Dean

Like a sore thumb, Henry Mills was easily identified. While the other children were spending their recess exhausting some pent up energy, Henry sat alone on a wooden park bench. In his lap was a fairly big book and he was studying its contents with a deep frown. The two teachers chaperoning had begun an intense conversation addressing their frustrations with the latest budget cuts. Dean took this opportunity to approach the boy.

"What'cha doing?" Dean eyed the cover of Henry's book.

Henry shaded his eyes from the sun with a free hand and squinted up at Dean. He shrugged. "That depends. Who wants to know and why? I saw you watching me."

Dean chuckled. Smart kid. "I'm FBI Agent Andersen." Dean waved his badge ostentatiously but the kid didn't look impressed.

"FBI? What is the FBI doing in Storybrooke?"

"Well…" Dean gestured to the bench. "Mind if I sit?"

After a moment's consideration, Henry granted permission and Dean sat.

"Well Henry, I was hoping you might be able to help me out. I'm in a bit of a bind."

"A bind?"

"Yes. Now, you don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, but I want to talk to you about sheriff Graham."

Henry shifted on the bench and looked back down at his book. Okay, different approach.

"What are you reading?"

"Nothing. Just a fairytale book." Henry responded a little too quickly. Dean glanced down at the illustration on the page the kid was reading. A man dressed in black armor held a dagger. On the ground at his feet was a woman donned all in white. Dean recognized the scene but couldn't recall what story it was from. Not that he cared much, Dean had little interest in the genre. When he and Sam worked that case in Maple Springs, Sam was able to identify every fairytale-inspired murder. Dean would test his brother on this one later. Sammy and his gay side. Dean snickered.

Henry looked at Dean as a puppy might after being scolded by his master."Go ahead and laugh at me. It's not the first time someone has. You just don't understand."

Dean shook his head. "Oh. No. Sorry kid, I wasn't laughing at you. I was just thinking."

"About what?"

Dean smiled. "My kid brother, Sam. He really digs this fairytale stuff. Me, not so much."

"Let me guess. You think it's just childish make believe." There was something in Henry's tone that suggested that he thought otherwise.

"Well-" Dean mused, "yeah. I mean fairies, magic, everyone always living happily ever after…all a steaming pile of bullshit. Crap. Bull crap. Sorry."

Henry grinned. "You don't spend much time around kids, do you?"

"Not a lot." Dean agreed. And I have a potty mouth. I'm working on it. But not really. The two shared a laugh. Then there was a calm silence. Dean watched the other children, so young and carefree. The only burden they had to bear was the decision between monkey bars or seesaw. For a moment he envied them and wondered what his own life might have been like if it had just been…normal. As always, the thought was fleeting. If there was such a thing as destiny, then he was living his. Where he was headed there was no turning back. Hello fire and brimstone.

Dean closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. Honeysuckle scented the air and he smiled. His mother loved honeysuckle and had a perfume that smelled just like them. A boy ran by, kicking dirt into the air. Dean's nostrils caught the smell of fresh earth and he was taken back to his parent's garden. His father had often let him help plant the seeds. It fascinated Dean that you could plant something in the ground and that it would emerge to take on a new life. Like being reborn.

Then the dirt began to choke him. He was trapped six-feet under, gasping for breath, banging the plank above but no one could here him. His heart raced, beating in time with the sound of the fresh dirt raining down onto his wooden prison. Not yet.

Dean's eyes flew open, glancing around wildly as he regained his bearings.

"Your troubled." Henry observed.

"Kid, you have no idea." Dean said through a deep breath.

Nervously, Henry fingered the thick pages in his book. "I think Graham was murdered."

Dean raised both eyebrows and waited for Henry to continue.

"I think that my mother crushed his heart. Because he was beginning to remember."

"Remember what?" Dean prompted.

"Who he really was." Henry pointed to a drawing in his book. This one showed the same man from before, dressed in animal furs. Beside him was an enormous wolf with one black eye, the other red. Didn't Emma say that Graham claimed to have seen the same wolf the day he died? Dean's brows furrowed. What the hell…Surely Henry wasn't suggesting that Graham was the guy in his fairytale book.

"What are you saying, Henry?"

"I'm saying that the stories in this book aren't bull crap. They're real. Everyone in this town is a fairytale character and Graham was killed because he was the first to figure it out."

Dean stared at Henry in mild shock.

"Excuse me, who are you? Henry, who is this?"

Both Dean and Henry raised their heads in unison to the source of the voice. It was one of the teachers who had been discussing budget cuts.

"I'm with the FBI, asking Henry here a couple questions about Sheriff Graham." Dean stood and held out his hand. She shook it politely but her eyes shifted uncertainly between him and Henry.

"Mary Margaret Blanchard. I spoke with an FBI agent earlier this morning. I didn't think you could question minors without parental consent."

Damn it. "Well, uh-"

"He's a friend of my mom's", Henry interceded. "Emma." He added for clarification.

Dean's eyes swiveled around back to Henry. Emma is his mom? That's too bad. I like the kid.

"Really? Wow. How long have you known Emma?" Mary Margaret seemed genuinely interested.

Seriously? "Oh, Emma and I? We go way back. Hard to say exactly how long ago it was. You know time. How it flies and all…" Mary Margaret nodded courteously but it was obvious she thought he was an idiot.

Henry giggled. Dean glared at him.

"Well," Mary Margaret said with a kind smile, "there are about five minutes left for recess, Henry. So you boys should start wrapping this up, okay?"

"Yes, Miss Blanchard."

The young teacher smiled at Dean again. "It was very nice to meet you…I'm sorry I didn't get your name."

"Christian Andersen."

She looked at him quizzically. "Christian Andersen? Like Hans?"

"Hans?" Dean was confused.

"You know what? Never mind. Have a good day." Mary Margaret giggled, leaving the boys to themselves.

"You don't know who Hans Christian Andersen is?"

"Should I?" Who the hell cares? Dean had just taken the name Sam gave him.

"I don't know. Just thought you'd know something about the fairytale writer whose name you stole." Henry closed his book and hopped down from the park bench. "I know you're not really FBI." Henry responded to the confusion on Dean's face.

"I don't know what-" Eh fuck it. " Okay, you're right. But if you knew, why tell me that stuff about Graham?"

The boy shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I just like you. You seem like someone I can trust. Someone who might believe me about the fairytales being real."

"Kid, I already told you. I am not a gullible guy."

Henry shook his head. "It isn't about being gullible. It's about opening your eyes to the possibility that life might be more than what's right in front of your face."

Dean blinked down at him "That's profound. You're ten-years old?"

Henry nodded.

Well what do you know.

A/N: I don't know about you guys, but I'm glad the interrogations are finally over...I think. I hope. Hmm... :D Thanks again everyone for all of the reviews, follows, and favorites!