The Darkness We Create Chapter 3, a supernatural fanfic

So, new chappy...hope everyone is enjoying...thanks for reading and for all the awesome reviews!! let me know what you think, i really do live for reviews!! Bambers;)

Chapter Three

Sam searched outside the bar for any clues as to what had possibly happened to his brother. But after a extensive sweep of the entire parking lot, he'd turned up nothing. Dean had just disappeared without a trace, and the only lead Sam had to go on was that the men who took him were bald and had tattoos. That's a whole helluva lot of help. Not like there isn't a freakin' ton of guys who are bald and have tattoos.

There had to be a reason why they'd chosen Dean, it couldn't have just been random abduction. Nothing that had ever happened in the Winchesters' lives could be considered purely random, and Sam highly doubted this time would prove to be any different.

The bartender had said that the bar had been crowded so Sam could only assume that there would have been easier targets than Dean to take. Even vastly outnumbered Dean would have fought back. That one thought bothered Sam because as hard as he looked, he found no signs of a struggle.

He pivoted on his heel, and peered around at the streetlight on the corner and then at the stores across the road. Noticing the First National Trust Bank of America located directly across from Dean's car, Sam determinedly strode toward it. In front of the old stone building, Sam spied an ATM machine, and knew they all came equipped with cameras to capture images of people coming up to withdraw money in case of robberies.

If the camera was at the right height and angle, it might have caught an image of the men who took Dean or their vehicle. He knew it was a longshot at best, but if he could get a clear picture of the vehicle he might just be able to get a license plate number. The only problem was that it was Sunday and the bank would be closed until Monday morning, and Sam knew he didn't have that kind of time to waste.

Fishing his cell phone out of the pocket of his jacket, Sam jabbed the button to call his Dad. The phone rand several time before it went to voice mail. Sam yanked back the phone and stared at it in frustration and anger. Damn it, Dad, your freakin' son is missing and like always you're basically freakin' useless.

Sam returned the phone to his ear, and said, "Dad, I really need your help. Some guys abducted Dean, and I have no idea where they've taken him to or even where to begin searching for him." Sam hesitated for a moment, knowing his father probably wouldn't even bother calling back, figuring Sam could handle the situation on his own. "Look, Dad, I really need you here . . .. Please, just call me back."

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A faint groan escaped Dean's dry chapped lips as he felt icy cold water splash down over him. He shivered violently as another bucket full was poured over his head and pooled around his bare chest. His back felt as if it were on fire, and he was almost positive that he had at least one if not more cracked ribs as it hurt like hell to even breathe. His legs had long since passed the point of being numb, and was almost afraid to move knowing the agony he would feel when he did.

Without glancing up, he knew the three men were still in the room with him, and wondered briefly how long he'd been unconscious this time. All Dean wanted to do at this moment was to go back to that blissful unawareness and not to wake up again until Sam found him.

His heavy eyelids drooped closed, and he felt himself drifting off until someone slapped him across the face. His head jerked to the side for a second before he snapped it back to glare at the big beefy man who had beat him with the cane.

"The Father said you aren't allowed to sleep," Curly gruffly warned.

"An' you always do what your daddy tells ya to do." Dean chuckled weakly then winced at the pain spreading through his back like a wildfire.

Curly squat down in front of Dean, grabbed hold of his chin, and forcefully jerked Dean's head up so he was looking Curly square in the eyes. "You will do as the Father tells you to do, you understand me?"

"Like hell I will," Dean snarled. "An' when I get the hell outta here, I'm gonna come after the whole lot of you. Gonna kill every last freakin' one of you startin' with the Father. An' then you're next."

"You really think so, Child?" Curly let go of Dean's chin and pressed his hand down hard on Dean's throbbing back. A muffled cry tore from Dean's lips as he clenched his teeth, his face contorting in pain. "I just really don't think you're going anywhere."

Dean glared at the man through a pain-filled haze, his eyelids fluttering open and closed as darkness threatened to engulf him again. "Wanna bet?"

Curly took one last look at Dean and rose to stand. "You'd lose." He turned and strolled out of the cell, and took his place beside the other two men to stand guard over Dean.

Somewhere overhead, Dean heard the loudspeaker click on, and the deep male voice of the Father saying the same things over and over again. The Father's word is law. You will obey the Father. You are nothing without the Father to guide you. You live to serve only the Father.

Dean tried desperately to block out the sound of the Father's voice, silently mouthing the words to every Metallica song he knew, and when he'd finished with those, he started in on AC/DC. When he'd gone through every song he could think of, Dean began recounting every hunt that he'd ever been on.

As if they'd realized what he was doing, someone turned the loudspeaker up full blast, making it nearly impossible for Dean to think clearly.