I do not own any characters from Supernatural and I am not profiting from this work.

Dean sat in a small room, handcuffed and hooked to a ring on the surface of a table. He faced a large mirror that covered the opposite wall. He looked at himself in the mirror, examining the lump and dark bruise over his left eye. His head throbbed dully. He knew that while he was examining himself, someone else was examining him as well. He wasn't scared. It's not like this was the first time he'd been in this situation. Being arrested was just an occupational hazard. He worried more about his brother than anything else. Sam had never been arrested before and was still reeling from Jess' death. He was in a vulnerable state right now. Dean was brought out of his own thoughts when the door creaked open and clicked closed again quietly. A middle aged man in a cheap suit with a thick file folder tucked under one arm and a cup of coffee in his hand walked over and sat down across from Dean at the table.

"How are you doing today, Mr. Winchester?", the man asked cheerfully. He opened the folder and started flipping through the thick mountain of pages inside. "I see you have a long history. Mind if we chat for a little while?"

"I wanna know where my brother is", Dean growled. The second this guy walked in the door, he rubbed Dean the wrong way. The man just smiled at Dean, as he continued to leaf through papers.

"My name's Cliff. I'd like to talk to you about what brought you hear today, Dean." The man pushed his glasses farther up his nose and took a loud slurp of his coffee before looking up at him again. To Dean, this guy was nails on a chalkboard personified. He gritted his teeth, tugging at the cuffs. "You might as well stop struggling, Dean. You're gonna be here until we've had a chance to talk a little bit." Dean's jaw twitched and he looked away.

"So talk!", Dean snapped.

"Why did you kill those people, Dean?", Cliff asked, sliding photos of three decapitated bodies across the table in front of him. Dean stayed silent, staring down at the pictures with no emotion evident on his face. "You were arrested in that cabin with a bloody machete in your hand and you were covered in gore." Dean looked up at the balding man sitting across the table and sighed.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you", Dean breathed. He looked down at his calloused hands and they were balled into fists.

"Try me. You might be surprised at what I'll believe." Dean let out a humorless chuckle, shrugged, and leaned forward in his chair. He knew what he was going to tell him would land him in the funny farm, but Dean really wanted to see the look on this guy's face when he told him the truth. He beckoned Cliff closer with his finger and the man leaned in close. Dean looked around like he was making sure that he wouldn't be overheard.

"Werewolves", Dean whispered than leaned back into a slump in the chair. The guy looked at Dean like he had suddenly grown a second head.

W-werewolves", Cliff stuttered. It wasn't a question, but an attempt to convince himself that that is what he heard. Dean rolled his eyes like it should be obvious.

"Yes! Werewolves!", Dean barked irritably. Dean pointed at the pictures in front of him and stared at the man like he should know all this already.

"Are you saying that these people are... were werewolves?" Dean tilted his head at him and pursed his lips. "How... how do you know they were werewolves?" Cliff reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a memo pad and pen. He wrote something on it but Dean was too far away to be able to read it.

"Trust me. I know", Dean murmured, looking away. He immediately regretted opening his mouth. "Look, until I see my brother, I'm not sayin' another word!" The man sitting across from Dean, pulled his glasses off his face, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed deeply. "Mr. Winchester... Dean, you really should be worrying about yourself right now." Cliff put his glasses back on and resumed his questions.

"Screw you", Dean muttered under his breath. Cliff ignored the jab.

"Looks like you've had a long history with the system, Dean." Cliff flipped through papers in the folder, only glancing at each sheet. He had already read what he needed to for this interview. A long list of offenses including identity theft, B&E, escaping police custody, and suspicion of murder.

"Yeah, so?", Dean grumbled, slouching even farther down into his chair.

"So? Don't you think that you might have some issues to work out here, Dean?" Dean sat up quickly, making the man across from him jerk backwards in his seat.

Yeah, I got issues!", Dean barked. "So does everyone else on this fuckin' planet! It's called life!"

"Killing three people with a machete isn't normal life issues, Dean." Dean jumped to his feet, jerked on the cuffs again, and bellowed in Cliff's face.

"I DIDN'T KILL ANYBODY! I GANKED A PACK OF WEREWOLVES!" Dean could see the fear in the guy's eyes and a little part of him felt elated that he could have that effect on someone in authority. He had always had a problem with authority figures. All except his father, of course. Dean had always been John Winchester's perfect little soldier.

"Please c-calm down, D-Dean," Cliff stammered, straightening his glasses. Dean flopped back down in the chair, seething. He closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths to calm himself down. He had always been a hothead and it never helped in these situations.

"Sorry", Dean growled half-heartedly. "I didn't kill anyone." He finally looked up at Cliff and saw him scribbling something frantically on his notepad.

"It's OK, Dean", Cliff said with a smile. "Why did you feel the need to 'gank' werewolves? Weren't you scared?" Dean smirked at him and sat up in the chair again.

"Nah! I'm a hunter! That's what I do!" Cliff looked at him confused and Dean chuckled. "You know, monsters? Vampires, werewolves, ghosts, demons! All of the creepy crawlies that haunt your dreams! They're all real, Dude!"

"So... you're a monster hunter?", Cliff looked at him over the top of his glasses and let out an amused huff that he immediately tried to hide behind a cough.

"Yeah, I am", Dean said with an angry glare. "Have been since I was 4. I learned to shoot a gun before I could read."

"And why are you a hunter? How did you find out that monsters were real?" Dean's jaw muscle twitched and he looked away.

"Some... something killed my mother", Dean whispered. "Burned her up on the ceiling of my brother's nursery." When he looked back up at Cliff, Dean's eyes were wet with unshed tears. "My dad, my brother, and I have been looking for the thing that killed her ever since. And we save people and kill things along the way. I guess you could call it the family business."

"Your brother was also raised in this 'family business'?", Cliff asked, still writing furiously. He stopped and looked back up at Dean curiously.

"Yeah, mostly", Dean sighed sounding bored. "Except for the 2 years he spent at Stanford."

"Stanford!", Cliff noted with interest. "That's a very prestigious college, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess." Dean started fidgeting in his seat, picking at his fingernails. "He was studying to be a lawyer. Please can I just talk to my brother? He needs me!"

"Why'd he leave?", Cliff asked. "I know law school takes longer than 2 years." Dean was really getting annoyed with this asshat's incessant questions. He leaned down and rubbed his face with his cuffed hands.

"My dad disappeared during a hunt. I needed Sammy's help to find him." Dean got very quiet for a while and Cliff thought that he was about to clam up before he finally started to speak almost in a whisper. And then his... his girlfriend Jess was killed by the same thing that killed our mom." The guy continued to write on the notepad without looking up and it was driving Dean insane. "What are you writing? You... you think I'm nuts, don't you?"

"I'm only writing what you tell me, Dean", Cliff said calmly, ignoring the second question completely.

"THAT'S IT!", Dean snapped. "I'M DONE TALKING UNTIL I SEE MY BROTHER!" Cliff could see Dean shutting down as he tried to turn away in his chair even though his hands were still cuffed to the table.

"OK, Dean. OK. I'll have someone take you back. We can talk again later." Cliff got up and walked out the door without another word.

"Fuck!", Dean spat under his breath as he yanked on the cuffs.