Chapter 14 Taking Vengeance
Dean was getting real tired of getting knocked out. He was still sore from his fight with the bat guy, and now he ached all over from being tazed into submission. He found himself in a familiar position as he was tied to yet another gurney. This was beginning to make him seethe at every one and every thing like an animal spitting venom. The Mark demanded more blood. It was beginning to pain his arm. It sent fire through his veins.
In his pain and anguish, he let out an involuntary yep. "CAS!"
Castiel did not hear his cry. Angel radio did not exist outside of their world. But pray he did.
"Cas, please! If you can hear me, I need your help man! PLEASE!" he cried.
The guards outside his temporary cell were rigid and uncomfortable with his pleading. He would go quiet for a while, laughing at what he had done. There would be other moments when he would cry out to someone called 'Cas', sometimes what they could only assume was the name of a person called 'Sammy', or 'Sam'. He would cry in the night, and unsettle guards in the day. There was one who swore up and down that he saw the man's eyes turn black.
There was division in the prison. Many of the guards thought Dean was a necessary evil, and that these animals should have been dealt with in a similar way long ago. Gordon frowned on this talk, so it was stifled in locker rooms, in whispers. The prisoners began to fear this harbinger of death. They called him many names, but not enough was known of him to have any stick. They kept him in solitary. He wasn't allowed any visitors.
The media had tried to schedule an interview. The man who had killed the likes of Killer Croc, Victor Zsasz, Poison Ivy, Scarecrow, the Riddler, and the Penguin was big news. Some news outlets were beginning to question the merits of capitol punishment. Some commented that crime had been down to non-existent since his arrival in Gotham. It was as if he was a specter, a ghost, and avenging angel.
Bruce was spending his days and nights behind his computer studying Dean's biology. He had become intrigued with his rapid healing capabilities, as well as how messed up his hormone levels were. What intrigued him was that it seemed like there was a kind of affliction that caused these things, that was doing whatever necessary to keep him alive. He theorized that this could possibly even reverse death should it occur, though it was not likely that theory would be tested. He didn't feel much in regards to the deaths of three more of his adversaries. He had thought he would feel a measure of relief. But he felt nothing, just emptiness. All he felt was rage for this man who had killed his parents all those years ago. He hadn't decided what to do about it. Could he break his one rule. Would that be justice, or just vengeance? Could he live with himself if he did? Would it even work, or would he just come back due to this infection in his cells?
Alfred worried for him. Bruce wasn't eating. He barely slept. His promise to the Wayne's to take care of him couldn't have prepared him for this. What could be expected of a man confronted with the reason his life had been torn apart. Alfred didn't want to contemplate it.
Gordon had the bodies of the super villains cremated. Some science organization from Metropolis wanted the bodies of Waylon Jones and Pamela Isley, but they had been overruled. It seemed there was some form of justice in Gotham after all. He privately wondered how the Batman would react to this man. He had done the right thing bringing him in. He just hoped his daughter didn't end up idolizing this psychopath. He didn't need this to follow him home.
A few days later, Alfred woke to find the bat cave desolate. Bruce had gone out somewhere in the daylight.
Dean was dragged into an empty room. He had been told he had a visitor, yet this was an abandoned part of the asylum. Dean saw what looked suspiciously like torture equipment. There was a dark stain on the floor nearby. He wasn't squeamish. These days he was more comfortable with blood than he had ever been. Still, he would rather not be on the receiving end.
After a few minutes, the door opened and in walked a large man in a suit and tie. The guards shut the door behind them. They were alone. Though Dean was chained, he was far from helpless.
"So what, are you the man from the mayors office that gives me a metal for services to the city?" Dean asked.
The man paused at that. There was something about him that Dean couldn't quite place.
"Or are you my lawyer?" he said smiling.
"Do you know who I am?" the man asked.
"I know a lot of people. You will need to get more specific '007'." Dean said.
Bruce leaned further into the light. "My name is Bruce Wayne." he said.
Dean did a sort of mock bow and said, "My name is Dean Winchester. I like long walks on the beach, and getting caught in the rain."
Bruce said nothing for a moment, calculating. "You don't know who I am?"
"Should I?" Dean said sitting down in a chair with a mocking smile on his face.
"Do you know Thomas and Martha Wayne?" He asked.
That rang a bell. Those were the names paved into the sidewalk. 'Thomas' was the name that woman had called out before he had gunned her down. "Doesn't ring a bell." Dean said.
The hesitation was not missed by Bruce.
"What are you doing in Gotham?" Bruce said.
"Is that what this place is called?" Dean asked.
Bruce raised and eyebrow. This man didn't know where he was.
"I am joining the pajama party that you guys seem to have going around here, everyone dressing up in costumes and partying." he said.
"In this city we put our trust in the police. You are a killer, and that is all you will be remembered as." Bruce said, turning to leave.
"Wait a minute… I do know you don't I?" Dean asked.
Bruce turned to face his parent's killer.
"Is it really you?" Dean asked.
"Is what really me?" Bruce asked.
"You are the kid of those two rich peacocks I gunned down." Dean said.
Bruce hadn't lost control of his emotions in a very long time. He always kept them reigned in, but this man awakened rage.
"I am." Bruce said.
Dean smiled. "Looks like I did you a favor, Bruce was it? You look pretty well off."
Bruce charged forward, lifting Dean by the scruff of the neck into the air. Dean was helpless. Dean felt his windpipe begin to close. He was blacking out. Finally! He would not feel anything. True, he would turn into a demon again, but at least there was no one here that he cared about.
He couldn't let go. Something deep inside wouldn't let him. He felt the grip loosen. Dean fell into a crumpled heap on the floor.
Bruce began to weep silently as he walked toward the door. Dean was too busy retching to notice.
"I'll be back for you." Bruce said. It wasn't harsh, or cruel. It was soft, calming. It was unnerving in a way that made Dean shiver to his core. Bruce thanked the guards outside and left.
Dean was dragged unceremoniously to his cell. Conspicuously absent was the gurney. Instead he was left manacled to the wall. The good man Dean once was began to weep for his transgressions. He had doubts now that this was an illusion. The Devil had looked as surprised and rage filled as he had. It was a look he hated to see on his brother's face. How could he be sure? Had he actually killed innocent people? Had he robbed a child of his parents? Would the man end it? Would Dean finally be able to die?
The rain hit the window and in harmonization, Dean's tears fell to the concrete slab with a drain in the middle that was his cell. Over and over he asked the question, 'when would it end?'
When would it end…