so, another chappy...sorry about the delay, i just got my computer back after it fried completely...thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! they really mean the world to me!! bambers;)
Chapter Thirty-Two
"So what did the doctor say?" Deacon asked in a weary tone, sounding completely worn out from trying his damnedest to get through to Dean.
John's grip on his cell phone tightened as he glanced at his youngest son, restlessly shifting around in his hospital bed. "S-said the worst of it should pass in a couple of days." He pulled the phone away from his ear and held it to his chest as tried to regain his composure. Swallowing down his pain, he reined in his growing fears that Sam wouldn't survive, and returned the phone to his ear. "He's in the ICU an' they're monitoring his heart, an' doin' everything possible to make sure he's comfortable . . . whatever the hell that's suppose to mean as he's writhing around in bed as if he were on freakin' fire."
"Seen a lot of men in jail goin' through withdrawal, John, an' I'm sure he'll be okay," Deacon tried to sound reassuring, but came off sounding more worried than anything else. "It jus' takes time for all the drugs to work their way out of his system."
"Don't really give a rat's ass about some freakin' guy detoxing in prison. My boy didn't choose to take drugs, they were forced on him," John snarled in anger, and instantly regretted it, knowing that without Deacon and Bobby's help, he would be totally lost.
"I know that, John, I'm just sayin' that the doctors know what they're doin'."
"Jus' need him to be okay . . . need them both to be okay." He leaned heavily against the wall, feeling as if at any moment his legs might give out and he'd crumble to the floor. "They're good boys . . . always lookin' out for others, an' that sonuvabitch jus' took that all away from them . . . from me."
"We just need to stay the course, knock Dean down like Dominic did, an' then build him back up again . . . he's still in there John, a little more damaged and bruised than before, but we can reach him. I know we can."
"Has he . . . ." John's voice trailed off as he thought of Dean, and recalled the unadulterated anger he'd seen in his oldest's green eyes. "Has he asked where I am?"
Deacon hesitated just long enough for John to know without a shadow of a doubt that Dean hadn't even wondered where he was. "No, all he keeps saying is that damn brainwashing crap that Dominic fed to him."
"Has Bobby been able to get through to him at all?"
"Nope . . . not really sure why, but he won't even look in Bobby's direction. An' if he tries to talk to him, Dean just raises his voice, an' spews that 'Dominic is a god' crap even louder."
"Huh, that's interesting." To John that seemed to make perfect sense. Although Bobby had always been close to both John's sons, he and Dean had always had a indelible bond that John had just never shared with his eldest. At one point, John had even been slightly jealous of their friendship, knowing that Dean would search Bobby out if he ever had a serious problem, instead of coming to John. "Make sure Bobby keeps talkin' to him. Dean may not like it right now, but he does listen to what Bobby says. He always has."
"Will do."
"Gonna stay here a couple more hours, an' I'll give you a call before I'm ready to leave so you can come an' keep an' eye on Sam." John paused a moment, thinking about Dominic still on the loose, knowing the madman was more than likely looking to even the score. He couldn't afford to leave either of his sons alone. In Sam's condition, the cult leader could easily finish him off, and with Dean's mind so messed up, he would probably follow Dominc blindly, and if John lost track of his eldest, he highly doubted he would ever see him again. "Can't afford to leave either of them alone at the moment, Deacon."
"Gotcha, will be waiting for your call."
Deacon hung up, and then dialed the number of a local pizza parlor. After placing his order and giving them the room number of the motel, he snapped his cell phone shut, dropped it back into his pocket, and turned to head back inside the motel room. With a hand on the doorknob, he paused, heaving a bone-weary sigh as he thought of the long road ahead for both Winchester boys. In truth, he had seen many men suffering from withdrawal in Folsom Prison, and it was never a pretty sight. With all Sam's injuries, it would only make matters a lot worse, and his heart broke for the younger man, knowing the excruciating pain he would have to endure to recover.
With Dean, Deacon hadn't yet seen all the damage Dominic had done to him, and that was what was making him hesitate in going back inside now. To begin to make Dean understand what had happened to him, Deacon knew that Dean needed to be confronted with all the torture that had been inflicted on him, and then he could build from there. But Deacon wasn't so certain that he could stomach much more of having to witness all the cruelty that the cult leader had inflicted on the two boys. After several very more long moments of indecision, Deacon finally gave another deep sigh, and headed inside.
Careful to show no outward sign of emotion, Deacon determinedly strode to where Dean was sitting, and leaned in closer to the younger man. Dean narrowed his eyes menacingly, and glared at Deacon.
"Need to shave my head," Dean ground out through clenched teeth.
"Not gonna happen." Deacon replied, his tone cool to the point of uncaring.
"Can't keep me tied up forever." Dean shrugged, apparently undeterred by his current circumstances. "I'll just do it when you let me go."
"You're wrong, Dean." Deacon gripped hold of Dean's shoulders and leaned in further. "There's really nothin' sayin' I ever have to just let you go." He cast a glance over his shoulder at Bobby, and nudged his head for the older man to come forward. "Give me your knife, Bobby," He ordered as he held out his hand, and waited until Bobby handed it to him.
"If you're tryin' to scare me, it ain't gonna work." Dean shifted restlessly in his seat, trying to wriggle free of Deacon's hold on his shoulder, but in his weakened condition, couldn't manage it.
"Naw, not tryin' to scare you, that's what Dominic did." Deacon eyed Dean for a moment, praying with every breath that he was doing the right thing. "I just wanna take a look at how nice your new Daddy treated ya. I mean, he had to be pretty damn sweet for you to forget the only family you've ever had."
Lifting the collar of Dean's shirt away from his body, Deacon sliced through the thin material, and had to stifle a gasp when he noticed all the welts, bruises, and wounds that had been stitched closed. His steady gaze lingered overly-long on the word 'weak' that had been seared into the younger man's chest, and then trailed slightly upward to where it appeared as if Dean's skin had been cruelly torn apart and then stitched back together. As Deacon swallowed back the bile that was rising in the back his throat, he ripped away the rest of Dean's shirt, and forced a fake cough to hide the sounds of Bobby gagging at the sight of all the torture Dean had suffered.
Slowly, Deacon circled Dean, his fingers lightly trailing over the raised brand the cult leader had burned into his upper arm, and then proceeded around to the back of the chair, coming to stand directly behind the younger man. Pressing his fingertips into Dean's shoulder blades, he gently pushed him forward, and was forced to turn away when he saw the massive welts that covered the hunter's back. He didn't need to look any further to know that Dean had survived Hell, and now completely understood why Dean's mind had finally snapped, and he'd accepted Dominic's word as law.
He'd also noticed in his appraisal of Dean's condition, that the younger man was now extremely thin for his stature, and must have lost over twenty pounds in the past several weeks. "You hungry, Dean?" he asked as he came around to stand in front of the younger hunter again.
"No," Dean replied, lowering his head for the first time, and Deacon took that as a sign that he was truly starving and was ashamed at his own weakness.
"No, because you're not hungry? Or no, cause you're afraid to eat?"
"Not afraid to freakin' eat!"
"Oh, then it must be because your freakin' Father isn't here to tell you that it's okay, right? Can't make that decision on your own? Are you really that pathetic, Dean?"
"Deacon, that's enough," Bobby snapped, clear warning in his tone, but Deacon completely ignored him.
"Come on, Dean, it's only food. Certainly you can make that kind of decision on you own. I mean, hell, even little five-year-old can decide if he's hungry or not without someone telling him if he can eat."
Without raising his head, Dean glared up at Deacon, the fury he was feeling inside, unmistakable in his stormy eyes. "Don't need anyone to tell me when to eat . . . an' the name is Dominic."
"So starvin' yourself for the last four weeks was your brilliant little brain storm?" Deacon taunted, hating himself for having said it, but knowing it was imperative at this point not to back down.
"Dean, ya gotta eat somethin'," Bobby finally managed to say, "hell, yer practically skin an' bones."
"Naw, he doesn't need to eat, Bobby," Deacon jeered, "he's on the new 'I only eat when the Father orders me to eat' diet. Bet Dominic has you so damn well trained, you can't take a leak unless he says it's okay first."
A sudden rap on the door, stopped Deacon short from saying anything more, and he strode to the window, pulled back the curtains, and noticed the pizza delivery boy waiting at the door. Opening the door only far enough that he could slip outside, he quickly paid for the food, and returned inside. Long strides carried Deacon over to the first of the two beds, and he set the box down, opened the lid and grabbed a huge slice of pizza dripping with gooey cheese.
As he munched away on the slice, he eyed Dean for a moment, watched him hungrily lick his lips, and then nudged his head toward the pizza box. "Wanna slice, Bobby? Has extra cheese and pepperoni on it." Almost reluctantly, Bobby gave a curt nod of his head, and a look of understanding passed between the two as the older hunter strode forward and grabbed himself a slice.
"Dean, why don't ya just — "
"He's not hungry, Bobby," Deacon quickly cut the older man off before he could offer Dean any pizza. The choice to eat had to be Dean's. Dominic had taken that away from him, and now slowly but surely, they needed to make Dean understand that he was in control of his own actions. "Besides, Dominic's not here telling him it's okay to eat, an' we've already seen that he can't make that kind of huge decision on his own." He took another bite, forcing himself to grin and swallow, stomach churning at the thought of eating in front of Dean when he knew the younger man was absolutely starving. "Damn, this is good," he muttered as he finished off the first slice, wiped his hands on a napkin and went for another piece.
Dean lowered his head even further, his chin resting on his chest as he tried not to look at the pizza box, or the two men eating in front of him. However the moment, Deacon had opened the box, the tangy, spicy scent filled the air, and Dean's stomach rumbled uncomfortably as his mouth began to water. As the Father's voice rang clearly in his ears, warning him what would happen if he disobeyed him, his gaze ticked back and forth between the two men eating and the box laying open on the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the growing hunger pangs, but couldn't drown out the savory aroma that filled his senses.
"Can I . . . I want . . . I'm hungry," Dean finally blurted out, and as he said it, he shuddered. Immediately, he glanced over his shoulder, fully expecting the Father to barge through the front door and punish him severely for being so weak and giving in to the people who had killed their family members.
"You sure, Dean?" Deacon asked, his tone softening slightly. "Cause no one has the right to force you into doing something you don't want to do." Picking up a piece of pizza, and held it out to Dean.
"No," Dean muttered, a sad frown creasing his brow as he took the slice from Deacon, "you're wrong about that, everyone's always told me what to do . . . an' like a good little soldier, I've always obeyed."
"Then it's about time you start thinkin' for yourself, wouldn't ya say?" Deacon gave him a genuine smile, which faltered when Dean didn't even try to smile back. "I'm not saying that John or Sam have always been right, Dean, but I know for a fact that they love you, an' would never hurt you like Dominic did. You need to think about that before you lay down your allegiances to a man who would kill you just because he could."
Dean heaved a defeated sigh, and shook his head. "Jus' because a person doesn't put a gun to your head an' pull the freakin' trigger, doesn't mean he isn't killin' you. It jus' means he's doin' it more subtly." Lowering his head once more, Dean tossed the slice of pizza on the floor.