AN: Thanks for all the alerts and the reviews for the first chapter, I'm really fast this time and give you the second chapter right now :)
The second impact was worse. Much worse. He heard metal twisting, glass shattering and tires screeching, a shower of shards hit his upper body and his seatbelt dug into his hips sharply. Then a sharp twist and pain in his left leg and a sudden overwhelming force that slammed everything to a standstill.
Chapter 2
The next thing Dean knew was nausea that hit him as soon as he regained a little consciousness and pain at every little move of his neck. Dean couldn't see much in the darkness around him, but he quickly jumped into survival mode when he remembered the crash. That had been an intended crash and he was the victim. His right hand searched for his gun that had been on the passenger's seat while his left hand tried to open the door.
Dean let out a full litany of curses when he realized that his baby's door was so twisted that it wouldn't open. With great effort he opened his seatbelt and searched for his gun with both hands at the floor of the car, nearly puking in the process. When he finally grazed something heavy with his fingers he nearly sighed with relief. But before he could grab his gun, arms pulled him upright again and pressed him into his seat. Where did those arms even come from? Dean whipped his head to his left, but was only rewarded with pain in his neck and spinning colours. When Dean's gaze focused again he could see a red lit figure standing right beside his car, arms reaching through the broken window. They began to pull him up, regripping him under his shoulders to drag him through the window. Dean struggled fiercely but all he got was a painful reminder that his left leg was somehow injured and some nasty scraps on his lower back when he unintentionally wriggled his protective jacket up and was dragged over the shards on the window frame.
He was in deep shit.
He made a last attempt to free himself when he was dragged the last inches out of the window. Dean used his right leg to kick against the car with all the force he could muster, sending the person that was dragging him and himself off balance and to the hard asphalt of the road. But if Dean knew something, it was how to fight. He quickly spun around and slammed his fist against the head of his attacker. He couldn't see much as it was still dark and the only light was red and dim, but his attacker was not out yet. And he had pulled a gun from somewhere. But Dean was faster, the blood rushing in his ears as he gripped the hand holding the weapon with both of his hands and slammed it on the road with all his force. He heard something crack and a pained cry from his opponent as the gun clattered away. Dean wanted to go after it instinctively but realized that his leg wouldn't support his weight enough to reach it. So he placed his arm on the man's throat instead, pushing and ignoring the left hand of his attacker that clawed fiercely at his arm. Just a few more seconds and his attacker would lose consciousness.
Something cold and hard touched him at the back of his head and sent icy shivers of fear through his whole body. Shit! He should have heard that there was a second attacker, hell if he had thought about everything for one second he would have known instantly that one attacker couldn't drive two cars. How can one be so stupid? He gritted his teeth, slowly lifting his arm from the throat of the first attacker. Maybe that would leave him a bit of a plus factor and his brain wouldn't be spattered all over the place in the next second.
"I wanna see your hands. Lift them slowly," the hunter had expected such a command, but he hadn't expected a female voice uttering it. He swallowed and slowly lifted his hands, breath hitching for a second when the gun shifted a quarter of an inch. Finally the gun was drawn back, but he was sure that it still pointed straight at his head.
"Stand up and move to the car," the voice commanded and Dean complied. He was still awkwardly straddling the guy that began to regain his senses and he guessed it would be better to be out of his reach quickly. He stood up and wavered when he put weight on his left ankle, but he could stand. Dean walked to the wreck of his car, awkwardly slow because he neither trusted his ankle nor did he trust the psyche of the chick with the gun. He placed his hands on the roof of the Impala, maybe the only part that was more or less intact – he couldn't make out a lot in the darkness but it looked like it would need a lot of time to fix it – at least it was not as bad as when the demon had hit her from the side. His thoughts were interrupted by voices, the chick again.
"Ron, you good?"
"Yeah, dirtbag nearly strangled me, but you had good timing," his voice sounded strained, Dean noted a bit satisfied.
Dean let the dirtbag comment go, more thinking of what he could do right now. He guessed that he was out of immediate mortal peril since those people obviously wanted him alive.
He deemed it safe to risk a look, hands still unmoving on his car. Both his attackers were in their thirties, the man with dark hair and a slight stubble and the woman was actually hot. Long blond hair and a slender figure. Dean might have tried to get her number…well, if she wore something other than her dishonourable-discharge-from-the-army-outfit and if she was not in the process of holding him at gunpoint and kidnapping him. Sometimes his brain was really messed up. At least he could blame it on whiplash injury this time.
The guy, Ron, came over now and searched him for weapons. Only with his left hand but pretty accurately. That was the reason he found both of his knives, cell, lockpick and a flask of holy water, the son of a bitch. Dean was officially out of weapons by now.
Ron grabbed his hands and bound them tightly behind his back with zip ties. Dean's hands slowly got slick from the blood that was still seeping through his clothes from the cuts at his back.
"So, crashing other people's cars and kidnapping them – is this some crazy hobby of yours or what?" Dean asked, trying to get any scrap of information on what he was dealing with.
"You shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you," the chick spat. Maybe he wouldn't have gone for her number, with that attitude. Dean raised his eyebrows seductively, preparing for a kiss-my-ass answer, when he saw something small glisten in her hand. He couldn't be sure, but he had a strong suspicion what it was. She must have seen his face falter, because she gave him a big smile, showing all white teeth, and strolled closer. She positioned herself right before him, left hand reaching for his cheek while the right one showed him the syringe she was carrying.
"Well, Dean -" she emphasized the name, making clear that the maniac car-crash-couple had targeted him specifically. Just his luck. It would be nice if he could once be involved in a normal accident without anyone selectively trying to murder him.
" – you either play along and don't make a sound or I'll give you this," she waggled the syringe unnecessarily, "I was told it changes people into slobbering heaps for hours…so what do you say, you want some of it?"
Dean was not sure if it was a trick question, so he went for the safe answer and just shook his head. He hated injections, and being a slobbering heap was certainly a hindrance for escaping, so he hoped the chick was not a sadistic bitch and injected it anyway.
Her smile grew even bigger and her hand patted his cheek. "Good boy, now come over here," she took his arm and guided him to the car in front of his. Dean really had a hard time not cursing the bitch with every expletive he knew, treating him as if he were her dog or something. He took some deep breaths and reached the car, a red SUV with an apparently pretty sturdy backside. It just spotted some dents and scrapes while his baby's hood was severely distorted. Another curse threatened to come over his lips but he controlled himself. Was it by the way too much to ask that some normal person would drive by and call the police? There should be people driving on the street, shouldn't they?
"You stay there and don't move," his captor commanded. If she gave him any more of that dog shit he would maybe strangle her, arms tied behind his back or not.
She went over to talk to Ron, and Dean looked for a way to escape, but it was pointless. Bonnie and Ron – or more likely Ronnie and Clyde - were standing just out of earshot, but with his cuffed hands and still hurting ankle he could do jack shit.
Ron went to the other car that sandwiched his, a pickup that also seemed to be red in the dim moonlight. He attached a tow-hook to his Impala and began pulling her from the street, in the process distorting her rear even more.
"Hey, don't you think you already ruined my car enough?!" Dean couldn't help his angry outburst. This day kept getting worse, he had an accident, was being kidnapped and now they kept on mutilating his car.
The woman was right back, waving her syringe again while placing her index finger over her lips. Dean mentally enjoyed the image of him breaking the bitch's nose with a headbutt for some seconds, but he composed himself again. He just pursed his lips and shot her an angry look. She shoved him to the side and opened the trunk of the SUV. Dean, curious what she was going to get went a step closer to the trunk, when he was grabbed and hardly shoved against it. His knees gave in and he awkwardly landed on his stomach halfway inside the trunk. Dean really wanted to kick himself for his stupidity. Fuck, did they seriously plan to lock him in the trunk? His question was answered by a zip tie that bound his feet together. Son of a bitch! He was so done with this day.
The chick shoved his feet inside and he laid on his side facing her.
"So, the rules for the ride are very simple," she began, "You stay quiet and I won't be forced to make you quiet, ok?"
Dean nodded. She shifted her weight, as if indecisive. Then she took off her bandana (camouflage pattern, what else?) and tied it around Dean's mouth. The hell? He had acted harmless and she gagged him anyway? What was wrong with that chick?
He could now see that Ron was finished with pulling his damaged baby from the road, and the chick's face, lit by the red and white lights of the car and the trunk, wasn't as smooth as he expected. She had a burn scar on her lower cheek and on a big part of her now exposed neck.
"Don't look at me like that," she mistook his inquisitive gaze, "I can't risk you screaming if we cross a city, so this is the best solution."
Dean thought she more argumented with herself than with him, but he kept his face angry anyway.
"Oh, and try not to puke, it would kill you," with that she pulled the visual cover of the trunk over him and shut it, leaving him in utter darkness.
"Thngg foo n'thng, bi'f," Dean mumbled into his gag. The car started and Dean realized that the trunk was not as small as he thought, meaning that he had still space to the front and the back where he could hit corners and edges as soon as the car moved. He tried to find a relatively comfortable position, but after some unsuccessful tries he contented himself with bringing his hurting ankle into a firm position and guarding his damaged back with his hands. At least he had no concussion, fighting for his life against the urge to puke was not very high on his priority list.
Dean decided to use the time and try to figure out who had taken him. His bet was on some normal people, because demons or vampires or anything like that would have used their special skills to get their fingers on him. It was a rather sad testimonial for him that he had lost against two normal humans. Which brought him to the next gnawing question, how did they know when he would drive on this road? Or did they just track down his car?
A sharp left bend halted his thoughts when his head slammed into the side of the trunk and his neck answered in protest. He had to take some deep breaths through his nose until the pain subsided. Exhausted, he rested his head back down. He was tired. It had been a long day and it was dark. Indifference wrapped around him like a soft blanket, offering peace and rest. The question that nagged at the back of his thoughts if he was losing consciousness or just going to sleep dissipated into nothingness when blackness claimed him.
AN: What do you think? Should I still hide from Dean? Did you like it? Found any mistakes? (I'm not a native english speaker, so constructive criticism is really ok)
Please review :)
