Mink (minkmix) wrote,
Mink
minkmix

SPN Fic: Payment Plan 3/3

Whoo! Done. Sorry that this wasn't posted yesterday but I wasn't feelin' so great... Glad you guys have dug this one! I'm SO behind on comments but I'll work on that tonight.
-Mink


Title: Payment Plan - 1 - 2 - 3 & Epilogue I - Epilogue II - Epilogue III - Epilogue IV
Author: Mink
Rating: R for Voilence - Gen - Wee! & Teen!Chesters
Spoilers: None
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.



The construction lot had been abandoned for almost five years.

The contractors that had started it had gone bankrupt not even a month after pouring down the foundations. All that was left was some unsalvageable rotted lumber and some weed choked sections of sewer piping in the middle of a forest. They lay around like gigantic toy blocks, stacked and scattered in the wide yellow beam of his headlights. As soon as he saw the client he knew the man was pretty much like all the others he'd ever seen. They were always middle aged. Always middle class Caucasian and always nervous.

Medium height. Moderate car. Beige trousers. Button down shirts.

Everything about them was about as average as it got. He didn't often wonder what happened to these purchases after the charm wore off or most likely, when these men realized they couldn't keep a secret pet like that in whatever hidey hole they had devised forever. Maybe it never even got that far. One night and it was done and over with. Expensive. But easily disposal didn't always come cheap. Not in the land of plenty. If you wanted cheap you had to fly half around the world to some Asian shit hole and take your chances.

The man was waiting right where he'd asked him to. Leaving his engine running and his lights on, he got out of his car and approached him with a small nod. He saw the guy was a little older than middle age when he got closer. And not all that big. Graying hair with a gentle face he wasn't expecting. Briefly he wondered if the guy could handle the violent child he was about to pay a lot of money for. But that wasn't really his problem.

He was handed a brown paper bag. Shining down his flashlight into it he saw what looked like the amount he'd asked for. He'd count it when he was out of here. Satisfied, he rolled the bag up and met the confused eyes of the man that was impatiently waiting.

"Leave your cell phone on." He instructed him. "When I make sure it's all here you'll get an address where you'll find your boy all packed and ready to go."

The man was clearly unpleased with that news.

"How do I know you won't just take off with my money?"

"You don't."

"But I came all this way--"

"Talk to you soon."

He turned back to his car. It was always done this way, at least when these exchanges were on his terms. It avoided all sorts of perils of the maybe cops, buyers remorse or the usual unpleasantness facing the seller in any commercial venue. He's too old. He's too young. He's not what I expected.

Once again, after cash changed hands. Not his problem. There was no such thing as a return policy in the skin trade. Sliding in behind the wheel he put the bag of cash beside him and watched the older man in the glare of his high beams get back into his ride. Maybe he would just take off with the cash and let this guy flounder in silence back in his suburbs. What could the guy do about it? Call the cops? Come after him himself? It made him laugh a little bit. Maybe he would do just that. Hell, he could sell the kid all week if he just did some time stamped web cam work to prove he even had him...

He froze.

A feel of firm cold metal nudged up against the base of his skull. He raised his hands slowly up off of the steering wheel. A voice was soft and low in his ear.

"Nice night ain't it?"

"Good to see you again John."










It didn't take long to put two and two together and figure out that this 'buyer' was some friend of John's.

A religious man too. He had caught the hint of the collar in their earlier exchange but had just cast it off to the typical clientele that liked to indulge in things that God liked men to burn for. All that hidden self entitlement and all. The righteous were usually the worst about keeping it under wraps. Didn't seem like the holy man had any compunctions on holding a cocked shot gun up against a fellow man's chest either. But all in all he was surprised to see John again. Quite a lot of trouble to go through for a pain in the ass kid.

John was searching the car.

He cleared his throat when his meticulous oil change records were thoughtlessly tossed into the mud. "I guess you're not here to pay me."

"You got paid well enough," The man mumbled in distraction. "Not my fault you wanted a 100% increase in your interest over night."

"It was an executive dilemma. But rules are rules--"

"Then you shouldn't go breakin' your own." John growled as he went through and examined the contents of the glove compartment. It was all tossed aside in frustration.

"You could have just finished up this little exchange." He said with a little disappointment. "This could have all been over already."

"And never see you again?" John said over his shoulder. "Nah, I don't think so."

He had already dismantled the back seat of the Buick and was now tearing up the back of its trunk, flipping out the fiberboard and tossing the spare tire out into the brittle yellow grass. He paused when he spotted something. Slowly, he leant down and pulled it out. It was cardboard ring with a few left over layers of duct tape on it.

The preacher man with the rifle shifted in place and watched as John carefully gripped it before throwing it down.

"Okay, times up." John had his gun back in his hand. "Where is he?"

Adult petty rage again.

"That is a very good question."

John looked back at him evenly.

"He could be right out here in these woods and hoping you'll see him. Or he could be buried in my back yard in a box waiting in the dark to suffocate. Maybe he's down in a basement sealed up behind some drywall?"

"Where's my boy?" He asked again in a low terrible voice.

"Wouldn't you say the more important question right now is, is how long can he be where I left him and stay alive?"

John's stare hardened as he raised his gun.

His older friend hastily stepped up beside him. "Don't..."

"Be quiet Jim."

"Look, let's just cut our losses?" He glanced at his watch. This was taking up way too much of his time. "I'll show you where the kid is and then we can just all go on our separate ways."

"Come on John?" The other older man was pushing the raised weapon down, his tone low and painfully reasonable. "We'll never find him if we go looking on our own."

"And John and I will be going alone thanks." He said pointedly to the clergy man.

The gray haired gentleman began to protest but John held up his hand to silence him.

"Fine." He said. "We'll do it your way."

"I thought you might."

John closed the distance between them until they were almost eye to eye.

"If there's even a scratch on him--"

"There's a little more than that." He said in mild offense at the deviant implications behind the threat. "Actually, if he had been more accommodating he'd be in the same shape he was when you last saw--"

The snap of the pistol across his face was white hot, sending him down into the grass along with the debris of his disassembled trunk.

"Wonder where he gets it from." He added dryly as he gingerly touched the blood on his lip.

John waved his gun towards his parked Chevy.

"Get up."








It took almost an hour to get there.

To his embarrassment he had to ask they back track almost three times. Having just started to use the area for his purposes he wasn't entirely familiar with it just yet. Occasionally correcting a wrong turn, they moved through the dark back streets that ran through the sprawl of the industrial park that sat next to the glittering field of the airport.

After the last left that should have been a right, John had grabbed him by the back of the neck and had slammed his forehead into the dash of his fancy Chevy so hard that he saw stars.

"I-I'm not a young man anymore John, you know how the old memory goes..."

The metal barrel of the gun slid down his belly and down snugly into his crotch.

"If we aren't there in the next five minutes I'm going to--"

"There it is." He breathed in relief. He didn't really doubt old John at all. "That's the one, right there."

It didn't look any different from any of the other single story structures around it. Rows of roll up corrugated steel truck doors. Loading ramps and dumpsters. Empty and unlit. Stepping out of the car he glanced around him, convinced for a moment he saw something behind him in the shadows of the car. Before he could take a better look, John was already shoving him forward.

"Unlock it."

The door clanked open and the musty smell of disuse was thick inside. The space was stripped of all its equipment, leaving old oil stains on the floors and a few tipped over cardboard boxes. A broke down soda machine sat unplugged and strangely alone in the center of the room. There was one windowed type office like room in the far back corner.

"Back there."

John shoved swiftly past him towards it.

"Dean!" He called out. "Dean you in here!"

He followed out of curiosity. And also for his own pistol that he kept in the same room. He had a strong feeling he'd be needing it shortly. John clicked on the single light bulb that the dusty office had hanging from the ceiling. Besides a set of shelves and an old desk pushed up in the corner, there was nothing else to be seen.

"You son of a bitch--"

"Now now, don't get upset, look right over there."

John looked over at a closed closet door.

In three hard strides he had reached it and swung it open.

A few rusted hangers hung askew, and there were a couple sagging boxes labeled 'Invoice' up on the upper shelf. The floor was littered with newspapers and an old scuffed large sports duffel pushed back into the corner.

John looked down at the bag and then back around the empty room with confused incomprehension. "What-Where is he?!"

He nodded down at the bag with a small shrug.

"You don't know much about customer service John."

John blinked down at the bag.

"You always leave your purchases wrapped. It helps when your client can stop at a traffic light and not have to wonder what the new toy is going to do. I admit though, it was a tight fit."

"Dean?"

John got down onto his knees and crawled into the closed space. Hesitantly touching the thick canvas bag he made a small horrified sound upon undoubtedly feeling the warmth of a body inside.

"Dean!" Pulling the duffel out, it rolled heavy and limp out onto the linoleum floor. "Jesus."

John frantically searched for the zipper and quickly found the sturdy padlock that had been put into place. Yanking on it twice he swung around. "Gimme the key!"

He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and made a show of looking for one. "Seemed to have misplaced it."

Good old Dad already had a bowie knife out, carefully slipping it into the seam and yanking it with difficulty, ripping it through the cloth.

"See you around John."

With an apologetic grin, and since all attention was duly occupied, he decided it was time to leave. With a small wave, he turned to the desk in the corner to retrieve the small hand gun he kept stashed just in case of times like this one--

But they weren't quite alone as he thought they were. It was that kid. The other one.

That little brother was standing right behind him.

"I thought I saw someone outside." He smiled. "Hasn't anyone ever told your family it's not nice to hide in back seats?"

About to punt him aside like he had the last time he suddenly halted in his tracks. He didn't even see the taser coils until the contact barbs hooked into his chest, the voltage flooding through him like fire and making his heart seize, skip and stutter. Gasping, he fell down onto his knees, the tiles under his pale hands going in and out of focus.

Distantly he heard the zipper of the duffel ripped apart.

"Dean? Hey, can you hear me?"

There was a harsh wheeze as the kid found consciousness and fresh air, followed by a whimper of panic and a sudden desperate struggle.

"It's ok now, you're fine Dean. Look at me? It's me, see? It's me..."

The sound of thrashing stopped. More gasping as the tape that was wrapped around his mouth was pulled free. The rapid weak pant of exhaustion and wretched coughing as oxygen finally flowed unhindered into smothered lungs.

"D-dad?" Voice thick with the drugs, the edge of panic shifted cautiously to disbelief. "Dad... Sam, s'ok?"

"He's fine, he's right here." John told him. "Now stay still."

It was most definitely time to get that gun of his. With a deep shuddering breath, he clutched his chest as he stumbled up onto his knees.

"Damn it Dean, stay still..." John murmured. "...Nothing feels broke."

"Dun-dun feel so good..."

"Yer fine. It's okay." There was a deep intake of breath, relief mixed with rage. "Sammy get offa him for a second."

The sound of the tape that was wrapped in every direction around the kids body was being ripped off. The boy crying out when blood started quickly returning to his long numb limbs. The desk drawer slid open easily revealing the weapon that lay alone inside. He didn't care for the thought of shooting children but they had really not left him any more choice. The neat solution he had provided had been rejected. Wrapping his hand around the piece, he rolled back to face the man he had brought here. There was only one thing left to do.

The dim room lit up in gunfire.

He blinked down at the spreading circle of his own blood on his white shirt.

The discharge of the weapon startled him more than the impact the bullet had when it struck his left shoulder. He fell back when a second shattered into his right causing him to release his gun and send it skidding and clattering across the floor. He slid off the edge of the desk and slumped to the ground.

A shadow fell over him as he tried will his unresponsive body to get to his feet.

"So what sounds good?" John asked.

"I-I think I'll require a doctor--"

"The woods?" The man over him pondered. "Some dry wall or uh, what was that other one... oh yeah buried out in a box?"

John crouched down low over him and patted the side of his face with the muzzle of the hot spent gun. Looking up back into those dark eyes and even darker slight of the smile he felt a flood of nausea at the knowledge of his end there. Shutting his eyes, he felt the sizzling touch of the pistol graze his temple and the hollow of his throat.

John's lips were right at his ear with a whisper.

"Like you, I'm a very fair man."

He supposed now was about the time he discovered just how fair life could really be.

the end

Tags: payment plan
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