Beta: Tidia

Chapter: 2

Everything was not okay. Dean didn’t know what hurt worse, his pride or his pack’s shoulder straps rubbing against his wounded back. The day of maneuvers, which would have been a breeze under normal conditions, left Dean wiped and looking almost as green as the Lopez kid. The blazing heat of the sun wasn’t helping matters.

“You okay?” Sam fell back in the forced return run to camp. He used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Peachy.” Dean tried not to jostle his load as he picked up his speed to match Sam’s stride. His little brother was quickly catching up to him in height, having hit a sudden growth spurt since Christmas. Dean blamed the kid’s long legs for the way Sam made the pace look easy. “Just enjoying the view.”

Sam flashed him a look of disbelief. “You still feel sick?”

Dean rolled his eyes. He’d tossed his cookies like a rookie after their morning run into the desert. It was embarrassing. “I’m okay, Rambo.”

Sam’s skeptical gaze swept over Dean. “Sure you are.”

“You looked good out there.” Dean lowered his voice. Sergeant Smith was bringing up the rear ten yards back. “I guess you won’t bust Dad’s chops about the extra training anymore? It’s paid off. You’ll make sergeant if you aren’t careful. Jonas will be shitting bricks.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sam hissed. “I was doing what you said. Distracting the guards so you could map the territory. You did map the territory, right? We’re getting out of here at nightfall?”

“It didn’t take me four hours to get a lay of the land, Sam.” Dean kept his legs moving as Smith cleared his throat behind them. “A guy would have to be a moron not to realize we’re miles from civilization in the middle of the fucking desert.” It didn’t bode well for their escape. Dean wasn’t stupid enough to start out across deadly terrain without proper supplies and a pretty good idea of where he was heading.

“What does that mean?”

“It means we may have to wait it out.”

Sam’s shoulder bumped against him as his brother moved in closer. “Are you sure it doesn’t mean you’re just itching to take these guys out?”

Dean fought to keep his equilibrium. The thought had crossed his mind. Seeing the way Mulroney used his authority pissed him off. “What they’re doing is wrong.”

“Of course it is. They’re kidnappers and extortionists. Maybe worse, but they’re not cultists, Dean. There is no demon. We should get out of here and let the police handle these creeps. Mac can use his FBI contacts.”

A part of Dean agreed wholeheartedly. Humans were always more complicated and evil than their run of the mill spirit or demonic presence. “We need a plan, more information. Just give me a little more time to work it out.”

“Yeah, because you’re not a ‘shoot first ask questions later’ kind of guy.”

Dean took a deep breath, trying to focus on the fact he could see the camp in the distance instead of the aching in his entire upper body. Sam was in a pissy mood and he didn’t blame him. This was not the ideal way to spend summer break. That promised reprieve at Pastor Jim’s farm was looking unlikely. He nodded towards the middle of the procession where Brett’s blond head stood out. “Keep chatting up your buddy for useful intel and I’ll continue my quest to finish a respectable second to last.”

Sam’s face took on a typical sympathetic look as he cast his gaze over Dean’s shoulder where Henry Lopez was bringing up the rear. “Fine, but promise me you will try to keep your cool until we can get out of here.”

Dean smirked. “I’m practically Mr. Freeze.”

Sam didn’t look happy about it, but he jogged ahead catching up to Brett. Dean slowed to a fast walk, playing what they had learned about the so-called cult through his head to get him through the final stretch.

It hadn’t taken Dean long to realize the Anici were obviously a front, a well-manned one at that. By the time he and Sam put it all together they were already along for the ride. Once they made it to camp the so called sergeants numbered at least ten, all heavily armed. They sure as hell weren’t the soft-spoken, well-meaning camp counselor types they had pretended to be when they approached Sam and Dean at the shelter offering a reprieve from the city.

Some of the muscle Dean easily pegged as former military, but most of them were no more than hired thugs, like Mulroney who probably couldn’t pass the psych exam required to serve. There were twelve recruits although Brett told Sam he’d known there to be as many as fifteen at times. Dean figured those in charge kept the numbers low to ensure control.

Eddie and his kid brother were veterans. It was smart to keep a couple of regulars, someone on a peer level to paint the sunny side, and keep an eye on things. He imagined when Edward aged out that he would either join the ranks of the sergeants or go off to whatever war the Anici was being paid to back. Three boys had been at the camp for four months, near to graduating and getting their orders. A couple had been held back from other classes as the boys they started with were sent on to places Dean could only imagine. The two teens that had caught their father’s attention when they had turned up missing were also among the ranks. Then there was the newbie crew, which consisted of him, Sam and Henry Lopez.

Henry, Hank to his friends showed up at the Armor of God Shelter the same night as Dean and Sam. The kid was starving, filthy, having slept on the streets for a couple of weeks. Henry’s story was a sadder one than Dean and Sam’s made up tale. The teen’s father had been taken from his illegal job by immigration leaving the kid without any other family or money. Dean was drawn in from the minute Henry explained in his broken English that his father’s love of baseball had only been one of the things that drew them to America a year before. Dean couldn’t just abandon the teen now, even if the kid was a freaking Dodgers fan.

“Look alive, boys!” Mulroney blew his whistle, ordering them to fall in line as they reached the outskirts of base. “Colonel has arrived.”

Dean scanned the building that served as an officer’s headquarters off from the barracks. They hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting the infamous commander as he was away on a mission when Dean, Sam and Henry arrived. Dean had an image of Colonel Sanders in his head, but blamed it on the fact he hadn’t eaten anything but a couple of pieces of beef jerky in almost twenty-four hours.

“Get your squad in formation, Cadet Jonas.”

Edward ticked off a quick salute, spun on his heel as he moved to do as Mulroney ordered. Dean walked to stand beside Sam, carefully sliding out of his pack and dropping it behind him. “Really? A fucking inspection?”

“Just play along, man,” Sam said. “Please.”

Dean rolled his shoulder, the burn flaring as raw skin met fresh air. He looked to his right, flashing Lopez a grin. “How’s Hammerin’ Hank holding up?”

Henry was bent over, hands resting on his knees for support. He looked up at Dean’s voice, gave him a halfhearted thumbs up sign.

“No talking!” Edward moved past Dean, stopping in front of Henry. “Get it together, Lopez. You puke while in formation and you’re licking it up. Do you understand me?” He jerked his own arms up behind him, demonstrating the pose he was expecting from Henry. “Parade Rest. High and tight behind you.”

“Give him a break, Edward.”

“I wasn’t addressing you, Winchester.”

“No, because you were too busy picking on the fat kid who doesn’t speak English.”

Edward got in Dean’s face. “Maybe you’d like to drop and give me twenty before the Colonel arrives?”

“That’s not going to happen.” Dean wasn’t about to give Jonas the pleasure, and wasn’t entirely sure his injured shoulder would allow the feat if he was so inclined. “How about you put those on my tab?”

“Is there a problem, Jonas?”

Dean rolled his eyes as Mulroney stomped their way. He was surprised when Edward replied. “No, sir. Just explaining formation to the new recruits.”

“Baby Winchester seemed to understand basic procedures pretty well in the field.” The sergeant glanced at Sam who was in perfect stance and then to Dean. “You the dumb one in the family, Winchester Senior?”

“Sam’s always been the super achiever,” Dean said.

“Maybe he wants to do your pushups for you then?” Mulroney looked from Dean to Edward. “What was it, Cadet Jonas? Fifty?”

“It was twenty, Sir.”

Mulroney turned to Sam. “You heard him, Baby Winchester. Drop and give me fifty.” He turned to Jonas. “You drop and give me the same.”

“But…” Edward stuttered.

“Make it seventy-five.”

Dean shook his head even though he could feel his brother’s gaze on him, willing him to shut up. “I’ll do the fucking twenty. Leave them out of it.”

“You had your chance to follow orders, Winchester. I suggest Cadet Jonas and Baby Winchester take their opportunity quickly before I up the ante.”

Sam and Jonas dropped to the ground, starting the round of punishment. Dean glared at Mulroney. “This isn’t over.”

Mulroney smiled. “You’re telling me.”

Another shrill whistle sounded. With the military parody Dean was thankful the sergeant didn’t use a bugle. “Attention!” Smith barked.

Mulroney ordered Sam and Edward to their feet, quickly moving to the head of the line, falling in with the other cadets in formation.

Dean shot his brother a look. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Just pretend this is one of Dad’s inspections,” Sam replied softly, not meeting Dean’s gaze. “You’ve never had a problem playing soldier before.”

It was true. Dean learned military cadence before he learned to tie his shoes. He moved his legs into position, looking straight ahead. From what he could see of the colonel in his peripheral vision, the man was not what he had been expecting. With his cowboy hat and boots he looked more cattle rancher than high-ranking military officer. Maybe it was fitting considering the Anici sold their members off like livestock.

The colonel strolled down the line, a grin on his sun-leathered face. He had a riding whip in his hand, snapping the black braided leather against his leg with each step he took. “I see some new faces have arrived since my last visit.”

“Three new recruits, sir.” Mulroney followed a respectful pace behind the colonel. “All prime candidates for the DOA program.”

“Looks like the vaquero hasn’t found his gait yet.” The colonel eyed Henry who was still standing in parade rest, not having caught the transition to attention.

“Cadet Lopez’s English isn’t the best.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. The right kind of training can bridge barriers like communication. Body language has its finer points. I’ve never had to talk to a horse to get him to do what I wanted.” He slapped the hard handle of the crop against his palm. “Some of the best cow ponies I’ve trained have come from south of the border. Nothing like the Spanish mustang heritage.” Dean almost expected the old man to reach over and lift Henry’s lip to get a look at his teeth. “You know anything about horses, boy?”

The colonel leaned in, speaking louder as if Henry were deaf. “Caballos?”

“Answer the colonel, Cadet Lopez.”

Dean cut his gaze to Henry who had begun to shake, looking closer and closer to doing just what Edward had warned him against. Puking on the colonel’s boots would probably carry a stiffer penalty than seventy-five pushups. Dean cleared his throat. “I always liked Mr. Ed myself.”

The colonel swung his brown gaze to him. “And who might you be, son?”

“Well, I’m not your son.”

“This is Cadet Winchester,” Mulroney said.

The colonel stepped in front of Dean, bringing his hands behind his back to clasp each end of the riding prop. “Your English seems fine. So what’s your excuse for disobeying the rules about cadets speaking unless spoken to? Are you dull-witted, or just stupid, Cadet Winchester?”

“He has a fever,” Sam said. Dean shot his brother a glare meant to silence him, but Sam continued on. “My brother has a bad burn and your men haven’t allowed him treatment.”

“Is that so?”

Sam nodded. “He’s speaking out of his head.”

The colonel nodded. “And you, boy? Are you feverish?”

“No, Sir.” Sam swallowed. “I just wanted to explain.”

“And do you know anything of horses?”

“My brother doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut…” Dean started.

“I’ve ridden a few,” Sam said. Dean resisted the urge to reach out and cuff him on the back of the head. This wasn’t some school teacher his brother could impress.

“And what do you think?”

“I think no hour of life is wasted that is spent in a saddle.”

Dean ducked his head, mumbling a few choice words under his breath. Sam was the one talking nonsense, quoting dead military leaders.

“Winston Churchill?” The colonel brought his riding crop around slapping it against his hand. “Now there’s a man after my own heart, even if he was British.”

Sam nodded. “He knew how to rally the troops, Sir.”

“That he did.” The colonel glanced at Dean and then to Sam. “The man also knew how to handle a horse.”

Dean watched the colonel’s impressed look fade to the background, recognized the glint of anger in the man’s blue gaze. “You have to let the animal know right away who is boss.”

“What about spirit?” Dean stepped forward, drawing the old man’s attention from Sam. “A good horse needs to have a will of his own. If not you might as well buy yourself a donkey.”

“Fall back into formation, Cadet,” Mulroney ordered.

The colonel smiled, nonplussed by Dean’s attitude. “Spirit and willfulness are two entirely different things, son. The key to good work horses is in bending one without completely breaking the other.” He slapped the crop against his palm, stepping closer to Dean. “I happen to have a formula for that very thing.”

“I hope it’s better than your plan to turn out soldiers, because this sure as hell ain’t West Point.”

“Actually, I haven't tried it on a recruit before. You’ll be my first.”

-------------------------------------------------------

The riding whip left long whelps along Dean’s back and side, bringing blood on the particularly vicious strikes. The crop was no cat o nine tails, but the damage it inflicted left Sam wanting to strangle the colonel.

The man had Dean strapped to the high fence in the courtyard, his own personal stage for the other recruits. Dean was stripped of his shirt, and then to add insult to injury Mulroney administered the beating while the colonel explained to his recruits that flogging was a certain specialty of The British Army back in the day, offering up to 700 lashes for offenses. Winston Churchill, himself probably sanctioned it.

Dean got lucky with a mere twenty-five.

Sam had a ringside seat, held in place by Edward’s warning that any interference would only make it worse for Dean. Sam had caused enough damage. As Mulroney and Smith cut his brother down, the colonel had pleasantly addressed Sam, informing him that a doctor would be available the next day.

Dean moaned, the cool water Sam was using to cool his back bringing him around. “Dean?”

“He is awake?” Henry approached Dean’s bunk, a hopeful look on his face.

Sam moved to the head of the mattress, placing a hand on his brother’s hair. “Dean?”

Dean had been mostly unconscious since the beating, spending the night restless, drifting in and out of awareness. His fever had spiked during the night. Dean asked for Dad at one point. Edward supplied them a bottle of Tylenol he’d not been forthcoming with the night before with the burn. The public beating had seemed to steal some of Jonas’s arrogance, but neither he nor his brother offered any further assistance after getting Dean settled in the lone bunk at the farthest end of the room. Sam imagined it wasn’t the first time the filthy mattress had been used for the infirm. The other recruits stayed clear of the Winchesters, though Sam felt their gazes before lights out.

Only Henry had been stalwart. Sam glanced towards one of the small windows and a faint tug of hope pulled at him. The sun was starting to rise.

“Sammy?”

Dean’s voice slurred, but the name was music. “Hey?” Sam knelt on the dirt floor, meeting his brother’s glassy green gaze. He moved his palm to his brother’s face. Dean’s skin was cooler to the touch. “It’s about time you woke up.”

“Where’s Dad? What…” Dean tried to push himself up from the cot, not making it more than an inch off the mattress. “Shit.”

“I wouldn’t try moving around too much.” Sam laid a hand on his brother’s arm. “Your temperature is back to normal, but you’re still a mess.”

Dean let his head come to rest on the pillow again with a cough. “Still at Camp Kidnap and Torture?”

Sam’s eyes burned and his voice broke. “It’s nothing like the brochure.”

Dean blinked, looking at him. “You okay?”

“No,” Sam said, but then was quick to add. “I’m not hurt. You scared me, man. This is bad.”

“It’s okay.” Dean managed to make it to one elbow with minimal moaning as if offering up proof. Sam appreciated the effort, but wished his brother wouldn’t try so hard to protect him at his own expense. “We’re getting out of here, bro.”

“You are sick,” Henry said. “You should go nowhere for now.”

Dean looked towards the younger teen, seeming to notice his presence for the first time. “Sorry, Hank, but I didn’t ask for a second opinion.”

Henry folded his arms over his chest. “You are an ass.”

Dean looked at Sam. “Was that a thank you?”

His brother’s face might be able to mask the pain, but his eyes were a different story. Sam could read Dean’s every emotion in his green gaze. “If so, it translated poorly.”

“So much for bridging communication gaps.”

Sam understood what Henry was trying to say. He felt the same way. Dean could be completely infuriating even if it was in the most honorable ways.

“You don’t know what’s good for you,” Henry continued. He made a looping motion at his right temple, a visual aid for Dean’s benefit. “Loco.”

“Yeah?” Dean coughed, making it to a seated position with Sam’s support. “You’re welcome, amigo.”

“El Capitan was showing his plume.” Henry did a tight sashay, flapping his arms as if they were wings. “He did not bother me.”

Sam had tried to explain to Henry that it wasn’t his fault Dean was hurt, even as Sam’s own guilt sank it’s talons in. Henry was not easily convinced. Dean’s back was damning evidence. Sam told the teen that his brother was hardwired to offer himself up for others.

“Heroes do not live through the story.”

Sam looked away when Dean’s eyes zeroed in on him. He might have blathered on about how his brother was heroic to a fault. He wasn’t quite sure what he had said to Henry through the night as they cared for Dean, but Sam had a feeling Hank understood more than he was given credit for.

“I’m no hero,” Dean said. The slight tremble in his brother’s voice brought Sam’s gaze up. “Trust me.”

Sam wanted to object. The proof was definitely on his side in this case. Sam could tick off the counts of bravery his brother was guilty of as easily as he could point out the scars evident on Dean’s shirtless torso. But Henry beat him to the punch.

“Then you are dumb and hard of seeing.”

Dean frowned. “Come again?”

Henry smiled. “I am not the fat kid.”

Sam wanted to laugh at the teen’s reference to what Dean had accused Edward of, but the memories of where it led prevented him from doing so. Dean’s swaying didn’t help either.

“Whoa.” He reached out to steady his brother, taking a seat by him on the bed. “Take it easy.”

“This sucks,” Dean said. His eyes were closed, his breath coming in short pants. “What happened to sending people to the stockade?”

“I think the colonel is more of a hands on kind of guy,” Sam said. “All the more reason for us to get out of here.”

Dean’s eyes were as hard as jade when he looked at Sam. “All the more reason for us to take the bastard out.”

Henry took a seat on Sam’s other side. “Es Loco.”

“You can barely move.” Sam agreed with Henry. “Give yourself a couple of days.”

“You think Mulroney is going to go easy on me because I’m hurt?”

Sam hadn’t thought about it. Afternoon training drills had been cancelled yesterday in lieu of the public flogging. The colonel had called it a teachable moment, and given the recruits the evening to mull over its importance. Any other reprieves would be unlikely.

“But the colonel promised you could see a doctor today.”

“What kind of doctor is going to work for a place like this, Sammy?”

“No good doctor,” Henry said.

Dean’s breath hitched and Sam noticed sweat was beading on his brother’s forehead. “I’m with Hank. No sawbones worth his weight in whiskey is going to hang his shingle at ‘toy soldiers of fortune are us’.”

“He’s a veterinarian,” Edward said. Sam looked up. The older Jonas stepped to the end of Dean’s bed. Some of the other recruits were also stirring. “If you catch him on a day when he’s not had too much of the sauce, he’s pretty decent for run of the mill stuff.”

“Like whippings and burns?” Sam said. “I’m not letting some functional alcoholic animal doctor take care of my brother.”

“Not so quick, bro,” Dean said. “If the man has some pain meds I’ll lick his hand and piddle on his boots.”

“You’ll need some if you’re going to make it through drills today.”

“He’s hurt.” Sam stood. “Can’t you pull some strings with Mulroney?”

“Look, I’m sorry for what happened.” Edward looked at Dean. “Really. But I tried to warn you. This isn’t a good place.”

“What happened to your speech about reaping the benefits?” Sam said. “You painted a different picture when we first got here.”

“Sometimes you have to create an illusion for yourself to survive the reality of a situation.” Edward jerked up one of his shirt sleeves, thrusting his arm towards Sam. Small round scars were dotted from the teen’s wrist to the inside of his elbow, his skin appearing a macabre mosaic of puckered pinks and reds. "I had lots of practice growing up.” Edward pulled down his sleeve. “This place is heaven compared to where I came from. I can’t risk messing it up for me or my brother.”

“This is just a different kind of prison, man,” Dean said.

Edward inclined his head. “One where I’m on the warden’s good side.”

Sam didn’t get a chance to answer. He heard the locks on the door being opened. Recruits scurried from their beds, rushing to the end of their bunks to prepare for morning inspection. The colonel’s exhibition last night had left a definite impression. Edward moved away from them and Sam helped Dean to his feet. “Can you do this?”

“I’ll deal.”

There was no other choice. Sam made sure his brother was steady on his feet before letting him go to prepare himself for Mulroney’s morning power trip. If he followed procedures to the letter, he might garner his brother a visit with the veterinarian. The sergeant entered with his usual flare, but instead of being accompanied by his partner, Smith, another man followed him in.

“Holy shit,” Dean said.

Sam’s hope surged. “Caleb.”

To be continued…