Chapter Text
Sergeant Grey and Detective Angela Lopez stood behind the one-way mirror, looking into the interrogation room.
“What do we know?” the Sergeant asked, crossing his arms.
“Really… nothing. They wouldn’t tell us their names, where they’re from, or why they were in the park in the middle of the night. Harper is still searching through the missing children reports, but so far, nothing.” Angela looked into the room.
On one chair sat a boy with longish, light-brown hair and clothes that were slightly too big for him. He looked tired, his dirty little body pressed against an older boy sitting in the chair beside him.
The older boy was just as dirty, and his clothes were ragged. His hair was short and dark.
His green eyes were fixed on the mirror, hard and wary, as if he could see straight through it.
“How about we send Nolan in?”
Sergeant Grey raised an eyebrow.
“Well, he’s good at talking to people. He usually gets them to open up.”
Grey shrugged and nodded. “Okay. Keep me updated.” He left the room.
~
The door opened, and the older boy sat up straight and tense in his chair, his eyes immediately fixed on the officer entering the room.
“Hey, boys. Thought you might like some snacks and juice.”
The older police officer carried some chips, Snickers bars, and two juice boxes, which he placed in front of the boys.
“I have a son, and he always wanted snacks. Well, he’s grown up now, but he still likes them. I’m Officer Nolan, but you can call me John.”
He looked expectantly at the boys as he sat down across from them.
Neither boy moved to take the offered food.
The smaller child opened his mouth, but the older boy simply cast a glance at him. The little boy immediately shut his mouth and fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve.
Nolan smiled and pushed the snacks a little closer to them.
“What are your names?”
Still, he got no reply.
“If you tell me your names and your parents’ names, I can get them here so you can sleep in your own beds tonight. I’m sure they’re worried by now. Do you know their phone number? Or you can tell me your address, and we can bring you home. We can take a police car. I can even turn on the lights. What do you say?”
Behind the mirror, Sergeant Bradford and Officer Chen were now watching the scene with Angela.
“If looks could kill, Nolan would be nothing more than ashes by now,” Lopez commented, referring to the way the older boy was staring at the officer.
“Did you see how the little one reacted when he said they could call him John? It’s like he shrank even further and went stiff for a second,” Lucy observed.
“Their dad’s name, maybe?”
“That, or someone else’s. But he seems kind of afraid of him.”
Tim crossed his arms. “CPS is informed?”
“Yeah. They said they’d send someone as soon as possible, but it would be helpful if we had some names when they arrive. If we can identify their parents, we can call them off. Harper hasn’t found anything so far,” Angela answered.
Tim sighed and left the room, only to enter the interrogation room a moment later.
“Hey, kids.”
“Oh, hey, boys. This is Sergeant Bradford,” Nolan said.
“So, we got that your father’s name is John.”
Again, the little one twitched, but when he glanced at the other boy, he saw no reaction from him.
“So, if you could give us a last name, we could contact him faster and get him here.”
The little boy reached for the older one and fisted his tiny hand in his jacket.
“Smith,” the older boy said with a frown.
Tim huffed out an amused breath. “Sure, kid. And your names are?”
“Not important,” he said with a smirk. “Look, mister… this is all just a misunderstanding. If you could just take us back, my dad will come and get us when he’s finished with the job.”
“Can’t do that, kid,” Bradford started, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door.
Lucy opened it. “Tim, CPS is here.”
Bradford nodded and followed her out with Nolan. Angela, Lucy, and Bradford stood there with a blonde woman. Nolan remained in the doorway with his back to the children.
The older boy’s breathing quickened slightly, and he stood up to hear what was going on. His dad always made sure to avoid people and leave as soon as CPS was mentioned.
The smaller kid still had hold of his jacket and moved with him.
“…we can still try to get their names when we have them in the homes. I have a bed for the older one in a home for teens and one bed for the younger one in another home…”
The boy's eyes moved wildly around the room, passing over the still untouched snacks and juice boxes.
His gaze fell on his frightened little brother, safely huddled behind him. They wanted to take them to different places. To separate them.
He ran one hand through his hair and held it there. His eyes moved around the room—the blinking camera in the corner, the mirror where he could see his brother again.
Then he pulled his shoulders back and narrowed his eyes.
He had to get him out.
They couldn't take him.
His eyes drifted back toward Nolan as the officer moved a little closer to the others.
“We gotta make a run for it, okay? We gotta get out of here. Come on.”
The little boy gave a small nod of understanding and followed as Dean crept toward the door.
He pushed Nolan.
“Now!”
Both boys took off.
“Hey!”
“What the—?”
Nolan went after the smaller boy, while Tim grabbed the older one by the back of his plaid jacket.
Dean kicked against Bradford’s shin, trying to get free. He pulled at his jacket, searching desperately for his brother.
Nolan caught the smaller boy and lifted him against his chest.
“Dean!”
Dean turned.
He heard Sam scream his name.
He shrugged off his jacket, freeing himself from Tim’s grip, and lunged toward his brother.
“No! Sam! Sammy!”
Nolan held Sam firmly against his chest.
Dean saw the tears running down Sam’s face.
He heard his brother sob.
He had to get him away from this officer.
Sam couldn’t get free.
The man wouldn’t let him go.
Dean had to do something.
His hand slipped toward his sock.
The knife.
His last resort.
He pulled it out.
Chaos erupted.
Guns were drawn, and shouts of “Knife!” and “Drop it!” filled the room.
Nolan froze.
“Dean!” Sam cried, twisting in Nolan’s arms.
“Let him go!” Dean shouted, but no one could hear him over the yelling.
Everything was loud. Dean wanted to get to his brother, but the guns were all pointed at him.
“Quiet!” Bradford shouted. “Guns down! Back off!”
He raised his empty hands and took a small step toward Dean.
“Dean. Kid. Look at me.”
Another step.
Dean’s eyes moved from Sam to Tim and back again.
“You gotta drop the knife.”
Dean didn’t know where to point the knife. At the sergeant taking another step toward him? Or at the officer who was still holding his little brother?
“No. He’s gotta let Sam go.”
Another step.
Sam cried his name again and Dean had to crane his neck to keep his little brother in sight.
The Sergeant moved again, but instead in stepping toward him, he moved to the left, giving Dean a clear view of his brother again.
“First, give me the knife.”
Dean looked at his brother.
“Let him go! You’re hurting him!”
Bradford took a quick look over his shoulder and saw the tears in Sam’s eyes and the slight tremble running through him.
“Nolan.”
At Tim’s signal, Nolan lowered Sam to the ground. With another small gesture from Tim, Nolan took a step back.
Tim turned back to Dean.
“There. He let him go. Now it’s your turn, Dean.”
“Sammy. Come to me.”
Sam did, immediately hiding behind his brother.
Dean’s hand began to shake slightly under the weight of the knife. He tried to hold it up with both hands, his eyes darting around the room as he frantically searched for a way to get his brother out of the situation.
“Dean, you have your brother. Now you have to do something and put the knife down.”
“But… but you’ll take him away. You have to let us go.”
Sam buried his face against Deans back.
“I can’t do that. I’m not going to lie to you, Dean. We can’t just let you go, but I promise that no one is taking Sam.”
“No. I heard the lady. She said she was taking him away.”
Lucy took a step forward and crouched down slightly.
“You’re right. That’s what she said. But we promise he will stay with you.”
Dean didn’t respond, but he looked more uncertain.
“You said Sam was hurt. How about you give Sergeant Bradford your knife, and we can make sure he’s okay? What do you say?”
The trembling knife lowered slightly.
“No doctors.”
“Okay. No doctors. We can have a look and see what we can do.”
Dean looked from Lucy to Tim and back again. He gave a slight nod.
“But not him,” he said, looking angrily at Nolan.
Tim took another step forward and was now within arm’s reach of Dean.
“Okay. Not Nolan. How about I take a look? Would that be okay?”
Dean bit his lip.
He looked at Tim, then at Sam, and back at Tim.
Another nod.
Tim reached for the knife, and Dean let go. He immediately reached for Sam behind him, taking a step back and keeping his brother between them.
“Chen, can you grab us the first-aid kit?”
Tim handed Angela the knife, then showed Dean his empty hands again.
“How about we go back into the room?”
Still keeping himself between them, Dean guided Sam back into the integration room.
Tim closed the door behind them and knelt down in front of the boys.
“Okay. Okay. Let’s take a look. Can you tell me where it hurts?”
Sam looked at Dean, then at Tim.
“My back.”
“Okay. Let’s take this shirt off.”
“No!” Dean shouted, reaching between them before Tim had a chance to move.
“I need it off to take a look, Dean. I won’t hurt him.”
“Just… just lift it up. That’s enough.”
Tim frowned but nodded and shuffled a bit back to give the boys more room.
“Okay. You want to do that?”
Dean lifted the shirt enough to reveal a deep blue bruise.
A gasp came from the doorway where Lucy stood with the first-aid kit. She and Tim exchanged a brief look.
“That must hurt a lot. Who did this to you, sweetheart?”
“It wasn’t Dad. He’s just clumsy, right, Sammy?”
“Yeah,” Sam said in a small voice. “I, uh… fell. But Dean took the worst.”
“He just means we fell together, right?”
Dean looked at Sam and nodded. Sam copied him, nodding along.
“Okay. How about Lucy puts a cold pack on Sam’s back while you show me where you’re hurt?”
“Just Sammy.”
“But Dean, you’re hurt too,” Sam said in a small whisper.
Dean sighed and lifted the side of his shirt.
Tim took in the deep blue, nearly black bruises and the healed scars. His gaze lingered for half a second on the edge of Dean’s shirt. Something black was barely visible underneath.
Dean noticed his gaze and quickly pulled his shirt back down.