This is actually something I wrote for an English assignment in 2014, and I remembered it the other night, dug through my folders, and found it again. I thought I'd post it as something short and sweet. I remember I managed a pretty good grade on it so I hope you all enjoy it as well!
(My teacher didn't like the title I gave it when I handed it in but I couldn't think of anything better;; Any suggestions, please leave them in the comments!)
Sam Winchester looked sadly at the poster on the front of the police department building. The description wasn't nearly close enough to Gabriel for someone to identify just by looking at him, but Sam knew he was the one behind the murders. He knew because Gabriel Novak was his best friend. They had been since Sam's father had finally decided to settle down in one town for more than three months. When he thought about it, he and Gabe were unlikely friends; Sam was quiet and studious, whereas Gabe was loud and outgoing. And a murderer. And Sam was the only one who knew.
Sam knew that he should tell the police. That he should go forward and say he knew that Gabriel Novak was the one who murdered those people, who while not innocent, were still people who deserved to live. But he couldn't. He couldn't sell out his best friend like that. Doing so would mean he would lose his other friends; Gabriel's younger brother, Castiel, and his older brothers, Michael and Luce. Sam wasn't the type to make many friends, tending to rather keep himself than talk to anyone. And then there was also the issue of his older brother, Dean. While Dean was not as good as friends with Gabriel as he was, he was very close to Castiel. It would lead to a whole chain of events that Sam wanted to avoid, if he could help it.
But there was a nagging voice in the back of his head that was telling him to go forward and tell the police. Why should he be friends with someone who killed people? Why should Gabriel be allowed to get away with such a major offence? It weighed on him – on one hand, he could lose the only friends he'd ever had. He knew deep down that Gabriel would keep killing people, and the police would continue looking for him, and surely one day he would slip up and leave behind something that would lead to his identification. And then, if somehow they found out Sam knew all along, he would be up the creek without a paddle as well. Could Sam live with something like that weighing him down? Yet if he told, he would be stuck with the guilt of selling his friend out, of ruining the one good thing he'd had. Sam was torn.
He thought about it for days, weeks, months. He told no one; not Dean, not Castiel, not Michael or Luce. He didn't dare tell his father, who wasn't fond of Gabriel in the first place. He'd found himself on the stairs to the police department several times, but could never bring himself to enter. It wasn't until several days later that Sam had his mind suddenly made up for him.
It was all the talk of the town. The murderer had been seen by a witness, and a much clearer picture of Gabriel had been painted – he would now be able to be recognised by a classmate if they looked at him hard enough. It was Gabriel, though, who confronted Sam.
"Sam," he said, pulling Sam aside one lunchtime. Sam followed him worriedly to an empty classroom.
"Yeah?" he asked, concerned. Gabriel never looked this worried, not even when he had an assignment due that day that he had yet to start.
"I need you to tell the police," he said in a rush. "Because I am this close-" he held his thumb and fore finger close together in an approximation of just how close he was "-to being caught or identified and told on. And I can't do it myself, and I can't let this carry on any longer."
Sam frowned. "You want me to turn you in?" Gabriel nodded. "I can't do that. I can't condemn you to a life of imprisonment."
"Please, Sam," Gabriel pleaded. He never asked for anything; he was more the person to take. "You have to. I'm too cowardly to do it myself, and I don't want someone else to recognise it was me and go tell. It has to be you." Quietly, he added, "I trust you."
Sam looked down at Gabriel. There was no way he could do this to one of the people he loved most. He sighed. "Okay. I'll go this afternoon, if you're certain this is what you want."
"I'm certain," Gabriel replied, smiling weakly. "Thank you, Sam."
Sam just nodded and left the room. He had to prepare for the confession this afternoon.
Once again, Sam found himself at the entrance to the police department. Smoothing his hands down the front of his shirt, he pushed open the doors and stepped into the cool building. There were several officers sitting behind desk, typing up reports or talking on the phone. Sam looked around, taking a deep breath. Hesitantly, he walked up to the desk. The deputy on duty came over, smiling.
"Hello, sir," he said. "How may I help you?"
"I would like to speak the Detective Inspector on the case of the murders that have been conducted in the last few weeks," Sam said, proud that his voice didn't waver.
"Oh?" said the deputy, raising an eyebrow. "You have information?"
"Yes," he replied simply.
"Well, I'll go get the detective. You wait right here, won't be a minute." The deputy disappeared behind a door and came back with a man Sam could only assume to be the Detective Inspector that was assigned to the case of Gabriel's murders.
"If you'd like to follow me into this room," the detective said, gesturing to a door a little down the hall, "you can tell me what information you have."
Sam nodded, thanked the deputy, and followed the detective into the room. If he thought he was nervous before, it was nothing compared to now. His mouth was suddenly dry, and the lights within the room seemed to glow whiter and brighter. He sat down in the chair the detective gestured to, wringing his hands together in his lap. The detective sat across from him, pulling out a notebook and pen.
"When you're ready, son," he said encouragingly.
Sam took another deep breath, and looked up to meet the detective's eyes. "It was me," he said calmly. "I killed those people."