Blood Debt

Chapter 3

Dean wasn't sure how long it had been. He knew several days had passed, he just didn't know if it was several like six or several like sixteen. He didn't think it had been much longer than a week or so, but feared he might be wrong. Still, he doubted he'd be alive if it had been working towards "weeks". He tried to count the times he'd been awake, tried to count the times Suzanne had fed on him or Kate had tortured him, but it was all a pain-smeared blur. His best guess said seven, maybe ten days. Where the hell was Sam?

Weighing the effort it would take to move against his demanding parched throat and very empty stomach, he gave in and attempted to push himself upright with his elbows and forearms. His arms shook with the exertion but he managed to sit up and get his back against the bars. His ribs, two of which he suspected were broken, were sharp knives of pain. The wounds on his back pressed against the cold metal and he winced, but he bit his lip to keep silent. Gingerly, he brought his hands in closer, protectively, to his chest, trying to be careful not to rattle the chains attached to the pins that punctured each hand. His hands were dull centers of pain, long dried blood flaking off now and again. With some concentration, he managed to twitch one finger on one hand, and two fingers on the other. He didn't have any real dexterity, but that didn't really matter because a goodly number of his fingers had been slowly, painfully, broken, thanks to darling Kate.

He looked at the bandages on the gunshot wound to his leg. He always had fresh bandages on it though he never recalled them being changed out. The leg still hurt, but not like it had. He'd like to peel off the bandages and get a look at it, but the last thing he needed was an infection in it. He slowly rolled his shoulders, trying to ease some of the soreness in them. When Kate took him for their quality time, his arms were pulled overhead and often he ended up collapsed, all of his weight on his shackled wrists, and in turn, his shoulders. He was really surprised he hadn't dislocated one of his shoulders by now. He studied the bruises and cuts the shackles had given the base of his hands. Like all his wounds, he'd have to say this for the vampires, they were fastidious about keeping them clean and tended. Somebody had even wrapped his ribs. It wasn't nearly as hard to take a deep breath. He let his head loll back against the bars. God, he hurt. He started to take stock of what hurt, then gave up. He wasn't sure there was any part of him that didn't.

Longingly he eyed the water and food that sat just outside the bars, just out of reach. Early on he'd tried to use his chains to drag the tray closer, but they'd let him work at it for ten minutes, only to take the food and water away from him. He had to ask for them, ask for them nicely. His smart mouth had cost him nights of hunger and terrible thirst, and was only making him weaker. His brother would find him, dammit. He just had to keep alive long enough so there was someone to find. His stomach cramped with hunger.

Crap. Fine. He was so hungry and thirsty, he just didn't really care.

"Hey twinkle-toes," Dean rasped and shook one of his chains loudly. "C'mon, Dude, ain't it freaking feeding time at the zoo, yet?"

The blond man glanced over at him. "What do you say, Scum?"

Dean bit back the multiple retorts that sprang to mind. Instead he gritted out what he knew he had to, if he wanted the tray pushed within reach. "Please, Master Thompson, I would like some food and water."

The man grinned at him. "Well, maybe the cow can learn some manners."

Dean literally bit his tongue to keep from saying anything under his breath. He'd discovered the hard way that Tommy-boy had damned good hearing.

Thompson got up and nudged the tray to within Dean's reach. "What do you say, Bitch?" he demanded.

"Thank you Master Thompson for your kind generosity," Dean said slowly, hating every word coming out of his mouth. He let his eyes show his fury, which Thompson only laughed at.