Chapter Four: Scar Tissue
Hands cuffed before him, with a chain running down to attach to the shackles around his ankles to impede his ability to run, Dean should have been a ball of nerves as he sat at a stainless steel table in an interview room, waiting to be interrogated. Instead, the hunter was almost smiling, the fingers of one hand tapping on the cool surface of the metal table as though the FBI were taking up his time.
The room was fairly small, with only enough room for the table and two metal chairs, positioned across from one another. Across from where Dean sat, one wall held a window of two-way glass, affording the hunter of his own reflection whereas whoever sat behind it would be able to see him clearly. The floor was covered in drab grey tiles; the walls were cinderblock painted off-white. A greyish-blue metal door with a small window at the top with chicken wire-reinforced glass was the only entrance and exit.
Dean sighed and sat back, wondering how his brother was doing. It had been quiet all night but for Dr. Reid's visit and the elder Winchester decided to take that as good news. Dean was sure that if Sam had started freaking out, he'd know; they would have to go see if he was all right if his brother had had an episode.
Dean believed the young doctor when he said his team would do all they could to help them get out. He just hoped Bobby and Sheriff Osborne of Ankeny, Iowa made good statements and that they would fly with the FBI.
The older Winchester looked up as the door opened and the agent who'd arrested him at the motel stepped into the room, a rather thick file folder beneath one arm.
The agent said nothing as he sat down at the opposite end of the table from Dean and opened the file.
"Dean Henry Winchester," the agent said in a slightly nasal voice. The hunter felt sure he'd seen the man in some movie or another but couldn't put his finger on it.
"That's my name," the hunter said, "Don't wear it out."
Dean smiled and the FBI agent returned the gesture, if coldly.
"I'm Supervisory Special Agent Carter Lamb," he told Dean.
The hunter smirked, "That's quite a mouthful."
"You're in so much trouble," the agent told him, "It's not even funny."
Both men were silent for a moment before the agent chuckled.
Dean frowned. Oh great, of course he had to wind up with a crazy one.
"I'm not here to discuss the possibility that you and your brother might have murder those people," Agent Lamb began, "It's clear that you did. What I want to know though, is how you managed to escape police custody and effectively disappear."
"Ah," Dean said and leaned forward, "A great magician never reveals his secrets."
The agent frowned at him, "Agents Velente and Morris- I'm sure you know them- filed a report that they saw you and your brother dead in the coroner's office in Ankeny, Iowa. A short time later, the Sheriff and coroner were both reported missing, presumed dead. Now, you and your brother didn't have anything to do with that, did you? Tying up loose ends to ensure you could make a clean get away and fake your deaths?"
Dean felt shock quicken his breath for a moment. He didn't know that the Sheriff was dead, surely the work of the Leviathans pretending to be he and Sam.
"We didn't do that," Dean said, truthfully, "If I were you, I'd want to check in with your Agents Velente and Morris."
Lamb shook his head, "Even if I believed you, it's not possible. Both agents are AWOL."
Dean frowned. Things weren't looking so good. Now that the Sheriff from Ankeny was most likely dead- possibly a victim of Leviathans- Hotchner's team had only Bobby's testimony to go on and Dean doubted that would hold up against all the damning evidence this agent had on him and Sam.
The agent gave a ghost of a smile; secretly pleased he'd apparently been able to shake the hunter.
All he had to do now was continue drilling the young man with questions and sooner or later his cocky attitude would crack completely and he'd get the answers- and the confession- he was looking for.
SPN
"We have a serious problem," JJ called to the other members of her team, sitting restlessly in a boardroom up on the catwalk.
"What is it?" Hotch asked instantly.
"Sheriff Osborne and the coroner, who happens to be his daughter, are both missing and have been since Sam and Dean were sighted in Ankeny," JJ told them and Morgan growled angrily.
"Damn it!" he snarled and stood, hands clenched into fists.
"What about Dean and Sam's friend?" Rossi asked, secretly crossing his fingers.
"He agreed to come in an testify that they were with him but I am not sure how well that will hold up," JJ told them, offering a bit of hope, "He's known them since they were children and he could easily be seen as covering for them."
"Maybe we could get him to do a polygraph test?" Prentiss suggested, "Prove that he's not lying about their whereabouts."
"That's possible," Reid agreed, "But Sam and Dean weren't with him the entire time the murders were happening. He'd be lying about that if he claimed they were always with him and that could be picked up by the test."
The team deflated a bit.
"We'll figure something out," Hotch said, "Let's just wait until we talk to Mr. Singer."
SPN
Sam sat ramrod straight in the hard, metal chair his brother had occupied only hours before, hands and legs shackled the same way as Dean's had been, though he lacked any of his sibling's confidence.
Instead, Sam was fighting to maintain his grip on reality.
Lucifer lounged in the seat across from him, whistling to himself happily.
Sam, hands cuffed as they were, was unable to lift his arm to press his fingers into his injured shoulder and make the vision disappear.
"C'mon Sammy," the Devil said, "You knew that wouldn't work forever, just like that scar on your palm."
Sam said nothing, forcing himself to look through the hallucination rather than directly at him.
The hunter flinched when the door to the room opened and Agent Lamb walked into the room.
"Oooh, company!" Lucifer crowed and got up out of the chair, moving to the other side of the table to stand beside Sam.
"Are you good cop or bad cop?" the Devil asked as the agent sat down and opened a file folder in similar thickness to Dean's.
"Sammy Winchester," the agent said informally.
"I'm Supervisory Special Agent Carter Lamb," he told the hunter, pausing between each word for longer than necessary.
"I talked to your brother a while ago," he continued, speaking slowly and clearly.
Sam frowned, why was the agent talking like that?
"He thinks you're stupid," Lucifer told him, "Seriously."
Sam's eyes widened. Lucifer chuckled.
"And he told me that you two didn't kill all those poor people," Lamb continued, smiling in a friendly 'we're-all-friends-here' way, trying to disarm the younger man.
"Despite the evidence we have saying that you did," Lamb tapped the file in front of him with his index finger.
"Do you want to talk about it? You can tell me," the agent asked with a sickly smile.
Sam let out a breath.
Oh my God, he thought.
"Yeah, Sammy," Lucifer chimed in, "Do you want to talk? You don't have to talk about all those poor people the Leviathans killed. How about you talk about Hell, instead? Get it off your chest. I'm sure Agent Lamb here would find it fascinating."
"Hm?" Lamb prompted, leaning forwards slightly, "Did Dean make you help him kill those people? Did he shove that gun into your hands and tell you to do it? Did he threaten you? You can tell me. We'll get you help. You don't have to be with Dean anymore."
Sam closed his eyes. He couldn't believe what the Agent was saying.
"Can you talk?" Lamb asked.
Lucifer snorted laughter, "He can talk all right. You just have to know the right way to make him, right Sammy?"
The hunter opened his eyes and stared at Lamb's face, still refusing to say anything.
"You don't look so good, Sammy," Lamb said, "Can I call you Sammy?"
"Did Dean do that to you?"
Lucifer frowned, "Now I'm insulted. Dean would never harm a hair on his baby brother's head."
The Devil reached out and placed a hand on top Sam's, petting his hair.
Sam's breathing quickened, his heart beginning to beat rapidly.
Lamb, unable to see the hallucination, thought he'd struck a nerve.
"He did, didn't he?" he said, "He hurts you. Does he hurt you if you don't do what he says?"
Sam remained silent, shivering as Lucifer's hand trailed down to rest heavily on the back of his neck.
"Yes," the Devil whispered in Sam's ear and the young man shuddered.
Lamb smiled with false compassion.
"Dean won't hurt you ever again," he told Sam, "He's going away for a long, long time. How does that sound?"
"You know, by not saying anything, you're only digging yourself deeper and deeper into this hole," Lucifer said to Sam.
"No," Sam croaked, not doing anything to sway Lamb's ideas about him, "Dean doesn't hurt me."
The agent sat back, surprised etched across his face.
"It speaks!" he crowed.
"C'mon Sammy," he continued, "You can tell me. Dean can't hurt you anymore."
"I change my mind," Lucifer said, "I like it better when he thinks you belong in a Steinbeck novel."
Just the idea of Dean doing anything to hurt him made Sam sick to his stomach.
"Is it getting warm in here or is it just me?" the Devil asked, "Let's turn down the A/C."
With his free hand- keeping the other firmly on the back of Sam's neck- Lucifer reached out and touched the stainless steel table, causing frost to instantly creep across its surface, crackling quietly.
Stop it! Sam thought, you can't do that! You're not real!
Lucifer chuckled and squeezed the nape of Sam's neck painfully.
The air in the room chilled so that the hunter could see his breath and the agent's. Still, frost continued to creep across the surfaces.
Sam shivered as the cold seeped into his clothes, into his skin and bones.
The FBI agent was peering at him strangely, not saying anything, just watching him with eyes like those of a bird-of-prey.
Sam couldn't believe how cold it was becoming; his fingers and toes, the tip of his nose and ears began to sting.
"Stop it," the hunter ground out through chattering teeth.
"Who are you talking to, Sammy?" Lamb asked.
"Don't call me Sammy!" the young man snapped suddenly, reaching forward and sweeping the file off the table, scattering the papers across the floor.
A face appeared in the small square window in the door but Lamb gestured with a raised hand and the face vanished.
Sam could almost see the wheels turning in the agent's head but he didn't care. His attention was focused on his fingers, the skin steadily turning from healthy pink to blue.
Sam had gone through this before. He knew that soon his fingers- and toes- would turn black with frostbite; agony shooting through his limbs as he slowly froze, inch by inch as Lucifer looked on and laughed. It was almost as bad as burning. Almost.
SPN
Lamb watched Sam Winchester as though entranced. The young man was staring down at his hands as though fascinated by them.
Dean had given him no answers, and although Sam had yet to reply to his questions, the agent was sure that the young man would be a lot easier to manipulate into confessing than his brother was. As was typical of the submissive party member when two serial killers got together.
"Sammy," Lamb said since that nickname had registered a least some sort of response in the hunter.
The young man did not look up; it was as though he didn't even hear the agent, and continued to look at his hands.
"Sammy, I'm trying to help you," he said, fighting back the urge to laugh, "Don't you understand that?"
No response from the young man. Sam though began to tremble and liquid began to drip down onto the table.
Crying, the young man was crying! Maybe they were actually getting somewhere.
Lamb, self-assured, reached out to touch the young man when Sam suddenly jerked back hard against the chair, holding his hands up and away.
"D-Don't touch me!" Sam cried out, staring at the agent wide red-rimmed eyes.
Lamb held his own hands up in a gesture of surrender.
"Okay, Sammy, okay," he told the younger man, "I won't touch you. Can you talk? Can you talk to me?"
Sam shook his head, his hair striking his face, and for a moment Lamb though the gesture was in response to his question but then he realized that it wasn't.
"No," the young man groaned, almost choking the words out, "No, please, no more. Stop it, please. Please."
Abruptly, the hunter's body went limp and he slid out of the chair. Standing up, Lamb peered over the table and saw that the hunter was just lying on the floor on his back, not moving, eyes staring up at the ceiling.
He's having some sort of seizure or something, Lamb told himself and looked up when the door to the room opened to reveal Agents Peterson and Fan.
The two other agents had concern on their faces but before they could approach the stricken you man, Lamb held up a hand.
"Wait a minute," he said, "I want to see what happens."
His fellow agents stared at him in disbelief.
All eyes turned to the hunter on the floor, waiting with bated breath for something to occur.
Suddenly, as quickly as it had happened, the seizure or whatever it was seemed to end and the hunter blinked, struggling to sit up.
No one moved forward to aid the young man and he pulled himself up onto his elbows, eyes moving from one face to another without recognition.
"D'n," he murmured, "D'n."
Striding forward, Lamb reached down, grabbing Sam's right arm and pulled him up into a standing position, ignoring the hunter's groan of pain.
"I think I've heard all I need to," he said, "Peterson, let's go."
The other agent went around to Sam's left side and took hold of the young man's elbow, following Lamb out of the room.
The hunter's head hung low and he moved slowly, as though exhausted by the events that had taken place in the interrogation room.
Agent Fan trailed behind her superior, asking if she should get a doctor for the young man.
"Carter, please," she begged, "Maybe he needs medication. You can't deny him that."
"He's fine," Lamb argued.
"But that's not right!" Fan cried and the other agent stopped and snapped.
"This man killed dozens of innocent people! Was that right? No, I didn't think so," Lamb snarled, "So why don't you keep your opinions on what's right and wrong to yourself."
Agent Fan stopped where she was and didn't follow Lamb or Peterson down the hall.
SPN
JJ and Prentiss met Bobby Singer in the lobby of the building, surprised when he appeared with a middle-aged woman with long black hair and an air of confidence about her.
"Sheriff Jody Mills," the woman introduced herself, "Sioux Falls."
"She insisted on coming along to help," Bobby told the agents, somewhat apologetically, "When she'd heard Sam and Dean were in FBI custody."
Sheriff Mills nodded, her expression serious.
"You two believe in monsters?" she asked.
JJ and Prentiss told her that they did; with thanks to the Winchester brothers.
"They saved my life," the sheriff said, "I only hope I can return the favour."
"We're doing everything we can to clear Sam and Dean's names," JJ told the Winchesters' friends.
As the four headed towards the elevators that would lead them towards the bullpen and offices that belonged to the FBI, JJ couldn't help but feel a surge of hope. With a state police officer- a sheriff no less- willing to testify as to the brothers' innocence, they may really have a chance of freeing the Winchesters.
SPN
"How did this happen?" Bobby Singer asked Aaron Hotchner. He and Jody were sitting in the team leaders office, surrounded by the members of his team and was surprisingly calm, considering he was surrounded by so many law enforcement officers. The old hunter felt as though he could trust the BAU team, if Sam and Dean did since the boys didn't trust many.
"Someone saw Sam and Dean early yesterday morning and called it in," Agent Rossi told him.
"Balls," Bobby swore, "An' the boys were so careful."
Agent Hotchner nodded sympathetically.
"Unfortunately Sam and Dean are still on the Most Wanted List," he said, "But we are hoping to clear their names completely so they won't have to worry about being arrested again."
Bobby sighed, "I'll do what I can to help you. Those boys… it'll kill them to be separated like this. They can't function right without one another. And with Sam… that poor boy won't last a fortnight, I promise you."
Jody put a hand on his arm comfortingly, her expression as grim as his.
SPN
Dean wanted, no, needed to see Sam. His 'big brother' sense was tingling and he felt that something was desperately wrong.
The hunter paced restlessly in his cell, on edge, every sense on high alert for trouble.
He trusted that Agent Lamb as far as he could throw a piano and he trusted the man even less around his brother. Dean wasn't blind, he knew Sam was deteriorating rapidly and he knew others could see it too. Just the thought of Lamb talking to Sam in that stupid nasally voice of his made Dean want to punch him in the face.
The man didn't know or care about them as people, as human, and Dean had a feeling that the part in the Constitution about cruel and unusual punishment was only a rough guideline to the agent.
But surely the man wouldn't be allowed to hurt Sam? This was Quantico, not Guantanamo.
Still, Dean felt that somewhere, somehow his baby brother was hurting.
SPN
Sam sat hunched on the metal-framed bed in his cell, unbelievably tired, but he couldn't sleep, even though it seemed as though every fiber of his being cried out for it.
Instead, he gripped his right shoulder tightly in his hand, digging his fingers into the flesh, jaw clenched in pain and praying that it would be enough to drive Lucifer away. If only for a little while.
The hunter, still disorientated, wanted nothing but his brother. Dean would help him, tell him everything was going to be okay, and remind him that he was Topside, not in the Cage anymore.
"Dean," Sam whimpered, the word barely making out from between his lips, "Dean… Please… I need you… Please…"
Unable to do anything else, the hunter fell to his side, upper body on the lumpy mattress while his feet rested on the cement floor of the jail cell.
SPN
"I want a psychologist brought in," Lamb was telling his team members, "That boy is crazier than a shithouse rat, I'm telling you."
"I thought you said he was autistic or… retarded," Peterson argued, clearly uncomfortable quoting the supervising agent word-for-word.
"I think that we should still get a psychologist to talk to him," Lamb said calmly, "Who knows, maybe he won't have to go to trial and they'll just lock him up in some padded room."
"I can make the call," Agent Clayton suggested.
"Thank you," Lamb replied with exaggerated graciousness, "At least one of you sees things my way."
Agent Fan frowned but said nothing. Lamb had done a lot of questionable things in the time she had worked with him, but his complete disregard for Sam Winchester's wellbeing was something else. Yes, he was still a murdered, but that didn't make him any less human and the law still protected people like him.
"While you're making that call, Clay, I'm gonna head down to have some lunch," Lamb said, "Peterson, Fan, want to join me?"
The only female on the team shook her head, "I have some paperwork I need to get started on."
Peterson, unable to come up with a likely excuse, followed Lamb out of his office.
SPN
"That short one's him?" Bobby asked, peering through the blinds in the boardroom window.
"Yes," Rossi commented, "That's the great Agent Lamb."
"Looks like a weasel to me," Bobby commented, "Sure he's human?"
"Unfortunately," Rossi replied.
"Okay, when do you want to do this?" Bobby asked.
"JJ called down and a polygraph machine is free this afternoon at two," Hotch told him.
The hunter nodded, "Too bad we can't go an' see the boys."
Jody made an agreeable sound. She was peering curiously at the whiteboard the team had set up with information on the Winchesters in their struggle to clear their names. Pictures and maps plastered the board, along with handwritten notes and Post-It notes.
"I know," the team leader said, "But it wouldn't be smart, especially before the polygraph test."
"Yeah," Bobby said sadly, "I just hope it'll be able to help the boys and not get them into deeper trouble."
SPN
"Come in," Erin Strauss' voice called and Agent Fan opened the assistant director's door, CD gripped tightly in her hand.
"Agent Fan," Strauss said, "I was surprised when you said you needed to see me. Is there a problem?"
The younger agent nodded and sat down in the chair in front of Strauss' desk.
"I have some concerns about Agent Lamb," she began and the older woman sighed in exasperation, "I've heard it all before; he's arrogant, self-centered, worries only about his own appearance, harasses his team members and other agents… You don't have anything new, Agent."
"I'm not here to complain about Agent Lamb's conduct with his team," Fan said without missing a beat, she hesitate or Strauss would eat her alive, "What is troubling me, is his treatment of a prisoner."
Now the assistant director raised a pale blonde eyebrow, "That's a new one."
Before the older woman could say anything else, Fan continued, "As you know, Sam and Dean Winchester were taken into custody midmorning yesterday. Agent Lamb decided to wait until today to interrogate both brothers and when he questioned the younger brother, I believe, and can show with recorded evidence, that he denied Sam Winchester his constitutional rights."
Strauss said nothing nodded.
"May I?" Fan asked and showed the woman the CD. Strauss nodded and allowed the young agent to put the CD into her computer.
A video screen popped up on the desktop, Fan enlarged it and it showed the interrogation room and Sam Winchester sitting alone on one side of a stainless steel table. A counter on one corner of the screen showed the time as it occurred. There was no sound on the video.
Fan moved the mouse and fast-forwarded the video to Lamb's entrance. Both women watched the convicted murderer and FBI agent interact in silence until Peterson and Lamb led Sam out of the room.
Exiting the video and ejecting the CD, Agent Fan sat back in her chair.
"As you can see, Agent Lamb antagonized Sam Winchester and when the young man fell to the floor, he offered no medical attention."
Strauss sat back and let out a long breath.
"What I can see, Agent Fan," she began and the young woman knew she had lost the argument before it had even begun, "Is a decorated agent doing his job. What I can see is Agent Lamb's concern for his own safety. That is why he did not approach Sam Winchester the instant he fell to the floor. What I can see is a young, no-name agent jealous of her superior attempting to tarnish his good name by coming up with accusations of abuses of Constitutional rights."
Agent Fan stared at Strauss in shock.
"But Ma'am, if Sam Winchester has a seizure disorder of some kind-" she began but Strauss raised her hand, "Sam and Dean Winchester are criminal masterminds. Did it not occur to you, Agent Fan, that perhaps the younger brother was pretending to be ill?"
"No, but-" the woman tried again but the assistant director shook her head, "Get out of my office. I don't want to hear anything else about this or I will have you written up."
Agent Fan stood up as though her seat had suddenly caught fire and retreated from the Assistant Director's office, feeling her cheeks burn with humiliation.
As she made her way quickly down the hallway, CD clutched tightly in one hand, Agent Fan was sure she had not been wrong and that Sam Winchester truly was suffering.
SPN
"How did it go?" David Rossi asked Bobby as the man stepped out of the room where he'd just taken his polygraph test.
"You know, they never tell you right away an' you're waiting on pins and needles for the call for weeks on end," Bobby grumbled.
Rossi gave a small smile.
"Where's Jody?" Bobby asked. The Sheriff had given her testimony first and the hunter was a little surprised to see that she wasn't waiting outside the door for him.
"She went up to the boardroom," Rossi told him, "Last I checked she was talking with JJ and Prentiss."
The two men headed up to where the rest of the team was and when Rossi opened the door to the boardroom, Bobby saw that Jody was indeed involved in conversation with the two female FBI agents.
"Bobby!" Jody exclaimed, "I'm glad you're here. I've been thinking."
The hunter narrowed his eyes at her, "About what?"
"Sam and Dean drive around in that old classic Chevy," Jody began and Bobby nodded, "Yeah, what about it?"
"Well, the Leviathans had one too," Jody continued, "To make their charade more believable, I guess."
"Where's this going?" Bobby asked.
"Sam and Dean's car is still hidden away, right?"
"Of course," the hunter answered, "Car like that, sticks out like a sore thumb. They haven't had it out and about since the Leviathans murdered all those poor folks."
Jody nodded, "Our testimony won't be enough to clear Sam and Dean's names. You've been their friend for years, and even with my word, it still doesn't give them an airtight alibi. But, if Agent Hotchner and his team could get Sam and Dean's car, they could prove that they didn't drive it during the string of murders the Leviathans committed.
Bobby appeared incredulous to the idea.
"The Impala," Morgan spoke up, "Or an Impala, was taken by as evidence after it was left in the parking lot of the Ankeny, Iowa police department. The Leviathans must not have needed it after Sam and Dean were assumed dead."
"How would that prove that the boys weren't the killers?" Bobby asked.
"Every car is unique," Dr. Reid spoke up, "Just as each person is. Of course, the manufacturers make them near perfect clones but that's just it, they are almost identical, but not quite. They all have different serial numbers, mileage, wear and tear, that is distinct. If we can find Sam and Dean's Impala then that would add to the growing evidence for their innocence."
"Hold on," Bobby raised a calloused hand and swiped his baseball cap off for a moment, scratching his head, "You said each car has unique wear and tear?"
The doctor nodded.
"A serious accident should definitely leave a distinct mark on a car then," Bobby continued, "Especially if it involves major repairs to the body and innards of the car."
"Bobby?" Jody asked, her eyes sparkling.
"Years ago, Sam and Dean and their Dad were involved in a car accident," the hunter told the agents, "They were hit by a transport truck. It smashed one side of the car all to hell. Dean fixed it, but it wasn't easy, took a lot of bodywork on the car."
"The Leviathan's car won't have that work done to it because they wouldn't have known about the accident!" Jody filled in the dots and rushed towards Bobby, hugging him.
"Finding Sam and Dean's car would be a great step in clearing their name," Hotchner agreed, "But it may not be enough."
Jody and Bobby looked at the lead agent.
"Do you know if there were pictures taken of the accident?" he asked Bobby.
"Well probably," the hunter commented, "Police have to do that, right?"
Hotchner nodded, "Where did the accident happen?"
Bobby scratched his beard, trying to remember, "Think it was a few miles from some small town in Missouri… what was it called…"
"Maitland," he said, "I believe it was called Maitland."
"Good," Hotch smiled, "That's a start."
"Did Dean tell you where he hid his car?" Jody asked and the hunter shook his head, "Wouldn't even tell me in case some Leviathan bastard got a hold of my DNA."
"Reid, when Lamb and his team are preoccupied, can you go and ask Dean where he's keeping his car?" Hotch asked and the doctor nodded.
"Since we know you'll go anyway without permission," Morgan commented sarcastically but he smiled.
The younger man looked chagrinned but said he would as soon as Lamb and his team were out of the picture.
"I know you're all focused on this Leviathan thing," Bobby spoke up, "But that ain't the first crime the boys have been convicted of. Are you working on the other ones too?"
Without missing a beat, Agent Hotchner spoke up, "If we can prove Sam and Dean did not kill those people, that's a win, and the most pressing matter right now. After that, we'll work backwards to focus on the other crimes."
Bobby nodded.
"Maybe we could split up and investigate the other crimes?" Reid suggested, "Work them at the same time?"
Hotch nodded, "That may work. We just have to be very careful and if we get a call for an active case, we'll have to all drop everything."
The other agents nodded in agreement.
"Thank you for your help, Bobby, Sheriff Mills," JJ said and the team took turns shaking hands with them.
"Those boys are innocent," Jody said, "They don't deserve to be behind bars."
Author's Note:
Chapter title comes from a Red Hot Chili Peppers song of the same name.
Thanks to Slytherin Studios, QueenBea93, reannablue, BranchSuper, and Trucklady53 for reviewing.
Please leave a review if you are enjoying the story!
