Okay, maybe not that good, but I do have a thing for abducted!(adult)Dean.
A huge thing.
Title: Removed part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 - Completed
( & continued in sequel Indoctrination)
Author: Mink & Jink
Rating: R - hurt!Dean - abducted!Dean - Gen
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: A band of psychotic hunters are looking to end the life of Sam Winchester. When Sam is nowhere to be found, they take his brother instead...
It wasn't the first bar Dean had closed all by himself.
As soon as that clock hit the magical hour and the forgotten fluorescent lights came on, he always got that half tired, half annoyed look by the bartender. It was a look that made you tip back the rest of your beer real quick no matter how full it was. When he got off the bar stool he realized he was a little bit more buzzed than he thought he was. Sober enough for his keys and to walk a straight line to the door, but his head felt heavy and there was an edge of exhaustion that alcohol always made worse.
With a yawn he breathed in the night air and stretched. The motel was barely a five minute drive away, he could have walked it if he didn't mind the drizzle of cold rain. Shuddering, he pulled his jacket collar up and crossed his arms tight against his chest to ward off the late February weather. But it turned out he did mind the rain so his ride was sitting there all by her lonesome waiting to take him home.
He had only taken a few steps when he stopped in his tracks.
It seemed like he wasn't quite as alone as he thought he was.
He was going to say something, draw them out and determine their numbers maybe even talk his way right to his car and avoid any kind of mess that would leave the unwary of what he could do, bleeding and baffled on the pavement. He wasn't in any kind of fucking mood for some six-packed farmer's kids with nothing better to do. Dean was watching the one in front of him so intently, he didn't notice the sound of another coming up behind him until it was too late.
It was on before it was even on.
Hands from behind pulled his arms, twisting his wrists hard and upwards into the small of his back. Automatically, Dean crashed the back of his head violently into the face of his attacker. The heavy thud of his skull cracking against flesh, savage cursing through ragged breaths and the iron grip slackened.
He felt a small damp spot of blood cooling on the back of his head. Blood in the eyes would not stop most men who wanted you dead for very long. The large man at his back wiped blood away like sweat. Dean shifted uncomfortably in place, fists ready. It was going to take some time to bring that one down. He backed up slowly when the other two came closer forming a rough circle around him. These men were no liquored red necks looking for trouble. They were too organized and careful. Their moves were professional not the sloppy fists of a few town drunks.
Dean went still and cold with the realization that these men might be hunters.
He moved quickly, ducking when the large man lunged for him again, a roundhouse kick forcing him backward into the brick wall of the building adjoining the parking lot. His fist swung out and was caught, arm twisted painfully, his shoulder popping in its socket. With a shout, he broke free of the hold and backed away and into the waiting grip of another.
He had no time to regain himself when the second set of arms locked around his waist and slammed him roughly onto the hood of a waiting car. Freezing metal at his back shocked his bare flesh where his shirt rode up, teeth clenching against the shock. He was silently grateful that the impact snapped his pained shoulder back into place. Dean gasped, throwing a blind punch to repel the large body bearing down on him. His fist struck his attacker's chest uselessly, the solid mass unmoving as hands closed around his throat, crushing his airway. A swift hard upwards kick sent the large man reeling backwards. Dean rolled behind the car, back pressed hard against the brick wall alongside it.
"This is fun fellas, but I don't wanna play anymore..." He wheezed, breath clouding in the chill air. Whatever these men were, hunters or not, they were good at their game and outweighed him by a few hundred pounds.
But they were nothing a bullet couldn't handle.
Feeling for the pistol strapped to his ankle, he wrenched it free of its strap. Two shapes loomed in the distance. Dean flexed his hand on the warmed metal of his firearm, the safety clicking in the silence of the empty lot. Dean waited, crouched behind the body of a black Camaro.
His eyes shifted, catching a shadow of rapid movement from above.
He had no time. His muscles tensed, ready to dodge when a third massive weight from the darkness above came crashing down on him, his gun firing off before clattering to the ground. Dean saw white as the back of his head smacked the ground, his limbs pinned in the tangle. Cursing he tried to scramble out and to the side but the body tackled him, shoving his shoulders hard into the wet asphalt.
"Get offa me!" He growled, kicking and seizing frantically beneath the crushing weight on top of him.
"Heh! You just relax." His captor said breathlessly as he moved a knee to rest it hard on Dean's injured shoulder. "Can feel you gettin' tired already."
"Check him for any more weapons."
Dean's rage exploded in a ragged yell, chest heaving, lungs burning, muscles drawn to their limit against the hold keeping him firmly in check as another roughly patted him down. His knife was tossed aside and his wallet was taken and carefully examined. The smaller blade on his forearm was removed and they dug into each of his jean pockets until they found the razor blade he kept for special occasions.
"Pick 'im up."
The two waiting shadows were closing in around him. Forcibly he was dragged to his feet and held, thick arms encircling his chest, locking his arms at his sides.
Fists raw and bloody clenched. Adrenaline pumping through every fiber. Dean strained in the man's grip, trying to wrest his arms free when one of the men moved swiftly in front of him and swung, knuckles landing hard in the softness of his belly. Dean choked, insides exploding in a burst of pain. He doubled over, gasping, unable to get his breath back, his vision filled with hot white sparks as his head emptied of oxygen.
"That all... you got?" He managed.
With a hard and precise clip to his jaw, Dean's head snapped sharply up and against the solid chest behind him. Blood trickled fast from his mouth where his teeth had cut, warm wetness on his chin. Dean felt his body go limp, knees buckling, supported only by the arms holding him up.
Wrong place? Wrong time maybe? No way. These men had a purpose.
"The brother." He heard one of them say through his haze. "He's a big fella."
"Uh-huh." Came the disinterested reply.
"You go near my brother..." Dean wheezed, red flecked on his lips and fighting for focus. "...it'll be the last thing you do."
"Shut him up." Said the soft voice.
He expected more pain. A sharp crack to the skull and a brief explosion of agony to send him hurtling instantly into oblivion. Or maybe a violent jab to the nerve where the shoulder met the neck. Instead, he heard the sickening scrape of duct tape.
Flinging his head from side to side, he struggled weakly as a wadded rag was stuffed into his mouth before the tape was pressed firm and uncomfortably over his mouth. Dean's body had given up without him, lungs heaving, head tossing back and forth in anger, able to do nothing but glare at his captors. From over one tall shoulder, Dean glimpsed the other two observing silently.
"Settle down." A voice at his ear advised softly.
The grip around his chest tightening until Dean started to feel his air begin to be taken again. His struggles ceased slowly as each time he drew in a breath the hold grew more constricting. The third man, the one who had fallen on him, withdrew a large hunting knife from its sheath. Instantly Dean froze at the hiss of sharpened steel in the dark.
"We wanna word with you."
The click of a Zippo and the dull glow of a lit cigarette ignited the man's eyes for an instant before getting swallowed once more by darkness. Acrid bitter smoke on his breath as he leaned forward, slowly exhaling in Dean's face.
If Dean could talk he would have asked a question. If these guys were looking for John Winchester they were already a little too late. Their father was gone and not even his own sons could reach him even if they wanted too. Whatever debt, promise or liabilities his father had failed to produce was out of his hands. These men, as they say, were shit out of luck.
The ember of the cigarette glowed like an insect hovering in the dark.
"We know what your brother did." The man said. "Known for a while."
Green eyes twitched, throat working behind the gag. A strangled noise--between a snarl and a shout-- rose and died in his throat, stopped by the tape. The cool flat of the knife passed over his gaze, wiping the dampness at his forehead. How could these men possibly know about Sam? They'd been so careful, hell, Dean didn't even know the full story.
"Used that computer and got us all wanted," he added. "Do you know how hard it is to do our job when the goddamn feds are on our ass?"
Dean blinked. Computer?
"Took all our names and faces. Used them all up," he growled. "Did ya have fun? Playin' cowboy?"
Dean's mind slowly registered what the man was talking about. And it had nothing to do with his younger brother’s night time magical visions. Sam frequently trolled the social security data bases for the names and info on deceased citizens so they could... borrow them. But sometimes that wasn't even enough to get into some hidden places and more hidden people that only trusted the type that walked in the dark. So Sam had found the names of several people that almost every hunter knew or had a story about. There were several of them and they had usually worked together. Word on the street had been they caught up with the wrong end of a black coven and hadn't been heard from since.
Their demise had been nothing but lucrative for him and Sammy. Dropping their names had opened more than a few doors for them on a hunt.
But they were supposed to be dead. It was supposed to be safe.
Dean knew about the profound safety of the inept and lumbering pace of the governmental system in paper work and red tape. When things got that comfy Sam didn't quite use all the fail safes he usually would with other aliases. Those identities had been left wide open to be traced by the powers that be if anyone was so inclined. What did it matter? Those men were long gone and food for the crows.
Dean swallowed hard as it all came together.
The man smiled, removing his cigarette from his mouth and letting it hang between his fingertips.
Dean's chest heaved silently, fury in his gaze as his eyes followed the knife's point settling on the tender flesh below. Chest hitching, he felt his vision swim and braced himself.
A curiously gentle face, obscured by shadow, was inches from his.
"We got rules. Understand? And you and your brother need to start respectin 'em. Hell if John ever did." He spat on the ground at the name. "Wonder why he ain't around no more?"
A small angry noise escaped him behind the gag at the mention of his father, eyes wide and watering with useless outrage.
We looked real hard for Sam," the man patted Dean hard twice on the cheek. “But then we learned, all we really had to do was find his big brother."
Dean blinked back the frustration stinging his eyes.
“And now?" he finished with a smile. "Now we think Sam just might come out lookin' for us instead."
Dean was being dragged, his feet made to move as he was forced face down against the hood of a car. He yelled again behind the gag as his arms were gripped behind him, flexing madly against the plastic cinch cord cutting tight into the flesh of his wrists.
Before he knew it his boots were leaving the ground, a shoulder digging painfully into his bruised middle as he was lifted. Dean bit down on the cry of pain as he was carried away, the ground moving fast and dizzily below him. He frantically worked his hands in the restraints, feeling them slide slick with sweat. Dumped ungracefully into the trunk of a vehicle, he fought not to gag behind the tape on the powerful fumes of petrol. When the lid closed on him with a thud, he let his eyes close with it. The passenger doors slammed shut.
Dean felt the rumble of the engine beneath him before the sickening lurch of movement.
He was in real fucking trouble.