Chapter 14

Dean loaded his gun as Sam and John did the same.

"Alright, let's just get him to the building in the woods," said John.

"Why?" asked Dean.

"So he can feel everything you went through," said John.

"What?" said Dean. "No!"

"Dean, he tortured you," said Sam. "For fun."

"I'm not saying we let him off easy," said Dean. "But we are not torturing him."

"Son, he's an evil bastard…a monster," said John.

"That doesn't mean we stoop to his level," said Dean. "We don't become monsters." He took a deep breath. "Look, by all means, have at it. Just don't torture him. You fight fire with fire, all you get is a bigger fire. If transgenics are ever going to be viewed as actual people, we don't need to be torturing because of a hate crime."

John nodded. "You're right. But I still want the first shot at him."

Dean laughed. "Fair enough."

They left the trunk of the Impala, heading to the lobby of the motel through the dark night. Dean expertly picked the lock, and they rushed inside. They found the manager's bedroom and snuck inside. Dean pulled a cloth soaked in chloroform out of his pocket as he approached the bed.

The manager slept all snug in his bed as if he hadn't just spent a week torturing an innocent man. That pissed Dean off like no other. Dean quickly placed the cloth over the man's mouth and nose. The man's eyes sprang open, and they widened when he spotted Dean's face. The man quickly passed out.

Dean looked up at Sam. "That was…oddly relieving."

"It was?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, I mean, did you see his face?" said Dean. "That was awesome."

"Enjoying yourself?" asked Sam.

"Shut up," muttered Dean.

They tied the guy's hands and feet, hauling him out to the Impala. After several pushes, Dean finally consented taking the manager to the building in the woods he'd been taken to, knowing it would be easier to get him arrested if he was surrounded by his own guilty handiwork. Sam grabbed the guy's feet as Dean grabbed his arms. Sam walked backwards into the building as Dean shuffled after him. As soon as Dean was through the door, he froze, looking around at the confines he'd stared at for a week. His blood still littered the floor and table.

"Hey," said Sam. Dean looked up at him. "You gonna be okay?"

Dean looked at the bloody table. "I'll let you know. Come on." He helped Sam put the manager on the table. After strapping him with the shackles that had once held Dean, Dean rummaged in the manager's pockets, pulling out his wallet.

"What's his name?" asked Sam as Dean pulled out a driver's license. Dean stared at the license, mouth twitching into a smile. "Dean?" Dean looked up at him, smiling. "What's his name?"

Dean's smile grew wider. "Dick." Sam frowned. "His name is Dick Richardson. I guess he shortened it because Richard Richardson would be too confusing." Dean laughed out loud. "Either way, it suits him."

Sam looked down at "Dick," chuckling at the name he'd been given. "That's hilarious."

"I know, right?" said Dean.

Sam looked around the floor at Dean's blood. It had stained the floor of the room, already turned a dark brown. "God…"

Dean looked up to see Sam looking at the tray of torture instruments, bloody from the past week. Dean walked over to Sam, putting a hand on his shoulder. Sam looked up at Dean, seeing the cuts and bruises the tray of instruments had implemented.

"Sam…" began Dean, unsure how to start, "it wasn't that bad."

Sam frowned at Dean, staring at him. "Not that bad? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said," said Dean. "It wasn't that bad."

"You were tortured, Dean!" said Sam. "For a week!"

"I've had worse," muttered Dean, keeping his voice low.

Sam, however, heard the whole thing. "You what?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "You weren't supposed to hear that."

"Well, tough, I did," said Sam. "What do you mean, you've had worse? You've been tortured before?"

Dean looked down at his feet. "Yeah."

"Who?" asked Sam, eager to dish out more payback.

"Manticore," said Dean.

Sam frowned. "What?"

"Long story," said Dean. "Basically, they had ways of making you do what they wanted…and not caring about it."

Sam shook his head. "Sorry, man. I had no idea it was like this."

"It's not your fault," said Dean.

"I know," said Sam. "I just wish I could make it all go away."

John walked into the room, looking around at the blood. He took a deep breath before looking at Dean. "You guys okay?"

"Yeah," said Dean. He heard the manager stir, and he walked over to the table, leaning over him. "Oh, look who's awake." Dick opened his eyes, looking up at Dean. "Hello, Dick." He emphasized the name, making sure the guy knew it was an insult.

"You transgenic scum," said Dick.

"Who's the scum, now?" asked Dean. "I'm just living my life, helping people, even saving their lives. You…you torture people for fun. I'd say you're the scumbag."

"You're not people," muttered Dick. "You're trash."

"Now, normally, I'd retort with some witty comeback," said Dean. "But you're not even worth it."

"Then what are you gonna do?" asked Dick.

"Oh, not me," said Dean. He looked up at his father. "Him." Dick looked over at John. "You see, you messed with a Winchester…and not just any Winchester…his son." Dean backed away from the table as John moved forward. "I'd wish you luck, but, uh…I don't think I really want to."

Dean and Sam stood against the wall as John headed towards the table.

"Oh, so, what, eye for an eye?" asked Dick. John didn't say anything. It began putting Dick on edge. "You gonna torture me?"

"No," said John, towering over Dick. "But you hurt my son." He grabbed the man's jaw, forcing his head towards his own. "And now I'm gonna hurt you."