A/N- Thank you to everyone who continues to encourage me to write this story! You are amazing and worth more then you know! After reading the reviews to the first part of this 'Interviews one-shot' I've decided to give it a go and keep working on this case fic! I hope you like this chapter!

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The Hartsville police station was a small nondescript government building, all one level and as grey as the rain clouds threatening overhead. Adam grimaced as they pulled into the parking lot. The grim look of the precinct wasn't helping to renew the enthusiasm he'd lost on the drive over from their motel.

They pulled into a parking spot near the door and Dad reached down beside Adam to grab his suit coat.

"Remember the drill?" He questioned, eyeing his son seriously.

"Keep my mouth shut and my eyes open," Adam said fired back, sitting up a little straighter in the cab of the truck, a knee jerk reaction to Dad's tone.

"Good boy," Dad said with a satisfied nod. "Grab your backpack."

Adam handed Dad the case folder he'd been studying during their drive and reached down to the floorboard for his backpack before opening the creaking truck door.

Dad's cover for the case was an FBI agent and he'd said that if anyone asked it was 'take your kid to work day' and Adam was supposed to be working on a paper about his Dad's job. Adam knew it was silly, but he wished he could have a cooler cover story than kid-with-school-assignment'. He really wanted an ID badge with a cool name on it at least. Dean was always coming up with awesome names to put on the badges they created, today Dad's said Agent Henley. Like Don Henley from the Eagles, the band Dad liked. Adam couldn't wait until he got a fake badge and would get to make up his own agent name. He was thinking he might like to be Agent Ash, like that guy from those creepy Evil Dead movies that he and Dean watched on tv last weekend.

Adam followed closely behind his father as they walked into the police station, Dad politely nodding at the few uniformed officers as they passed. Striding up to the tall reception counter in the middle of the lobby, Dad opened his suit coat and pulled out his fake badge from his breast pocket.

"I'm here to see Detective Stanholt," he said with practiced ease and confidence.

The young officer behind the desk gave a curt nod and picked up the phone on the desk, speaking quietly into the receiver for a few moments before nodding toward Dad.

"You can go on back," he said, nodding to the double doors on the right side of the lobby.

Pushing a button under the desk Adam heard a loud robotic buzz and followed as Dad strode over and opened the door, ushering him inside.

Adam was absolutely amazed at how easy it was for Dad to walk into a police station and flash a fake badge. Not once was there a waver in his voice or even a second of hesitation. That officer at the reception desk didn't even flinch at Dad's blatant lie. It was no shock to Adam that his Dad carried an air of unquestionable authority, he'd felt it held over himself and his brothers enough times to understand its intensity, but it was fascinating to watch a stranger fall into line with Dad's expectations. Adam was really beginning to understand what Dad meant when he said during training that 'confidence was everything'.

Adam trailed after his father down the utilitarian cinder block hallway to the area that he knew from tv was the 'bullpen' of the police station. On tv the bullpen was full of desks and people and lots of hustle and bustle and excitement. Standing in the Hartsville police bullpen Adam felt he might as well have been at an insurance collectors office. There were only five desks scattered around the area and a few uniformed officers standing around chatting calmly over styrofoam cups of coffee. There were no 'perps' being dragged in, cursing and fighting. No lawyers striding in with indignation and importance. There weren't even any badass looking officers or detectives, who looked like they might not play by the rules. It was totally boring, lame and not at all what Adam had hoped for.

He followed his father over to one of the desks in the corner to find an average looking man in a rumpled grey suit sitting behind an ancient desktop computer so large that it was taking up the guy's entire desk, forcing him to hold his keyboard in his lap to type.

"Detective Stanholt," Dad called as he approached the man.

The Detective acknowledged Dad with a nod and stood up, placing the dusty looking keyboard on the top of the computer monitor.

"Agent. Back again?" he asked, straightening his suit coat.

"Got a few follow up questions for Mr. Hill. He's still in your custody, correct?"

"Yes sir. He's not being transported until this afternoon. I can have him put in room two for you if you like,"

"That'd be great," Dad said with an appreciative nod at the Detective, "Any new developments on your end?"

The Detective shook his head, "No sir, still just as big of a damn mess as it was yesterday. Pardon my language," he said, seeming to notice Adam for the first time.

Dad gave the Detective a politely amused smile, "Detective, this is my son Adam. He's shadowing me for a school paper today," he explained, placing a hand on Adam's shoulder.

"Nice to meet you, son," the Detective said, looking down at him with a genuine smile, "I'll go and Hill ready for you, Agent." He said to Dad.

"Thank you."

The Detective grabbed his keys off his desk and hurried down one of the hallways behind them toward what Adam guessed was the actual jail part of the police station.

"Come on," Dad said, using the hand that was still resting on Adam's shoulder to steer him away from the Detective's desk and out of the bullpen.

Adam let himself be let down another of the station's many plain hallways, wondering how in the hell Dad seemed to know his way around a police station he'd only been inside once before today. They wound their way through the stark concrete hallways until they arrived at a small break room.

"You want something?" Dad asked.

Adam looked around the small room and eyed the two vending machines filled with chips and sugary snacks as well as the three coffee makers lined up on the counter. He was hoping for donuts, but it seemed to be typical of his luck that they managed to find the only police station in the world without the snack that was synonymous with law enforcement.

Adam shook his head, determined to follow Dad's order to 'keep his mouth shut' and watched as Dad poured himself a steaming cup of coffee. Black, of course. Adam could never understand how his Dad could drink straight black coffee, even the thought of that bitterness made his stomach turn. He hated coffee the few times he'd had it, even though his father, and even his brothers, seemed to live on the stuff. Last time he was sick with a sore throat Dad had made Sam make him a cup in hopes the warm drink would soothe his pain, but no matter how much sugar and milk Sam put in the cup it still tasted terrible and Adam had to force himself to choke it down.

Dad grabbed the cup and took a sip, seeming not to notice or care how hot the coffee was on his tongue and gave Adam a nod, indicating for him to follow again as they left the room.

Adam walked behind his father, trying to stay aware and pay attention like Dad always demanded, but he was getting bored already. So far, this day was feeling less like a real hunting mission and more like a boring day at Dad's 'real' job.

They made their way down another hallway lined with rooms and Dad pulled them into one that had a number 2 on the door. Inside the room there was a large mirror on the wall and Adam got excited. This was like tv. A giant two-way mirror looking into a small windowless room that held only two chairs and table.

Detective Stanholt was already waiting in the room and nodded to door on the opposite wall inside the small windowless room as it opened and a uniformed officer lead in a man shuffling along in handcuffs.

Dad gave another appreciative nod at Detective Stanholt and then turned to Adam. "Stay here and keep your ears open," he said.

Adam gave a nod of understanding and moved closer to the two-way mirror, unable to hold back from examining it anymore.

Behind him the adults chatted about the case and even though Adam knew he should be listening and paying attention, he couldn't. He was too enthralled with the mirror and the interrogation room. It wasn't nearly as intimidating as some of the ones on the police shows he watched with Dean, but it wasn't too far from it either. He watched as the uniformed officer helped the man sit down and then took the handcuffs he wore off one wrist before reconnecting it the bar that was running the length of the table that sat in the room.

Adam studied the man- the suspect- he mentally corrected himself. He knew all about Steven Hill from the case files. He'd already seen his mug shot and read through the man's original statements that police took on the day of the murder. Adam really felt bad for the guy. Looking at him it was clear he was in over his head. He was slumped in the chair and leaning against the table as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. He was wearing the orange jumpsuit given to him by the officers at the jail and Adam wasn't sure if bright orange was just not the guy's color or what, but his face was sallow and pale with a sickly yellowish sheen.

"Adam," Dad said firmly, startling Adam from his study of the man, "Eyes open."

Adam gave his father a brief nod, biting back his automatic "yes sir" that rose in his throat. Dad gave a nod in return and walked into the interrogation room where the man was being held, leaving Adam on the other side of the two-way mirror with Detective Stanholt.

"You excited to watch your Dad, son?" Detective Stanholt asked him, clearly trying to make polite conversation.

Adam bit his lip, not wanting to be rude to the Detective but also not wanting to disregard Dad's orders about keeping his mouth shut.

"Yes sir," Adam finally said, hoping that the Detective would stop the questioning there so that he didn't have to risk Dad overhearing him talking when he was supposed to be listening to the interrogation.

"Seems like he's pretty experienced at this kinda stuff," the Detective continued, much to Adam's chagrin.

"Uh-huh," Adam said, taking a step closer to the two-way mirror and leaning in, trying to ignore the Detective without actually being rude.

Thankfully the Detective seemed to take notice of Adam's interested in his father's work and backed off saying "I'll let him do his thing then," before leaving the room.

Adam breathed a sigh of relief and focused back on Dad and the suspect inside the room. He'd missed whatever introductions or whatever they had exchanged during his brief distraction with Detective Stanholt and now struggled to make sense of what they were talking about.

"You gotta believe me, sir," the suspect was pleading, dark circles under his eyes as he stared up at Dad who was casually sitting on the edge of the table in front of him, "I swear on my life I didn't do this,"

Dad stood up and walked around the table, pulling out the unused chair across from the suspect and sat down.

"Steven, I believe you," he said, staring at the man earnestly.

"You do? You really do?" the man questioned in disbelief.

"I do." Dad confirmed, "But I need you to tell me everything about what happened the night before. Did you notice anything strange or out of the ordinary? With your wife? Any of your friends?"

Steven was quiet for a moment, taking in Dad's words and began to speak slowly.

"I mean…She was acting kinda strange. She's been sorta distant for a while now, but I figured that was due to the miscarriage you know? But yeah that night she was really freaked out. She didn't say anything to me, but she seemed really stressed out and… I... I don't know I just wanted to give her some space. That's why I went to the bar with Joey and Ted. Figured she could use some time to unwind."

"Ok," Dad said nodding and studying Steven's face, "Anything else?"

"Umm, well the neighbor's dog was going crazy. That was kinda weird. He's usually a really quiet, really good dog. I don't think I've ever heard him bark like he was then. But I mean… that's not really anything."

"It's something," Dad assured him.

Adam wished that Dad would say more to this guy. Explain something. Apologize for it happening. Anything. The poor guy just looked so terrible and seeing him suffer made Adam feel so bad.

Adam listened as Dad casually moved on to asking questions about Steven's friends, his wife's friends, people that they each worked with. Adam wasn't quite sure what the questions Dad was asking might have to do with a murdering shapeshifter, but whatever Dad was doing it he was doing it seamlessly. Watching Dad talk with Steven sort of felt like an out of body experience, it felt like Adam wasn't watching his Dad at all. Dad wasn't gruff or short with Steven, the way he was with Adam and his brothers. He still sounded authoritative, but there was softness in his tone, a subversive kindness that Adam didn't often hear from his drill sergeant of a father. Dad leaned on the table with interest and gradually and respectfully asked questions, asked Steven to explain details.

He asked.

Dad never asked. He demanded. He ordered. But he never asked.

It was unnerving to see this side of his father. Adam realized there was so much of his Dad that he would probably never understand. Before his mom had… well before… before when Dad would come to visit he was the same guy Adam saw sitting in the interrogation room now now: talkative and fun, normal and kind. He'd buzz into town and take Adam out to a baseball game and bring over wine and flowers for his mom. Adam would fall asleep to the sounds of Dad and Mom talking downstairs while they cuddled on the couch, the quiet sound of soft laughter between them. It was a sound Adam didn't know he'd forgotten. Certainly the man he knew as his Dad now would never cuddle, would never whisper and laugh. Dad was all rough edges now. He was all demands and worries, plans and defenses. But seeing Dad talk to Steven, Adam was reminded that there was still a part of Dad that was nice and normal and kind. That he could still be that person when he wanted to be. So why couldn't he be that way for Adam? For his brothers?

Distracted by his thoughts Adam missed whatever the last few questions Dad had asked Steven were and was surprised to hear that they were wrapping up. Dad stood and thanked the man for his time, as if he'd had a choice to be there in the first place, and a few moments later walked back into the room with Adam.

Adam felt himself come to life with questions for his father. Why did he act that way? How did he turn on that niceness? Was it real? Was it an act? Did Dad actually feel bad for Steven the same way that Adam did? Why didn't he say anything more to the guy? Offer some sympathy or an explanation?

"Dad! I…." Adam started.

"What did I say?" Dad snapped, disapproval clear in his voice.

Adam huffed and snapped his jaw shut. Of course he'd find a way to screw up Dad's rules..

"We'll talk outside," Dad said harshly, turning his back on Adam and walking out of the small room clearly assuming that Adam would follow.

And of course, Adam did follow his father. They went back to the bullpen where Dad had a brief discussion with Detective Stanholt about the case and Adam gave the compulsory smile and nod when the Detective wished him good luck on his school paper.

Adam silently followed his father out of the police station and back out to his truck, seething at being reprimanded so harshly, especially after seeing Dad be so nice to a guy who was cuffed to a table in a police station.

Dad took off his suit coat and threw it across the bench seat in the cab of the truck before climbing in himself. He reached down under the seat to pull out a pad of paper and pen and beginning to jot down notes.

"So you think he's lying?" Dad asked Adam, not looking up from his writing.

Adam was quiet for a moment, still pissed but knowing that not answering his father's direct question would only get him in more trouble.

"No. I don't think so," he said.

"Why?" Dad asked, stopping writing to look at his son.

Suddenly Adam felt put on the spot and his stomach clenched under the intensity of Dad's stare.

He took a deep breath and thought back to the interrogation, trying to use the tips and tricks that Sam and Dean had taught him about spotting a lie.

"Well, the way he answered your questions seemed natural: not too fast like he had prepared for them and also not too slow like he had to think of something to say. And he always looked at you when he answered, so he wasn't looking around the room trying to make something up." Adam explained, remembering Sam's lesson.

"And… I just don't think he's lying," Adam said with determination, remembering Dean's addition to Sam's lesson: go with your gut.

"Alright." Dad said, with a nod of agreement.

Alright? Well it wasn't a 'good job' or 'nice going son' but it was something that wasn't outright criticism so Adam would take it.

"Now what do we do?" Adam asked, as Dad dug out his keys and started up the truck.

"We're gonna hit the morgue,"

Choosing to brush off his father's less than satisfactory response to his awesome skills, Adam decided lighten the mood.

"So can I use a fake name this time?"

"Adam."

"Aw come on Dad!" Adam pleaded good-naturedly.

"There's no need to confuse things, son" Dad answered patiently.

"But you get a fake name…."

"A fake last time," Dad explained, keeping his eyes on the road, "I still use John as my first name,"

"Why? That's so boring." Adam asked.

Dad raised his eyebrows at Adam's tone, but ignored his son's impertinence.

"Son, you really wanna be caught off guard when someone calls your fake name and you don't respond? Better to use your real first name and not take the chance."

Adam shrugged in agreement, "Yeah I guess."

They were quiet for a while, listening to the sounds of the road.

"I'd be Chad O'Toole" Adam said smiling, "Cause every Chad is a tool," he continued, smiling to himself about his own joke.

Dad gave him a wry glance and didn't respond, shaking his head at Adam's lame attempt at humor.

'Dean would have got it' Adam thought, rolling his eyes and looking out the window as the county morgue came into view.

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