The first sense that came back to life was his sense of smell. Wherever he was it smelled of water and mildew. He took a deep breath trying to ascertain whether or not he was, in fact, still alive, and the sharp intake of breath burned his lungs and confirmed that he was very much alive.
His ears came back into their auditory focus moments after his sense of smell, and he could hear the two men who had taken him, and apparently knocked him out, over in the corner quietly arguing about something, that something, Andrew assumed was him. Their words were muffled, but the emotions were clear.
It took a moment or two more before he realized that his chin was touching his chest. He commanded the muscles to straighten and they did, under great protest, and the searing pain that coursed through his head once it was upright was enough to make him want to do another round with unconsciousness.
He opened his eyes and the two men finally took notice that their captive was awake and alert.
"What do you want?" Andrew managed through a parched throat.
"You and your sons owe my family a blood debt." The man responded.
"I only had one son." Andrew said. The larger of the two laughed.
"Can't you count?" He laughed. "I mean, sure, it's almost legendary how joined at the hip the two of them are. We all know that you don't pick on wittle Sammy Winchester or big bwother Dean will swoop down and beat you all to hell. But surly you can tell your sons apart, surely you can tell that there are in fact two of them. You were there when they were conceived weren't you?" Andrew didn't respond, he was angry, and he was desperately trying to keep his emotions, and his voice in check. The tall man smiled. "You were there weren't you…when BOTH of your sons were conceived? Or is there a reason that Dean doesn't share the Winchester height?"
"They aren't my sons. I only had one son, and he died." Andrew said, sensing that it was probably in his best interest not to mention that Sam and Dean were his grandsons.
"Your sonS are very much alive John." Interrogator man said emphasizing the s.
"I'm not John."
"Carl, you believe him?" the taller asked his companion sarcastically, and then moved towards Andrew.
"No, Alan I don't believe him." Carl's weaker voice croaked from the other side of the room.
The tall man, Alan, got mere inches from Andrew's face. He leaned over and Andrew could feel his breath on his face, Andrew looked the man dead in the eyes, refusing to look away, refusing to allow the taller, younger man to dominate him. Alan's face turned darker when he realized that he wasn't going to win this particular bout of dominance plan. "I think, John Winchester, you've been playing dead for five years, laying low, letting your boys take all of the credit for your transgressions, hell, I think you let your boys do what they did to the world. Encouraged it even. I know the truth. I ain't gonna be fooled by this get up." He gestured to Andrew's body.
"What are you talking about?" Andrew asked frustrated.
"How did you do it John?"
"I'm not John." Andrew said louder despite the headache that was forming behind his eyes.
"You keep saying that like I'm going to believe it."
"I'm going to keep saying it until you get it through your thick skull." Andrew corrected.
Alan stood straight, walked to a table just out of Andrew's eye shot and returned moments later with a frightening looking device. "Oh, John, we have ways to make you talk."
SNSNSNSNSNSNSN
The entire bar had watched the two men take Andrew out of the bar and none had lifted a finger to help the elderly man. Clive tried to get up and go for Andrew but a beefy hand stopped him. "I don't suggest you get up. They have a legitimate beef with your friend there."
"They're going to hurt him."
"Them Winchesters deserve a little hurt to come their way." The man keeping him from getting up said in a deep baritone.
"He hasn't done anything to anyone." Clive yelled.
"Sins of the sons are the sins of the father." Clive sensed the danger that loomed all around the man and he wisely stopped trying to get up. The beefy man waited a few more minutes and then moved away from Clive and back to his own seat. Clive stood seconds later and was headed to the door when he saw his friend's cell phone. He looked around to see if anyone else in the bar saw it, and when he decided that they hadn't he swiftly picked it up and headed out of the door.
He paged through his friend's contacts once he was inside of his own car, and found his grandson's number.
He called.
He waited.
It rang.
It went to voice mail.
Clive cursed.
Clive left a message.
Clive turned on a car and broke every single stereotype that involved old men and cars and booked it out of the bar, hoping to find a way to save his friend.