anything for his little brother . . . would die for him. So no matter what torture Dominic forced him to endure, that Dean is still there somewhere deep down inside, searching for you to rescue him still."

"An' what if you're wrong?" John pushed Deacon away from him, and began stalking back and forth as he carefully weighed his options. "What if I take him to see Sam, an' it makes matters worse? Sam is freakin' terrified of him. You saw that as well as I did. Hell, he's barely hanging on as it is at the moment." As John said this, his mind wandered back to what the doctor had told him about his youngest son's physical and psychological injuries.

Several of the wounds on Sam's back had become infected, and although they had cleaned them out and had been giving him the strongest antibiotics possible, Sam had begun to spike a fever. Although the doctors seemed confident that he would recover, they had still warned John of the risks due to the extent of Sam's overall injuries, and John wasn't about to breathe easy until his youngest son's condition improved drastically.

To make matters worse, when Sam's tox screen came back positive for cocaine and heroin, the doctor had told John that pain management in Sam's case was going to be difficult as they could not give him morphine. The doctor went on to explain about drug detox, and all the side effects involved in breaking Sam of the habit, and John was afraid is son wasn't strong enough at the moment to handle all the pain he would have to endure before the withdrawal passed.

Luckily, however, only six of Sam's fingers had actually been broken by Dominic and his men, but the doctor was doubtful that all his fingernails would grow back properly because of the extent of the damage done to them. The best plastic surgeon in the hospital had been called in to repair the damage to his hands and back, but only time would tell how well they would heal.

John had also seen the word 'evil' that had been etched on his son's chest, and although the plastic surgeon assured him that he would do his best to cover it over, the eldest Winchester had his doubts that it would ever truly disappear all together. And as he saw the word, he was forced to wonder if Dominic had done something similar to Dean.

Yet, for all the horrific damage that the madman had done to Sam, John's heart sank the furthest when he went to see his son after he had come out of surgery. Laying flat on his stomach, with both hands in casts, Sam stared off into space as if he didn't even notice that John was sitting right beside him with his hand resting protectively on Sam's upper arm. The hospital psychologist had explained that often after such traumatic events, it was not uncommon for the victim to experience some form of post-traumatic stress syndrome, and Sam's current state was normal and had been expected by his care givers. To John, Sam's condition was anything but normal, and no matter how many times the doctors assured him that his youngest was getting the best care possible, he still was terrified that Sam wasn't going to make it through this ordeal.

Although John hadn't yet seen the full extent of Dean's injuries, after all that he had learned about Sam's condition, he was fairly certain they would more than likely be just as bad. But as always, his oldest had buried his own pain, using his anger toward John and Sam as the balm he needed to survive. Yet for the complete differences in how both boys had reacted to their mental and physical injuries, John was at an utter loss as to how he should even begin to fix all the damage Dominic had caused to either of them.

"Have to do what I think is best at the moment," John finally added after a long pause, "an' for the time being, I believe we should just concentrate on deprogramming Dean and allow Sam some more time to heal emotionally before I even think to take Dean to see him."

"Well, then we better get back inside," Deacon nudged his head toward the door, "but I have to warn you, John, this isn't going to be easy. We have to be as relentless in deprogramming him as Dominic was in brainwashing him in the first place."

"I know." John rested his hand on the doorknob, but hesitated in actually going inside as he turned back to look at his friend. "This is all my fault," he reluctantly admitted with a deep heartbroken sigh, lowering his gaze to the ground, ashamed for not answering Sam's numerous calls for help. To say that he had been trying to protect his sons by staying away only further added to the guilt that was welling deep inside of him. "Should've come as soon as Sam called, but I really believed I was doing what was best for them both at the time. An' now I've lost both of them . . . how the hell am I supposed to live with that?"

Deacon placed a reassuring hand on John's shoulder, but the look he saw in his friend's eyes told him that Deacon clearly thought that he was wrong in staying away for so long when his sons had needed him. "There's nothin' we can do about that now, John. We just go on from here, an' do everything we can to help them both." Without another word, he pushed John's hand out of the way and went back inside.

John took a deep breath, regained his resolve and followed Deacon. True to his word, Deacon was relentless in his deprogramming of Dean, almost to the point of being cruel, but John understood it was necessary. Pushing aside his many reservations and doubts that they were doing the right thing, John finally joined in, not allowing Dean to get a word in edgewise.

"You're Dean Winchester," Deacon growled as he leaned in, coming face to face with Dean. "John and Sam are your family. The only family you have. Your mother died in a fire, killed by the Yellow-Eyed Demon." John winced hearing this, and was forced to look away as Dean spat in his friend's face. Deacon swiped a hand across his face, wiping away the spittle, and then continued, "You're a hunter, living out of the backseat of an Impala. You have no home except for your car and whatever flea-infested motel room you call home for the night."

"Name's Dom — "

"Like it or not, Dean, that is who you are," Deacon quickly cut him off, "Dean Winchester. Sam's older brother. You have no other family."

"Not tr — "

"We're your family," John jumped in, once again cutting Dean off. "You're my son . . . Sam's brother. Raised you to hunt and protect your brother. You have no other family."

"Not my fa — "

"I'm your father," John growled as he gripped hold of Dean's shoulders and shook him furiously. "The only damn father you'll ever have."

"You have no other family except for John and Sam," Deacon joined in. "You were never married. You had no wife."

"I did," Dean glared at Deacon as he tugged hard on his restraints, "you killed her."

"They killed her," John hollered, his face within mere inches of Dean's. "an' she wasn't your wife. You had no wife."

"Yes, I — "

"No, you didn't," Deacon shouted, his voice drowning out Dean's. "They lied to you."

"Sam's your brother," John was quick to pick up where Deacon's voice trailed off. "The only brother you have. Was your job to protect him. Sam's your brother."

"No, he's a cowardly sonuva — "

"He would die to protect you, Dean!" John narrowed his eyes on Dean, furious that Dominic had made Dean believe Sam would ever allow him to suffer alone. "Damn it, Sam's your brother, and he would d-die to protect you." His voice hitched in his throat, knowing how close to the truth that one simple statement was, and had to turn away before he struck out at his oldest son in anger.

"He left you . . . left me," Dean sneered, eyes glinting with fury as John swung back to face him. "Admit it, he's a freakin' coward who only ever cared about himself."

"That's not true," John defended, suddenly feeling as if the tables were turned and Dean had the upper hand. "He did everything in his power to try an' protect you."

"It wasn't good enough," Dean jeered, kicking out at John, catching him in the shin with his boot. "Wasn't damn near close to being good enough."

"Dean — "

"My name is Dominic," Dean shouted, this time not allowing either John or Deacon to cut him off. "An' you will freakin' call me by it. Finally had a home. A home," he stressed the word, making certain John knew he would never forgive him for taking that away from him. "Had a wife who loved me an' a family who needed me. You took that from me. You did." He raised his bound hands and jabbed an accusatory finger in John's direction. "Couldn't jus' let me be happy for once could you, you rotten sonuvabitch."

"That wasn't your home, Dean," John uttered, his voice strained, feeling the venomous sting of his son's words. "You don't have a home, an' the closest thing you ever had to one is the Impala."

"I hate you," Dean hissed through clenched teeth, balling his hands into tight fists. "Hate you an' Sammy."

"Well, that's too damn bad, cause you haven't got anyone else. No other family but us. Got that Dean? Me an' Sam are your family, whether the hell you like it or not," John snarled as he clenched and unclenched his hands, consciously controlling the growing desire to reach out and slam his fist into Dean's face. For several very long moments they fell silent, both glaring at each other with unadulterated fury reflecting in their eyes.

"Where the hell is collegeboy anyway?" Dean asked, quirking a brow as he looked from John to Deacon and then back again. "Huh, did the freakin' coward hightail it back to school the moment he got the chance to ditch me?" Pushing forward in his chair, Dean's bound hands shot forward and he grabbed a hold of the collar of John's t-shirt, pulling John toward him with a hard yank. "Must really suck for you, John, to know that you raised such a weak and pathetic son."

Deacon, who must have sensed how close John was to hitting Dean, quickly jumped into the fray once more. Pushing John aside, he gripped hold of Dean's shoulders and leaned in close so their faces were only mere inches apart. Narrowing his eyes menacingly, Deacon's stared long and hard at Dean, and then shook his head in disgust. "Won't have you talkin' about your brother like that, Dean. You have no freakin' idea what he went through for you, an' I'll be damn if I sit here and listen to you talk about him like that anymore. Got me, Dean?"

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Dean turned questioning eyes to John, but when John remained stonily silent, he looked back to Deacon.

"Your brother tried his damnedest to save you, an' they nearly killed him for it." Deacon fell silent for a moment, allowing what he had just said to sink in before he further added, "They tortured him, drugged him, an' pretty much left him for dead." Breathing hard, he jabbed his index finger into Dean's chest. "So don't you sit here an' bad mouth him anymore or so help me God, I swear I'll hit you myself."

Dean's lips began to quiver as he digested what Deacon had just said, the cold, hard glint leaving his eyes as his face faltered for the briefest of moments. For a fraction of a second, John caught a glimpse of the old Dean trying desperately to reemerge, but as quickly as it was there, it disappeared as Dean's anger returned.

"You're lyin', my Father . . . my family would never do that," Dean defended his new family as he began to restlessly tug on his restraints. "They love me . . . care about me, an' you're just a bunch of filthy liars."

"It's the truth, Dean," Deacon tried again, clearly not willing to believe that Dean was too far gone at the moment to see what they had done to Sam. "They beat the hell out of Sam. Drugged him, an' had every intention of killing him."

"No! You're freakin' lyin'." Dean adamantly shook his head. "An' my name's Dominic, you sonuvabitch."

"Damn it, Dean, they hurt him so freakin' bad. So freakin' bad," Deacon's voice trembled as he reiterated the last words, the pain he felt for Sam clearly etched in his dark eyes.

"Don't believe you. You're tryin' to turn me against my Father . . . my family, an' I won't let ya."

"Ripped off all his damn fingernails . . . beat him with a chain . . . got him hooked on drugs."

"My Father's word is law. I will obey the Father. I am nothing without the Father to guide me. I live to serve only the Father," Dean mumbled repeatedly as he began to slowly rock back and forth in his chair. His mantra grew louder as Deacon pressed further.

"He could die, Dean. Your brother, the one you swore to protect with your life, could die."

"My Father's word is law. I will obey the Father. I am nothing without the Father to guide me. I live to serve only the Father." Dean raised his bound hands, cupped his chin and pressed his fingers into his ears to drown out the sound of Deacon's voice.

"You want your little brother to die, Dean?" Deacon shouted, "does he mean that little to you?"

"My Father's word is law. I will obey the Father. I am nothing without the Father to guide me. I live to serve only the Father." Dean squinched his eyes closed as he continued to rock back and forth in his chair. "My Father's word is law. I will obey the Father. I am nothing without the Father to guide me. I live to serve only the Father."

Deacon opened his mouth to say more, but John was quick to cut him off.

"Deacon," John snapped, clear warning in his tone as he gave a curt shake of his head.

"No, John, he has the right to know," Deacon argued as John grabbed hold of his uninjured arm and dragged him toward the front entrance.

Once outside, John slammed the door and turned to glare at his friend. "I know what you're tryin' to do, but it isn't working. He's too freakin' messed up at the moment to believe anything we say about Sam. We have to try something else."

"No, John, you're wrong about this," Deacon quickly defended his point, "Sam is what's going to bring Dean back from this. Not you . . . not me . . . or anything else for that matter, an' Dean needs to know what they did to him."

John took a step toward his friend, his features turning menacing as he continued to glare at his friend, determined that he was right on the matter. "I have to think of both of my boys in this matter. Sam's not strong enough at the moment to face Dean, an' I'm not about to subject him to anything more until he is."

"I think you're wrong, John," Deacon hollered back, not caring if he was making a scene outside the motel room. "Think they need each other now more than ever."

"Well," John's voice rose to match his friend's in anger, "for whatever reason, Sam is absolutely terrified of Dean, an' until we find out why, Dean is not going anywhere near him. So we're gonna have to find another way to bring Dean out of this, got me?"

Deacon was about to argue further, but the sound of John's phone ringing cut him short. John yanked his cell phone out his pocket, glanced at the screen, saw it was Bobby and quickly jabbed the button to connect.

"What's up, Bobby? How's Sam?" John asked, and held his breath waiting for the older hunter to respond.

"You need to get down here now, John," came Bobby's clipped response. "Things are goin' really bad, an' Sam needs you."

"I'm on my way." John hung up the phone, and without another word to Deacon, he grabbed the keys out of his pocket and ran to his truck.