so, wasn't going to post this here just yet, but anniesmom emailed me and asked if i would so here it is...thanks for reading, hope everyone enjoys the story!! bambers;)

Chapter One

Dean Winchester sat on a barstool, slowly nursing a beer, and to anyone who cared to notice, he appeared as if he were lost in thought. Yet, although he had a lot of things on his mind, his senses were still keenly aware of everything going on around him. When he had entered the establishment, he'd taken a long look around, noting the exits as well as all the patrons of the bar before strolling over to the counter to get a drink. The place hadn't been overly crowded when he'd stopped for a beer earlier, but as the night progressed more and more people filled the small dive.

With a quick glance over his shoulder at the two pool tables set up in the far corner of the room, he decided not to try his luck at hustling without Sam around for back up. There was just something about the ten or eleven men milling around the pool tables that made Dean's skin crawl. All dressed in plain black t-shirts as well as black jeans, they looked as if they could've been carbon-copies of each other. Their hair had all been shaved off, and as Dean narrowed his eyes to get a better look at them, he'd noticed they all had a strange looking tattoo on their muscular upper arms. And if he didn't know any better, he would've sworn the marks had been branded there instead of tattooed.

He wondered briefly if they might belong to some motorcycle gang as he returned his attention to his beer. But as several of them had been at the bar before Dean had come in, and he'd seen no motorcycles in the parking lot, he highly doubted it. Besides, most motorcycle gangs were usually rowdy, looking to stir up trouble while these men were abnormally quiet, using subtle gestures to indicate things instead of speaking.

Dean also noticed how none of them drank or ate anything while they were there. The waitress had gone over to them numerous times throughout the night, but they would just give her a single shake of their heads when she'd asked if they's wanted anything. Finally after about the fifth time, she'd apparently given up, and hadn't gone back there since.

Yet, as sinister as they might have appeared, they kept to themselves, and to Dean, it almost seemed as if they really didn't notice that anyone else was there. And as long as they weren't looking for trouble, Dean was more than willing to oblige them as he had other more pressing matters on his mind, namely Sam.

Ever since their recent hunt for Bloody Mary, Sam had questioned several times about the secret Dean had been keeping from him. Dean hated keeping secrets from his little brother, but there were just some things he would rather not have to share with his little brother. He guessed it was too much to hope for that Sam wouldn't have noticed that his eyes had bled as well when Mary had come after them, but since he had, Sam wouldn't let the matter go.

Sam's tenacious hounding for an answer is what led Dean to the bar for a drink, and for a few moments without a constant barrage of questions being flung at him. He loved his brother, but sometimes Sam's need to know everything really wore on his nerves. But as one quick drink turned into many, and a short time turned into several hours away from his brother, Dean knew he had to head back to the motel before Sam started to worry about him.

So swallowing down the last of his beer, Dean set the glass on the counter, eased off of the barstool, and made for the entrance. At the doorway, he hesitated, feeling as if someone was watching. Instinctively he glanced in the direction of the pool tables, but as all the other times before, the men appeared as if they hadn't even noticed his presence. With one last look around, Dean slipped out the door and headed for his car.

He wasn't even a quarter of the way there when he spotted four men getting out of a dark colored van, parked alongside his own vehicle. Like the others inside the bar, these men also were all dressed in black and had their heads shaved. Hearing the door swing open behind him, Dean stopped short, and swung to look at all the darkly garbed men from the bar as they filed out of the doorway and strode toward him. Dean thought to run, but before he even got the chance, two of the men from the van roughly grabbed hold of his arms, trapping him there.

Dean fought desperately against them, twisting and jerking as more men gripped hold of him, hauled him off the ground and threw him in the back of the van, and followed him inside. For a split second he broke free, and slammed his fist into one of the shorter men's face. Someone quickly gripped hold of Dean's wrist and twisted it painfully behind his back.

Cold metal handcuffs encircled his right wrist, and he heard it click into place as yet another man grabbed his left arm and yanked it backward. With the ominous clicking in place of the second cuff, they roughly pushed Dean to the floor, and duct taped his ankles together.

"Why the hell you doing this to me?" he snarled as he bucked wildly, trying to break free of his restraints.

"The Father has commanded it," one of the men said as if Dean should understand that and obey without question. "He has decided in his wisdom that you should take her place."

"Who's place? What the hell are you talkin' about?" Dean thrashed around even more violently, not liking at all how dire the man's tone sounded.

"Yours is not to question, but to obey," the man stated simply.

"Like hell I will," Dean growled, kicking out at the men closest to his feet. His feet slammed into one of the taller of the muscle-bound men, catching him in the stomach and he flew backward into the back doors of the van.

Several of the men leapt on top of Dean, one kneeing him hard in the stomach to put a stop to his squirming around.

"You will obey or you will suffer until you do." The man took out a syringe filled with clear liquid, leaned over Dean and injected it into his arm. "The Father says we all fight our chosen destiny at first, and I suppose you're no different, but I find this makes things a lot easier for all concerned."

Within a matter of moments, Dean's vision blurred, faint shadowy images dancing before his eyes as he felt his fingers and toes go numb. His eyes fluttered open and closed as he weakly fought against the drug and the men still holding him prisoner. He tried to speak, but his tongue felt thick and useless, and whatever he had intended to say came out as garbled nonsense.

"That's it, just let the drug take effect," the man said in a soft coaxing tone of voice. "Don't fight against it, it's useless to even try."

"Saa . . . mmm . . . ." Dean's eye drifted closed, the fight leaving him as he slipped into darkness.


Dean slowly came to, but struggled to keep his eyes open, and was thankful that there were no lights on as he knew at the moment that would have made matters worse. His first real conscious thought as he shivered violently was that he was naked, yet couldn't figure out why he would be. His head was swimming so violently he could barely keep hold of that thought as he tried to remember what had happened. The last thing he clearly recalled was being at a bar, but couldn't remember a thing after he'd left there.

Carefully as not to make his head pound any more furiously than it already was, he tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but found that he could scarcely move more than a few inches. With legs curled up beneath him, his arms were held out to the sides by two sturdy metal cuffs that were bolted into the cold cement floor.

Panic gripped hold of Dean's heart, a shiver of fear racing down the length of his spine as he fought uselessly against restraints. Come on, damn it. He yanked with all his strength, curving his fingers inwards in hopes that his hands would slip free of the handcuffs, but they were tightly secured.

"Guhh . . . come on, damn it!" He jerked even harder on the metal restraints, hearing a door open somewhere off to the right. Someone flipped a switch and a dim amber light filled the small room, giving Dean his first really good look around.

Whoever held him prisoner had him locked inside a cage with thick metal bars, although it really hadn't been necessary as the position he was trapped in precluded any movement. The walls had all been painted black. On the wall facing Dean, a large strange symbol of an ornate cross with two crossing sickles had been painted in red.

He looked around trying to find any windows but either they had been painted black to match the room or there weren't any, and at this moment he seriously doubted there were any. Shifting his head to the right, he searched for the door the person had come through, but again couldn't see it.

A tall man with long raven black hair, stepped from the shadows followed by several shorter, bald men who were dressed entirely in black. The raven haired man, dressed in crimson robes, definitely looked to be their leader, and Dean couldn't help but wonder what the hell was going on, who these people were or why they were holding him prisoner for that matter.

The other men hung back as their leader strode toward Dean with an air of confidence and grace, stopping in front of the cell door. Withdrawing a key from his robe, he opened the door, entered the cell, and knelt beside Dean. He tilted his head from side to side as if appraising Dean, and then gripped hold of Dean's hair and yanked his head backwards so Dean was forced to look him in the eyes.

"I am the Father, and that is what you will call me," he said in a tone that was meant to brook no argument. "Do you understand?"

"So callin' you a sonuvabitch, is out of the question then?" Dean sneered at him, and was rewarded for his efforts by the man's fist slamming into his face.

"Disobedience is not tolerated here. You will soon learn that." The Father's stern gaze found Dean's once more as he jerked back harder on Dean's hair. "From this day forward your name is to be Child. All other names you may have once had are to be forgotten."

"Name's Dean," Dean's growled defiantly. "And I already have a father who could kick the living shit outta you. An' when he finds me, he's gonna kill you, mark my words."

"Think so, huh?" The Father laughed, seemingly not the least bit concerned over what Dean had just said. "Once a child is mine, they are mine for life. No one finds them. Ever."

As Dean looked from the Father to the men standing just beyond the cell door, a tremor of fear coursed through his body, sweat prickling at the nape of his neck and beading on his forehead. He had no idea where is Dad actually was at the moment, and without his help Dean feared his little brother would get himself killed if Sam tried to find him.

"No witty comeback, Child?" The Father quirked his brow, and smiled at Dean. When Dean failed to replied, he continued, "Good. Now, first things first," he motioned to one of the men, and a tall man with light green eyes stepped forward, carrying scissors and a shaver in his hands. "The cleansing process. We can only truly be as one if we look as one."

Dean's gaze fell to all the men with shaven heads, then to the scissors in the man's hands, and horrible understanding dawned upon him. "No freakin' way," he squirmed and yanked against the restraints, to no avail, "you're not cuttin' off my hair."

"You can fight if you wish, but I can guarantee you the results will be the same."

"Not gonna let you — "

"You really don't have a choice in the matter," the Father said, cutting Dean off, and with a single gesture, two more men stepped inside the cell, and moved to stand on either side of Dean. Gripping a hold of him, they held on firmly as the man with the scissors, cut away all his scruffy hair, and then proceeded to shave him bald. Once finish, the two men let go of him, and the three men backed out of the cell, leaving Dean alone inside again with the Father.

"You will learn, as they have all learned, that my will is the only thing that matters here." He stood, and headed out of the cell. "No food or water for two days." he said to his men as he strode away without waiting for a response.