Disclaimer: haha! I wish...

Yes, I'm starting another story... once again, this came to me on a whim and I couldn't get it out of my head. I had the idea on poll to see if you guys wanted me to write it and I got a pretty good response back.

So let's see if this story flies with you guys.

This fic takes place in early season three.

Enjoy chapter one!

The motel room door opened and Sam and Dean Winchester stumbled in from the pouring rain. They walked to their respective beds and quickly and carefully started to shed their soaked clothes.

"Peachy," Dean mumbled. "This has just been an... awesome day," he muttered sarcastically.

"It hasn't been that bad..." Sam moaned as his shoulder screamed at him for taking his jacket off wrong.

"Tell that to your shoulder," Dean said. "That was the most stubborn bitch of a spirit ever!"

"Quit complaining," Sam sighed. "We've got one dislocated shoulder. It could have been worse."

"Yeah, well I think the rain can qualify today as 'worse'." Dean knew Sam wouldn't be able to get out of his clothes until his shoulders was popped back into place so he quickly got out of his wet clothes and into dry, warm ones. "Alright, Sammy..." Sam bent forward and Dean put one hand on his shoulder and the other on his back. "On Three. One..." Crack!

Sam let out a shout as his shoulder went back into place. "I hate it when you do that..."

Dean just smiled and tossed him an ice pack. "Change your clothes than go to bed. I wanna get the heck outta this town."

"What's the hurry?" Sam question as he carefully removed his clothes. "We don't have any new jobs, and we could use a few days rest."

"Nah," Dean said. "You know me I get restless. But if you really want to..."

Sam sighed. "Never mind. We can leave in the morning."


Dean vaguely aware of the slight rocking movement and roaring sound filling his ears. The hell...?

Dean slowly forced his eyes open, noticing how hard that task was. Great. I'm drugged. When Dean finally managed to pry open his eyes, it didn't do him much good. A thick black hood had been thrown over his head and tied around his neck, not tight enough to choke him, but tight enough to keep it there. As Dean's senses started to recover, he slowly made sense out of the situation.

His hands and ankles were shackled. That's right, not just bound, shackled, with thick metal cuffs. So no hope of getting out of them unless he could find something to pick the locks with. A knotted cloth gag was stuffed in his mouth, with in combination with the hood made it very hard to breathe. And he was obviously in a moving vehicle.

But what worried Dean the most was he had no idea where Sam was. Was he in the same situation? Or was he back at the motel, waking up to an empty motel room and, most likely, panicking?

Dean kicked his legs out, shouting through his gag, hoping to get a response of some sort. After ten minutes though, there was no response from anyone.

About thirty or so minutes later, the vehicle stopped and Dean heard car doors open and slam shut. Boots against gravel, a door much closer to him opening. A pair of rough hands grabbed him and yanked him out onto the ground. Dean didn't bother trying to fight back. With shackles and a hood, Dean didn't really stand much chance.

They led him for about fifty yards, where there was a the wooden creak of a door and Dean was shoved in. His hood and gag were removed and the door was shut behind him.

Dean squinted and looked around. The dark, unlit room seemed so bright after wearing that suffocating hood, Dean could see everything clearly. He was in a shed. The smell of blood and flesh permeated to his nose, making him gag. Dean looked around, but couldn't find the source.

Then he saw a large figure in the corner.

"Hello?" Dean rasped out.

The figure flinched. He looked up and Dean saw that he had a hood on like Dean did before. The man let out a muffled grunt and tried to make their way towards Dean's voice. Dean met him halfway and his eyes widened as he recognized the clothing. "Sam?"

He stiffened then reached out blindly for Dean. Dean took his hands in a firm grip. "It's okay, Sam. Just let me get this hood off ya..." Sam gave another muffled grunt as Dean reached up and fumbled with the leather ties holding the hood down over his brother's head.

"Sonovabitch...!" Dean cursed quietly. The knots were small and tight. With virtually no fingernails, Dean wasn't able to get a good grip on any one string. Dean quickly checked his person for the off-chance he might have something to cut the ties with. When he checked his boot, he found a small pocket knife. He flicked out a blade and made sure it was sharp. "Yahtzee." He quickly cut the small ties and pulled the hood off his brother's head.

Sam's hair was soaked with sweat and sticking to his head. His face was a mass of bruises. His lower lip was split and his left eye was almost swollen shut.

"Son of a bitch...!" Dean cursed as he carefully pulled the gag out of his brother's mouth.

"D-Dean!" Sam sputtered out as the gag was removed. "Are you alright?!"

"Am I alright?! Have you taken a good look in the mirror lately? What the hell happened?!"

"Woke up," Sam said. "Saw some guys standing over you, sticking a needle in your arm. I tried to stop them from sticking me too but they got a few good hits in."


"No idea. Didn't recognize any of them."

"How long you been awake?"

"I dunno. Ten... Fifteen minutes?"

Dean sighed and looked around the shed again. "What the hell is going on?" he whispered.

"You think they're hunters?" Sam wondered.

Dean looked back at his brother. "Why would hunters do this?"

"Because..." Sam gave Dean a look.

Dean gave his brother a look back. "Because...?"

Sam scoffed. "C'mon, Dean! If they're like Gordon..."

"Oh." Dean took another look at his brother's face and sighed. "I sure hope not."

Suddenly the door to the shed swung open, assaulting the brother's with bright light. They blinked heavily, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness.

"Hello," a deep voice said. "My name is Marc." He walked in followed by four other men, all holding cattle prods. "I want you to forget what lives you had before. You're now property of the Handerson's. You will do as I, or anyone else of authority, says."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah right."

Marc glared at Dean. "You say something, boy?"

"Like we're just gonna do whatever you yahoos say."

Marc smiled. "Oh, you will. I'll make sure of it."

Dean just smiled back, swiftly sticking his pocket knife back into his boot for later.

Marc stepped up to Dean and held his hand out. "Give it."

Dean frowned. "Give what?"

"That pocket knife you just put in your boot."

Dean stared at the man incredulously. "Fine." He reached into his boot and slowly pulled the pocket knife out. Then, he quickly flicked the blade out and sunk it into Marc's leg. Marc let out a loud curse and the four men with the cattle prods rushed forward. Both Dean and Sam swung out with their shackled feet and knocked a couple of them to the ground. Sam managed to get to his feet and started to swing his shackled fists at the men. Dean bent forward and reached for the knife in Marc's leg, but Marc looked up with a evil smirk and hit Dean squarely on the chin.

"Dean!" Sam shouted as Dean fell backward and landed squarely on his back.

While Sam's attention was diverted, one of the men hit Sam in the back with a prod, causing Sam to shout out and fall to the ground. Once he was down, they all continued to shock him, making sure he'd stay down.

"Stop it!" Dean shouted. "Leave him alone!"

Marc had a boot on Dean's chest keeping him down. He ignored the pain in his leg as he pressed down with unnatural strength, constricting Dean's lungs. He gave the other men a nod and they stopped shocking Sam.

Dean looked over at his brother. Sam's eyes were a little glassy, but they when they focused on Dean, Dean gave a small smile and Sam managed a weak smile back. Message recieved. Down but not beaten.

"Well," Marc said. "Looks like we're gonna have to have a little training session for you two."