Season Three

Episode Fourteen: Hell Is For Children

By SnSam

Part Two

Culpeper Juvenile Detention Center

“We’re too late,” Sam murmured softly as Dean pulled the Impala onto the road leading to the center.

The intermittent flashing of red and blue lights stood out in stark contrast to the inky blackness of the night. An ambulance was pulling out just as a coroner’s van was pulling in and the police were trying their best to hold off the crowd of inquisitive onlookers. None of the detainees seemed to be outside and, looking up at the looming building, the brothers could see curious faces framed in the windows.

“We should have gotten here sooner, Sammy,” Dean said guiltily as he pulled up to the curb and parked. There was no way they were getting into the employee lot with the police blocking all of the entrances.

“Dean, we can’t jump to any conclusions. We don’t know for sure what happened yet,” Sam said as he followed his brother out of the car.

Dean turned back to glare at Sam. “No? Was I the only one who saw the coroner’s van pull in? I don’t need anyone to tell me, Sam. I know.”

Sam sighed as he continued to follow Dean, and the older Winchester was glad Sam wasn’t going to push him on this. Dean knew they were too late and there wasn’t anything Sam could say that would make it better.

Walking up to the main entrance, the two hunters were stopped by an officer as soon as they tried to get in.

“Sorry, boys, but you’re going to have to stay back,” he said, placing a hand on Dean’s chest.

Dean looked down at the officer’s hand and Sam stepped in before his brother could say—or do—anything.

“We work here,” Sam said, offering the man a sincere smile.

The officer shifted his eyes to glance up at Sam. “ID?”

“Not yet. We just started today,” Sam explained.

“Sorry, guys. Without ID, you’re not getting in here.”

“Do you seriously think we’re lying?” Dean asked, exploding. “Why the hell would we do that, especially now? We’re not friggin’ idiots!”

“Sir—”

“Dean, ease up or they’ll arrest us,” Sam cautioned, a hand on his brother’s arm.

“You better listen to your friend,” the officer said, smirking, as his beefy hands moved to the handcuffs on his belt.

Dean’s eyes clouded over and Sam tightened his grip on his arm before he could do anything stupid. Dean was slightly grateful for Sam’s restraint because he was seriously considering wiping that smirk right off the cop’s face. If Sam hadn’t been there, Dean was pretty sure he would have done it, damn the consequences.

“Sam! Dean!”

The Winchesters looked up at the sound of Thomas Jacobs’ voice, seeing the center director striding towards them, his face flushed.

“Do you know these two, Mr. Jacobs?” the officer asked dubiously.

“Yes, yes. They’re employees of mine.” Jacobs waved them in. “Boys, please come with me.”

Dean grinned smugly at the officer, giving him a small wave as he and Sam passed. As the chubby man bristled at Dean’s total lack of respect, the hunter couldn’t help but feel a little satisfied. That’ll show Inspector Gadget…

“Dude, you seriously need to watch out who you’re trying to piss off,” Sam hissed as he dragged Dean with him.

“Oh, like you weren’t getting tired of his righteous attitude,” Dean said with a scowl.

Sam was saved from answering when Jacobs stopped and whirled on them. “What are you two doing here?”

“We were passing through and we noticed the circus,” Dean answered. “Thought we would see what was going on.”

“Thomas, what happened?” Sam asked.

The man wrung his hands nervously as his gaze turned to the side of the building where the investigators were working. “One of our boys…he’s dead.”

“Murdered?”

Jacobs nodded, focusing his attention on Sam. “He was stabbed in the heart. I found his body as I was leaving for the night.”

“Who was it?” Dean demanded a little too harshly.

Jacobs looked at him in surprise. “Sinclair. It was Wyatt Sinclair.”

“Dammit!” Dean turned away angrily and rubbed a hand over his face. “Sonofabitch!”

“Is he okay?” Jacobs asked softly, glancing at Dean’s back.

Sam looked at his brother in concern. “Yeah—he just met Wyatt today. He liked the kid.”

Jacobs nodded. “Yes…Wyatt was a very likeable boy.” He let out a weary sigh as a detective beckoned for him. “I better go see what they want.”

Sam said nothing as he watched the director jog away before focusing his attention on Dean. “It’s not your fault, Dean.”

“Yeah? Try telling that to Wyatt,” Dean said as he watched the coroner load the teen’s body into the van. “He trusted me, Sammy.”

“We had no idea what was going to happen, Dean.”

Dean stubbornly shook his head. “We should have figured it out sooner. I should have realized it as soon as Wyatt told me he saw Brandon.”

Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and whirled him around to face him. “Stop it, Dean! I won’t let you do this to yourself. It’s not going to get you anywhere.”

Dean shrugged off Sam’s hand and started back for the car. “We’re not sitting on our asses anymore, Sammy. We’re gonna get some answers before another kid has to die.”

Culpeper Juvenile Detention Center
The next morning

Sam was a man on a mission when he walked into his office. He refused to let Dean continue to blame himself for Wyatt’s death and Sam was going to find out who was responsible, once and for all.

Dean had barely said two words after they’d returned to the motel and every time Sam tried to talk to him about it, Dean shut him down and closed Sam out. Dean liked to say Sam was bad when it came to the art of guilt trips. Sam was tempted to find a mirror and hold it up to Dean so he could see himself. Dean was ten times worse at carrying around guilt, hands down.

Opening his messenger bag as he sat down at his desk, Sam pulled out a notepad. Next, he booted up the computer Jacobs had promised. It never arrived before his shift ended yesterday, so Sam figured it must have been set up before all the excitement last night.

“Let’s see what we can find…”

Sam didn’t know for sure if Brandon Rudd’s file was still in the system, but he prayed luck was on his side this time since the teenager had technically been classified as a runaway.

It took a couple of minutes of searching, but finally Sam found the file he was looking for. “I take back any bad thing I ever said about Dean…for the past hour, anyway,” he mumbled, grinning.

Browsing through the file, Sam jotted down a few notes about Brandon: He came from a troubled home. His dad left when he was thirteen. He was busted at fifteen for stealing a car. He was never in trouble before, except for a few problems at school. Typical teenaged behavior.

Looking at the last page of the file, Sam spotted a name, Doctor Susan Reece, and she was identified as the last person to speak with Brandon before he disappeared. Maybe she can tell me a little more about him, Sam thought as he picked up the desk phone and dialed the number listed for her. He didn’t know for sure if the number was still current, but Sam was willing to take the chance.

“Hello?” said a female voice after three rings.

“Doctor Susan Reece?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“My name is Sam Craven—I’m a private investigator and I was approached to re-open the case of Brandon Rudd at the request of his aunt. I’ve been going over all the files and everything, and there were just too many things that didn’t make sense to me. ”

“No, I don’t think—”

“You were a psychologist assigned to his case when he was sent to Culpeper Juvenile Detention Center. It would have been five years ago.”

“He was the boy who ran away, right?”

“Yes—that’s what the police are saying, anyway. But like I said earlier, there are too many things that don’t make sense to me.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well, it seems a little too open-ended and convenient to me,” Sam explained. “When you spoke with Brandon, did he give any indication he wanted to run away?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Craven, but I shouldn’t be discussing my clients with you,” Doctor Reece said.

“I understand that. Believe me, I do,” Sam said quickly. “But anything you may provide me may help in finding out what happened to him.”

Doctor Reece sighed. “I could lose my license.”

“I can assure you, Doctor, your name will never be brought up in my report. I just want to be able to bring this case to a close.”

Doctor Reece remained silent and Sam was afraid she hung up on him.

“Brandon didn’t seem to be the type to run away,” she finally admitted. “He was distant, sure, but I could tell he wanted to make a change. He was finally beginning to open up the day he went missing.”

“Opening up about what?”

“Everything, but we were really focusing on his family.”

“Did he say anything in particular?”

“Well…” Doctor Reece hesitated.

Sam frowned. “What is it, Doctor?”

“He seemed afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“His mother. He was under the impression she wanted him dead.”

“Why would Brandon think that?”

“Brandon never would elaborate, but he mentioned something about his mother remarrying,” the doctor explained. “He said her new fiancé didn’t like him.”

“Did you believe him?”

Doctor Reece sighed. “No…I just put it off to teenage delusions. Teens are so wrapped up in their own world, they have a tendency to think everyone is out to get them. I don’t know…maybe I should have listened to him. If I had, maybe he would still be here and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“You couldn’t have known, Doctor Reece.” God, why am I saying that so much lately? “Thank you for your time.”

“Good luck with your investigation, Sam. I really hope you find the answers you’re looking for. Please let me know if you find Brandon.”

“I will,” Sam promised as he hung up the phone. He sat there, tapping his pen against his tablet, lost in thought.

Was there something to Brandon’s fears about his mother? Would a mother really kill her child in cold blood? Sam already knew the answer to that—the Woman in White back in Jericho, California taught him that. But still, if that was the case and Brandon really was murdered by his mother, how did she get on the premises to get it done?

“Am I interrupting something?”

Sam jumped in his chair at the sound of Jacobs’ voice. Smiling shakily, the young hunter shook his head. “No, I was just thinking. Have you been there long?”

“Just a minute or two.” Jacobs came further into the office and glanced down at the notepad. “What are you working on?”

Sam leaned forward and covered his notes up with his arms. “I was just going over some notes I made about a couple of kids I saw yesterday. I’m trying to familiarize myself with their cases.”

Jacobs smiled. “Very good. I really admire your work ethic, Sam.”

Sam shrugged. “I really want to help these kids.”

Jacobs nodded his head. “Listen, I wanted to make sure you and your brother were okay after last night. The two of you seemed really upset.”

“We’re fine. I think we were just surprised with something happening since it was our first day on the job,” Sam lied smoothly. “But we’re good now.”

“I would understand if you decided to quit.” Jacobs smiled ruefully. “I can’t say I would blame you one bit. Hell, it’s got me wanting to get away as fast as I can.”

“You’d be surprised at what it would take to get me and Dean to quit,” Sam said. “We want to know what’s going on around here just as badly as you do, Thomas.” Even more than you do.

Jacobs made his way back to the door. “Well, if it gets too much for you, let me know. I’ll be willing to give you a glowing recommendation wherever you may choose to go.”

“I appreciate that, Thomas.”

Jacobs gave Sam a small smile and left the hunter to himself. Gathering up his notes, Sam decided to go find Dean and tell him what he’d learned.

****

Dean was feeling pretty miserable and it didn’t help any that he was once again doing nothing but walking the very quiet third floor of the center. What he really wanted to do was to work his frustration out, but unfortunately there was nothing for him to kick, punch, shoot, stab or exorcise. Dean was willing to give just about anything for a demon to pop out, just so he could send its ass straight back to Hell—after a nice, drag-out fight to the death, anyway.

Vanquishing evil always made him feel better. Who needed chicken noodle soup or depressing poetry when you had that?

“Wyatt said something bad was gonna happen.”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks as the kid’s voice reached his ears. Taking a couple of quiet steps forward, he spied a group of three boys talking in a stairwell. Being careful to keep himself to the shadows, Dean strained to listen to what they were saying.

“What? Was he psychic or something?” Boy Two asked.

“No, it was nothing like that,” Boy One said defensively. “He just told me about this feeling he had.”

“That sounds like a bunch of crap to me,” Boy Two said, laughing.

“Yeah,” Boy Three chimed in. “Wyatt was a big freak, always saying something crazy just to get attention.”

It took everything Dean had not to burst into the stairwell and knock that kid’s head against the wall. He figured that would work out some of his pent-up frustration.

“Wyatt’s dead and you have to talk about him like that?” Boy One asked.

“Dude, he was your roommate and you couldn’t even stand him,” Boy Three argued.

“Yeah, but you don’t hear me insulting him.” Boy One lowered his voice. “He was really scared.

Boy Two scoffed. “Of what? His shadow?”

“No, jackass. He was scared of his parents. Wyatt told me he thought his parents wanted him dead,” Boy One explained.

“Why would he say that?” Boy Three asked.

“I don’t know—he never said.” Boy One hesitated. “Do you think there could be some truth to it?”

Dean felt dust begin to tickle his nostrils and he tried in vain to hold back the sneeze threatening to erupt. He failed miserably in his attempt and let out a massive sneeze, alerting the boys to his position.

“Come on—let’s get out of here,” Boy One said and three pairs of feet scurried away.

“Hey! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Dean turned at the sound of Sam’s voice and saw his brother hurrying towards him, an excited look on his face.

“What’s got you in such a damned good mood?” Dean asked, scowling.

“What’s got you in such a pissy ass mood?” Sam returned.

Dean let out an irritated sigh as he walked past his sibling. “Sam, I’m not in the mood.”

Sam caught up with him. “I read up on Brandon’s file.”

“Did you find anything interesting?” Dean asked as he continued to walk.

“Typical teenage angst stuff—family split up, mom was getting remarried to a guy who hated him, trouble at school.”

“How does this help us?”

“That doesn’t, but I talked to the last person to speak with Brandon before he disappeared. Doctor Susan Reece—she was a staff psychologist here up until about three years ago. She told me she didn’t think Brandon was the type to run away and he had this fear his mother wanted him dead.”

Dean stopped walking so abruptly Sam almost mowed him over in his haste to stop. “What did you just say?”

Sam frowned at his brother’s sharp voice. “Uh…Brandon thought his mother wanted him dead?”

Dean shook his head in thought. “Son of a bitch. Wyatt thought the same thing.”

“What? Did he tell you that yesterday?”

“No. I just overheard a conversation with a group of kids—one of them was Wyatt’s roommate. He said Wyatt told him he thought his parents wanted him dead.”

“Wow,” Sam said, shocked.

“Yeah.” Dean glanced at his brother. “So, what do you think we’re dealing with here?”

Sam shrugged. “I can’t be entirely sure, but I think we may have a Radiant Boy on our hands.”

Dean frowned. “Radiant Boy? That would mean Brandon would have to be dead—not missing.”

“Exactly.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs away from his face. “I’m gonna head to the library during my lunch break and make sure before we come up with something concrete.”

Dean nodded. “Sounds good to me. We need to find something fast before any more crap happens around here.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “What are you gonna do?”

“Stick around here and keep my eyes and ears open for anything.” Dean dug into his pocket and pulled out the Impala keys, handing them to Sam. “Be careful.”

“You too,” Sam said, fingering the key ring. “I’ll call you as soon as I find anything.”

****

The guards’ locker room was shrouded in silence as the lone figure slipped inside unnoticed. Just to make sure he was alone, he made a quick sweep of the room, checking between the lockers and the showers. Satisfied that it was completely vacant, he made his way to locker number seven and smiled when he saw that it was unlocked.

Idiot…he didn’t even bother to lock it up….

Popping it open, he pulled a cloth-wrapped package out of his pocket and smiled. Clearing off a space on the top shelf, he nestled it there knowing it would only be a matter of time before it was discovered.

Smiling in satisfaction, he softly closed the locker and left.

Culpeper Public Library

Luckily for Sam, the town’s library happened to be only a five-minute drive from the center. By fifteen after noon, he was already settled, his mind in research mode with forty-five minutes left. Well, forty, if he wanted to get back to his office before his lunch break was up.

Unfortunately, the library was seriously lacking in its supernatural materials. In fact, when Sam asked the librarian if she could point him the way to the section, he was certain she was ready to call the loony bin to come pick him up. Sam hadn’t missed the way her hand surreptitiously moved towards the phone, while her other one reached for her cross around her neck.

It would figure they would come to a town that was afraid to delve into the unnatural world. Sometimes, it made Sam want to grab up these people and force them to see what was really out there. Then again, it also made him envious of them because there were times when he wished he didn’t know about what lurked in the shadows.

Seeing as he wasn’t going to get any help from books, Sam turned his attention to the computers at the back of the library, figuring the Internet was going to be his best bet. It was a whole hell of a lot faster to browse and he wouldn’t get the strange looks. Worst case scenario was that the government was tracking the library’s Internet history and red flags would go up. He’d be long gone before they decided to swoop in though, and it made him grin that the librarian would have to try to explain it.

Yep, to see the look on her face if that happened…

Since Sam had a pretty good idea of what they were dealing with, he typed in “Radiant Boy” and the search engine popped up several sites that mentioned it. Clicking on the first one, he was relatively surprised when it seemed to give him almost all the information he needed on the subject.

Thinking it would be best if he jotted down some notes instead of printing it out since the printer was up at the circulation desk, Sam pulled out his notepad and pen from his messenger bag.

“The glowing ghost of a boy who has been murdered by his mother and whose appearance portends ill luck and violent death. First appeared in the folklore of England and Europe. Possibly originated with the Kindermorderinn—children murdered by their mothers in Germanic folklore.”

Sam hoped his dad had some mention of the Radiant Boy in his journal, since the site he was on didn’t mention how to put the spirit to rest, nor did any of the other sites Sam clicked on. Dad usually has a way of finding answers that don’t want to be found.

Glancing at his watch, Sam saw he had about twenty minutes before he had to return to the center. The hunter closed out his current search and opened up the page for the local newspaper. He didn’t really get a chance to read up on everything about Brandon last night and he wanted to see if he could dig up anymore on the boy. Typing in the missing teen’s name, several articles popped up.

Sam started at the earliest one from several years ago. It mentioned how Brandon had led his Little League baseball team to win the state championship, after he had hit a homerun to break the tie in the bottom of the ninth inning. Sam skimmed a few more articles that mentioned Brandon’s accomplishments, ranging from science fairs, spelling bees, and the Boy Scouts.

How did a kid who was doing this well manage to have everything go to hell in such a short time?

Sam finally came to an article about Brandon’s trial. It was a short blurb reporting he’d been sentenced to six months at the Culpeper Juvenile Detention Center for stealing a car. The next article a week later after that was about his disappearance. The police were reluctant to call it a kidnapping and were instead declaring Brandon a runaway, but promised to look at every angle before they reached a conclusive decision.

A few days later, another short blurb appeared saying the police had no evidence to suggest the boy was kidnapped or a victim of foul play, but the case would still remain open.

“Looks like everyone gave up on you, didn’t they, Brandon?” Sam whispered. “Well, I’m not about to. You deserve more than that.”

Sam was about to sign off when another article caught his eyes. Clicking on it, he saw it was a write up about a wedding for Brandon’s mom, Stacey, and the fiancé Brandon had mentioned to Doctor Reece. Scanning it quickly, Sam shook his head in disgust as he read a quote from Stacey: “This was very difficult with Brandon still being missing, but I know this is what he would have wanted in the end. He would want me to be happy.”

“She talks about him as if he was already dead. She couldn’t wait two weeks before she gave up on Brandon to start a new life without him.” Sam wasn’t normally one to condemn a person before speaking with them, but he couldn’t help it with Stacey. It all just seemed too staged to him.

Stealing another glance at his watch, Sam saw he’d stayed way past his welcome. Gathering up his things quickly and shutting down the computer, he regretted that he couldn’t check more into Brandon’s mother right then.

I have a feeling she plays into this a lot deeper than anyone realizes and we’re going to find out just how far…

Culpeper Juvenile Detention Center

This food tastes like crap…or what I would imagine crap to taste like, Dean thought sourly as he threw down his napkin on his tray. How can they expect these kids to eat this garbage?

The higher-ups may claim these detention centers are supposed to make the kids feel at home, but if mama cooked like this, then they were in more trouble than anyone realized. No wonder they’re getting into trouble. Probably had to in order to get some money to get their hands on some decent grub.

Dean had barely touched his so-called roast beef and mashed potatoes and for him that was bad, considering he could pretty much stomach anything placed before him. It made him glad that he got out of here in a few hours so he could find a diner or bar—definitely a bar. He almost wished he could sneak something back for all of the boys here.

Glancing at his watch, he saw that it should be close to time for Sam to check in with him. He was curious as to what his brother may have found because he was seriously ready to put this place in his rearview mirror.

Gathering up his tray, Dean deposited it in the garbage can where it belonged and headed for the locker room so he could get his cell phone. Stu had made it abundantly clear cell phones were prohibited while on duty, along with their freedom and dignity. Dean had been tempted to carry it just to piss the behemoth of a man off. But Sam had warned him against aggravating Stu any further than he had already.

Dean was smart—he knew when to stop pushing, especially against people who would have no problem rearranging his face. Let somebody else be karma’s bitch for one—Dean wanted no part in it.

Pushing through the double doors of the locker room, Dean headed straight for his locker. Opening it up, he was reaching for his phone on the shelf when he noticed a strange bundle next to it. Ignoring his phone for now, Dean gingerly lifted the cloth package out and opened it up.

“What the hell?” he muttered, frowning.

A bloody dagger sat nestled inside and Dean could tell by the condition of it, the blood was fresh. Only one thought flashed across the hunter’s mind: This was the knife used to kill Wyatt and who knows who else.

“But how the hell did it end up in my locker?” he wondered, utterly confused. Did someone want to help him by leaving it for him or was there something much more sinister going on, like a possible frame?

Dean didn’t get any more time to dwell on it as the locker room door swung open, revealing Stu Tyler in all his inconvenient glory.

“Son of a bitch…” Dean muttered, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

“Dean, you’re supposed to be back on duty, not—” Tyler stopped when he noticed the blade in Dean’s hand. Immediately, the bulky guard reached behind him, pulling out his pepper spray while his other grabbed the nightstick on the left side of his belt. “Put the knife down, Dean.”

Yep, that’s what I thought.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Dean tried, holding up his hands.

“Drop it!”

“Okay! Okay!” Dean didn’t want to cause any more trouble, considering it all seemed to be going to the crapper for him anyway. While keeping one hand up, he slowly bent down and placed the knife on the floor.

“Step back!”

Dean took a few steps back and watched as Tyler made a beeline for him, trading his nightstick for the pair of handcuffs on his belt. Grabbing Dean’s hands, he forced them behind his back and cuffed him before shoving the hunter down on the bench in front of the lockers.

Dean merely sighed in frustration as Tyler pulled out his walkie talkie and summoned Jacobs. “Yeah, we got a problem in the locker room.”

“What kind of problem?”

“You need to get down here now.”

“I’m on my way.”

“I knew you were trouble as soon as I met you,” Tyler said bitterly as he put away his walkie talkie.

Dean rolled his eyes. God, the situations I get myself into. Sammy’s gonna have a field day when he finds out about this.

“What? You don’t have any smart ass comments for me now?”

Dean shrugged a shoulder. “I usually like to have a bigger audience if I’m gonna waste my breath.”

Tyler bristled and reared back as if to hit Dean, but he was stopped as Jacobs came into the locker room. The director’s eyes fell to the bloody knife on the floor and he instantly reached the same conclusion Tyler had already.

“You hit him, Stu, and we’re going to have to explain it when the police come pick Dean up,” Jacobs said, glaring at Dean.

“I can cover it up,” Tyler argued. “I’ll say he got violent when I tried to subdue him.”

Dean smirked. “A little police brutality never hurt anyone, right?”

“You little—”

“I don’t think you understand the amount of trouble you’re in, Dean,” Jacobs said before Tyler could launch himself at Dean.

“I’d have to say none because I’ve never seen that knife before in my life.”

“Then how do you explain it getting into your locker?” Tyler demanded.

“Well, for one—it doesn’t stay locked. Anyone could get in there. And two, it wasn’t there when I got in this morning.”

“Why should I believe you?” Jacobs asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Have the damn thing dusted for prints,” Dean said in exasperation. “I can guarantee you won’t find mine anywhere on there. Hell, you probably won’t find anyone’s because if they were smart, they wore gloves.”

Dean hoped Jacobs wouldn’t actually get it printed just to see if he was right, considering Dean was technically dead. It would be a hard one to explain to the cops when they discovered he was very much alive and kicking.

“Look, I don’t get my kicks killing innocent kids!” Dean said, his voice rising in anger when the director said nothing.

“How exactly is it you get your kicks?” Tyler asked, grinning.

Dean grimaced. “Dude, I so don’t swing that way.”

Tyler’s smile quickly turned into a snarl. “You’re a punk ass little bitch, you know that? Maybe you should do some time in here.”

“Why? So I can get my ass murdered in my sleep because you can’t do your job and protect these kids?”

“We can’t be expected to keep a constant watch on them all hours of the day.”

“No, but you can be expected to do everything in your power to see that they stay safe, instead of accusing innocent people of murder.”

“You think you’re innocent?”

“Yeah, I do, considering I just got here yesterday and you can’t pin all the other deaths on me!” Dean’s voice kept rising in anger.

“Maybe you’re working with a partner,” Tyler argued.

“Are you goddamned kidding me?”

“That’s enough!” Jacobs yelled to be heard over the arguing. Dean and Tyler looked up at the director in surprise. “We’re not getting anything accomplished by carrying on like children!”

“Well, if you’d gotten all your facts straight before accusing me of anything, then we wouldn’t be doing this at all,” Dean said, annoyed as he struggled against the cuffs holding him.

“You’re right, Dean.”

Dean arched a brow. “I am? That’s a new one for me.”

Jacobs nodded. “This center can’t afford to have any more bad publicity on its shoulders and I won’t let it.” He let out a weary sigh. “I don’t know how that knife got into your locker and I’m sure you wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave it there.”

“Damn straight.”

“The way I see it, you have two options, Dean.”

Dean eyed the director suspiciously. “And what are those?”

“It’s simple: You either get out of here now and never step foot into this facility again or I turn you over to the police, evidence and bad publicity be damned.”

Dean swallowed hard as he weighed his options. He really didn’t want to get turned over to the cops but he didn’t want to leave Sam alone, either. Not when he couldn’t continue to watch his back. He knew his stubborn ass brother wouldn’t leave with him; Sam would insist on staying until they put an end to this.

“We’re waiting, Dean. What’s your choice going to be?”

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