Notes: Schmeep! Short Chapter today I'm afraid! But I promise the next one will be longer! Many hugs and hearts to all!

Disclaimer: I own nothing here, so tragic, so sad!

CHAPTER 10

Dean sits alone in the alarmingly white interrogation room. He had been waiting in the holding cells for a long time, he was guessing while the rest of his crew was interrogated first. And now he had been waiting here in this blinding room for almost an hour. It was making him a bit antsy. He could only wonder how the Novaks were doing clinging to the side of the Impala…

He almost jumps when the door behind him suddenly opens and Hendrickson walks forward and slaps an impressively thick folder onto the table and sits down. He represses it though, appearing as calm and collected as always. Its game-time, thinks Dean, and he leans back comfortably in the very uncomfortable metal chair.

The fed hasn't looked at Dean yet; instead he is going through the file, paper by paper, looking like some paper pusher in his tiny cubicle somewhere, completely at ease. Dean knows that this is a calculated move to put him on edge, but Dean has dealt with interrogations that would make this one look like speed dating.

Might as well break the ice, thought Dean.

"I figure by now you've been over to the other ship. Seen what's there for yourself?" Dean asks, referring to the massacre.

"Oh, yes. Terrible thing." Hendrickson hasn't looked up yet, and the Impala's captain thinks that just plain rude, so he continues to talk.

"If you want my advice I wouldn't tow that boat anywhere. It's best to burn it, right here and now."Dean suggested friendlily.

"That ship is evidence, Captain." Still not looking at Dean.

"Oh right, that would be against the rules...I'm going to take a wild stab and say that this is your first tour of the outer rim?" Dean inquired, already pretty sure of the answer.

Hendrickson finally looks at him, and Dean rewards him with a friendly smile.

"I knew about your father. Well, your whole family really. You guys were legends during the war."

Dean scoffs not impressed and crosses his arms over his chest. As if this was new to him. He had heard this line of questioning before. "You don't know anything about my Dad."

Hendrickson only raised an eyebrow. "Ex-marine, raised his kids on the road always in Hunter groups. Real paramilitary survivalist type. I just can't get a handle on what type of whacko he was."

"You've got no right talking about my Dad like that. He was a hero." Dean stated firmly.

Hendrickson just continued like Dean had said nothing.

"You have a very loyal crew, Captain Winchester. But I see that you have a record of inspiring people everywhere you go, isn't that right, Sergeant?" Dean tensed a little, always did when the war was brought up.

"I'm not a Sergeant anymore. War's over, didn't you hear?" Dean replied innocently.

"As I hear it, the war never ended for some people. I also hear you named your ship Impala, after Impala canyon, am I right? The turning point of the war? I'm going to take a wild stab and say that you have some trouble forgetting the war?" Hendrickson dug, copying Dean's words from earlier.

"Or I really like antelopes." Dean's comment is ignored.

The fed across from him folds his hands under his chin and studies Dean. Again Dean feels like covering himself from the x-ray glare. He wondered what a staring contest between this guy and Cas would be like…

"Seems a bit odd to me that you would name your ship after a battle you were on the wrong side of…" His interrogator trails off.

"It may have been the losing side, but I'm not too sure that it was the wrong side." Dean said in a low, dangerous voice. This guy really knew how to make Dean bristle, but still wasn't enough to make him lose control. Still, Dean wasn't prepared for what was said next.

"So is that why you attacked the transport ship?"

Dean startled and sat up in his chair, "What?!"

Hendrickson continued, "I think you are still fighting the same battles, Sergeant. Only those weren't soldiers you murdered. They were civilians, families. Citizen's loyal to the Garrison trying to make a new life somewhere, and you couldn't stand that, could you?" His voice was slowly getting harsher and rising in volume. He had gotten out of his chair as well and was pacing around the table, reminding Dean of a jaguar circling its prey.

But Dean would not be prey to anyone. "So we attacked the ship and brought the only survivor and only living witness, I might add, back to our ship and took care of him?!"

"I'd ask him, but I think he would find it kind of hard, having his tongue split down the middle." This part was hissed into Dean's ear and he shuddered. Oh, no. Dean closed his eyes, he knew where this would go, and it was not a pretty road.

"I haven't seen that kind of torture, Sergeant, since…well, since the war." He paused and leaned on the table only a few inches away from Dean, and moved his face close enough to Dean's that he couldn't look away.

"It says here in your file that you were an "expert interrogator" during the war. Some of your "work" became well known among the Garrison. All too well versed in the art of interrogation and couldn't give up the trade once the war was over because that's all you were good for. Daddy's little soldier who would do anything for his family, like torture other men."

Dean's mind was running wild. Flashes of the men that he had "interrogated" during the war flickered by. All of that spilled blood on his hands. The screams. The materials for his nightmares. His biggest regret and the reason he had trouble looking at himself in the mirror. The war was a time of Dean's life that no matter how much he wanted to, he could not forget. The things he had to do to other men. He was a monster. A demon. Scum. Dirt. Evil.

…..A good man, Dean Winchester…

His eyes snapped back open. He didn't know why that came to mind, but it saved him and raised him from the darkness and it also let Dean immediately know what had happened to that poor man from the broken boat and what would happen next. He steeled himself for what he had to do next. The game was over; there were innocent people's lives at stake now.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose agitatedly, "I should have seen this coming. Listen Hendrickson, there's something you need to know about that man…"

"If you tell us about the whereabouts of the Novaks, then we can talk about negotiations…"Dean cut him off, there was no time for this.

"Yeah no, listen, I'm not in the mood for negotiations right now. We need to talk about that man…"Dean tried again to get the other man's attention.

"Well, if you are not going to cooperate at the moment, then you and your crew will be bound by law. Formal charges will be transmitted to a formal authority…"

"Hendrickson, I am not what you need to be concerning yourself with right now!" He shouted at the man. Hendrickson finally looked at him, but it was only a glance. Dean pushed harder.

"The way things are going right now, there is going to be more blood!" Dean had stood up from his chair, knocking it down behind him. Hendrickson looked a little alarmed, perhaps even frightened, and that gave Dean some power here. He would need every ounce of it if the little voice in the back of his mind was right.

In the Garrison infirmary the man is laying on a bed while doctors and nurses work around him trying to fix the new damage. His body is lurching and convulsing, spraying blood and gore on the workers around the man from the many fresh wounds now on his body.

They are all working so frantically to subdue him that they don't notice when a large knife is pulled out from its sleeve….

It slashes at his first victim.

Cliffies! Cliffy here, cliffy there. Cliffies everywhere! Cliffy for me! Cliffy for you! It's a clifffy and what's to come next, you may have a clue!