"So the report says you attacked the officer who tried to bring you your meal. It took three of them to restrain you."

Dean didn't look up at Dr. Eagles. His face was tight with the swelling and most of him hurt to move. Still they'd dragged him into this room and chained his hands through the table and Dean was just waiting for the real questioning to begin again.

"Last time I checked it doesn't take that many hits to restrain a person."

Dean still said nothing.

"What really happened son?"

"Just get on with it already." He slumped back in his chair as much as his restraints allowed.

"Alright then." The doctor sighed but he didn't begin questioning Dean. He dropped a wad of papers on the table before him. "After your outburst and our findings, it's been decided you should be moved elsewhere."

"What, again? Come on, this is ridiculous, when do I get to see a freakin' lawyer or-"

"You don't need a lawyer son."

"What?" Dean straightened and took in the papers that had splayed over the desk. "You need a doctor."

"Wait, wait, wait." Dean yanked against the chains as he made a grab for the pages.

"You need help Dean. You're father will go to trial but no judge will take your case until you've been evaluated."

"You've got to be joking me. You're sending me to the looney bin?" He'd read enough to get the gist. "I'm not crazy."

"Dean, your Father's put terrible things into your head. Sam's too. I'll ask you one more time, where is your brother?"

Dean eyed him. So that was it, that was their last ploy? He narrowed his gaze. "You saying if I give him up, you won't send me over the coocoo's nest?"

"No son, I'm afraid that's not on the table. But it sure would help your case if and when you ever do see the judge."

Dean sank back against the chair. "Prick."

"We're just trying to help you."

"Yeah, I know how you feel." He dropped his head. "I'm starting to think it wasn't worth it."

"Gerry, hey, you were supposed to go home and sleep it off."

Several men were in the locker room at the end of their shift when Gerry stumbled through the door. He was drunk.

"Hey, what's that?" Another officer approached him, seeing the object in his hand. "Shit you took that out of evidence!" he exclaimed, seeing the couple's wedding rings as well as a third one, charred but intact that had been lifted from the old body. "Gerry you're gonna mess up this whole case!"

But then everyone stopped short, feeling an icy chill settling on the room. One man stopped shaving when the mirror became frosted over.

"What the Hell is going on?"

He ran his hand over the surface to clear it. "SHIT!" He dropped his razor when he saw the bedraggled man standing just over his shoulder.

Then the screams began.

"What did you give me?" Dean rubbed his arm. They'd taken him to a private room, doctors had come to give him an evaluation before deciding whether or not to really move him. He shook. He told himself it was whatever drug now coursed through his system, but he wasn't really sure. It had been too long, Bobby should have gotten them out by now. That suit and tie and fake badge never failed. But what if it had this time? What if he really did get shipped off to toonsville?

"Just relax."

"This is ridiculous," Dean said again. They'd forced him to shower and change into lose fitting clothes that looked way too much like a hospital patient's outfit for Dean. Then they'd checked him over, but Dean was pretty sure they were less concerned about his recent wounds and more about old scars and bruises. He knew what they were thinking, and it enraged him. They all thought his father was crazy, abusive. How dare they, they had no idea the hero he really was.

But his anger yielded to the tingling feeling spreading over him. He felt tired but not like he was going to fall asleep. He understood, it was for the safety of the doctors and when they asked him to sit he found himself complying.

"Dean, tell us what happened in that building."

He stared at them.

"Dean."

He let out a breath. "We didn't kill that couple."

"Then who did?" Silence.

"Why did you dig up that body? Why did you burn it?"

Silence.

"It's because you think it was a ghost right? You think a ghost killed those two and you saved them by burning that body."

Dean couldn't help react.

"It's okay, the investigators told us what they found in that journal—that and much more. So tell me Dean, is that what you really think happened?"

"I think you don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"So it's true."

"Screw you."

"Tell me is that what you really believe, or do you know you're lying?"

"Give me a break."

"You do, don't you? You actually think you and your father were doing the right thing." Dean remained silent and looked away but apparently there was no winning.

"But that's not what happened Dean. You've created a parallel reality, in which you and your father are heroes instead of serial killers. Where he teaches you how to save people rather than to hunt them down and kill them. Where he loves you instead of-"

"SHUT UP! You don't what you're talking about! I wish it all was in my head! I wish all we had to deal with were freakin' humans and not every damn thing that crawls out of the dark. Trust me, making this up would not be an improvement on reality." He hadn't realized he'd let them get to him. He'd stood and he found his breathing erratic. Whatever they'd given him made it hard to concentrate. He couldn't believe he'd just said all that. He'd just admitted to his belief in the supernatural. He sank back onto the chair. The doctor waited, watching him.

"Dean," he began again. "There was something more in that journal. Something about the demon that killed Mary—your mother, correct? Is that when this all began? Is that when your father started telling you about all of this?"

"What?" Dean shook his head but the answer was clear.

"You were four when the house was broken into, right? Your father didn't get there in time. She was murdered, the house burned. He was left with two little boys and no one to blame for the crime. So he began his hunt for vengeance. Maybe he killed her in the height of delusion, or maybe he really is chasing her killer, but you have to see the reality here, son. You aren't chasing a demon, you're chasing a widower ex-marine's delusion created in the height of grief. And you've been doing so for thirteen years."

He stacked his papers and stood.

"So I think it's safe to say you are not fit for trial and you're certainly not fit for the real word. I'll arrange your placement at once."

Dean watched him cross the room. The doctor got to the door before the teen snapped out of it and lurched up but he was caught by the attendants and could do nothing. The doctor looked back at him as he opened the door.

Then they heard the terrified cries for help.

Alarms blared down hallways and strobed off the walls. A secretary was hustled from her desk to a safer area. Officers raced to gun lockers. A paramedic in the building stood over three wounded officers in the locker room and tried to make out the fourth form that had once been Gerry.

"It can't be." Dean shook his head, knowing such panic could only be caused by supernatural creatures. "We burned its bones."

The doctor looked sideways at him. They'd dragged Dean from the room in a panic to evacuate but now more frightened screams in the directions of the exit had forced them into the swell of people in the main office.

"Dean is this something to do with your father? Are there others who might come to get you out?"

"What? Don't blame this on me!"

"Son of a bitch does he have something to do with this?" It was the officer who'd threatened Dean earlier. He moved toward him but the doctor intervened.

"This boy isn't the one you need to worry about officer. Who's causing this panic? Is it a gunman?"

The officer shook, never tearing his eyes away from Dean.

"No one saw anything."

"Or they don't want to admit to what they saw." Dean shot over the doctor's shoulder, not helping his situation.

"SHUT UP!"

"What d'you take? Did you lift something from the body?" Dean thought this over. "Evidence, dammit! You took some evidence didn't you?" A soul could be tied to an object and not just bones after all.

"A ring..." The voice came from their side and Dean saw a pale officer holding gauze against his ear, blood dripping down his neck. "Gerry had a ring..."

"What did you see?" Dean demanded.

"Nothing." The other officer intervened and grabbed the bleeding man's arm. "Snap out of it Dave."

"No listen Shane I saw it. It came out of no where it-"

"You friggin' brought the ghost back here," Dean muttered. "Great."

"How do we stop it?" The man named Dave asked.

"Get with it!" Shane grabbed Dave roughly. "You gonna let this kid mess with your head? Someone's killed an officer and here you are playing into his sick fantasies."

"But-"

"Get a friggin' gun and try to defend these people." He shoved him away.

"A gun won't help, unless it's filled with rock salt," Dean provided.

"You..." Shane took a grip on his collar and this time the doctor couldn't intervene. The men let him go with a nod from Shane. He dragged Dean forward.

"You tell me right now who'd bust in here for you."

"Come on, your own man's admitted to it. It's a friggin' ghost and it's pissed."

"Fine, we'll just draw them out by giving them what they want."

"Wait, what?"

Dean was shoved beyond the confines of the office and into the main lobby.

"Get out here you sons of bitches if you want your friend so bad!" Dean hit the tile hard when the butt of the officer's gun met his skull. The room wavered, he raised a hand and felt the blood oozing from his hair.

"You've lost it," he groaned, knowing the officer was openly violating his boundaries.

"Shut it." He served a kick to Dean's gut. The teen sagged further against the floor, already in pain from the earlier abuse he'd taken. But his breath hitched when it came out it fogged along the tile and frost crept in thin lines over the smooth surface. "Crap."

"What the hell?" The officer spun on the spot with his gun in hand. Even after berating his fellow he could hardly deny the temperature drop or the feeling of the presence in the room.

"The ring..." Dean pushed his hands against the floor and got to his knees.

"Shit what was that?"

Dean felt the sudden rush of wind and knew the ghost was circling them. He was having trouble focusing, knew the officer had probably given him a concussion.

"Ack!"

He saw the blur of motion this time then officer Shane was on his back. His gun went off and Dean instinctively dropped back flat against the tile. Something shattered on the far wall. There was another cry then three more shots and then strangled breaths. Dean brought his head back up to find the officer on his back: the ghost from back in the abandoned building was choking him to death.

"Shit." He struggled his way up to his feet and looked around for anything iron or salt. "Crap." His eyes landed on the lobby desk and a sculpted paper weight that looked to be as old as the building itself. He couldn't tell what metal it was made of but he decided to test his luck. He ran back toward the pair and swung the heavy ornament at the ghost's back.

It let out a powerful shriek. Dean began to laugh in triumph, but it only writhed and flickered before whirling on him. In one strike the paper weight was rolling away. The next would end him.

"Dean drop!" He obeyed the command even as the ghost made its deadly swing. Not a second after he hit the tile rock salt filled the space where he'd just been standing and the ghost dissipated.

"A ring in evidence." Dean began saying even as he was being hauled up. His father looked exhausted, he'd probably been through the same long hours of interrogation as Dean.

"I'll get the ring." It always made Dean do a double take when he saw Bobby so cleanly kept, hair combed neatly and dress suit buttoned over his growing belly. But this time he blinked more for the drugs they'd given him than surprise.

"Dean." John brought his attention back around. He could probably see the poor focus of his eyes, but all Dean caught in his father's face was anger.

"Dad?"

"Those sons of bitches." He let go of his son and stood, eyes zeroing in on the sputtering cop who was still recovering from the ghostly attack. "You let these bastards beat you up, Dean?" His foot came down hard on the officer's stomach. Dean watched him carefully, for once unable to predict his father's mood. First of all, he hadn't let them do anything to him, and secondly, he wasn't sure where all of this was going.

"Dad...the spirit will come back." "Bobby's on it. Tell me what happened here." He was looking at the clothes they'd dressed Dean in, the bandage on the inside of his elbow...

"Dean!" He demanded an answer. Dean remained silent, staring up at his enraged father.

And for just one second, he saw it.

He saw the picture Dr. Eagles had painted. He saw the madman who'd torn their family apart. He saw someone who'd grown so accustomed to violence, he couldn't shut it off, not even here in the middle of a police station. And so for just that one instant, Dean felt like he was four years old again, staring up his home burning to the ground and his father eyes as he held Sam in his arm—sorrow, yes, agony and despair—but more than anything in those eyes, had been fury. It had been the most terrifying moment of his life.

"DEAN!" Dean pitched forward and tasted the salty tang of his blood in his mouth. He'd only busted his lip against the tile and the echo of the gun told him his father had just saved him from worse. There was a shriek of rage, the spirit must have avoided the salt because Dean felt the chill of its presence rush over him on its way to his father.

"Dad!" The shot gun clattered away and John was lifted from his feet in the cold grasp of the lost soul. No air got past that tight fist and the other transparent hand drew back in preparation for the final strike. "DAD!"

But before Dean could make a run for the gun, the creature dropped his father with one last hollow utterance, its cry died as it turned to ash before them and they knew Bobby had destroyed the ring. John took a few gasping breaths but he didn't take much time to recover and his hand went to his belt, withdrawing his gun.

"Dad..." Dean stood now too, watching his father take aim at the officer.

"The world is full of monsters son," John spoke without facing Dean. "Some are from the other side, like that ghost, but some of them are just plain old human."

Officer Shane didn't speak, but shook where he sat, seeing the seriousness in John. Behind them the doors parted, Dean spotted Eagles and the other doctors, he saw the officers who'd been in his cell. They'd seen it all, through the thick glass doors that separated the lobby and the main office where they'd been hiding. None of them could deny it now. Bobby was among them, out of breath and stashing his lighter fluid back in his coat pocket but he came to an abrupt stop at the scene.

John was far away, the officer before him a representation of so many others who dismissed what they did, who got in their way, who committed evil themselves under the guise of good.

His whole hand shook where he stood.

"John-" But Dean waved a hand at Bobby to cut him off. He knew his pseudo uncle had gotten his father through some of the worst times in his life, but Dean was the only one who'd been there through it all, since the beginning. Dean had grown up with the violence, the rage, the sorrow and the mood swings. He alone watched John's mind stray for hours at a time while speeding down highways. Even when he was just little he had recognized the change in his father when he'd come back from a violent hunt, sunk in a chair with a hollow gaze. And he had given him silent comfort. So now, though it was on Dean's behalf that he was angry, son met father before the watchers and simply pushed his hand down.

John kept his eyes locked on the man for a long moment but shoved his gun back under his belt.

"You don't deserve his mercy," he said simply before turning and putting a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Let's go."

They turned to go. No one stopped them. Even in the midst of New York's finest they walked free, because they'd all be awakened to the truth. Dean wished he could feel smug when he caught the look on the doctors' faces, but instead he just felt cold in the pit of his stomach. Bobby scooped the dropped gun from the floor and followed them out. He seemed just as shaken as the spectators.

"You okay, Dean?" He seemed to have realized it was best not to address John who went around to the back of the impala and stowed his weapons. Bobby was taking in Dean's wounds and clothing.

"I will be."

"Why don't you come back with me, we'll meet your dad-" "No. Thanks Bobby, we'll meet you and Sam back at yours."

"...right."

"Dean." His father waved him over and gave a nod to Bobby. The other understood and headed back to his own vehicle. "What did they give you?" He pulled his son's arm out and looked at the bandage over the needle mark.

Dean shrugged. "Sedative or something. I'm fine."

"You're a mess."

"Hey, you don't look great either." He smiled. His father didn't smile back.

"Dean."

"Yes?"

"You were scared, weren't you?"

Dean tensed. He didn't answer right away and when he tried it was too late. John shook his head, Dean couldn't see his eyes so he didn't know if he was disappointed or angry. But then his father clapped him on the shoulder and headed around to the driver's seat.

"Come on, you can sleep off the drugs on the way to Bobby's, you look like you need it."

And just like that, it was over—all the stress and fear of the last day, and then everything Dean had felt building in his chest during the fight. He stood there a moment longer, not sure he could do it, not sure he could get in the car and act like everything was okay after what he'd just been through.

He was a freak, an outcast, and so very, very alone, even if his father was in the seat right next to him.

The impala rumbled to life. He took a steadying breath and caught his father's eyes on him.

It was time to go, time to man up and push it down. So that's what he did as he crossed the front of the car. When he reached the door, his breath was calm. When he opened it, he was shoving down all those doubts and fears, when he sat, he forgot the panic he'd felt when he'd been pinned under that officer in the cell. Instead he hung onto the anger at his ignorance, his arrogance. He clung to the faintest sense of satisfaction at having proven him and all of them so very wrong. And when he looked to his father his eyes were even, maybe even just as hard as John Winchester's himself. And he forgot what he'd felt when he saw his father pull the gun on the police officer. He saw instead the man who'd saved him, raised him and trained him. And he was proud.

Because being like his father was all Dean could ever hope to be.

Next chapter, Dean gets a break-literally, when his father sends him out to investigate a missing person-on the sunny beaches of Florida during Spring Break. Bikinis, beer and maybe even a girl make it Dean's favorite case of all time.