"Iron Will" by Ridley C. James

Beta: Tidia

Chapter: 4

Dean concentrated on breathing, the task becoming harder as time crept by. He dozed or passed out only to jolt awake, afraid if he slipped into unconsciousness he might not wake again. He rolled over, yelping when his raw back came in contact with the floor. “Shit.”

Making it to a sitting position took extreme effort. Dean inhaled dirt, the foulness that lined the inside of his iron prison, and coughed. Each shake pulled at the tender wounds on his back and shoulder as his body struggled greedily to take in more oxygen. He dry heaved, already having purged anything left in his stomach during his first hour in the box. Dean lifted a hand to his mouth as the world spun.

“God.” He was so fucking dizzy and thirsty. His mouth was as dry as the sand that clung to his boots and clothes.

A throbbing pain had taken up residence behind his eyes, effects of dehydration. Fear gave Dean enough motivation to push himself to his knees despite his shaking arms.

Straightening as much as his confinement permitted, Dean touched the slit allowing a slight breeze and a limited view of the barracks. At least the air seemed cooler. “Sam.” Saying the name kept his panic at bay. There was no sign of his brother. Dean hadn’t heard the troops being released to maneuvers, wondered if they were under confinement until the colonel figured out his next move.

He brought his hand up, rubbing it against his forehead. His skin felt cool, clammy. It was an odd sensation considering Dean thought his blood might be boiling inside his body. Resting his head against the opening, he tried to breath in the fresh air. He estimated how long he’d been inside the iron prison by tracking of the sun. The blistering orb was still high in the sky. He couldn’t have been confined more than a few hours, yet he was already feeling like those two kids being cooked by the witch.

There was a good reason he never told Sam fairytales when they were children, not the traditional ones anyway. He’d made up his own extravagant stories before Pastor Jim introduced them to the dragons. The Grimm narratives were far too close to their real fucked-up lives to share with the one person he wanted to protect from their nightmarish reality. His thoughts went to his father and Dean closed his eyes, a nagging sense of guilt and helplessness snatching the last of his reserves. He returned to his fetal position on the floor, hoping to absorb some kind of coolness from the lower level.

Hang on, Deuce.

Caleb’s voice had him opening his eyes with a low moan. Dean swallowed. Grit scratched his throat, leaving his mouth barren. “Damien?”

It’s me. We’re coming.

“Hurry,” Dean muttered.

“They’ll never make it in time.”

Dean lifted his head, regretted it. The new voice wasn’t his best friend, the message not shared telepathically. Dean shifted his gaze, blinking rapidly in the direction the voice had come from. Blurred angles and distorted shapes slowly took human form as his fuzzy vision cleared. “Who…how did you…”

“Hallucinations are a sure sign you’re moving into the later stages of heat exhaustion, probably headed for a heatstroke.”

Dean’s anger flared. He’d thought the same thing himself. “Who the fuck asked you?”

“Irritability and combativeness can also be indicators. Although you seemed like an antagonistic kind of guy from the get go. Am I right?”

“Do…I know you?” Dean struggled to sit up, staring at the man directly in front of him. The guy leaned against the other side of the box, cross-legged so that his knees almost bumped up against Dean’s. His face was familiar. “Are you one of the recruits?” He wasn’t dressed in uniform, instead sporting khaki pants plus a black sweater, which had to be a bitch in the heat.

“I’m Nick.” The guy leaned forward so his clear brown eyes and freckle-covered nose were only inches from Dean. “You seriously don’t remember me? Is it your high temperature, or do I look that different now that I’m not trying to eat the skin right off your bones.”

Dean startled, pressing himself into the iron siding despite the pain it caused. “It can’t be. You can’t be…”

“Alive? Why?” Nick scooted closer. “Because you put a bullet in my brain or because your dear old dad cut my head off, staked me to my grave, and then lit it on fire?”

Dean licked his lips, pushing his fear aside. “All of the above.”

“Maybe I’m a ghost.” Nick crossed his arms over his chest, gave Dean a smug look. “I mean that’s what you do right? Hunt ghosts and goblins?”

“You’re not a ghost.” Dean would have relished the cold temperature such a close proximity to a spirit would have brought.

Nick uncrossed his arms, leaning against the other wall. “My money is on the hallucination, then.” He tapped his head. “Like I said. You’re in bad shape.”

Dean eased away from the metal now that the other man had given him some space. “How would you know?”

“I’m studying to be a doctor, or at least I was before you killed me.”

Dean swallowed, wincing. “Nick Ratcliff.” The hunt involving Ratcliff was last month. It was one Dean would never forget.

“In the flesh.”

“Funny.”

“I used to do standup on the side. I once met Jerry Seinfeld at Dangerfield’s Comedy Club. Got his autograph and everything.”

Dean shifted, wishing not for the first time he had room to move, find some position that didn’t alienate his aching body. “How fan girlish of you.”

“Like you wouldn’t give your left nut to have shaken Carl Mays’s famous right hand.”

Dean frowned at the baseball reference. “Why are you here?” It wasn’t like he should be picky. Any company was preferable to being left in solitude with his misery in the colonel’s personal Betty Crocker Bakery. However, he’d worked hard to forget Ratcliff’s face. He didn’t relish in reconnecting with the guy.

Nick extended his hand with a bit of dramatic flair. “Maybe I came to guide you over to the other side.”

Dean inched back. “I’m not dying in this freakin’ shit hole.” His father wouldn’t let that happen. Damien either. Caleb knew he was in big trouble. They would be coming for him any time now.

Nick shrugged. “I never thought I’d be taken out by some deranged prick either, but when your number’s up...”

“You were already dead, asshole.”

“I wasn’t talking about you blowing the back of my head off at point blank range, Winchester.” Ratcliff picked up a fistful of sand, let it slide through his fingers. “I was talking about that jerk Petulengro who infected me in the first place.”

“This isn’t real.” Dean rubbed his eyes. The pounding in his head was picking up tempo. “You’re not fucking real.”

“Is that what you told yourself after you whacked me? Denial one of your many coping mechanisms?”

“I didn’t kill you.” Dean glared at the other man. “You were already dead. You just didn’t realize it yet. I put you out of your misery.”

“Sounds like the speech they gave Old Yeller.”

“It had to be stopped,” Dean said. He was referring to the necromancer’s infection. The hunt for the zombie had gotten complicated. Zane Petulengro, newly revived from his overdose by his disillusioned grandmother, infected three people before Dad laid him to rest for the last time. Nicholas Ratcliff was his unfortunate roommate and last victim.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I was just so hungry.”

Dean looked up at the other man’s voice, trying to work some kind of moisture into his throat. He wondered if Nick’s lust for human flesh had been as powerful as Dean’s current desire for water. “It was the virus. You didn’t know what you were doing, but I couldn’t let you hurt anyone.”

“Is that what your buddy told you when you were crying in your beer after you finished me? Did he say you were a hero? "

“Shut up.” The words stung. It was a hard kill, the hardest so far. Nicholas Ratcliff had been a flesh and blood human. Dean didn’t exactly handle it well. Dad was worried even if he didn’t say it. So much in fact he didn’t ream Damien a new one for taking Dean to a bar or kick his ass when Dean got so shit-faced he couldn’t walk back to the car.

“Maybe it could have gone down differently.”

Dean frowned. “I don’t think so…” Zombies, even those not in the final stages of the virus, were a whole lot stronger and quicker than they appeared in the movies. By the time Dean got the drop on Nick, Sammy was down. Nick was looking at him as if he were a Shoney’s buffet. Dean couldn’t risk the thing getting a bite of his brother. He took the shot without hesitation. “I finished the job.”

Nick chuckled. “Finished me off you mean.”

“You were too far gone by the time we got there. There’s no cure after prolonged exposure.”

“Are you sure?” Nick was leaning into Dean’s space again, sucking up what little oxygen available. His brown eyes inspected Dean’s face. “You’re not sweating anymore.”

“What?” Dean reached up, touched his brow. “Neither are you.”

“Not the best Litmus here.” Nick raised a brow. “I’m dead.”

“Good point.” Dean closed his eyes for a moment. He was so tired.

“Hot, dry skin is not a good sign. Your temperature has to be at least 103, maybe 104. Muscle cramps will be hitting anytime. Convulsions will start soon after that. Then unconsciousness…”

Dean refocused, glaring at Ratcliff. “I guess that makes you happy, you sonofabitch. You think I deserve this for killing you?”

“You were just following orders. Right? Being the hero?” Nick held his gaze.

Dean wanted to believe he had done the right thing, the only thing. Caleb assured him he had, but Dean sure as hell didn’t feel like a hero.

“You were protecting your family?”

“Leave my family out of this.”

“I had a family. Zane had one, too.”

Dean shook his head. “Petulengro ’s crazy Gypsy grandmother is the one you should be blaming. If she hadn’t worked some of her black magic none of this would have happened. My family would have never been involved.”

“Maybe.” Nick rubbed his hands together, dust stirring in the small space. “But you can’t really blame the old hag.” He pulled his legs to his chest, his arms dangled over his knees. “Not you, of all people.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean she raised Zane, put every bit of herself into taking care of him, protecting him only to have it all torn away, her world crushed. He was a pill-popping jerk, but she loved him…” Nick snapped his fingers, trying to find the right word. “What do they call it?”

Dean knew the word he was searching for. “Unconditionally.”

“Yahtzee!” Nick pointed a finger at him. “You do know where I’m coming from. You love your little brother that way. It’s why you’d rather take a beating than watch him be hurt.”

“Cute.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” Nick raised a brow. “What would Dean, Captain One Helluva Big Brother do if Sam died?”

Dean tried to take a deep breath, the cramps assaulting his arms and thighs. “Sam’s not going to die-not on my watch.”

“Not a lot you can do about it from in here,” Nick taunted. “You’ve made a mess of this job. You’ll be unconscious soon. Your little brother will be on his own.”

“Screw you, Ratcliff.” Dean looked towards the small shaft of light, his thoughts going once more to his father. He hoped to hear Damien’s voice echo through his mind promising everything would be okay. Instead it was Nick’s whisper in his ear.

“They’ll never get here in time.”

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“We’ll still need the keys.” Sam studied the crude diagram they had drawn in the dirt. It hadn’t taken long to formulate a plan. It seemed Edward had one in mind. The hard part was waiting for the perfect moment to put it into action. “It doesn’t matter if we get out of here if we can’t get to Dean and the jeeps.”

“Mulroney should have a set,” Edward said, “Smith, too. They keep two jeeps outside the fence line.”

Sam looked towards the window where Henry was standing watch. The sun was starting its descent. “If we can take them out when they bring dinner, we’ll be ahead of the game.”

“It will have to be quick. If one of them gets a shot off it will alert the other guards and we don’t have the man power to deal with that.”

Sam ran through the scenarios. They outnumbered the sergeants, but had no weapons. Some of the boys were wary of their plan and untrained. It would take them working together. “Smith needs to go down first. He’s quick to the draw. He’ll pull his weapon before physically engaging us.”

“Mulroney is strong,” Edward said. “You saw how he got the drop on your brother.”

“Only because Dean lost his focus.” Sam knew Dean’s only real weakness was the blind spot he had where his family was concerned. “I won’t take my eyes off him.”

“Get real, Winchester.” Edward snorted. “You think you can take out Mulroney? By yourself?”

“Watch me.” After what the sergeant did to Dean, Sam would have to hold back. “As soon as I distract him, you and the others will deal with Smith.”

“Are you some kind of special agent or something?” Brett asked.

Sam looked at the other teen, some of his anger towards their betrayer having softened as he did what came natural to him, research and plan. “Something like that.”

“But you’re just a kid.”

“My Dad believes a family who trains together stays together.” It also helped them to survive their lifestyle. Sam didn’t like sparring or maneuvers unlike his brother who seemed to thrive on it. But Sam was a pragmatist, and could utilize the skills when he needed to.

“You really believe they’ll come for you tonight.”

“Caleb said they would.”

Brett rocked back and forth on his heels, giving away his nervousness. “Are you forgetting the colonel ordered your friend to be shot on sight? I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.”

“Not a problem.” Sam bit his lip, dismissing the doom and gloom thought as quickly as Brett’s words conjured it. He couldn’t let his emotions overwhelm him. Caleb would be fine. Dean wasn’t the only one who excelled under the Tao of John Winchester. “They won’t see him and if all goes to plan, we’ll be able to offer them a hand.”

“Next you’ll be telling us your father is some Chuck Norris and Bruce Lee wannabe.” Edward folded his arms over his chest, giving Sam a slight grin.

Sam’s mouth twitched. Edward didn’t know the half of it. “Those dudes have nothing on my dad.”

“They are coming.”

Henry’s excited voice snapped Sam into action. He scuffed his boots in the dirt, erasing the evidence of their plot. Edward and Brett scattered, moving to their bunks where they had a deck of cards spread between them. The other recruits followed suit, assuming their typical afternoon rituals.

“You ready?” Sam caught Henry by the arm and the older teen nodded. Sam noticed he looked only slightly peaked.

“Si.”

“Good.” Sam nodded to Edward, and reclined on the far bunk Dean had used.

Mulroney and Smith entered, dragging the chow cart along. Mulroney called for attention. Edward played his role, ushering the troops into formation. Sam who continued to rest on the bed, arms folded casually over his chest.

“That means you too, Baby Winchester.” Mulroney gestured for him to get up.

Sam stayed put. Mulroney glanced at Smith before walking past the line of recruits to stand at the foot of Sam’s cot. “Now!”

Sam smirked, taking a page out of his brother’s strategy book. “Make me.”

Mulroney’s face turned a few shades of red as he reached over to grab Sam by the shirt. Sam understood leverage was important when your opponent outweighed you by a hundred pounds. As Mulroney’s hands came forward, Sam grabbed hold of the guard’s wrists jerking the hulking sergeant off balance as he used the man’s arms to pull himself straight. Cartilage popped as Mulroney’s nose met Sam’s skull. Score one for the Winchester hardheadedness.

The sergeant cursed, staggering as Sam released him. He stumbled back a few feet, both hands going to his bleeding face. “You little shit! You fucking broke my nose.”

Sam swung his feet off the bed, standing in front of the swaying giant. From the corner of his eye, he saw Smith move towards them to intercede. As soon as Smith’s back was turned, Edward and two of the larger recruits struck. The guard never saw what hit him.

Another movement caught Sam’s attention. He refocused on his task. Without hesitation he kicked out connecting with Mulroney’s gut. Sam felt the jarring reverberation along his shin. Mulroney wind milled back fumbling but unable to stay on his feet. The back of his legs connected with Henry on hands and knees behind him. Sam felt like David watching Goliath fall. Mulroney’s full weight struck the hard dirt floor, head cracking against the surface like a bowling ball dropped from a six foot ledge.

“And he’s out!” Henry cheered as he untangled himself from Mulroney’s legs.

Sam helped him up and gave a little nudge towards the window. “Make sure no one heard anything. We should have about fifteen minutes before the other guards suspect anything.”

Edward had taken Mulroney’s gun and keys. He handed them to Sam. Brett and another recruit had already gagged and tied Smith, working on doing the same with Mulroney. “What now?” Edward asked.

Sam took the gun, checking the safety. He dropped the keys in his shirt pocket. “Now we head out to the spot in the fence you told me about. You got the wire cutters?”

Edward nodded. “Two at a time until we’re all in position.”

“What if the guards are watching the door?” Brett asked. The other teens were standing around looking unsure.

Sam kept his voice steady, despite the burst of adrenaline still coursing through him. He had to at least look confident. “Most of the colonel's men at the main gate are watching the front. The others are at the perimeter of the road. They’re expecting trouble from the outside, not from within.” It was the only good thing to come of Brett’s informing on them. “More than likely he has the others posted inside with him for protection. As long as we keep it quiet and move fast, we’ll be okay.”

Edward’s face was grim. “That iron box is directly in sight of the colonel’s quarters. It isn’t completely dark yet.”

Sam tightened his grip on the weapon. It was a risk he would have to take. Mulroney and Smith would come around soon. “I’m not leaving here without my brother.” He nodded to Smith’s weapon that Edward had taken for himself. “We talked about this. You cover the others and let me and Henry worry about getting Dean.”

“And if you don’t make it out before they notice Smith and Mulroney missing?”

Sam glanced to the window and then back to Jonas. “Go on without us.”

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“This is not a good plan.” Mackland shifted in the Impala’s passenger seat and glanced out the window. “There are too many unaccounted for and uncontrollable variables.”

“The scenario I ran with the boys’ old toy soldiers didn’t satisfy you?” John tapped his finger on the steering wheel, willing the sun to finally set, offering them the cloak of darkness they would need. “I thought it was pretty clear cut.”

“It was rudimentary at best.” Mac pulled his medical bag closer, adding extra bandages and several bags of saline. “You didn’t account for the human dynamic. This isn’t a highly orchestrated maneuver you’ve setup for the boys or Bobby decked out in paint ball gear.”

John arched a brow. “I waged war with men way before I started in on the supernatural. I know what I’m doing.”

Mackland snapped the bag shut. “I don’t doubt that. I‘m not saying that we have a choice. I’m merely giving you my opinion.”

“You’re good at that, especially when I haven’t asked for it.”

Mackland angled his body so he was facing John. “As The Scholar, I think I show great restraint.”

John rubbed a hand over his beard. “As my friend, you’re as about as restrained as Bobby is cultured.”

Mackland feigned insult. “I haven’t said one word about the fact you sent the boys into this situation without a proper contingency plan.”

“No, but you sure didn’t rush to object when Caleb was giving me hell.” John jutted his chin beyond the windshield to where his protégé was standing alongside the deserted road with his back to them.

Mackland followed his gaze. He worried about his son, would defend the man he was becoming. “You could try to see things from his point of view for a change.”

“And let my feelings get the best of me?”

Caleb had wanted to take the fort in the daylight. Mackland watched while John bullied his son into submission because his plan worked better in the cover of darkness. “I find it ironic and highly hypocritical that you condemn the very thing you encouraged, refined and honed in my son.”

John shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I taught him to follow orders, to think like a soldier first.”

Mackland felt his anger grow. They were trying to fix John's original mistake of sending his children into such a situation. “You gave him a mission, yet balk when he puts that before your own agenda.”

“We have the same damn agenda.” John gripped the steering wheel. “I’m worried about them, too. But if I give into all those feelings swirling around in my head, how the hell am I supposed to do the job?” John gestured to Caleb. “How is he supposed to takeover for me when I’m gone?”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that when you made it his number one priority to protect them.” Caleb put the Winchesters before himself. It was one of the reasons Mac forced the issue of college, hoping the distance would provide some sort of balance.

“I wasn’t alone in that decision, Mac. In fact, you delivered me the invitation to the party.”

“I know.” Mackland ran a finger over his brow. “Most days I don’t regret the choice we made.”

John sighed. “On days when their lives aren’t in danger, when I can see them, touch them, I feel the same way.”

Mackland looked at his friend. “Caleb is connected to them even when they aren’t in sight, when he can’t protect them. He feels like he’s failing them and that is his worse fear.”

“You don’t think we share that fear?” John rubbed his thumb over the wedding ring on his left hand. “I’m their father. I don’t have to be psychic to know they need me.”

“I know.” Mackland pulled the medical bag closer to his chest, looking for comfort in his abilities. “It’s this feeling of helplessness I can’t stand.”

John snorted. “Like father, like son.” He opened the door to get out of the Impala, Mackland caught his arm before he could stand. “I’m going to talk to Junior. I need to make sure his head is in the right place before we go in there. This is one variable I can control.”

“I will kick your ass if I need to, Johnathan.” Mackland hoped he sounded menacing.

“Don’t embarrass yourself, Doc.” John rolled his eyes. “Go back to running probable worst case scenarios and doing medical inventory. Leave the ground forces to me.”

“Tread carefully.”

“For God’s sake, Mac, I’ll treat him like he’s my own flesh and blood.”

“Why doesn’t that comfort me?” Mackland released him. “Could it be because your sons are currently in the hands of a sadistic white slavery trafficker?”

“Yeah.” John grunted. “There’s the great self-possessed scholar I was referring to earlier.”

Mac watched as John got out, the door left open for what the doctor assumed was understanding between the two fathers and Triad members.

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“Kid?” John called out to Caleb when the younger hunter didn't react to his close proximity.

“Dean’s worse.” Caleb opened his eyes, staring off in the direction of the camp. John could see the exhaustion in his features, read it in the stance of his body. “And Sammy’s up to something.”

“I thought your dad said you needed to pull back. You’re not going to be much help to me or the boys if you’re out on your feet.” Mackland was already upset with him, especially with trying to rein in Caleb. He wondered about the day he would hold no leverage over Caleb and his sons.

“He’s having a hard time breathing, maybe even hallucinating.” Caleb turned towards him, his gold eyes flashing with anger. “I don’t think he can hear me anymore.”

“Dean’s a tough kid...”

“Don’t do that. Don’t tell me anything about Deuce. ” Caleb brought his hand to his chest, his fingers clenched into a tight fist. “I know him.”

Caleb turned away and John felt the little vein on the side of his head pulse with tension. “Look, Junior…”

Caleb shook his head, gave a short laugh. “God. I used to tell myself that I knew him better than you. It helped me explain why you did some of the shit you would do.” He turned to face John again. “But we both know that’s not true. You know him too damn well. I can’t even use that as a justification for you anymore.”

“I don’t need your goddamn justifications, Junior.” John kept his own voice lowered, trying hard to keep his temper under control. Now wasn’t the time to be drawn into their ongoing epic battle neither he nor the kid was going to win. “I do need you to step up and do your job, though.”

“I would have done my job if you’d have called me in the first place. All of this would be a moot point.”

“Is that what you’re really pissed about? This about your pride?”

“No!” Caleb kicked at the dirt, looking entirely too much like the sullen teenager he was when John first met him. “This is about you not trusting me to handle myself.”

“Because I should trust you completely, seeing as how calm and rational you always are about everything?”

“That’s not fair.”

John folded his arms over his chest, set his chin. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

Caleb took a deep breath and despite the fact he looked like he wanted to punch something, most likely John. He let it out slowly and took a step back. “I would never do anything to jeopardize The Brotherhood. More importantly, I’d never risk Sam and Dean.”

“If I didn’t believe that then I’d never have sent you into that camp on recon even after your Dad quashed the idea.”

“Dad wasn’t entirely wrong.” Caleb twisted his silver hunter’s ring around his finger, his gaze going to his boots. “After I saw the boys…I thought about shooting my way out of there, your plan be damned.”

It wasn’t the first time the kid had balked at orders concerning the boys. John was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last. “But you didn’t.”

Caleb looked at him. “I don’t know if I did the right thing. If anything happens to them…”

“Sometimes the right thing is the hardest thing.”

The kid rolled his eyes. “Did you share those great words of wisdom with Deuce after he killed that kid last month?” His frown deepened. “Did you even talk to him about it?”

John glanced away. He’d tried to put the zombie job out of his mind.

Caleb growled. “That bastard’s still in his head. He’ll hold onto it until you say it's okay.”

“Words aren’t the best way to deal with Dean.” The bigger truth might have been that words weren’t the easiest thing for John.

“Right.” Caleb’s gaze held no hint of pardon. “Maybe you don’t know him as well as I thought you did.”

John propped his hands on his hips, done with his attempt at conversation. “I know him well enough to know he’s not going to let some human bastard take him out of the game, not while he’s still got a job to do. You have a job to do, too, and I damn well expect you to get your shit together so it goes off without a fucking hitch. The Dean I know would expect the damn same thing. ”

“That it for the great pep talk, Coach?”

John scratched his beard, glancing towards the Impala. He wondered briefly if Mac would consider a good swift right hook treading carefully. Figuring he would not, John took a deep breath of his own, and maintained his distance from his smart mouthed protégé. Caleb would be due some extra training soon. “You really want to continue this heart to heart or are you ready to go get the boys back?”

Caleb’s face changed, his shoulders straightening, looking all the part of a benched player suddenly given the signal to take the ball and run with it. “Talking is overrated.”

John smirked. “Now if we could just convince The Scholar of that.”

To be continued…