Mink (minkmix) wrote,

SPN Fic: Payment Plan- 1/3 - Rated R

A request! A "Hell is Other People Theme" complete with an Outside POV and Teen!Chester Peril. Aw. NOT my usual feel good stuff, so be forewarned! D:

Title: Payment Plan- 1 - 2 - 3 & Epilogue I - Epilogue II - Epilogue III - Epilogue IV
Author: Mink
Rating: R for Violence - Gen - Wee! & Teen!Chesters
Spoilers: None
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: When John fails to pay a debt a dangerous man comes after his children...(Outside POV which switches in the epilogues, note epilogue tags for further info.)

He kind of liked to think of himself as a mobile pawn shop.

He didn't have a storefront so much as he had his name and reputation that drew people to him that needed to give up things they owned in exchange for cash. Anything, as they say, went. Electronics was a big one. The chronic gamblers sometimes gave up titles to their cars. The strung out gave you just about everything that wasn't buried with their dear departed grandmother.

A few times he thought he might have gotten a few pieces of antique bling that just might have been. If he thought he could unload it after the grace period was over he'd take just about anything. He'd take it and hand some desperate soul about less than half of what it was worth no problem.

It was simple economics.

Unfortunately, he broke his own rules sometimes with the guys that had proven to be more than consistent with their turn around. A steady income off a few of his best makers made him a little bit sloppy these days. But sometimes you had to invest your money to get more money back. Like with John. He didn't know his last name and didn't want to but John had been good for business. Specifically, the gun business. He had no idea where the freak got all his pieces but if he had actually owned shelves, they would have been flying right off of them. At least they had been.

After he had given old John a sizable loan to really get things going, the guy had up and not only missed his deadline to return it, but he heard through his grapevine that the bastard was even planning on skipping town. As he drove he idly hit the car's tuner until he found a decent radio station. It seemed like John could get a little sloppy too. It wasn't but two days later that he found out through a friend of a friend just exactly where John had been staying. He was a fair man. He'd just take something of comparable value of which he was owed or John would get to see the exciting end of one of those rifles he liked to deal with so much. It didn't have to be raw cash. In fact, he was in the market for just about anything to the tune of five grand. It was a pity really that when he pulled up into the parking lot that that sweet ride of a Chevy wasn't there. He wouldn't have minded taking that and selling it piece by piece. Oh well, he might as well just let himself in and see if there wasn't anything else.

He was a fair man and he was a large man. Around and up and down. It didn't take a whole lot to get the flimsy motel door open. At first he thought he had maybe gotten a completely different and very wrong room. This string of 'pay by the hour' motels usually housed at best, patrons who could pay for at least an evening. They were crap hole run down roach farms that junkies used to get high in and people like John used to disappear.

It was no place he'd ever expect to find a kid.

The boy looked at least as old if not older than his sister's fourteen year old brat. Scruffy looking. Ripped up jeans, scuffed up sneakers and an AC/DC T shirt. The kid was looking up at him in alarm but mostly something else. Blinking down at the boy, he recognized the look as being almost the same as old John's was when he was watching him to count out his money. Or open the boxes of firearms. Or just about anything. It was some clinical stark appraisal and subtle wariness that lay somewhere outside of real fear.

This kid belonged to John?

He glanced over at the packed duffel bags that were all set and ready to go. The simmer of his annoyance roiled again at the clear evidence that his money was just about to jump state lines without him.

"Daddy not home huh?" He said conversationally while taking the nearest bag and dumping its contents on the floor. Nothing here but laundry.

As he always said, he was a fair man. He'd just take what he was due. And if he wasn't offered it, he could arrange for the proper motivation that would make a person do so. It never took him very long to make up his mind. He attributed it to his keen business sense. So there was nothing here to take? Just like the more fancy professionals of his ilk, he'd just think outside of the box. Maybe his business partner would be more accommodating if he had some more convincing collateral.

"I'm a good friend of your Dad's." He said with a friendly grin.

The boy didn't smile back.

"Why don't you come along with me? We can go get some ice crea-- jesus!"

He was down on one knee on the floor before he even knew what hit him. The sharp hard kick to his kneecap making his leg go numb and limp at the same time. Another jab whipped out of no where right across his jaw and almost made him fall backwards. A little dizzy he felt at his chin, looking up just in time to see the kid getting ready to do it one more time. With a growl and lunge that was stronger than the kid was probably expecting from a man of his girth, he pulled himself up and grabbed the boy by the arm in mid swing. Another agonizing kick to his other knee made him stumble but he didn't go down this time.

A clicking sound made him pause.

He turned to see the barrel of a rifle pointed right at him. Another one? The skinny little kid holding the weapon looked like he was about old enough to still be wearing a diaper. Maybe. Anyone who wasn't even thinking about shaving yet looked almost the same to him.

"What the--"

The shot went off, exploding into the plaster wall next to his head.

"Fuckin' Christ--!"

Both kids were on the floor.

The older one had tossed himself out of the shot blast's path and knocked himself senseless against a table edge. The littler one had most likely tipped backwards from the strong recoil. In fact, he was pretty sure if the short bastard hadn't been knocked over, the shot would have taken the top of his goddamn head off. Getting his breathing back in control he quickly decided what to do. He sure as fuck wasn't taking both of these hell's minions with him and the little one might not know how to use a toilet. There was no way he was dealing with that.

Kicking away the gun, he picked up the now snarling and wildly punching younger child and unceremoniously threw him into a nearby closet. Ignoring the frantic pound of fists on the other side, he slid a chair under the door knob and brushed off his hands. With one hand wadded into the front of the T shirt, he hauled the dazed older boy to his unsteady feet. Not having a whole lot of interest in punching anyone less than half his size in the face, he was more than glad that the table had done the work for him.

"Let's try this again huh?"

He shouldered the boy easily and walked out the open door. He noticed his new found limp in both legs thanks to the kicks he'd received. It wasn't every day that he got his ass almost handed to him by two rug rats that were both younger than his Buick. He'd have liked to hang around for dear Dad to show back up but he had to get going while the getting was good. Even a dump like this would have cops crawling all over it with gun fire reported. He shook his head.

Figures these kids were as fucking weird as their old man.

Looking around at the empty parking lot a few times before he unlocked his trunk, he thought that if maybe he should have thought about his plan a little more through. He supposed this would be considered kidnapping even if the kid was some nobody that belonged to an even bigger nobody. But it didn't really seem like much of a crime.

It wasn't like this kid was important or really mattered. Kids that mattered weren't holed up in some jizz soaked rat trap with loaded weapons. The kind of child that would invoke telethons and news specials were the ones that went to school and got tucked in at night. No one was going to miss this scrappy kid. Hell, maybe not even weird old John.

If John didn't reach out and ended up taking off anyway, he'd figure out something else to do with his new acquisition. It wouldn't be the first time his business traded in the type of product that didn't sit in a box.

The boy started to stir when his back hit the uneven jumble of jumper cables and other various junk that littered the trunk. His eyes focused and unfocused when his legs were roughly rearranged so he'd fit. When he quickly realized what was happening he started really freaking out. But his limbs were less organized in their violence, his protests under the oil rag held pressed over his face were incoherent. Holding the kid down, he slammed the lid down as fast as possible. Kind of like he'd seen those park rangers on TV do with rabid raccoons into those metal cages.

Even if the boy wasn't anything worth what John owed, he would just have to make do with what he had and cut his losses. With another shrug to himself as he got behind the wheel he figured he'd play it and just see what happened.

As with most business choices, there was always just a little bit of a gamble.

When he got home he was pretty hungry.

He wandered his kitchen cabinets until he found the makings of a sandwich. There was even some of that left over entenmann's cake that he liked. The milk had turned a little but he drank it anyway.

A brief examination in his bathroom mirror showed a nice bruise on his cheek from where he'd been struck. His thinning hair was filled with white bits and pieces of drywall that had rained down with the shot gun shell's impact. His aching knees had purplish marks on them both. The pocket of his jacket had been regretfully ripped. All in all, a bit more damage than he had expected or planned for. Changing his clothes he relaxed in front of the television for a while. The news did nothing to improve his already declined mood. He tempered it with a cold beer and before he knew it he had dozed off.

He woke up when the TV station flipped off into that startling off air tone, the stuttering screen filled with that primary colored default. With a yawn and a stretch he almost started to head up to the comfort of his bed when he suddenly remembered what he'd left to do for later. The night had gotten cold and brisk.

He shivered even in his heavy shirt and sweater as he picked up the newspaper and pulled a mass of envelopes out from the metal lock box that was right outside his door. Living urban was nice in that you didn't have to go very far to find your mail. Living in this part of the city was also nice because most people were too scared to walk around in it let alone explore it. The cops didn't even come down here very often unless they really had too. All of these factors also made property, even of an entire building and the next door adjoining lot, very affordable. With another yawn he shuffled back inside his garage. He made sure the electric retractable door was firmly down and locked.

"Sure got chilly huh?" He said to the parked car's rear end. The kid had only been wearing a thin T shirt if he remembered correctly.

There was no response.

Wondering what exactly would happen next, and mostly hoping it didn't involve a lot of begging or tears, he slid his key into the trunk lock.

"Okay buddy, let's do this nice and--AH!"

The trunk had barely been opened less that 6 inches before a fist shot out and rammed him in the balls.

He felt the cool smooth concrete under his cheek before he realized he had hit it, his hands clutching himself between his legs, the thick nauseating wave of pain flooding up through his belly and into the back of his throat. There was the feel of a foot using him as a spring board before he saw the kid had used him as a step up onto a pile of boxes along the wall.

"Don't-Don't bother, the door is locked--"

The narrow window that sat just above the stack of boxes slipped up and the boy was gone.

"God fucking damn it." He muttered.

It took him a while to collect himself enough to follow the kid outside. He didn't put it past the little freak to have somehow gotten under, over, or through the chain link mounted with wire that surrounded his south side little piece of paradise. It had been all put up to keep people out, not necessarily in but at the moment he wasn't going to argue the logistics.

"Kid?" He called out. "Hey! Weird kid? You out here?"

The cement yard was empty except for the few cars on blocks that would be soon quietly stripped for wholesale.

"There's a real mean dog out here ya know?" He lied. Well, there had been but that stupid bastard had accidentally hung itself on said chain link fence last month while trying to get at some stray cat.

He paused when he heard a shuffling sound followed by a small stifled whimper.

For some reason it hadn't occurred to him to check under the window the boy had made his grand escape through. There was a great deal of distance between the garage window and the concrete below it. Looked like it was a little too great. Crouching down next to the boy, he watched him try to move away until his back was pressed against the brick wall. The kid was clutching his ankle.

"Did you get an owie?'

He laughed a little as a fist swung out at him again but he leaned back easily out of its passage.

"Why don't we just make this a whole lot easier on all of us okay?" He gave his best reassuring smile.

It made him a little happy to see that fucking determined expression fade out of the kid's eyes when he saw the roll of duct tape. It had been brought along just in case the jail break hadn't quite worked. In fact, it made him down right pleased that the sound of the tape ripping into strips brought a brand new look into those wide green eyes.

It looked a lot like fear.

He had to carry him back inside.

The weight of the body was tense on his shoulder, wrists working and wrapped in half a roll of shiny silver tape. Sliding him down back onto his feet, he felt a little badly when he forgot that the boy had fucked up his ankle. Landing hard on it, the kid cried out and crumpled to the floor.

With a grab under the elbow and another on the back of the jeans, he pulled him back up and settled him down into his most favorite reclining chair. The rest of the tape was used up to secure his legs in place on either side of the tilt up foot rest. He didn't want to, but an open handed strike across the face made the kicking stop. Pretty hard kicks too, fucked up ankle or not. Admiring his work, he suddenly hoped this wasn't just when the kid would announce he had to use the bathroom. He pulled the wrapped wrists up and used a bungee cord to hook them up back over the head rest. With a kick of his foot, he jerked the recliner into its farthest back position. It looked almost down right comfy.

For the first time since they had met, the kid said something.

"W-Where's my brother?"

That made him smile to hear how small that voice sounded. Brother? That must be the little ankle biter that had tried to blow his brains out. That gun toting bastard was still back in that shitty motel room and hopefully wailing alone in the dark.

"Well," He said as he looked around for a blanket to toss on him. "If there is a God, and I'm pretty sure there is, than he's wetting himself in a closet."

The kid started to look around worriedly. He was about to tell the boy that he didn't have to bother worrying because the snot nosed kid brother of his wasn't here with him ... but instead, he stopped and reconsidered.

"Now, if you play nice?" He told him in the reasonable tone of voice he used when he had someone right where he wanted them in all senses of the term. "Maybe, just maybe if yer good, I'll keep him nice and safe just where he is."

That look was back. The flicker of fear replaced with that goddamn steady look. He sighed. Maybe he'd played the tactic the wrong way.

"Sam!" The boy suddenly called out, legs and arms straining. "SAMMY! I'm here! I'M RIGHT HERE--"

He could feel it. No matter how gracious he was to people, they always pushed him until he started to lose his patience.

"Now, when I said play nice, that also meant no yelling."

Chest heaving, the boy stared up hard over the hand clamped over his mouth.

"See that? That's much better. We can all just get along--AH!"

The fucker bit him.

"You know what I find really funny?" He grumbled as he found a dish rag and ripped a strip off of it.

The kid tossed his head from side to side as the rolled cloth was forced between his teeth.

"Your Daddy has my number but my phone hasn't even rung yet."

The boy hissed as the gag was tied and knotted tightly, pulling probably very uncomfortably at the corners of his mouth.

"Now why do you think that is exactly?"

He took the thick knitted blanket his mother gave him for Christmas and draped it over the kid, up over his face and head, letting it hang down to his knees. That should keep him nice and happy until morning. He was reminded of how he thought that this boy probably had never been tucked in or cared for like some normal kid would. It was almost like he was doing the miserable little loser a favor.

"Maybe you aren't even his."

He sighed with the possibility. Maybe this kid was less than a nobody. Maybe that John just had a thing for young boys. Disgusted with the thought, he shook it off to concentrate on more pleasant things.

Like his waiting warm bed.

"Well," he yawned. "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. I'm going to hit the sack."

He stopped at the foot of the stairs and considered the writhing angry form under the blanket.

"We'll give a few friends of mine a call tomorrow."

The boy stopped his struggles at the sound of those words.

"We'll find out just what exactly you're worth."

to be continued...
Tags: gen, hurt!dean, outside pov, pastor jim, payment plan, spn multi-chapter, wee & teen!chesters
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