Take Out The Gunman

2

(cw: brief mentions of past non-con this chapter)

Dean had Sam waiting safely inside an empty office at the police station a short while later. It hadn't escaped his notice that the boy shied away from anyone else who approached or spoke to him, hiding himself behind Dean. He left an officer outside the door but instructed the man to keep everyone else out of the room until his return.

Dean entered the interrogation room, where John Winchester was sitting at a table, hands cuffed to a metal ring in the metal surface. He crossed to seat himself in the empty chair across from the suspect. After studying him in silence for a long minute, Dean informed him, "We have you on 13 counts of meth and heroin possession so far, and four counts of trafficking."

The man raised his eyes to the ceiling for a moment, a frown touching his features. "It's a bad business," the man said, "but the money's good."

Dean let out a soft snort. The man across the table from him had admitted that he was a dealer and had signed a confession. He had also declined a lawyer. Dean wasn't certain if he realized they had a solid case against him or if he was just stark raving mad. After a moment of studying the man, he asked, "Who's the boy?"

John's blue gaze returned to them, and an almost manic look touched them, "You let him out? You can't let him out! He's the devil. You have to lock him up."

"How long have you had him locked up?" Dean clenched a fist in his lap, trying to remain calm.

"Listen to me," John leaned forward, cuffs rattling against the table's metal surface, "You can't let him touch you. His touch will corrupt you. I knew from the moment I first laid eyes on him that he was evil! He makes you do things. He'll ruin you if you touch him! He'll corrupt you!"

Dean raised a brow at the man's ranting. "You want to explain what that even means, crazy eyes?"

"He gets in your head and he makes you dream things, think things, do things," John shifted, pulled at the cuffs again, eyes shifting from Dean to the two-way mirror behind Dean, and back again. "I didn't know, I didn't know and he corrupted me. I tried to fight it but it was too strong."

Dean felt a chill run through him as a thought struck him, "What did you do to him, Winchester?"

A maniacal grin touched the man's lips, "He crawled in my dreams. Made me dream things, made me dream of doing things. He got in my head and drew me to him, made me."

"What did you do?" anger traced the detective's voice now, but John either didn't catch it or ignored it.

"He called me to him," the man's voice dropped but the half-crazed smile remained, "He called me to him and made me put my cock in his mouth. Wanted me to fuck him, he was sending me dreams –"

Dean shoved his chair back and stood, fists clenched on the table between them. "You're a pervert and a pedophile," he interrupted the man through gritted teeth, "And you're going away for a long time, you sick bastard."

Dean stormed out of the interrogation room, trying to fight down his rage at Winchester's confessions. He crossed through the station until he reached the empty office where he had temporarily placed Sam: peering in the window, he saw that the boy was huddled up on a small sofa, his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them. Dean turned as he heard Garth's voice behind him,

"Might have found something on the kid."

He took the file which the other man handed him and flipped it open as Garth continued, "A boy went missing from a park in Wichita 9 years ago. His name was Samuel Wesson and he was 8 years old. Physical description matches – granted, he's older now. This kid had a birthmark on the back of his left shoulder. If that boy in the office has it, this could very well be him."