A/N1: Hey guys. Man this month is busy for me.

So far since my last post I have gotten past my brother's 23rd birthday, my Step-Brother's 11th birthday and meeting Michael Shanks aka Doctor Daniel Jackson from Stargate SG-1 (and where my penname comes from)

For those of you that want to hear about the experience and see photos? I'll post the link at the end of this chapter.

Now with my 25th birthday less than a week away, I hope to be (or at least feel) a little more free.

Big thanks goes out to Angelustatt, who read this over and over and I want to dedicate this whole chapter to my mother who this story is dedicated to. This is for you, Mum.

Chapter 2. Trading Places.

The dark was suffocating, adding fire to the headache pounding through his brain. John blinked his eyes open, before squeezing them shut again when the lump on the back of his head connected with the hard floor beneath him.

He was moving, or at least he was being moved just like the last time consciousness had claimed him for a fleeting moment. The darkness surrounding him wasn't an abyss although it could lead you to believe it was. It was a tight space that had John's body contorted into a foetal position.

With his arms tightly bound behind him with what felt like harsh rope, John's shoulders felt on fire and exploded over every bump and rocking motion he was forced to endure.

He was trapped in the trunk of a small car; that much was obvious by the sound of the engine and the familiar sound of tyres eating up tarmac. All were sounds he was accustomed with … just not too often from the trunk of a car.

The Knight tried to swallow, his mouth dry due to the material his captors had used as a gag. He hadn't made a sound, hadn't screamed for them to let him go because it would do no good. No, silence was his best bet right now. He knew his chances were slim to none but that didn't mean that he wouldn't try a surprise attack as soon as that damn trunk opened.

This was all of his fault. He had gone along with Caleb to make sure the psychic didn't get in trouble. He'd had a bad feeling about this whole thing and yet he hadn't prevented anything. He hadn't gotten there in time to save Caleb from taking a bullet … to the head of all places.

He could still see the kid's head snap back before he crumbled to the ground, seemingly lifeless. There had been blood but head wounds bled a lot. Caleb hadn't fucking moved … but that didn't mean anything. He couldn't allow himself to believe Caleb was dead.

He should have stopped this. He should have been more on guard. He should have noticed something was off sooner than he had. He should have done something.

The image of Caleb's still and silent body wouldn't leave his mind in the dark of the trunk.

The darkness gave him no escape and his heart ached along with his head. He would never be able to look Mac in the face again and Dean … having his eldest son looking at him with such pain and heartache and … blame would finish him off. Dean would never forgive him. He wouldn't forgive himself.

A nasty dip in the road rocked him so hard that John's body hit the roof of the trunk before slamming down quickly. A grunt escaped him.

He couldn't tell how long they had been travelling, how long it had been since Caleb had taken the hit, how long it had been since he had fucked up and ended up a prisoner to someone who was supposed to be on their fucking side.

He'd taken the hit to his head from his own weapon not long after the attack and since then the inside of the trunk was the only thing he knew. He was sore, tired, and fucking pissed with Tony Michaels … and himself.

The car stopped and John found himself holding his breath for a moment. He'd been distracting himself with plans of what he intended to do in this moment and now that it was actually here? He was hoping that he'd actually be able to follow through with those plans after being cooped up for this long.

The engine was killed and John tensed at the sound of car doors opening. Letting out the breath he had collected through his nose, John waited - that was all he could do - his muscles coiled in anticipation.

The trunk lid popped open and John tried to move, handicapped in the small space. His head connected with the side and he growled through the gag as hands reached in and dragged him out, callously smacking his head against the side again in the process.

Pain spiked in his head and then thrummed as he was placed on his feet. His knees buckled and he would have ended up with a mouthful of gravel had he not been held up on either side … or had a wad of material already shoved in his mouth.

"Whmmmgnnn!!" John yelled, jerking in his captors grasp, once again mentally kicking himself for getting in this situation in the first place.

"Calm down, Mr. Winchester."

The voice was familiar and suddenly Tony's face shimmered in front of him, the two figures flickering into one in front of his eyes. Fuck being calm.

Tony was shoved out of his field of vision only to be replaced by an older – much, much older - robed man. His grey eyes were hard, looking at John with distain, like it was a necessary evil to be dealing with him. Well that was just fucking fine with John because he didn't want to be dealing with any of them from this angle either.

"This isn't the one you promised, my son." The old guy turned his attention to Tony. John frowned, trying to gather any information he could.

"I know … I'm sorry, Father," Tony held his hands out in front of him in a placating manner.

The old guy huffed in annoyance … or disappointment. John couldn't really tell. He eyed John one more time before turning, his grey robe flowing as he did so. "Lock him up. We'll discuss this when you're finished."

John tripped over his feet as he was dragged forward without any concern for him, not that he had expected any. "Tnmm!" He growled through the gag once more, trying to get Tony's attention and failing.

It was the dead of night now – or early morning – John couldn't be sure but he tried to see as much as he could despite the dark starless sky. He didn't recognise anything and judging by the amount of time he had spent in the trunk? They had most likely left St Albans.

The building they were approaching looked like a farmhouse. There was nothing suspicious, nothing that screamed 'insane cult residing within'. He was dragged up the steps and through a dark room. Halfway across the room a light switch was flipped and a yellow-tinged light swarmed the room, making John blink in his retina's defence.

In front of him Tony led them through a kitchen and into what looked like some kind of laundry before coming to a stop in front of a door. John struggled, planting his feet on the floor to try and prevent them from forcing him any further. It was fruitless, he knew, but it was instinctive.

The door creaked open, hinges needing a serious oiling, and Tony stepped aside. His hazel gaze met John's own one and John demanded with a single glare to be told what the fuck was going on and to be let go.

Tony looked down and away after only a second and John was sure he saw guilt in there, maybe even a second of indecision. But it hadn't lasted long before he felt himself pushed forward through the door. His feet tangled, not ready for the dip of the stairs and he tumbled. He ducked and rolled and cried out as he descended down the stairs in a tangled heap.

The sound of snapping bone registered for John before the sharp pain hit him. He cried out as his arm broke and wasn't given any relief as it slammed into another step, snapping the bone back into place before he finally rolled to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

He laid there gasping around the gag, panting, his eyes tightly shut at the bright sparks of pain in his head. He shorted out for a moment, seconds, hours … he wasn't sure. His head was spinning with no control to put the brakes on.

"What the hell was that?"

Hurried footsteps followed the angry voice and John found himself silently begging not to be touched. Nausea was swirling in the pit of his stomach, rising to a crescendo in his chest. It sat there, heavy and foreboding, like it was threatening him with the possibility of an escape. Something that John knew would be very bad with the material gag still in place.

The sensations rolling over his body like waves almost allowed him to forget about the angry voice, about the footsteps, about the fact that he was with anyone at all. He was rudely reminded when a pair of hands clutched his shoulder, jostling the broken arm.

John screamed.

xXx

"How you doing?"

John cringed and tried to roll away from the probing hands. It was a stupid move. Fire raced up his arm. He clenched his teeth against the pain and the need to loudly express that pain. That was when he noticed the gag had been removed. Swallowing thickly, John still had that cottony after-taste in his mouth.

"Mr. Winchester?"

Tony's voice was hovering right over him as John let his body relax back on the cold hard ground. He opened his eyes to be greeted with the blurry vision of Tony's head in his face. "Get off," he demanded gruffly, trying to wave the younger man away.

"Sorry about the flight down the stairs. I wasn't expecting them to do that."

"Where's Caleb?"

"Caleb?"

"Yeah," John forced out. "You know? The guy you shot!" His anger-forced words ended in a low groan as his body vibrated with anger, guilt and fear at the memory. The break in his arm didn't appreciate any movement whatsoever.

"I didn't shoot him."

"Semantics, you son of a bitch."

Tony sighed and sat back on his haunches. He rubbed a hand through his hair, making it look a little more like it usually did. "That wasn't supposed to happen. Susan … she panicked when she heard you. She was never supposed to shoot him. The drugs were already taking effect."

"What drugs?"

"A little cocktail made by the family … we just needed him subdued, damn it. But he just had to go and bring someone else with him," Tony said shaking his head regretfully. John knew where Tony could shove his fucking regret.

"Where is he?"

"You don't know?" Tony considered John before continuing. "I guess you are missing a big chunk of the events. He's … He's dead. We took you and left."

John felt like he had been sucker punched at having Tony confirm his fears. This was his fault. Caleb was dead because he hadn't been good enough. "You just left him there?"

Tony's eyes bulged. He obviously thought John was nuts, like he should know something that he was obviously missing. "We're at a critical point in our plans. We couldn't risk being caught and that gunshot would have brought attention fast. I'm sure you'll understand when you learn what I have, Mr. Winchester."

John rolled his eyes away from Tony, trying to ignore the slight tremble running through him. He needed to get out of here. And with the image of Caleb lying dead on the grass firmly planted in his mind he knew he would be taking no fucking prisoners.

Tightly closing his eyes, John groaned loud and long, shuddering more. As soon as he felt Tony lean closer again, John lashed out with his good arm. His fingers were closing around the younger man's throat before either of them registered that John had attacked at all.

Tony's hands grabbed at John's wrist in an attempt to dislodge him, but John just squeezed harder as he forced his body up off the ground until he was standing, albeit mainly because of his hold on Michaels. John growled, sounding more like a vicious animal than an injured hunter and pushed and squeezed until Tony was pressed up against the basement stairs.

"Joghh…" Tony's mouth gaped open, trying fruitlessly to suck in air that John wasn't allowing through.

"Shut up!" John hissed. "Just shut your fucking mouth." He didn't want to hear it. Whatever the fuck Tony was playing at? It had ended with Caleb on the wrong end of a bullet … dead. John couldn't deal with what that meant. Tony was lucky his head hadn't been ripped clean off on principal alone. "You're lucky I don't just snap your neck." He'd betrayed their trust, betrayed Caleb's trust, betrayed Jim's. It was unforgivable. And right now John didn't even care why.

John held on – just barely – until he saw Tony's eyes roll back in his head and his struggle become non-existent. The younger man's body hit the ground with a dull thud and John staggered, leaning against the stairs for support.

His eyes stayed closed for a long time as he sort just to breathe and just held his arm close and tight against his side. It had been a while since he'd actually broken a bone and he had almost forgotten how much it hurt, how relentless the wound could throb.

"Okay, Winchester … move it," John muttered to himself. If he had thought he was capable of getting up fast enough he would have at least checked to make sure that he hadn't killed Michaels. But escape was definitely higher on his to-do list.

John's gaze travelled up the stairs. They weren't particularly long or steep. It was the way they constantly moved and swayed out of focus that was daunting.

Using his good arm, John pulled himself around to the base of the stairs, stepping over Tony's sprawled legs in the process. He didn't hesitate, despite the challenge his fuzzy head presented. He began climbing the stairs, relying heavily on the railing he was holding with a death grip.

A painful jolt hit him at every step, making him feel like his arm was on fire but as the door to his salvation got closer, the pain seemed all the more worth it.

John was panting by the time he reached the top. He swayed into the door frame, leaning his good arm against it to catch his breath. Bruised or cracked ribs from his earlier descent down the stairs were only just starting to voice their opinion on all his movement. He only gave them a few seconds respite before he pushed forward again, damaged arm pressed to his torso in an attempt to keep it as still as possible.

John lurched into the kitchen, his eyes scanning the room and landing on the pot on the stove, next to it on the red bench was a white chopping board and a large carving knife. Soon it was in his hand, his fingers flexing around it in comfort.

"What are you planning on doing with that, my son?"

John whipped around, knife automatically held between him and the new threat. The old man from outside was standing in the kitchen, whole body covered with flowing grey rope, hands clasped together in front of him but covered with the extra long sleeves. He looked like a tall grey monk. A chain hung from his neck and rested against the grey folds of the robe. It looked like a cross but John wasn't willing to get close enough to look.

"Thinking about jamming this down your throat if you don't get out of my way," John answered truthfully. He was in no mood to beat around the bush.

"That would be a mistake, my son."

"No … it's sounding more and more like a plan … and stop calling me my son!" John barked, angrily. He tensed when two other men – one around his own age and one probably not much older than Dean – came up from behind the ancient monk.

"I'm afraid we can not let you leave before you fulfil your purpose."

"My purpose?" John didn't need to be Einstein to know that any purpose they had tried to employ Caleb for did not bode well for him.

"Father Brown, you wish us …"

An elderly hand raised was enough to silence the younger man behind him and John thought for a split second about just charging, slicing and making the most of what he had going for him … that was until a few more cult members appeared behind their leader, coming to see what the commotion was about and stacking the odds against John.

"Put down the knife."

"I don't think so, Grandpa. How about you step aside before one of these kids gets hurt?" John suggested, indicating the group crowding around the doorway, most of them young men.

"You can not harm us. You can not escape from this path."

John snorted. "That's what you think, old man. I aint going down without a fight." John Winchester never gave up. It was what had gotten him through Nam, the loss of his wife, hunting and fatherhood. "I am leaving here."

"I'm sorry, I can't allow that." With a barely noticeable flick of the old man's hand, the knife John had been holding flew from his grip, making John startle as it was embedded in the wall. "Deal with him, my children."

The rush of bodies that came at John after that command came too fast and too many to do anything but prepare himself for the collision. John blocked the first fist that came flying his way but with only one decent working arm, it was impossible to totally miss the next one as it clipped him across the chin. Blood welled in his mouth, the metallic taste familiar. The pain of his self bitten tongue didn't even register as he ducked the next wild swing, kicking out and hitting one guy in the solar plexus, sending him crashing into two more.

Pain blossomed from the lump on the back of his head and spread with a wetness as skin was broken. John's knees buckled and he cried out involuntarily as his broken arm was kicked and kicked hard, forcing him to fall on his side.

The air was rushed from his lungs, violently evacuated as a sickening crack could be heard. If his ribs hadn't been broken before? At least one was now. And then another, and then another. Loud puffs of air escaped through his mouth and John struggled to breathe in while the air rushed out of him.

"Stop!"

John's arm was wrenched back, bones grinding together and John's scream was animalistic. Cold metal encased his wrists, binding them together but John didn't care about anything else around him now other than the continuous stabbing where the bones where being jostled together. Tears made his eyes wet but he clenched them shut. He wasn't fucking crying not matter how bad it hurt. He'd gone through worse. Mary's death … God, Caleb …

"Stop, you're gonna kill him!"

The voice sounded like it was in a vacuum … or under water but it made John want to laugh. Wasn't that the plan? Wasn't that what he was here for? A human fucking sacrifice? Right in that moment, he wished they'd just fucking do it. It was the last thought he had before a brown blur came rushing at his face. He welcomed the darkness.

xXx

It was dark. That was the first thing that John noticed upon consciousness. It was dark enough that for a second or two he was sure the beating he'd taken - the kick to the head - had blinded him. The small amount of light coming from under the door at the top of the stairs told him otherwise.

He might not have been blind but he still couldn't see worth a god damn. The artificial light sneaking in from under the door was doing nothing to illuminate the room.

Rolling onto his side, it was immediately apparent that his situation had not improved. He groaned, louder than he wanted to as broken bones shifted with the rolling motion of his body. He stopped, on his side, panting for breath against the relentless stabbing pain in numerous parts of his body.

John pulled at the handcuffs encircling his wrists even though he knew it was fruitless. It was just ingrained in him to fight. He'd never been the type of guy to sit back and let other things dictate his fate. John Winchester was a ruler of his own destiny. Or at least he thought so.

His legs weren't bound together like his wrists were. He shifted, wincing in the dark as his right leg moved forward. Freedom … for one leg. The other leg had no such luck. His left ankle was encased in something heavy and cold. It restricted any further movement.

John huffed in frustration. It was hard not to try to curl up into himself even though he knew that he couldn't curl up the way he wanted. His arms kept trying to move forward in an automatic reaction to the pain … the ache he felt all over.

John jumped when the basement door suddenly opened, spilling a yellowish light down the stars, partly filling the basement itself. John squinted, recoiling from the light as his eyes adjusted.

"You're awake."

"Michaels," John growled, recognising the younger man's voice before he could see who it was.

"I was starting to worry that you weren't going to wake up at all." Tony stepped down the remaining stairs, the wood creaking under his weight. "I guess the fact that you remember who I am? Is a good sign that you weren't hit too hard …" Tony paused, tilting his head to the side in thought. "…or too many times."

"Now that I know you care I feel so much better." John's tone was dry and it took every ounce of remaining strength in him to not let it waver, to not let it break under the pain that was attacking his body from all sides. He'd had worse, sure. He could still breathe on his own and he wasn't gushing blood … that he knew of. He wasn't on the outside anyway. He was still licking wounds that had more to do with the fact that he had been taken out by a flight down some stairs than the pain of the injuries themselves.

"I do care actually."

John did his best not to splutter and failed. "You care? Like you cared when your girlfriend put a bullet in Caleb's head?"

"I've told you … that was an accident." Tony stepped forward but this time kept right out of John's reach. "I never wanted the guy to get hurt."

"And joining the cult you have been gunning for all these years and planning to offer him up on a silver platter is what? Your way of saying let's be friends?"

"I was doing him a favour."

"Hows that?" John grunted, unable to prevent the shudder from rippling through his muscles. It was costing him to ignore the burn in his wounds but he was starting to believe that the pain those wounds were giving was a lot easier to deal with than the constant broken record of words in his head reminded him that Caleb was dead.

Tony's eyes brightened at the question and he knelt on the floor before John and seemed to forget about the distance he'd been so keen on before. It wasn't like John was in any condition or even remotely able to make another escape attempt anyway.

"That's the awesome part about all this, Mr. Winchester." Tony put down the bowl and cup that John hadn't even realised the man had been holding and reached forward, a hand on both of John's shoulders each and eased the injured hunter's upper body up and off the cold ground.

John's eyes immediately snapped shut and he bit his bottom lip until he tasted blood. Bones shifting and moving in a way that they were never meant to, no longer allowed him to ignore them. His arm was on fire and his broken ribs sucked all remaining oxygen away.

"Whoa there, big guy," Tony said, his strong grip on either side of him kept John upright, kept him from curling in on himself and John – for a moment – saw stars behind tightly shut eyelids.

"You're not gonna hurl are you?" Tony asked, still holding onto John's shoulders.

"Le…Let g-go…" John forced out, his words forming into a groan when Tony seemed to take that as an invitation to tighten his grip. He wanted space and he wanted it now. John hated to be crowded when he was hurt but that wasn't his most dire need right now.

"Seriously Sir, if you hurl, I'll have to clean it up. I'm still at the bottom here."

If John hadn't been so tightly coiled he would have given the kid a death glare. He was known for them and they had been known to put fear in the heart of many man … but all he could do was tightly hold himself together while Tony's tight grip on his right shoulder wiped all thought, making it hard to articulate what he needed.

"Mr. Winchester?"

"God … Let me … go!" John growled, his whole being shaking. A bead of sweat ran from his hair line and down his cheek. His vision behind closed lids turning white.

Something must have clicked for the younger man because he removed his hand from John's right shoulder like it had been burned. The pressure was gone from the appendage but the fire remained a few long agonising seconds later before it started sizzling until his was just hot throb.

John slumped back – finding a hard steady wall there – and breathed rapidly. He was going to be sick. He was going to be sick and he really didn't want to. Enough weakness had been shown on his part already. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat, his Adams apple bobbing as he tried to keep his stomach contents where they were and not all over himself or the floor.

"Oh geez, I'm sorry. I didn't …"

"Shut … u-up…" He didn't want to hear it.

"I would strap that for you but you need to be clean of anything foreign."

John blinked his eyes opened, finding them watery and blurred. He refrained from asking what the fuck that had meant. "…'the fuck do y'want?"

"Father Brown – our leader – was pissed as hell when he found out we didn't have Caleb but he has decided that you will more than do in his place."

John's frown deepened. "His … place? You're … you're talking 'bout a s-sacrifice?" Human sacrifice … that's what this cult did according to all of Tony's research. This was the first time they had come close to being caught and here they were two supposed hunters, one working for the cult and the other about to become said sacrifice. "Why?"

"Why? I needed to prove …"

"No!" John snapped, gritting his teeth as the force of the word shook him. "Why a..re you doing this?" That was what John couldn't understand. "Why are y-you working … with t..them?"

John tried hard to keep himself from trembling, the cuffs biting into his wrists, keeping his broken bone at an awkward angle.

Tony's face was serious, head tilted slightly to the side and John felt even more unsettled when a slow smirk formed on Tony's face. "I guess you could say I was shown the light … as cliché as that sounds."

"And … what light would t-that … be?" John stuttered, keeping his eyes locked on Tony's even though he desperately wanted to squeeze them shut as the pain continued to radiate through him. He had a feeling Tony's answer wouldn't make him feel much better.

"That this world needs saving and the hunters aren't doing what needs to be done."

TBC …

A/N2: *ducks and hides for cover* I know, I know I am a bad person leaving you with that, with no answer on Caleb or what Tony means by his last sentence … but you guys know me by now right? Caleb will feature heavily in the next chapter and the road is definitely not going to be easy for him either … mwahhaha the joys of writing :)

If you're still with me? Then I hope you are enjoying :)

For anyone who wanted my thoughts on my meeting with the gorgeous Michael Shanks? Here is the link -

http : / / lovinjackson . livejournal . com / 42012 . html # cutid1 (spaced out so FanFic will allow it. Join it up ;) hehe)

It is complete with photos (both Professional and ones I took during his Q&A)

Have a good one people!!

Tara x0x