Without Bail (Part 1of 2)

"Dean?" Sam's voice was fuzzy on the phone and it was hard enough to hear him over the shouting from down the corridor. Dean looked up when a door slammed but met the eyes of the burly man beside him who rolled his fingers over each other indicated he needed to hurry up.

"Uh, yeah, Sam you're gonna need to get in touch with Bobby."

"Why? What's wrong? Are you guys hurt?"

"No, we uh...we were arrested."

"What?"

"We can't handle this one on our own, if you know what I mean."

"Because it's not a backwater police department."

"Yeah."

"Crap."

"Yeah. It's getting pretty serious, so hurry okay? Get Bobby."

"Yeah I will."

"Time's up," the officer warned. Dean nodded.

"We'll be fine, bye Sammy."

He hung up. The officer took him by the arm and pulled him down the corridor. His clothes were still filthy from their hunt which had led them through the bowels of an old apartment building where a ghost had been making friends out of local homeless people. On top of it all, Dean had been knocked around some and came out with a black eye and swollen lip.

But none of that compared to when New York State Police had busted in on them and found them over the bodies of two missing persons and the salted and still smouldering remains of the apartment's old caretaker.

"I'll take him." Someone stopped the officer from putting Dean back in the group cell. He could still see the few people in holding over the shoulder of the officer and he locked eyes with his father.

Don't say anything. He mouthed as Dean was steered down another hallway with the newcomer. This man was wearing a grey suit and red tie. He looked more like a school principal than a detective. This observation quickly made sense to Dean when he was sat down and cuffed to the table and the man pulled out a notebook and pen.

"Good morning Dean, I am Dr. Eagles."

"A shrink." Dean said, at once understanding the situation.

"A psychologist, Dean."

"Whatever. Why did they send you to interrogate me?"

"I'm not here to interrogate you. I'm here to hear about your side of the story. I want to know who you are, Dean. We can't seem to find any school records for a Dean Stilton. But then again, that ID of yours also says you're twenty one."

Dean kept his gaze even and didn't say anything.

"I was told it was the most impressive fake ID the department has ever seen. Did your father make it?"

He remained tight lipped.

"Your real name is Winchester, correct?"

Silence.

"By your birth record I see you're barely seventeen. So tell me, what is a seventeen year old doing shooting homeless people in the basement of an apartment?"

"I-" Dean shut up at once, almost falling prey to the ploy but he remembered his father's face and didn't speak. His eyes must have shifted back that way because Eagles leaned forward to interrupt his line of sight.

"It's okay Dean, you're father won't know what you say. We won't be putting you back together in a cell, please speak freely."

"I don't have anything to say without my lawyer."

"You don't need a lawyer with me, son. I'm trying to help you."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You think I'm crazy?"

"No, I think you are being indoctrinated by your father, and I think he is very unwell."

Dean slammed his fists into the table as much as his restraints allowed. "Don't say that about him. We're not crazy!"

"Then you're murderers."

"We didn't kill those people!"

"Then who did? The body you dug up out of the basement and burned after performing a black magic ritual on it? We found the book, your father's journal, it's full of rituals and spells. Is that what he's taught you Dean, how he raised you?"

Dean didn't speak. He felt overwhelming anger at the way this man spoke of his father, and spoke of things he didn't know anything about. But he also felt a buzz of nervousness like he'd never felt before. This was a large, state of the art department, it might not be possible for them to break out and it would take Bobby time to finagle a way to have them released. What if they sent them straight on to a penitentiary?

"Dean are you alright?" He hadn't noticed how tense he'd gotten. He relaxed and let out a long breath. "Dean?"

"I'm done talking."

"But you haven't even started. How about we start with those bruises on your face. None of the victims had defensive wounds—they didn't strike back. So what happened? Did you tell your father you didn't want to be part of his blood bath? You have scars, how long has he been beating you?"

"SHUT UP!"

"How long has he been forcing you too kill? Telling you demons are real? He told you a demon killed your mother—son you must realize-"

Dean's chair clanked back against the floor. He stood despite the strain it put on his cuffed wrists. His entire body was rigid in anger but he didn't scream. He just stood there, eyes fixed on the psychologist.

"I have one last question for you Dean. It's the most important one." Eagles stood slowly, eyes ever on the teen. "Where is Sam?"

Dean just watched him.

"Dean I want to help you, but if you won't let me save you, then how about your brother? You're his older brother, you want to protect him right? Well then you have to tell me where he is, so we can keep him safe for you."

"You leave Sammy out of this."

"Where is he, Dean? Is he alone?"

"Just leave it."

"I'm afraid I can't. We have to find Sam, he could be hurt or alone or-"

"He's fine."

"Then where is he?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Why not? Is this really the life you want for your little brother? Controlled by that man out there? Risking his life, hurting people?"

Dean went quiet again. He turned his eyes away from the man. He heard a sigh, then the door opened. He hadn't caught the look of satisfaction or the curt nod given by the psychologist—hadn't realized what he'd revealed in his body language.

"What's going on?" Dean asked when his cuffs were removed from the table and two officers took hold of him.

"We're moving you somewhere else, for your own safety."

"Wait, what?" Another nod, they took him out of the room. The psychologist made quick notes but looked up to the one way glass where he knew the real interrogators watched and listened.

"The brother is the key. He obviously wants to protect him. He'll give up his father for him."

"Good." Came the static voice. "And Dean himself, is he a lost cause?"

"Pretty far gone, but he might have a chance if he spends the next decade in an institution." He stacked his pages and rose. "Now then, let's meet the source of the delusion." But he heard shouts down the hallway and hurried out to see what was the matter.

"They're taking me somewhere else." Dean was shouting to his father over the clamour of men restraining him. Fresh blood flowed from his nose, it looked like he must have broken free just so he could inform his father of what was happening. Now his hands were cuffed tight at his back and two men drug him away from the group cell.

"It's okay Dean, just don't get yourself in worse trouble." John pressed against the bars. Dean met his eyes, but instantly lowered them the moment he realized they betrayed his true panic.

"Got it." He managed out before he was hauled away. The psychologist watched the whole interaction before turning to John.

"My you've warped that boy."

Dark eyes turned to him and for a moment the doctor lost his words. Under that gaze of pure loathing he found himself shaken and took a step back.

"What did you say to my son?"

"The truth about you."

This brought a smile as dark as those eyes. "Truth huh? I wonder what you'd do if you ever had to face it for yourself."

The bars parted, officers pulled John out and took him toward the interrogation room. For once in his career, the psychologist gave pause, not sure this was a case he wanted to crack.

"Sam Winchester is a second minor involved. If he was travelling with them, he could be in town, and alone. We need to find him for his safety and the safety of others." The lead investigator informed his team.

"Wait, do you mean you think the boy is also trained like this one?" The speaker glanced through the one-way glass at Dean who sat uncomfortably slumped over the table-but after nearly twenty four hours of interrogation he'd take any rest he could get.

"Yes," the lead confirmed. "We simply don't know what he'll be like, what we do know is we need to find him. The father hasn't cracked down in the other department either."

"Damn, I didn't think this Dean kid would be so resistant."

"He's been fed delusions since before he went to school, starting with the night his father murdered their mother. We won't be able to dispel those beliefs in a day."

"Fine, then let's start on day two."

Someone stretched and moved toward the room. When the door cracked, Dean stiffened. He knew what was coming and the man pulled him back to sit straight in his seat, even though he hadn't slept since he and his father had started this hunt two days earlier. He blinked and the room wavered. Good, he thought, pass out, and then maybe one of these bastards will realize they've been bypassing any laws about interrogating minors.

But he didn't pass out, well, not yet, and so they began again. Asking him over and over where was Sam. Then rehashing the list of offences they'd managed to gather up. The first time around it had alarmed Dean how much the police had put together on his father. But now he didn't even pay attention as many of their hunts were revisited, then all the speculations about what cults John may belong to and what horrors he may have inflicted on his sons.

All to try to appeal to Dean either through guilt or a reality check or his love for his brother in order to get him to give up Sam's location.

Dean snapped back when he was pulled straight again. He'd almost managed to fall asleep. He blinked several times to make the room more clear, it didn't help, he just wanted to blackout so they would stop.

Another round ended. The door banged open, someone started talking loudly about Dean's rights. He was pretty sure he didn't have a lawyer so he assumed it was the whole good cop bad cop thing but he didn't pay much attention as he was pulled from the room and led to a cell.

He didn't care that the bed smelled like piss, he just lay down and was out cold in moments.

"Why'd ya do it?" Dean snapped to consciousness at the gruff voice. It took him a long moment to realize it was coming from right above him.

"What the hell?" He rolled onto his back and found himself staring up at one of the officers. This man hadn't interrogated Dean but he'd been one of the officers to arrest him. Come to think of it, he'd been emotional and none to gentle when shoving Dean face first into a wall. When they'd been processed, this man had just watched in silence the whole time.

"Who are you?" Dean finally asked, unable to rise as the man was flush with the cot and leaning over him.

"Shut up!" The punch caught Dean off guard. He sputtered and tasted blood. When the second came he felt his heart quicken—this wasn't good, cops couldn't do this, this man was off his rocker and he had Dean trapped.

"You killed Paul and Jess. She was my wife's sister, and he was my best friend!"

"Shit!" Dean lurched up and tried to get away. He knew what the outcome of this would be if he didn't get out now. But a third strike kept him down and then there was a fist in his hair, a knee on his chest-

"HEY!" Dean heard the shout but he couldn't see. The man was letting loose on him in a wild flurry of hard fists. He couldn't escape the hold and by the time enough officers came to haul him of he could barely breathe.

"Damn it Gerry!" They ignored Dean's sputtering as he rolled onto his side and coughed up blood. "You'll lose your badge over this!"

"Crap the kid's in bad shape we'll have to call an ambulance."

"We do that and Gerry's tanked."

Dean stopped coughing and looked up to find all eyes on him.

"What?" He challenged, heart racing under his bruised ribs, body growing hot with anger even as it swelled with bruises. "WHAT?" He shoved up and off the bed despite the way the room spun and everything hurt. "We didn't kill those people! We tried to save them you assholes and now what do I get for it? What do we ever get for it?! Nothing but shit! Just sons of bitches like you who haven't got a clue what's really out there! Dumb cowards who sit around playing hero while they let us do all the work for them." He took a gasping breath, not having realized how thin the air seemed to be. He wobbled and grabbed a bar.

"Get Gerry out of here," someone said. Dean watched two of the men haul him away. He continued to stand and stare at the remaining officers. The one who had spoken stepped into the cell, right up to Dean and leaned in.

"You're one messed up son of a bitch," he began. "You killed a couple because you thought they were some science fiction crap."

"I didn't—"

"SHUT UP!" The nightstick rang against the bars with a harsh clang and Dean felt the impact vibrate through the metal and into his hand. "Now then, when our chief gets wind of what happened to you, he's gonna put Gerry on probation, maybe even cut him loose. We can't have that."

"Then he shouldn't have beat the shit out of me."

The stick slid over the bars and trapped Dean's wrist against the metal shaft. He hissed in pain at the pressure, knowing how easily it could break that multitude of tiny bones.

"If Gerry is gonna go down for this, then I'll make sure it's worth it." The words came out so low. Dean found no retort. "Or, you promise me you say nothing and you'll get off easy."

"Screw you."

"Fine."

Dean lurched and collapsed when the stick collided with his leg. It hit his calf and enough of the impact was absorbed in the muscle to spare his bone but in the moment it was little consolation and he couldn't hold back the cry that came as he crashed to the ground.

"Reconsider?"

Everything in Dean wanted to fight, but he wasn't going to win this one and he knew it. He was already in so much pain. He shook on the ground.

"Last chance."

"Fine." He spit the word out, never looking up. Everyone was watching, his face burned with anger and hurt pride.

"Good." The man pushed his stick back into its holster. "Come on boys." He shut the door behind him. They all filed down the hall and left him alone in the cell.

Dean didn't move from where he'd fallen.

To be concluded in part II.