16. Chapter 16

"Eat it." Dean insists, glowering hard at me from across the table.

I shake my head, my stomach rolls when I look down at the grilled cheese toastie sitting on the plate in front of me. "I don't want it. I'm not hungry."

"JJ, you haven't eaten anything in two days. You are not moving from that chair until I see you finish every bite of that toastie," he declares firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Dean's stern tone combined with the death stare he's pinning me with has my spine tingling with agitation. "Excuse me?" I hiss, narrowing my eyes at him. "I think you're mistaking me for one of your air cadets, Captain . You don't bark orders at me. I am not a damn child." I fire back at him and stubbornly cross my arms over my chest and lean back in my chair.

"Really, JJ? Because you sure are acting like one right now." Dean voices, leaning forward and staring intently into my eyes. I know him well enough to know he means business when he looks at me like that. Before I can respond, he speaks again with a sense of tenacity. "Do I need to remind you that you're breastfeeding? If you don't eat, you won't produce milk to feed our son." His words struck a chord within me, and I feel a pang of guilt settle in my chest. With gentle but firm hands, Dean pushes the plate closer to me. "Eat," he commands, his unwavering gaze daring me to defy him.

Damn him and his gorgeous eyes. If I wasn't so infuriated right now, I would have dived across that table and kissed him.

Every fibre in my body is screaming at me to challenge him, but one, I don't have the energy, and two, I know he will make good on his threat and I'm not about to go anywhere. And three… well, he's absurdly attractive when he's being all firm and authoritative. So, I begrudgingly pick up the toastie, ignore the churn in my stomach and take a bite out of it in a very exaggerated manner—might I add.

"Happy now, asshat?"

"I will be when you finish it, shrew," Dean replies and casually sinks back into his chair. I don't miss the smug smirk that pulls at his lips as he goes to sip his cup of coffee.

"Self-righteous git." I mumble as I take another bite of the toastie and force myself to swallow it before I projectile vomit all over Dean. Though, that would serve him right for forcing food down my throat when I tell him I'm not hungry.

"I heard that." Dean expresses with an arched brow, and I push the plate of half-eaten toastie away from me and sit back in my chair.

"Good, you were supposed to. I'm sure I didn't stutter." Dean stares at me, keeping me locked in his gaze as he leans forward.

"You're lucky I have a briefing I need to be at in a couple of minutes or I would have taken you back to my bunker and fucked that bitchy attitude right out of you, JJ."

My cheeks heat up and I feel my heart pacing a little faster because I know he will make good on his threat, but I'm not about to show him that he's affecting me. "It's going to take a lot more than your monstrous cock to subdue me this time, Captain."

Dean's lips quirk and his eyes do a quick sweep to ensure no one is listening before they settle on me again. "I have fingers and a tongue too baby girl, or have you forgotten how resourceful I can be? I'll have you begging for mercy in two minutes tops."

I know what he's doing. He's trying to keep me distracted with the back-and-forth suggestive banter so I don't worry, but my mind is still reeling with thoughts of getting DJ back and how he is. Are they looking after him properly? Or are they torturing him? What is he eating? The brief distractions with Dean serve as temporary relief, but the weight of worry for my son's safety continues to gnaw at me like a crushing force I can't seem to shift. One that is slowly and painfully siphoning the air out of my lungs.

My heart aches with longing to hold him in my arms once again, to bury my nose in his soft fluffy hair and fill my legs with his heavenly baby scent.

And then there's the threat to Dean's life which is constantly looming in the back of my mind. I'm terrified he won't make it back alive and I'm going to have to face a life without him all over again. I feel so goddamn helpless. The only thing I can do is put all of my hope and trust into a higher power and pray that I'll get my family back together.

"I would much rather you channel that energy into bringing my son back home safe and sound."

Dean interrupts me with a sharp push of his chair, the legs scraping against the dark grey vinyl floors and filling the canteen with an uncomfortable screech. "Our son, Jeyla," he corrects me sternly. I can feel the tension in his voice as he speaks. "DJ is my son too. You're also not the only one that's worried about him, alright?"

My eyes intently track his movements as he rises to his full height, towering over me. I can feel my anger boiling beneath the surface as I sneer at him and narrow my eyes in irritation. "Really?" I spit out, my tone laced with bitterness. "Because you seem awfully laid-back considering your son has been abducted by the world's most ruthless arms dealer who wants your head." A fleeting expression of hurt flickers across Dean's face at my words. I watch as he leans forward, placing his hands firmly on the table and lowering himself to meet my eye level before responding.

"What would you suggest I do, JJ?" Dean's voice is slow and deliberate. "Burn the whole fucking place down? I've been in and out of briefings with intelligence, doing everything in my power to prepare for DJ's safe return. There are a million things happening behind the scenes that need to be taken care of before we can even think about making a move. Until we receive the green light to proceed with our operation, there isn't much else we can do but wait. Do you think I'm not feeling the same anger, frustration, and anxiety that you are? Of course, I want DJ back unharmed just as desperately as you do, but chewing me out or giving me attitude won't make things happen any faster."

"I know you carry a lot of resentment toward me, and I take full accountability for it," he admits. "But please believe me when I say I am doing everything in my power to fix this," he leans forward earnestly. "I will get DJ back at whatever cost."

A lump that feels like the size of a golf ball forms in my throat and I can feel tears prickling the back of my eyelids while I sit impossibly still, looking at him mutely. It's not until Dean stands upright and turns to walk off that I allow the tears to fall.

The canteen suddenly feels suffocating, a mix of emotions and unspoken tension looms in the air while I watch his retreating back, his entire posture wound tight.

Well fucking done, Jeyla.

Three hours have gone by since Dean walked off after our little tiff in the canteen. I've been pacing the small space of his bunker waiting for him to return from the briefing, but each hour that passes seems to drag on longer than the last. Meanwhile my conscience is gnawing away at me. My emotions are all over the place. My nerves are frayed, so much that I'm unsure of how I'm supposed to feel or act with him and it's clearly frustrating us both.

I am still resentful toward him. I wish I wasn't but the damage he's done to me, and my mental health, isn't something that's going to magically heal and vanish because he's back and we've slept together a couple of times. Dean has broken me both intentionally and unintentionally in so many ways I don't think I will ever be whole again.

By the fourth hour I can feel my patience wearing thin. I walk out the bunker in search of Dean. Surely a brief doesn't take four bloody hours. After asking around, I learn that he was seen heading towards the gym. Matthews, the same guy who had come knocking for Dean earlier this morning, kindly offers to guide me there.

As soon as the heavy metal door opens, my senses are greeted with a flurry of sounds; thumping, chains rattling, and heavy breathing. The gym is dimly lit, giving off a moody atmosphere. The distinct smell of sweat fills the air, sharp and slightly salty, intermingling with the lingering scent of rubber from the mats and weights. Despite the stale air, there's an underlying energy pulsing through the room.

I spot my husband with his back facing me. He's topless, his body covered in a light sheen of sweat as he wears his headphones and relentlessly punches the black and red boxing bag. Every strike creates a loud thud and sends the bag swinging wildly. I can't see his face from this angle, but I can feel the anger and tension radiating off of him in waves.

Dean moves with effortless grace, his body completely in sync with the bag as if he anticipates its every move. As he moves around with the bag, I see the focussed look on his face. Those emerald eyes I love are vacant and blackened, off someplace else entirely. I don't want to interrupt him mid-workout while he's locked in the moment, so I lean against the bar of the chest press machine and quietly observe him.

As I watch Dean's vigorous movements, I can't deny the impressive display of his strength and stamina. I mean, I'm no stranger to Dean's stamina and self-discipline, the man can go for hours. Yet watching him now, every muscle in his body ripples with each powerful motion, and I find myself both impressed and irked at his physical prowess. Despite my anger towards him, naturally there is a primal attraction that stirs within me at the delightful sight before me. The way he moves, fluid yet powerful, is so damn enchanting and I hate him for it.

After almost a full five minutes of unrelentingly punching that bag, Dean's movements slow and he finally stops and sits at the edge of the small square boxing ring to catch his breath. He has yet to notice me standing there, so I push away from the bar I'd been leaning on and slowly walk across the gym toward him. I can hear him panting, his shoulders rising and falling quickly with every ragged breath. His eyes are cast down, brows fused together furiously.

Only when I step into his line of vision does he lift his gaze from the ground to look at me. I don't know why, but I expected the grim look he's donning to change when he sees me, but it doesn't even flicker. He bites the velcro of the glove and pulls it open with his teeth before yanking his glove off by wedging it between his knees and repeats the process with the other one.

"You need to stop wandering around and into restricted areas, Jeyla." Dean grumbles pulling off his headphones and setting them aside. "You're on a military airbase, you can just go anywhere you please."

Uff, he's Jeyla'd me. The only time he says my actual name instead of JJ usually means he's pretty fucking upset. That and he's refusing to look me in the eye.

"Well, what do you expect? You just walked off and you've been gone for over four hours, Dean. When you didn't come back to the room, I started to worry and came looking for you," I explain, slowly inching toward him. Dean stands, picks up his t-shirt and proceeds to wipe the sweat off his face.

"I'm fine as you can see. Will you please just go back to the room and wait there."

Did he just fucking dismiss me?

Agitation crawls up my spine and I cross my arms over my chest and pin him with a deathly glare. "No, I can't." Dean's eyes snap to mine sharply and they darken. "You can't just lock me in a room all bloody day. Even prisoners get to go outside twice a day."

Dean's intense gaze narrows and he angrily discards his t-shirt, causing it to land with a thud on the dusty floor. With long, purposeful strides, he closes the distance between us until he is mere inches from my face.

"Prisoners? Are you taking the piss? No one forced you to come here. You're the one who insisted on coming along, Jeyla," he growls, his tone dripping with frustration. "What did you expect? This isn't some luxurious holiday resort; it's a military airbase. There are strict regulations and protocols in place. You can't just wander around unsupervised here. We're surrounded by artillery training sessions and it's incredibly dangerous. How many times do I have to explain this to you?" His words are dripping with exasperation as he struggles to make me understand the gravity of our surroundings. "I fucking knew bringing you here was a mistake."

"No, I am not taking the piss." I retort hotly and grab his arm when he turns to walk off and pull him back to me. "I thought coming here I would at least be in the loop and know what's going on at the very least, but we've been here almost twenty-four hours and I still have no idea what the hell is going on or when we'll get our son back. Your son's life is in danger every second he is with that lunatic and you're in here slapping around a bag full of sand!"

A deep, guttural laugh escapes from Dean's throat, the sound laced with anger and pain. He leans in closer, his eyes burning into mine as he speaks. "Slapping around a bag of sand," he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. His jaw is tight and his hands are clenched at his sides, a physical manifestation of the control he's trying to maintain.

"Do you even have the slightest understanding of what it means to go to war, Jeyla?" His words are sharp and cutting, like knives slicing through the air. "No amount of training or love for your job can prepare you for the fear that grips you before stepping out that door. The uncertainty of whether or not you'll make it back home." A flash of pain crosses his features before they harden once again. "And imagine having someone you love waiting for you on the other side, praying for your safe return. It's an unbearable weight to carry." Dean shakes his head, his gaze never leaving mine.

"Now, add to all that the knowledge that statistically you're facing a less than one perfect chance of coming back home. Can you even begin to fathom the toll that takes on a person's psyche? You can't." His words hang heavy in the air. "You might believe I'm just ‘slapping around a bag of sand' for fun, but..." he pauses and presses his index and middle fingers to his temple. "I'm mentally preparing myself, the only way I know how, to go and face off with the man that took our son and will likely bury me alive six feet under."

My stomach rolls and I can feel the food I consumed earlier making its way up to my throat when the image of Dean being buried alive flashes before my eyes.

Less than one percent chance…

My eyes feel like they're on fire and the lump forming in my throat cuts off my oxygen. I feel like a boulder has been dropped on my head. "Less than one percent?" I choke. My head shakes from side to side almost violently. "No, no that can't be. They've been gathering intel and planning for days and that's the best they can come back with?"

Dean's eyes lock with mine and I search his for any signs that he's fucking with me to punish me for pissing him off, but I see nothing but despair staring back at me. "Don't look at me like that," I plead, my vision blurring with tears as I reach to take hold of his face. "You're going to come back home," I cry. "Don't do this to me. You promised me you would fight."

A quivering breath pushes past Dean's lips. "I will," he avows, "I'll fight to the death," his fingers curl around my wrists, "but the mission is to safely retrieve our son."

I close my eyes and tears spill down my cheeks when I feel Dean's lips press a kiss to my wrist and my heart aches deep inside my chest. "I want to come with you, please Dean let me come with you."

Dean shakes his head, the load of his decision evident in the creases of his brow. He lets out a heavy sigh, and I can see the worry etched into every line of his face. "No, Jeyla, you can't come with me," he says firmly.

My heart twists at the thought of being left behind once again. "What am I supposed to do?" I ask fretfully, my voice trembling. "You want me to just sit here and wait, not knowing if either of you will make it back home? I can't do that, Dean. I'll lose my mind."

"After we leave, you'll be taken to a safehouse," Dean replies calmly. "And once we extract DJ, they will bring him to you."

I want to believe him, but the fear is suffocating. "And if…" The words get caught in my throat like a lump of lead, "neither of you make it out?"

"DJ will make it out, I promise you," Dean says with determination. My knees tremble like they're moments away from caving. I'm ready to hit my knees and scream until my lungs implode. Why does this keep happening to me? I'm stuck in an impossible situation. Should I be happy I'll be reunited with my son, or should I be torn that I'm sending the love of my life off on a deadly mission? God, I can't do it. I can't do it all over again. I don't think my heart is strong enough to withstand losing Dean again.

"I don't want to lose you again, Dean. How am I supposed to watch you go knowing you're not going to make it back?"

Dean's fingers brush against my damp cheek, wiping away the tears as they fall. "Hey, what have we always said before I left for deployment?"

I shake my head, sobbing. "Dean…"

"What have we said, JJ?"

"There are no goodbyes for us," I whimper brokenly.

Dean presses his forehead to mine and bites his lip as he lifts my hand and presses it against his chest. "That's right. Your love has always been the light and strength I've needed to find my way home and this time is no different."

"How can you say that? Of course, it's different." I argue back. "This time I'm sending you off knowing that there's a ninety nine percent chance you're not coming back."

Dean smiles faintly. "One percent is still a chance, right? Maybe we'll get lucky." When I give him a tear-filled look he nods. "I mean, with our track record that doesn't look very likely, but where there is hope, there's faith, and where there is faith, miracles happen. Just look at how we conceived DJ. He's living proof that miracles exist," he adds brushing his fingers through my hair and pulling it away from my face.

My gaze lingers on the glinting silver dog tags draped around his neck, each one bearing the name and information of my soldier. My own chain hangs heavily around my neck, adorned with his wedding ring. With trembling hands, I unfasten the chain around Dean's neck, remove my wedding band from my finger and slide it onto the chain before fastening it around Dean's neck again. His brow furrows in confusion as he looks down at my ring hanging from his necklace.

"A reminder," I whisper, my throat tight with emotion, "of what's waiting for you at home if there's ever a moment you feel like giving up." The weight of tears threatens to spill down my cheeks as I continue, "If hope is all we have left, then I'm pouring every bit of it into this."

Dean's gaze meets mine, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I don't need a reminder, JJ," he says softly, reaching up to cup my face in his hands. "You are my hope. You are everything that keeps me going. You always have been." His words wrap around my heart like a warm embrace, filling me with love and determination to keep fighting for a future together. Even if the universe is adamant on keeping us apart. Dean and DJ are two halves of my heart. I won't just sit around and wait while their lives are in danger. If I wind up losing them both, there will be nothing left for me to live on for anyway.

I'm sorry, Dean, I know you're going to be raging mad, but where my heart goes… I follow.