Chapter Three -- Welcome, John

"Dean."

For the second time in as many days Dean felt someone tapping him to wake up, only this time there was no dream being interrupted. There was just a foggy haze. And something other than a soft mattress beneath him. Upon opening his eyes, the bright blur hurt like a bitch and he threw his arm over his face to block out the offending glare, which unfortunately did nothing for his pounding headache.

"Dean, you with me?"

"Bobby?" Dean asked, recognizing the voice of the old codger and long-time family friend. But what the hell was Bobby doing here? And where was here again?

Oh, yeah, the woods. The pack of black dogs. The hunt. Dad and Sam.

Dean went to sit up and the world suddenly tilted quite unpleasantly. Thankfully, strong arms kept him from falling hard back onto the ground. "Take it easy, son," Bobby said, keeping a firm hold of Dean to steady him.

"What happened? What are you doing here? Sam? Dad?" Dean called out.

"Sam's a few feet over, still out. Your Dad's not here."

Dean, light and headache be damned, forced his eyes open upon hearing that Sam was unconscious. He scanned the area and saw his brother lying prone on the ground and made his way over to him, relieved to see him starting to come around.

"Sam?"

A groan. Yep, kid was suffering the same rude awakening. "Dean?"

"Right here, kiddo."

"What happened?"

"Not quite sure. Think we got shot with something. You okay?"

Sam breathed slowly in and out, trying to regain his own equilibrium, then slowly opened his eyes to meet Dean's gaze, then noticed Bobby's presence.

"Bobby? What are you doing here?"

"Waiting to hear the answer to that myself," Dean answered. "And where the hell is Dad?" Dean knew their father wouldn't willingly leave Sam and him unconscious and defenseless and figured whoever shot them had to have taken him.

Bobby helped Dean get to his shaky but ultimately stable feet, then the two helped Sam up. "Got wind of some information that you three were walking into an ambush and got myself here as quickly as I could. Not damn fast enough, apparently," said Bobby.

"What information?" asked Sam.

"Do you know who it was and what's happened to Dad?" asked Dean, looking around for any clues that might tell him what had happened to the eldest Winchester.

"Yeah, and it ain't good," answered Bobby. "Let's get back to the cars and I'll fill you on the way."

Dean and Sam looked at each other, both concerned about what had happened but, putting their trust in their family friend, followed Bobby back to the cars.

SNSNSN

As they made their way out of the woods, Bobby told Sam and Dean that he had gotten a phone call from Pastor Jim. Jim told Bobby about sending the Winchesters out to hunt the pack of black dogs but that shortly after had received a phone call from another hunter, Peter Swathmore. Peter said that he had come across a small nest of vampires nearby and went to take it out.

"Peter said that after killing the three residing vampires he went to kill the last when the bastard started begging and pleading for his life, saying he had valuable information to offer in exchange for his life," Bobby told the boys.

"What kind of information?" Sam asked.

"He said that he had recently escaped from some kind of stronghold in Missouri where a bunch of supernatural creatures were being held captive to be used for some kind of blood sport competition…" Bobby continued.

"You're kidding," Dean asked, eyebrows raised.

"Fraid not," Bobby answered.

"You think he was telling the truth?" Sam asked.

"Peter said the guy was awfully desperate and definitely afraid of something."

"Yeah, getting his head chopped off," Dean said with a huff.

"Maybe, but Peter said the vamp rambled on, talking about how he'd heard some of the guards talking about how the Collector – that's apparently the guy in charge – wanted to bring in a hunter to up the stakes of the games."

"A hunter…" Dean said.

"Dad?" added Sam.

"Yeah. Vamp said they never actually said John's name but that the guards were heading out to Colburn Woods to fetch the hunter. Peter then started putting the word out to every hunter he could think of to warn them and when he came to Jim, Jim knew they must have been talking about your daddy and tried to reach you fellas but got no answer on any of your phones. That's when he called me."

"So all this was a set up to get Dad?" Dean said, clearly furious at having been duped.

"Did the vamp say where in Missouri this stronghold is?" asked Sam.

"Poplar Bluff," said Bobby.

Dean, spotting the cars before then, quickened his pace. "C'mon then. They can't have too big a head start on us. We can make it there in a few hours."

"Just hold on there a minute, son," Bobby said, grabbing Dean's arm to stop him. "We got no idea what we're dealing with here. If this Collector guy is able to snatch a hoard of beasts and whatnot and pen them up to do his bidding, he's gotta have one hell of an armory and some damn good hunters of his own. We need more information before we go running in there half-cocked."

"Bobby's right, Dean, "said Sam sympathetically. He knew the state Dean was in right now – full-on protection mode – but they had to have more facts in order to mount a successful rescue. "I mean, this ambush on us was clean, a real pro job. We gotta know more about who we're dealing with."

"Dammit," Dean shouted angrily, his frustration mounting. "Okay, so the vamp, he's gotta know more, right? Where is he now?"

"Got him secured at Peter's place in Rockford, Iowa," said Bobby.

"Then let's go have a little chat with the bloodsucker." With that, Dean got into the Impala, Sam following and Bobby climbing into his own car. Much as Dean wanted to head south toward Missouri, he knew Bobby and Sam were right. They need to know more, needed a plan if they were going to get their father back. So he headed north toward Iowa, pedal to the floorboard.

SNSNSN

John couldn't really tell how long they had been driving – the blindfold over his eyes didn't help matters – but it had definitely been several hours before he felt the van he was riding in come to a stop. The men who held him didn't say much on the drive, so no information was provided there. So he simply focused on centering himself and keeping as alert and ready as possible for any openings that presented themselves.

It was hard not to think of his boys lying unconscious and defenseless back in the woods. He was relieved when the men had walked away without harming them further and believed now that the "hunt" was a set-up, that there likely was no pack of black dogs. Still, he hoped all the woods bore were birds and squirrels and nothing more threatening. He could see now that he was the intended target, but for what purpose he had no idea. A specialized hunt? Revenge for a past one? So far these were humans he was dealing with, at least for now. What was it Dean always said? Demons you get, people are just crazy. No question here.

On a positive note, these people who had decided not to bring Dean and Sam along maybe didn't consider them a threat. John had been involving his boys on hunts for years and they'd been doing a hell of a job, but if word was out about the Winchesters, the credit was likely still given mostly to John, delegating his sons as "adequate backup."

John smiled. The sonsabitches had no idea what the Winchester boys were capable of and would be in for the shock of their lives when the cavalry arrived. He just hoped Sam and Dean had enough know-how to get back-up of their own for the rescue.

Of course, John hoped it wouldn't come to that. That he could, in fact, get himself out of his current situation.

But as the van came to a stop and he was led from it, blindfold removed, that particular hope diminished greatly. He found himself within the walls of what looked like an abandoned prison courtyard. Heavily armed sentries were perched in each of the watchtowers above as well as at every possible entryway.

Fitzpatrick led the way toward one doorway and John was prodded to follow. As they made their way down a dark corridor, John took inventory of his surroundings, looking for potential exits points, available tools to use as weapons, distinguishing sounds. A large door at the end of the corridor parted open automatically and he was led into a room with a dirt floor, lit only by a large spotlight in the middle, which he was made to stand in.

"Welcome John Winchester. I hope the ride in wasn't too uncomfortable," a voice thundered out to him.

"I've had worse," John said, carefully keeping his tone controlled and casual. "Wish I could say the same about the method of invitation."

"Yes, well, I've grown accustomed to bringing my other guests here a certain way and I suppose old habits die hard. You understand."

"Care to tell me why I'm here? And who these other guests are?"

"You're here, Mr. Winchester, because you've made a formidable impression in the world of hunting evil," said the voice, which John would swear bore a trace of respect and admiration. "Your track record in killing supernatural beings is quite impressive. When I made inquiries as to who was considered to be an outstanding hunter, your name was brought up more than most."

"What can I say, I like my job."

"Job. Interesting," said the voice. "I was under the impression your quest is one driven by revenge. Your wife was killed by a demon, was she not?"

John stood his ground, saying nothing, poker face firmly in place.

"But your demon hasn't been heard from in some time, has it? Yet still you choose to chase after harmful creatures that prey on the innocent. You've even chosen to raise your sons to hunt as well, despite the ever-present danger and violence that comes with it. I don't know whether to respect your dedication or pity your selfishness."

"Why don't you just tell me why I'm here," said John firmly.

"You're here, John – may I call you John? – you're here for me to watch you work. I've become bored with my current source of amusement and feel a need to add a new element. That element is you."

"And what is it I'll be doing, exactly?" John asked, trying to mask the twinge of nervousness he was increasingly feeling.

"Hunting, John. What you do best."

"And what is it I'll be hunting?"

"Oh don't worry, John. I have plenty of subjects to keep you occupied."

With that, flood lights suddenly came on, illuminating the vast arena John found himself in. The room was silo-like, tall and round. As John looked up, he saw levels upon levels of cells surrounding him. Within each cell, he recognized a plethora of creatures: yetis, wolves, black dogs, leszies, rawheads. Human-like beings he assumed were witches, zombies, vampires or a dozen other creatures. Dozens of them.

All of them pounding on the walls of their glass cages, screaming and howling down at him. None hiding their fervent desire to get to him to rip him to shreds.

John gulped, unable to stop the shudder running down his spine. He was in trouble. Deep, massive, incalculable trouble.

Oh, Mary…