Okay, you asked for it, you got it! Here's the conclusion for the AU replacement for Something Wicked. I hope it meets with expectations!
Chapter Ten: Vengeance Is Mine, Sayeth Winchester
John gripped the steering wheel of his truck so tight his knuckles were white, showing starkly against the black plastic. He smiled despite what he and Sam intended to do. It was high time they took care of that bastard, and the fact Sam had taken the initiative here…well, it made him proud. That was a crappy thing to be proud of, wasn't it? Vengeance? Or was he proud of the fact that Sam felt protective of Dean, like a real brother? That maybe John did something right for a change?
He pressed down harder on the accelerator. John had wanted to meet this bastard for a while. He had never been able to get Dean to open up about some elements of his past, but he had never done a really thorough research on the kid either. Clearly Sam had. Another reason to be proud of his boy.
The hour to get to the correct neighborhood, easy with Sam's precise directions, seemed to take forever. He parked down the block from the address. John sauntered down the suburban sidewalk casually, eyes sharp. Sam lounged against a building he passed. His son fell into step with him as though they had never separated.
"Spot him?" he asked, voice low, when Sam was close enough to hear.
"Maybe. He's still getting his mail here." Sam's voice had an edge to it that John found both disturbing and comforting. Comforting in the fact he knew he could depend on Sam to do what was necessary. Disturbing in that, in this case, he realized he could depend on Sam to do what John considered necessary. There would no questioning his orders this time, no discussion of right versus wrong, unless it was used to scare the crap out of this asshole. That might be a good idea. "Want to play bad cop – good cop?" he asked.
"Nah," Sam said with a snort that sounded an awful lot like Dean, "how about bad cop – worse cop."
John shot his son a hard look. "Yeah. That'll work."
Sam nodded in response. "Apartment seventeen. Second floor. One door, two windows in the front and a small one in the bathroom, but it looks too small for him to get through. He's not a little guy, Dad."
John nodded as they turned into the apartment complex. "I figured. It'd probably take a big guy to take out Dean."
"Sure, now," Sam snapped, his voice harder than John had ever heard. "Maybe not at fifteen."
John paused before mounting the stairs that led to apartment seventeen. He met Sam's eyes. "He was fifteen?"
Sam glared in response. "You think only adults get beat up, Dad?"
John shook his head with a deep sigh. "I didn't think…" He swallowed hard. "It didn't really occur to me."
Sam gave him a sad smile. "It's amazing how much I hated my childhood before meeting Dean, and how much I appreciate it now."
John rested his hand on Sam's shoulder. He didn't know whether to feel grateful for the change in attitude, or guilty that he hadn't realized Dean had been abused. "You ready for this?" he asked gently.
"I'll be the bad cop," Sam replied with a curt nod. "You pull off worse cop better than I do."
"Have you and Dean pulled this one before or something?" John asked as he headed up the stairs.
Sam chuckled from behind him. "You'd like to know, wouldn't you?" John glanced back into Sam's amused face. "I'm not telling," he added in a singsong voice.
"You're spending way too much time with Dean," he replied.
"Yeah, I've been wondering why you changed his name," Sam said as John peeked through the open slit in the curtains. "He's not home."
John nodded, pulling out his lockpick kit. "I thought you understood that by now," he replied as he inserted his tools in the lock.
"Oh, not the Winchester part," Sam said a little too casually. "I meant the Dean part."
John blew out another sigh as the lock turned. "Guess I should've seen that one coming, huh?"
Sam nodded as John opened the door. Instantly they were hit with the smells of stale and rotting food and air freshener. Lemon. John remembered Dean refusing to stay at one motel that used lemon air freshener. Yahztee! "This is it."
"You sure?" Sam asked, closing the door behind them.
"Definitely," John replied. "Let's clean up."
Sam gave him the 'you've got to be kidding me' look, but he didn't say anything. John found some trash bags in the kitchen and started throwing everything away. Anything that was paper or food-based went in the bags, even dirty dishes. He and Sam tossed their full trash bags in the asshole's bedroom. Now that the smell of the apartment had improved dramatically, John rubbed his hands in anticipation.
Sam paced nervously now that they had nothing to do but wait, peering out the curtains periodically.
"Relax, son. We can wait as long as it takes." A distinctly guilty look crossed Sam's face. "What?"
Sam cleared his throat nervously. "Dean's here."
"Here?" John raised one eyebrow at his son. His younger son. "What do you mean by 'here'?"
Sam rubbed his hands on his jeans. "In town. He followed me."
"Damn it, Sam," John growled. "Did he steal a car?"
Sam glared at him. "You think I took the Impala? Dad, I don't have a death wish. I stole a car."
John stared at Sam for a moment. "Death wish?"
After a moment, a grin broke on Sam's face. John followed it with a chuckle, which caused Sam to chuckle. "Yeah, you're right," John replied.
The shared moment dissipated quickly. "Name?" Sam demanded.
John rolled his eyes. Here it came. Typical. "Sam, do you really want to do this now?"
"Yeah, actually I do," Sam said, stepping closer. "Why Dean? You could've called him Jerry Winchester. You made the driver's license. You picked the name."
"Where did you see this guy?" John asked, wondering how long he would have to put up with this inquisition.
"Came out of the apartment and got into his car. Neighbors say he eats out every night, usually comes back within a couple of hours." Sam checked his watch. "If they're right, we have maybe twenty minutes. Plenty of time for explaining why you changed his frigging name."
John decided to try for humor. "You really wanted a brother named Jerry?"
Sam's glare hardened. O-kay, maybe humor was a bad idea.
"Dad," Sam growled low. "I never even wanted a brother." Wait, he didn't?
They heard the key in the lock at the same time. That thought flew from his mind as Sam rushed to stand behind the door and John took a seat in the asshole's easy-chair. Why did these guys always have an easy-chair? Were they unionized or something?
A large man with a crooked nose opened the door. He blinked in surprise at the light on in the apartment. Then he stared at John for a moment before checking the number on the door. With a smile, he walked in.
"What is this? Did Joey send you or something? I told him I'd have the money next Friday." The guy looked way too confident considering what was about to happen.
John motioned with one hand. Sam slammed the door shut. The guy rolled his eyes as he turned partially so his back wasn't to either one of them. "Look guys, whatever Joey is paying you, next Friday I can double it. Honest."
"Are you Jonathon Quincy Hanes?" Sam demanded. John was damned impressed with how official he sounded.
A confused look came over the man's face. "Joey didn't send you?"
John shook his head slowly. "We don't know any Joey," he said slowly. "Do we, partner?"
Sam gave the asshole a shove closer to John. "Never heard of him."
Hanes looked around, more confusion settling in. "How long have you been here?"
John smiled. "I don't care for messes. You're a mess, Hanes." John stood. Hanes was about his height but probably had twenty pounds on him. John would bet that twenty pounds wasn't muscle. "My partner here and I clean up messes."
Hanes chuckled. "Okay, who put you up to this? Was it Henry? I'll strangle that asshole."
John motioned to the chair. "Care to sit? It's pretty comfortable."
He noticed a bead of sweat on Hanes' temple. Good, they were getting to him.
Then there was the sound of someone beating on the door. "Sam! Damn it, Sam, you come out right now!"
John shot his son a hard look. "You don't cover your tracks worth a shit, son," he said with a sigh. Sam shot him a nasty look. "Go on, before he kicks it in." John pulled out his revolver, pointed it at Hanes. "I thought I told you to sit."
Hanes' eyes widened as he sat in the chair. Sam pulled the door open to reveal a seriously pissed off Dean. Dean stormed in, eyes only on Sam. He backed Sam right up to the far wall, one hand on the younger man's chest. "God damn it! I told you not to do this! I told you he's not worth it! What the hell are you doing here?" With one hand he shoved Sam against the wall.
"Dean," John tried to get the older boy's attention.
"Do you listen to a freaking word I say?" Dean demanded. Even his ears were red.
"Dean," John called out again.
"Well?" Dean shoved Sam against the wall again. Sam motioned towards John. John backed up, careful to cover Hanes as he reached for the open door. "Dean!" he snapped as he slammed the door closed.
Dean spun around, startled. His eyes widened as he took in John. "Dad?"
Hanes glared at Dean. "Jerry? That you?"
Dean took a faltering step toward John, his eyes darting to Hanes and a frown creasing his face.
"Dean," John said, loud in order to direct his attention, "don't pick on your brother."
Dean's frown morphed into a steely glare. "You shouldn't be here, either."
John almost smiled at that. This he could handle. "Are you questioning me, son?" he asked softly.
Dean shot a look at Sam before squaring his shoulders. "Yes, sir. I am."
Now that was a surprise. It wasn't really the right time for surprises. Dean didn't exactly sound confident about it, but it was the most the kid had ever talked back. John tried to cover his reaction. "And what do you want us to do, Dean?" he asked instead. "Just walk away? We know it was him."
"We know he put you in the hospital for three weeks," Sam said in a similar coercing voice. That tidbit was like a sucker punch to John's gut. Sam had neglected to mention that before. Then Sam spoke in a voice that caused goosebumps to race up John's arms. "Nobody messes with a Winchester."
Hanes made a move, like he might stand. John snapped his attention back to the object of this discussion. He motioned with his gun to for the man to remain seated. Hanes held both hands up in the classic sign of surrender.
Dean groaned as he rolled his eyes, not even bothering to recognize that they were holding Hanes here. "Sam, I didn't even have a family back then. This is old news, Mister Peabody and the Way-Back machine old."
Sam glared at Hanes. "Not to me, it's not."
"Me either," John agreed. "Let's waste him."
"Dad!" Dean shouted, more angry than anxious.
"I agree with Dean, Dad. We can't waste him," Sam chimed in. John sighed heavily, pretending that listening to them was a heavy burden. "Let's just push him off the balcony. We're only on the second floor. Won't kill him."
"Oh, God," Dean moaned. "What kind of family did I join?"
"Regrets?" John asked, already suspecting the answer.
"No, sir," Dean replied instantly. "No regrets."
He could hear the smile in the older boy's voice. Some serious sweat poured off Hanes' face now.
"Dad, I don't want Sam here. He's still got a shot at college after all this is over. This could blow it for him." He felt Dean's hand on his gun-arm. Dean didn't push his arm down, but he did squeeze gently. Sam's silence was all the corroboration that John needed, Sam still planned on going back to school.
"I guess we can finish this up another time. When this asshole doesn't know we're coming," John agreed. "I'd hate for family to come between Sam and college."
He was bitter. So what? Who wouldn't be?
"Dad?" Sam asked as John reached for the doorknob. "You never said about the balcony."
John smiled to himself. Sam was wrong. He did worse cop really well. "Sam, put that duct tape to good use, son."
--
Dean watched with a mixture of excitement and abject horror as Dad and Sam subjected Jonathon Hanes to some of the most vicious psychological…stuff…he had ever heard of. Jonathon had to sit, duct-taped to his favorite chair with a dirty sock stuffed in his mouth, while they openly discussed torture techniques and methods, dismissing each one for some stupid reason. Some were too messy, others too bloody, a couple were so painful they said they were sure the neighbors would alert the cops, even in this neighborhood. Jonathon looked about ready to pass out an hour into this. On one deep level, it disturbed Dean that anyone would think enough of him to go to these lengths. Everywhere else, though, he just felt accepted and truly part of the family.
So this is what that whole "don't mess with a Winchester" thing was about. He had wondered. On that drive to Nebraska, when Dean was dying, he had heard Sam mumble that more than once. Now he realized Sam had been referring to the person who tipped them off about LeGrange in the first place. Before they even arrived in the right state, Sam had been planning what he would do to his informant if the information was wrong. Huh. Sam cared back then, too.
Dean watched the show from his position leaning against the wall. Although Dad and Sam were pretty inventive, this was getting old.
"Look," he interrupted a supposedly heated discussion on hot knives versus poisoned needles, "this has been a real education, but it's getting kind of late. Do we drop him off the balcony or what?" He spread his hands wide. "Cos, you know, I don't really care. You two have the problem with him, not me."
"Jerry?" Hanes mumbled around the sock.
"Or we could go dig up a werewolf or haunted lake some place, feed him to it," Dean suggested. Did Hanes just get even paler? Ah hell, he forgot! The dude was seriously superstitious.
"You're the one in a hurry," Sam replied reasonably. "The balcony would be the fastest thing."
"Nah," Dean interrupted, grinning. "Dad, hex him."
Dad turned to look at him, his confusion clear. Dean gave Dad a little wink. "Go on, I know you know all that voodoo stuff. Just hex him so we can get some dinner. Our hands will be clean, Hanes won't be able to report anything other than a B-and-E, like there aren't enough of those around here, and we can still hit my favorite restaurant before it closes." He wondered why he didn't think of this earlier, it was perfect.
Dad winked back. "Good plan, son. Sam?" Dad turned to wait for Sam's approval.
Sam nodded slowly, casting a suspicious glance Dean's way. "Yeah, okay, if that's what Dean wants." Sam didn't sound completely convinced. He clearly wanted to do some real damage.
Dad began reciting something in Latin. Jonathon squirmed in his chair, eyes wide and horrified. Dad looked pretty satisfied with himself as he stood up. Dad motioned to both of them to follow. Dean hung back for a moment.
Jonathon tried to talk through the gag, probably begging for Dean to take the hex off. Knowing Dad, it was actually an exorcism ritual or something.
He smiled at the man who once beat him so bad he lost almost a year's worth of memories. "You're lucky I showed up when I did," he said softly, leaning down into Jonathon's face to be certain he was heard. "Between those two, I can promise you that you wouldn't have been in the hospital for three weeks." Jonathon's eyes widened and Dean chuckled. "Nah, I don't think they would've killed you, but I figure you would've been sucking your dinner through a straw for months."
He stepped back to leave when he was hit with an inspiration. "But who am I to go against my family that way?"
Hitting a man while he was tied up was very unsporting, but so was beating a teenager while he was lying on the ground begging for his life. Dean saw Jonathon's jaw give way, heard the pop of bone breaking, felt the satisfying shift of the man's face. He rubbed his sore knuckles as he headed for the door, because the ache felt that good. He knew from experience that his hand would heal quickly, even though Dean would like it to feel like this for the rest of his life.
He glanced back at Jonathon's sagging jaw. Yeah, that looked damned painful. Dean grinned. "I always thought Quincy was a stupid name," he told the man who was once the center of his every fear.
"Me, too," Sam said as Dean pulled the door closed.
"So. Are we calling an ambulance or anything?" Dean asked as he followed Dad downstairs.
"Tomorrow," Dad and Sam answered together. Dean shook his head at them.
"So where is this favorite place of yours?" Dad asked.
"I'll bet it has hot waitresses," Sam chimed in, clearly in high spirits.
"Dad, I'm parked right behind the truck. You two can follow me," he said as he turned down the sidewalk.
When he reached the car, Dean had the added surprise of Sam jumping into the passenger seat. "I thought you rode with Dad?"
Sam shook his head. "Stole a car. Dad met me here." Little brother gave him an anxious look. "You pissed?"
"I will be if you keep taking off on me," Dean replied evenly, trying to sound serious. The problem was, he was in a really good mood. "Sam? Do we have to call it in tomorrow? Think we could leave him there, tied up in his own mess, for a couple of days?"
Sam laughed, filling the car with what had been missing the whole anxiety filled drive to Ohio. "I don't have a problem with that. And I'm sure Dad will be happy to leave it up to us."
Dean grinned back. "Cool. You're gonna love this place, Sammy. I think bust size is on the job application."