Take Out The Gunman

14

"Whatcha doing?"

Dean peered over Sam's shoulder to look at the computer screen. The young man glanced up at him and shot him a shy smile, before replying,

"Cas said I could maybe get my GED online, since I didn't attend high school." Sam fidgeted a bit before glancing at Dean again, "Do you – think it's a possibility? Me getting it?" A frown creased the boy's features, "Probably not, I don't know anything about high school and – "

"Sammy."

Dean shot the younger man a fond smile as Sam trailed off, and tugged his hair lightly. "I think they'll probably go ahead and give you a college degree right along with that high school diploma. You're pretty damn smart. Like – smarter than your average bear smart."

He couldn't stop his grin as Sam flushed and shot him a smile. His roommate was just too damn cute. He shook his head before that thought could progress and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. "Sign up for the classes, or we'll find you a class you can attend in person. Whichever you prefer." He pulled a credit card from his wallet and laid it on the desk, next to the keyboard, "Put it on this."

"I can't let you pay for it," the look Sam shot him was slightly panicked, "I can't – you shouldn't give me that – " he motioned to the credit card, "I can do it when I get a job. It – I'm not trying to – to take advantage of your kindness, or – "

"Sam."

He fell silent, eyes on the keyboard in front of him.

The Detective knelt next to the other and, resting a hand on his arm, assured gently, "You are not taking advantage of me. You're not – whatever the hell that maniac told you that you were. I'm doing it because I want to do it. I want to see you succeed and if I can offer you the tools to do that, I'm going to do what I can."

"This is too much." The words were almost a whisper as Sam shot him a side-glance, "You're too kind to me, Dean. John – " He swallowed, dropping his gaze, "John always said that kindness is reserved for people you care about. Like family."

Dean reached up to brush a lock of stray hair away from the younger man's forehead.
"You fit that category perfectly, then."

"But -- but I'm not --"

Dean cut off the bewildered protest with a smile as he traced a knuckle down the other's cheek, "Family is more than blood, Sammy."

Hazel eyes met his: a moment later, he had an armful of Sam. He returned the hug, tugging the other close and resting his head against Sam's. Once again, Dean wanted five minutes alone with the maniac who had held this young man captive for so long, and who had made Sam think he was some kind of monster. There were all types of monsters out there. He dealt with them constantly. Rapists, serial killers, pedophiles. This kid in front of him, he wasn't one of them.

He pulled away from the younger man moments later; his heart skipped a beat as he caught the almost-adoring look in Sam's eyes. "So," Dean cleared his throat, "I saw in your file the other day that you'll be 18 next week."

The other boy's brows shot up and he asked, "Really?"

The detective chuckled softly and nodded yes, "May 2nd."

"I – " Sam shot him a bashful smile, dropping his gaze, "I couldn't remember. John didn't – well, he didn't really do birthdays. He would pick a random day of the year, different each time, and tell me I was a year older, and that was it."

"Yeah, well," Dean stood and took a moment to stretch his muscles, "He was an asshole. Ever been bowling, Sammy?" When the boy shook his head no, he grinned and said, "Cas and I will take you bowling. Unless you want to do something else?" The Detective raised a brow, "Strip club, maybe?"

The young man's sudden blush was adorable, and Dean couldn't help that he grinned again. "Uh, no," Sam murmured, shooting him a shy, embarrassed grin, "Bowling is fine."

"You're too cute, Sammy."
It was his turn to flush as he realized what he had just spoken aloud; he could feel his cheeks heating up. The pleased, shy grin that Sam gave him made him want to tell the other just how cute he thought he was. Instead, he cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. "Let's, uh, grab some lunch." 

"Mr. Winchester," Bela Talbot nodded to the man across the metal table from her. She met his eyes briefly, and a thread of uneasiness ran down her spine. There was something unnerving about the man's calm features, that almost-serene smile. She averted her gaze and busied herself with pulling paperwork out of her slim briefcase; she could admit to herself that she was glad that he was cuffed to the ring that was bolted onto the table's surface.

"These are copies of your written confession, your charges and your plea," the woman laid the copies on the table and slid them across to them with her fingertips, "After you read over them, you can sign the plea so that we can file it with the court systems. Your sentencing date will be soon after that."

"Fair enough," John Winchester agreed as he pulled the papers to him and started to read them. Bela studied him as he did so; she met his blue gaze as he raised his eyes suddenly.

"I wonder if you could do something for me," the man requested, his deep voice surprisingly soft-spoken. He pulled something from the pocket of his orange jumpsuit and laid it on the table: it was an envelope.

Bela tilted her head as she raised her eyes to him. "You want me to mail something for you?"

John smiled and shook his head as he pushed the envelope across the table. "I don't have an address," he explained, "I thought that you could, perhaps, get it to the person it's meant for."

She picked up the envelope, which obviously held a folded letter or several, and flipped it over. Written on the front was a single word: Sam. The woman raised her eyes to the other and asked, "Sam Wesson? You want me to take a letter to the boy you kept locked in your house for years?"

"I felt the need to apologize," John gave her that odd smile again, "and explain things. I understand that you many not know where he's at now, but if you could agree to try to get that to him, I'll go ahead and sign these papers."

Bela studied him for a moment – she wanted those papers signed and out of this small room; Winchester was starting to give her the creeps. Finally she shrugged a shoulder and picked the letter up. "Not like anyone can get near him since he's been staying with that detective," she muttered as she shoved the letter in her briefcase.

She hadn't even realized she had spoken those words aloud until the man asked, "Detective?" Bela quickly raised her eyes to him, caught the sudden interest on his face, the almost-manic look in his eyes.

"What?" Shit, had she really spoken that aloud? Stupid! "No. His foster family," she covered quickly and without a moment's hesitation, "I meant I would have to ask one of the case's detectives which family he's been placed with. That's something I can't discuss with you, of course." She shot him a wan smile, and John nodded and dropped his eyes back to the paper he was signing.

When the papers were signed and in her briefcase again, Bela stood to leave. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Winchester," she nodded to him, "We'll see you in court for your sentencing soon." The man nodded to her and gave her his odd, serene-like smile.

Bela was still cursing herself as she unlocked her car and slid in behind the driver's seat. How could she have made an amateur slip like that? She hadn't intended to speak it aloud, and it looked as if Winchester had believed her cover story. She sighed - Crowley was going to kill her for her little slip - and tossed her briefcase in the passenger seat and started the car to head to her next appointment.