The Left Hand of Vengeance
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The Impala pulled up and parked next to a rusted out pick up; across the parking lot was a late model ford that had seen better days. Middle of nowhere Nebraska, the paint was peeling on the old metal sign posted by the highway as it creaked gently in the breeze, proclaiming it the Half-Moon Diner. The two men got out of the car and moved together toward the entrance of the equally dilapidated looking diner, dark coats flapping in the chill October wind.
It was mid afternoon, well past lunch, and the inside of the diner was mostly deserted. They sat in a booth; tired naugahyde grabbed at their jeans as they slid into their seats. The place had a worn down feeling, but everything was scrupulously clean, and the smells from the pass through to the kitchen set both their mouths watering.
Dean’s eyes flicked up at the waitress when she approached, and he smiled in welcome. She had all the earmarks of the newly free, barely glancing up as she walked toward them. Finally, as she neared, she looked up fleetingly and nearly paused mid-step, gaping at Dean's grin. He just had that effect on people. The man was stunning. Sam lounged back and bit back a small smile. Dean was like catnip: hypnotic, beautiful, and charming.
The waitress blinked back to reality and regrouped; they could see the effort it took for her to retain eye contact as she continued toward their table and handed the two men their menus. She licked her lips a bit nervously and shyly avoided Dean’s amused gaze as she said, “Howdy, gentlemen, we have meatloaf as the special today, and if you’ve never tried ‘em, we got the best burgers in the state. Can I get you anything to drink to start?”
Sam glanced quickly over at Dean, and with Dean’s quick nod Sam spoke up, “Ah, yeah sure, two coffees and a couple of waters would be great. And, can you tell us, is this Dusty’s Diner? Dusty Hawthorne?”
“Yes it is. Dusty owns this place, but she ain’t here right now. Is there something I-I could help you with?” Sam smiled at her show of initiative; he knew it was a hard won effort to make.
“Well we called her about a week ago. Said we’d be stopping by. Do you know when she’ll be in?”
The waitress glanced around at the big school style clock on the wall over the drink fountain. “Well on her off days she usually still drops in for the supper rush. Maybe two, three hours?”
“That’s all right, is there a motel nearby?”
“Yeah, just about ten minutes up the road, near the interstate on ramp, is The Hills Motel. It’s clean; I-I used to… work there.” Sam could just imagine.
“Oh, that’s great.” The waitress hung there, uncertain, so Sam volunteered, “…uhh, wanna give us a minute? Thanks.” Sam nodded his head as the waitress left and licked his lips as he looked over at Dean.
Dean threw his menu across the table in disgust and huffed sharply at the delay, moving restlessly in the booth.
“Come on, Dean, you knew we wouldn’t necessarily see him right away. It’s only an hour or so. Chill.”
Dean rolled his eyes, his lips tightening into an angry line. Sam studiously ignored him, and eventually Dean picked the menu back up and gazed through it in a desultory fashion. After a while their waitress returned with their coffees and water and asked if they were ready to order.
Her order pad ready, she glanced over and Dean and smiled.
Dean glanced at Sam and shrugged and then returned the waitresses’ smile.
“He’ll have the burger and fries, and I’ll have the Ranch Salad with a side of fries please…” Sam looked up from the menu and glanced quickly at the waitresses’ name tag “…Peggy,” he added and smiled again.
Peggy, slightly dazed as she basked in the attention of the two handsome men, obviously stalling to stay and chat, said conversationally, “So, y-you aren’t from around here? Are you visiting family?”
Sam snorted, and a slightly derisive sneer came on his face as he glanced over at Dean whose expression had become inscrutable. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. We’re just passing through though, won’t be here long.”
The waitress fidgeted, and it was obvious she had run out of her small repertoire of small talk, so sighing gently, she said softly, “W-well I’ll be right back with your orders. Oh, and we make a mean pumpkin pie if you’re interested in dessert.”
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Sam could feel Dean’s growing tension. He watched as Dean shoveled down his meal when it came and didn’t even flirt with the waitress again. Sam knew they were in trouble when worse yet he didn’t go for the pie. Dean gripped his forearm with intent and pulled him toward the door. Sam rushed to peel off bills and toss them on the table before Dean became too impatient and yanked him outside.
“See ya, Peggy. We’ll be back later,” he tossed over his shoulder as Dean shoved him outside impatiently.
Dean slammed the driver's door shut and whacked the steering wheel once with the heel of his hand, forcing a short, sharp hiss between his teeth that ended in a violently whispered, "Shit!" before pulling the Impala out onto the road. Sam resisted the urge to grab and latch onto the seatbelt for dear life as Dean stomped on the gas. He only seemed to calm down once he had the Impala running flat out.
“Dean, Dean, we’ll get to him. It all just takes time,” Sam cautioned. Dean shook his head and shot a look at Sam that clearly said, "Tired of waiting, Sam.’
They pulled into the motel parking lot far sooner than the estimated ten minutes thanks to Dean’s warp speed. Sam looked over at him and said, “So what? You want to stay here tonight…I-I thought you’d want to be gone… a-after?” Dean gave him a hard look, and Sam sighed and clambered out of the car. He returned shortly with a key and said softly, “37, around the back, bottom floor.”
Dean moved the car around and parked in front of a peeling green door. It seemed to be a theme in this part of the state. He stalked to the door and waited for Sam to slip out and come and unlock it. Sam could feel the anxiety and frustration of their enforced wait radiating off Dean. He flapped his hand: ‘You first, sunshine.’ Sam sighed as he stepped into the darkened room. Next thing he knew, he was roughly spun and slammed against the wall, pinned there by Dean's grip on his biceps. Dean ground his hips punishingly against Sam’s as his tongue invaded Sam’s mouth. Sam felt Dean’s hand move up and comb through his hair, hot and anxious as he plundered, licked, and sucked at the soft interior of Sam’s mouth. A rasp of air invaded his mouth as Dean let lose a ragged needy gasp. Dean drew back, and Sam took the opportunity to breathe as Dean huffed impatiently and began to lick a path down the long column of Sam’s throat. Sam leaned back against the cheap paneling and arched his neck to allow Dean better access. Rough hands pushed at his jacket; Sam tried to lift his hands to help, and Dean slammed them back against the wall with a leer and a whispered "Nah-ah," as he finished stripping off Sam's jacket. He threw the heavy coat onto the bed and then began to yank Sam’s flannel and t-shirt roughly up over his head, not bothering with buttons. Sam wiggled and tried to help without seeming to. Dean was on a mission.
Once free of the interfering cloth, Dean reached down and grasped each of Sam’s wrists in a tight manacle grip; he held them for a moment pressed tight against the paneled wall, immobile, as Sam’s breath sped up. He then slowly raised them up over Sam’s head, crossed them and pushed them back against the wall. With a steely look in his eye, he leaned in close and in a raspy whisper commanded, "Stay." Sam shivered, as much from an instant desire to obey as from the air of the word brushing his skin. With Sam’s hands positioned where he wanted them, Dean rubbed his rough-stubbled cheek against Sam’s and then swooped down to lick and suckle at each nipple in turn. Sam had kept rings in his piercings, just not the ones Simon had put there. These were new gold barbells that Dean had picked out and placed on each nipple. Sam groaned and panted harshly, breathing in Dean's scent. He could feel his cock fatten as Dean’s teeth nipped sharply at each sulkily protruding bud. Dean licked lower down, plundering Sam’s navel, and then his treasure trail, finally dropping gracefully to his knees as he pulled Sam’s pants down and off impatiently. He licked his lips as Sam’s half hard cock sprang free. Sam had always been a commando kind of guy and, travelling with Dean and his mercurial moods, it had become a real time saver.
Dean dipped forward and took the head of Sam’s cock between his lips and teased the slit with just the tip of his tongue. He looked up at Sam with lust darkened eyes as he slowly, achingly slowly, swallowed him down. Sam arched into the wet heat as it surrounded his cock, and he banged his head against the paneled wall. “God, Dean,” he sputtered out as Dean started to suck on his length. Dean’s plush lips ran up and down Sam’s cock as he moved his head back and forth. Sam could feel that talented tongue rub over his slit and swirl under the sensitive head like it was a giant, all day sucker. Dean continued a fast, hungry pace until Sam felt his balls draw up and sparks start to tingle along his shaft. He grasped his hands together to keep them in place and to stop himself from reaching down to shove Dean's face into his crotch and hold it there until he choked. His moaned, “Ugh…Dean,” was all the warning Dean got before Sam’s orgasm ripped through him, and he was coming, shooting down Dean’s throat in spurts, filling his mouth. Dean swallowed all of Sam’s seed and licked and gently sucked Sam until he groaned and sagged against the wall trying to pull away. Dean let him go with a wet plop and grinned mischievously up at him. ‘Whatdya think of that, Sammy?’ whispered through his mind. And Sam moaned again and arched back.
Dean rose and grasped Sam’s head at the base of his neck and pulled him in for a long, sweeping kiss, all teeth and lips and humming energy. Sam could taste the salty, bitter taint of his own seed on his tongue as Dean sucked and licked at Sam’s. He brought Sam’s clenched hands down and let them fall boneless by his sides as he pulled Sam toward the bed and gently pushed him down so he was kneeling in the center. He reached into the small black bag he had brought inside with him, and Sam groaned as he saw the soft, padded manacles in Dean’s hands. The dark, hungry look in Dean’s eyes promised that Sam was certainly going to work up an appetite for supper.
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Sam shifted in the seat of the Impala and tried to bite back the groan. The butt plug Dean had inserted shifted, and he could feel Dean’s seed, warm and satiny, held inside him. Dean looked over at him through hooded eyes. Sam could see the satisfaction glowing from their depths and the ghost of a smirk cross those oh so pretty bowed lips. He wiggled in his seat, feeling phantom fingers ghosting over his hips, digging in, the fingerprints there a good ache, marking him, claiming him as Dean’s.
Sam bit his lip at the thought and looked away; he felt a sense of calm descend over him that the frantic, claiming sex shouldn’t have been responsible for, but it was. The tension of the last few weeks as they had closed in on the location of their prey, the wondering, the worry, it had all taken it’s toll, and this had been exactly what he had needed, what they both needed. And Dean, god bless him, had known that. After hundreds of miles of spiraling tension, he felt himself relax into the security of belonging to Dean, of being where he should be: in the right place at the right time, his head firmly on straight for the upcoming meeting. They’d worked too long toward this to make the wrong move now.
Peggy spotted them as they walked into the diner,. It was more crowded now, a true supper rush as nearly all the booths were filled with hungry workers and families. They paused at the entry way and watched Peggy walk over to an older woman at the cash. Once she was done ringing up a customer, Peggy tugged gently on the woman's sleeve, whispered in her ear and pointed over at them. The woman nodded at them, removed her apron and folded it and left it at the counter. Peggy took over cashier duties as the woman walked toward them, patting her iron grey hair a bit nervously as she approached.
“Hi, Dusty, I’m Sam Winchester, and this is my partner Dean Singer; I spoke with you a couple weeks back about a Con-Prime you had here. We’d like to talk with him.”
“Yes, I remember our chat.” Dusty nodded. She looked to be in her late fifties, with a vulnerable, worn down air about her, like the world had chewed her up and spit her back out. Certainly a former sec; she wore her damage like a protective mantle.
“You boys looking for revenge?” She regarded them with an assessing gaze, and it had not escaped her notice that Dean had yet to speak.
Sam licked his lips again and decided to go with the truth. “Let’s just say we’d be happy to know he got his.”
“Yeah, a lot of folks have looked for this one. More’n one or two have offered to buy him from me.” Dusty let that statement stand for a bit.
“Why, is he for sale?” Sam asked, slightly confused. He didn’t think a Con-Prime could be sold. Possibilities bloomed like spring crocuses in his fertile imagination. He breathed out.
“Nah, not really; I just like to gauge folks’ thirst for blood by floatin’ that out first afore I let’em see him. This ain’t no zoo and I don’t want no trouble. And killing a Con-Prime is still murder. The terms of his sentence are life at hard labor, so he’s still a ward of the state. He’s just on loan to me as part of my reparation package. Quite honestly, if I weren’t so hard up for help he wouldn’t be here either. Kinda lost my taste for slavery, if you know what I mean?”
And Sam did. It had been a long and bloody struggle to bring about the end to slavery; the codes going dark had just been the first step in a long and arduous path to freedom. Sam shook his head; he couldn’t say that the fire for revenge didn’t burn hot inside him. All he had to do was look at Dean and it flared brighter.
He clenched his fists and glanced over – Dean was looking out one of the diner’s big plate glass windows, a far off look on his face. He turned slowly toward Sam and quirked an eyebrow. ‘Let’s get this show on the road, Sammy’ ghosted over Sam’s skin.
“Yeah, we hear ya. So, can we see him?”
“Yeah… just wanted to be sure, ya know, that you wouldn’t try to kill him on the spot. He’s in the back. And you should be warned: from what I hear, he’s a bit different from when you last mighta’ saw him. A few former secs of his had him for a while…you know?” Dusty held the swinging doors to the diner kitchen open and gestured inside.
Dean pushed through first and paused just inside the doorway, eyes scanning the room. It was a typical diner kitchen, long stainless steel counters and cooktops and racks. In the back were the dishwashing station and a large walk-in freezer unit. Sam knew when Dean spotted him; he grew very still, his flared nostrils the only sign of emotion at first as he just stood there looking at the man’s back. Sam reached unconsciously for Dean’s hand, too busy watching Dean’s reaction to look at the man himself.
Dean flinched at Sam’s touch and shook his hand off impatiently, not wanting to be touched as he twisted away. Sam could see Dean lean forward slightly, hands on his thighs trembling and a little glassy eyed as he tried to gain control of himself. With growing dread, Sam turned his head to look back at the source of Dean’s pain, the man they had come to see. He found him standing at the old stainless steel sink, back to them, his head bowed as he worked. He was skinny and scared and seemed older, smaller than Sam remembered – but wasn’t that true of all bullies? His only clothing was grey sec briefs, now repurposed for Prime use. A heavy manacle around his ankle tethered him to the stainless steel sink where he labored. The small prime cage beside the large, restaurant-sized garbage can and sink showed the total range of his world now.
The other workers in the kitchen took one glance at Sam and Dean and cleared out. This was not the first visit this Con-Prime had had from former secs, and they made themselves scarce. Silence soon reigned in the kitchen except for the gentle clatter of dishes being cleared and prewashed and prepped for the commercial dishwasher. Eventually the man noticed the unusual silence and glanced back over his shoulder.
Sam drew in a sharp breath in shock as he looked at the man’s face for the first time in years, and he suddenly understood Dean’s reaction. Sam was thrown back to the dark, damp punishment cell and sneering face as it loomed over him, tormented him, tortured him. He took an unconscious step back and had to force himself from turning and fleeing from the room as his gut twisted. He felt his gorge rise, and he had to fight to stay standing, to stay where he was, breath coming in short, jerky huffs, and he found himself shaking, darkness creeping in around the edges of his vision.
Dean’s hand was suddenly there, touching him, soothing him as he gently grasped his neck, the firm grip anchoring him to the here and now, pushing away the nightmare. Sam turned and blindly sought his lover, buried his face in Dean’s neck and breathed in the comforting, leather wrapped smell that was quintessentially Dean. Dean’s thumb continued to rub gently across the nape of his neck, calming and distracting him, softening his former master’s hold.
Sam just stayed leaning into Dean for a while until he felt his pulse rate return to something approaching normal. Then he felt rage boil up inside him that once again Trent could reduce him to such a shivering mass. Sam shook his head, not enough to dislodge Dean’s hands but enough to let him know he was okay, and looked up at the man. As he did he realized that the soothing neck rub was Dean simply running on autopilot. That he was still deep in shock as he stared at the Prime over Sam’s shoulder. He was nearly frozen in place, his breathing fast, bordering on a panic attack. Sam took a calming breath and stepped closer. He ran his hands down Dean’s sides, circled his waist, and rubbed soft circles on his back through the material of his jacket. He nuzzled Dean’s neck and whispered to Dean, “He can’t hurt us anymore. He can’t even touch us now. He’s nothing to us, nothing. W-we have the power here, man.” Sam reached up and grasped Dean’s head in his hands, moved his face gently toward him so he was looking at Sam instead of the monster beyond. “We can’t let him take that away from us. He can’t steal anything more from us. I-I won’t let him. Look at me, Dean. Come back to me.”
Dean blinked slowly several times, his eyes moving sluggishly to focus on Sam, really see him through whatever horror he had been reliving. Sam bit his lip and moaned softly, felt his own eyes grow moist as he saw tears trickling down Dean’s pale, freckled cheeks. “That’s why we came here, remember? To stare this fucker down and have the last laugh.” Dean nodded jerkily and huffed out a soft, whispery laugh. Sam forced himself to smile with a confidence he didn’t quite feel yet. “So, we good? Ready to face this bastard?”
Dean circumspectly dashed the tears from his eyes and scrubbed his hand across his face and nodded. They turned together to once more survey the man who had tortured and abused them both in person and in their dreams.
He had been branded, poorly, on the cheek, a huge, ugly shape that gave an unnatural upward twist to his lip. He was bald, his shaved head a visible sign of his status.
When he saw Dusty he fell to his knees with a clatter of chains and bowed his head. His hands were chained, another part of the Con-Prime sentencing. Sam could see him shiver as he knelt on the cold tile.
Dusty approached him quietly and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. All the same, he could see Trent flinch as she touched him. Good, he thought.
“Prime,” she said gently, no derision in her voice, just sadness, “Some men want to see you, talk to you. Don’t worry, I won’t let them hurt you.” She waited a moment until his shivering stopped and gently reached down and drew up his chin.
“Do you remember these men?” She gestured toward Sam and Dean standing motionless near the door.
Trent’s eyes darted over to them and widened in shock. Sam knew the moment he recognized them. Sam took more than a little satisfaction in seeing the man swallow. Sam firmed up his spine and settled his game face firmly in place. This was as much for Dean as it was for him, and he would do anything for Dean. He advanced toward Trent, Dean a silent, menacing shadow by his side. He glanced over, and Dean’s expression had become inscrutable. He couldn’t imagine what the man was thinking just then.
“Been a while, Trent. Dean here and I had been talking about old times and wondered how the dust settled with you. Well I was talking, Dean was doing the listening, but you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
Dusty looked over at Dean, a sad, compassionate, but unsurprised look on her face. She patted Trent on the shoulder and said, “Answer the man, Prime.” It was another condition of a Con-Prime’s sentencing to admit their crimes to any former sec who approached them.
Trent glanced down briefly, hands clenched in his chains, and looked up, mouth moving for a moment but no sound coming out. This time Sam noticed one eyes’ pupil was completely blown; a thin, hairline scar ran from his eyebrow down across his cheek. The man was blind in one eye. Sam saw him work his hands and made note that he was missing a few fingers as well. It was obvious that someone had had a heavy hand in punishing Trent. Sam’s lip curled and he had to control the urge to smile.
“Forgive me, masters,” Trent croaked out. “I-I’m sorry.”
Dean advanced on Trent and stood over him. He looked down at him, critically, one brow arched in thought, and glanced over at the small, state issued prime cage and back at Trent. His neutral expression gave nothing away. He reached down suddenly and grasped Trent by the collar, pulled sharply up on the D ring at the front so it cut into his chin. He held him there so that Trent’s head was forced up and he had to look Dean in the eye. Sam felt Dean’s body thrumming with violence as he gazed into the sadist’s eyes.
“Sorry to be caught or sorry for what you’ve done?” Sam’s voice was pitiless behind Dean as he too moved forward.
Trent looked up, and Sam could see fear distort his features, and his mouth trembled and twitched uncontrollably. Dean suddenly let him go and turned his body slightly away from the sight of Trent, sickened. The Prime moaned in fear and flung himself at Dusty’s feet. “Don’t let them kill me, mistress, don’t let them hurt me…please… please…” as he dissolved into sobs as he clutched Dusty’s pant leg.
“Why would we kill you, Trent, when leaving you to a life sentence of – " Sam's hands indicated the narrow reach of Trent's world. " – this, is so much better revenge?” Sam’s sneer rolled over the shuddering man. “Knowing that for the rest of your days you’ll be treated as the scum you are and kept away from hurting people ever again: beating them, torturing them, whipping them. After all the evil you’ve done, you deserve this. I wish it could last forever, but at least it will last until your dying day. I think that works for me.”
Trent’s face crumpled as the terrible, long, hopeless grind of his life was laid out before him, and he collapsed into a sobbing puddle at their feet.
“I think we’re about done here, right, Dean?”
Dean nodded jerkily, and they both dipped their heads in farewell to Dusty, who was ushering the sobbing Prime into his cage and covering him in the worn but clean blanket.
“Goodbye, boys. I hope you got what you came for.”
: : :
Dean stood over the prime’s cage in the darkened kitchen. His face was in shadows; only the weak light filtering in from the road sign outside illuminated the room. The Diner had been long closed for the night. Dean and Trent were now the only occupants.
Trent roused sleepily, startled as he saw the black figure looming over his cage.
“What? Nooo…” Trent jerked back and cowered in the back of his cage as he saw someone there.
Dean crouched down in front of the cage, angled a bit so Trent could catch the outline of his profile in the weak light.
“You….” Trent breathed out shakily. “You here to finish me off?”
Trent’s voice took on a tone of false bravado. “You’re not the first one to try to kill me now that I can’t fight back,” Trent spit at Dean and pressed himself further back against the back cage wall as he prepared himself for some kind of attack.
Dean shook his head sadly as he looked at the man. He reached in his pocket and brought out a single bright red pill and set it on the floor in front of the cage, easily within Trent's reach.
Dean ran his hand over his face wearily and looked long and hard at Trent. He nodded toward the pill and shrugged in the darkness.
Trent scuttled forward and grabbed up the little capsule, suddenly cocky from Dean’s lack of reaction.
“What, you want me to off myself? Do your dirty work myself? Well fuck you, Sec. Fuck you. I’ll get free of this, you’ll see. And one day I’ll be comin’ after you.
“And you wanna know what? I loved being a Prime. I loved fucking that tight ass of yours and listening to you scream. It was like music to my ears. And that boy of yours, I was one of the first to have him, and he was sweet. So submissive and yielding. Loved every minute of having my big cock inside him. I want you to keep that memory and hold it tight the next time you fuck him, sec. He was mine first and best, and I made him sing. Hell, I made you grovel and beg for it. Don’t you remember, sec, when you used to have a voice how you’d beg and you’d plead for me to fuck you? And god did I fuck you. Bet you still think of me after your boy toy tries to do you, bet you wish it was me instead of him. A real master, cause that’s what you need, to be put in your place and shown who’s boss. I ran you, and you did everything I wanted and loved me for it, and you can never take that away from me.”
Trent began to laugh hysterically as he clenched the pill tightly in his hand, the madness in his eyes visible even in the darkness as Dean calmly rose. He took one more look at Trent crouched in the cage and turned his back and walked out. Dean didn’t look back as he reset the alarm and slipped out.
Dean eased himself into the driver’s seat and looked over at Sam. Sam’s concerned face watched him intently. “So it’s done then?”
Dean shrugged. ‘Over enough for me’.
Dean sat for a moment in the dark car and then seemed to shake off his mood. He licked his lips and looked over at Sam, waggled his eyebrows suggestively. ‘And now I need to get me a little som’thin’ som’thin’.’
“God, you’re insatiable.” Sam’s laugh filled the interior of the Impala and Dean’s heart with warmth and he felt something loosen inside him and let go. “At least we still have our room. Impala sex just doesn’t hold the appeal it used to as I get older and you get kinkier, man. Let’s get the hell out of here. Time to leave this behind.”
Dean nodded and made the sign as he glanced heatedly over at Sam. ‘Mine’.
Dean swooped over and laid his lips across Sam’s, a gentle, soft touch that turned hungrily into possession. Finally forced to come up for air, he released Sam and sat back. He smirked and licked his lips, savoring the taste of Sam in satisfaction. Sam sat slack eyed and dazed for a moment, and then he smiled, looked up, and nodded. “Yours, Dean, all yours.”
Dean grinned his approval and stepped on the gas.
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