Chapter Two - Ambush

"Dean."

In the depths of sleep Dean distantly heard his name and something slap his foot. Damn, he'd been having a good dream, too. Hoping he could grab another few minutes, he rolled over onto his side, but alas, it was not to be…

"Now, Dean. You too, Sam."

Dean sat up on his elbows, blinking at the brightness of the day and glancing over to see Sam stirring in the bed next to him, then his to his father as he collected his papers and headed out to the parking lot.

"What time is it?" Dean asked Sam, who didn't seem terribly thrilled at the prospect of moving yet again.

"6:30."

"Where does the day go?" Dean asked, rising from the bed at last and heading for the bathroom. By the time he came out, Sam, ever silent, already had their things packed and passed by Dean to use the bathroom himself. Sensing Sam's foul mood but saying nothing, Dean carried their bags out to the Impala and met his father at the trunk, who was taking inventory of the weapons cache.

"So what's up?"

"Pastor Jim got wind of some attacks in the woods near Muncie, Indiana. Thinks it might be a pack of Black Dogs."

"A pack?" Dean said, eyebrows raised with curiosity. "Thought they operated solo."

"Could be looking at a new breed."

"Terrific," Dean said flatly. He loaded up the bags and saw Sam exiting the motel room, shutting the door behind him. Sam barely glanced at their father as he climbed into the backseat. John silently climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. This is gonna be a long drive, Dean thought, climbing into the passenger seat.

SNSNSN

Parking the Impala at the edge of Colburn Woods just outside of Muncie, John opened the trunk and the three Winchesters began arming themselves with various weapons, stuffing extra ammo into their pockets, knives into ankle and belt sheaths, and pistols into their waistbands. With John taking point, Sam in the middle and Dean bringing up the rear, they made their way through the woods, each on full alert for their target.

Half an hour later they reached the coordinates where Jim had said the recent attacks had taken place. Sure enough, there were signs of a struggle, pieces of shredded clothing left behind, and dried blood on the ground. Signaling to his sons, each headed out in a different direction to scope out the area for traces of the pack.

As Sam made his way along, he couldn't keep his mind from wandering slightly. He too had never heard of Black Dogs traveling in packs. He also found no tracks or any evidence of the creature in the area he was searching. Refocusing his attention to the job, he glanced over to see Dean several yards away looking for traces of his own. Suddenly, Sam got the sense that they were not alone and looked all around for signs of company.

Dean, who hadn't had any luck picking up a trail himself, glanced over at Sam and noticed his brother suddenly freeze and look around. Sam had always been able to sense things easier than him and trusted his brother's instincts, so he watched and waited. After taking in the surrounding area, Sam glanced back to Dean and with a shrug and a nod, continued forward. Dean followed suit and the hunt continued.

Another half hour passed and the three men rendezvoused in a clearing to compare notes.

"I don't know, Dad, I think this may be another bust," said Dean, wondering what his dad was thinking.

"Dammit," said John, clearly frustrated. "Sam, you find anything?"

"No sir," said Sam in no particular tone, though Dean could practically see his brother's own frustration seeping from his skin. Dean wanted to ask what Sam had sensed earlier but since it hadn't happened again and Sam wasn't bringing it up, he let it go.

"Okay, let's head back to the original coordinates and plan our next move."

"Yes sir," both boys said together.

Making their way back, they kept on alert and surveyed the area around them, but still saw nothing. Sam, who was now bringing up the rear, suddenly felt a sting on his neck.

"Ow!"

John and Dean turned to see what had happened and found Sam holding his hand up to his neck.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Something bit me, I think," Sam said, not sure himself. The woods weren't terribly bug infested and it hurt more than a mosquito bite. A bee, maybe, but he wasn't sure.

Then suddenly Sam started feeling dizzy. Seeing him start to sway, Dean quickly went to him and grasped his arm.

"Dude, you okay?" Dean asked, concern in his voice.

"I don't know," said Sam, who was now having a hard time focusing. "I feel…strange…"

Before he knew it, Dean found Sam falling unconscious to the ground. He tried to stop his brother's momentum and was glad when John ran over to them.

"What happened?" John demanded.

"I don't know," Dean said, clearly worried. "He said something bit him, then he just collapsed."

John pulled Sam's shirt collar down to see what had stung his son and found a small dart embedded in his neck.

"What the…" He was quickly on his feet, shotgun at the ready.

"Dean, get your gun ready."

"What is it Dad?"

Suddenly Dean too felt a sharp sting in his upper arm and cried out. John swung around to see Dean clasp his arm and went to him, also finding a dart.

"Dad, what's hap…"

Dizziness soon captured Dean and he felt consciousness slipping away as his legs gave out beneath him.

"Dean!" John grasped Dean and lowered him to the ground near Sam. Shotgun in hand, he called out to the woods.

"Who's there? Show your face, you sonofabitch!"

A tall man suddenly dropped down from a nearby tree, tranquilizer rifle in hand.

"John Winchester, I presume."

"Who's asking?" John said, stone-faced. He raised the shotgun as he placed himself between the man and his unconscious sons.

"Put the gun down, John. I have orders to bring you in alive and unharmed and that will happen without incident if you simply cooperate," Fitzpatrick said, his tone even.

"And why would I do that?"

"Well, seeing as how your sons are of no help to you but are in fact lying at your feet rather defenseless – and don't worry, they are just asleep, a mild tranquilizer is all – I'd say you really don't have a choice."

"And what's to keep me from killing you right now?" John said cockily.

Before he knew it, four additional men dropped down out of the trees, armed.

Damn, how the hell did we miss that? John thought, cursing himself. I thought we were better than this. When we get out of this we are so going back into training…

"As I said, I would suggest cooperating, unless you want your sons' current state to become permanent."

John couldn't help but flinch at the sound of rifles being cocked and pointing at each of his boys.

"Don't worry, John. We don't want them. Just you."

"Why?"

Fitzpatrick sighed with impatience. "Put. The gun. Down."

A shot was fired and John saw the dirt near Dean's body fleck up as a bullet impacted with it.

"Alright!" said John, slowly lowering his gun to the ground.

"And the rest of it," said Fitzpatrick, again with a calm and even tone.

John proceeded to disarm himself, then raised his hands in surrender. "What about my boys?"

"They'll wake up with no more than a headache. No harm, no foul. Shall we?"

Fitzpatrick raised his arm to show the way he wanted John to walk. Looking down at Dean and Sam, he moved in the chosen direction with the men following. He glanced behind to make sure none of them made a move on his unconscious sons, and none did. They simply walked, quite casually, out of the woods.