Topside

3

Throwing one last look over his shoulder, Dean let out a sigh. Of all days for Bobby to get himself arrested, he sure picked a crappy one. He can't leave Sam alone right now, but he sure as hell can't walk that ticking-time-bomb into a police station either. They should be at Bobby's right now, or the bunker- somewhere where he could fix his brother's messed up head. And there's a lot that needs fixing: the shaking and staring off into space, the unresponsiveness, the talking to no one, and to top off the shit sunday Sam thinks he's still in hell. The first problem they'll work on is the lack of appetite- after Dean gets Bobby and Garth out. 

At least he's safe in the car. Dean will be out of here in no time and Sammy won't even be alone for that long. He needs to focus on Bobby and Garth right now though, then he can get some lunch in his brother. The plan was to stop somewhere for breakfast but when Sam started freaking out in the car, pulling out his stiches and talking about some bet, it seemed better to just forgo breakfast and focus on getting this done with. Then Sam can have Dean's undivided attention.

'Sand Hills Nebraska Police Station' is printed across the front door to the station reminding Dean of an ice cream shop more than a place for busting crime. Straitening his suit, he pulls open the door to the station, a small bell ringing above his head.

"Hello, can I help you sir?" A teenage girl asks from behind a desk. Her blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail and if Dean were to hazard a guess he'd assume it was homework in front of her and not police work. She even has braces on, further adding to the high-school look. In a town this size he wouldn't be surprised if this was someone's daughter filling in. 

"Hello, ma'am" he says, flashing his charming smile and pulling his badge out from his pocket. "I'm with the FBI, and I got a call from one of my boys saying that he got picked up on accident. I'm here to get him out." The girl's eyes go wide, eyes flicking between the badge and Dean. She's probably never seen a real agent before- still hasn't actually. 

"Uh- Let me go get the sheriff for you." The girl fumbles out, rising from her swivel chair, the chair still spinning as she leaves. "One second please." 

The office is pretty open, there's a few desks hanging around- no more than 5 including the receptionist, only one having an actual officer behind them. Each desk has it's own computer which is pretty good for a small town like this, even if they are all old. Dean has to stop himself from staring out the big window facing the diner, he doesn't need to draw attention to the unstable samsquatch sitting handcuffed in the front seat.

"Hello Agent," a man with a beer belly in a police uniform says, following the girl out the door of what is presumably his office. He look more like a grumpy grandparent than an officer- judging by the small smile he gives the receptionist as she walks away Dean would bet he's right. How Bobby got himself caught by this old man, he can't even imagine. 

Dean reaches out, offering a professional hand shake to the man. "Mornin' sir, I'm agent Hicks, I'm with the FBI."

"So I've heard." He accepts the handshake. Up close the sheriff is about 5 foot 10 inches and he has more wrinkles than Bobby. "I'm sheriff Hollister. He tell you what he was doing to end up here?"

"Didn't get that much info over the phone." He keeps the smile on, officers like this guy like to be the one in charge. He looks old-fashion like that. Easiest to just let this man take the lead, and Dean will follow.  

"He was caught tampering with evidence connected to a murder." Dean is sure that was meant to scare him, that one of his own agents wasn't following whatever red-tape bureaucracy that small town cops always have a hard-on for. Garth was dealing with a vamp nest and got caught on a security camera chopping the head off some unlucky bastard; Bobby was probably trying to snag the video.