Author's Note, Part One:
Sam's sign language is indicated in the story by italics.
Dean tore his gaze away from the television as the door at the top of the staircase opened.
Knowing that his younger brother had just arrived home, he smiled and switched off the TV. Making his way out of the small den, the seventeen-year old gazed up at his brother standing at the top of the steps.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean greeted, making sure his sibling was looking at him before he spoke, "How was class?"
The thirteen-year old shrugged and smiled, signing with his hands that his day had been fine.
Dean nodded, his smile fading a bit. School was often difficult for his brother- not because Sam wasn't smart- the kid was practically a genius! But because Sam was deaf. The younger Winchester could read lips very well, which was very useful in the classroom, the problem was getting the teachers on board with that fact. The struggle for Sam occurred when a teacher decided to turn his or her back to the class to write on the blackboard while still lecturing, or who liked to walk amongst the desks as he or she explained how to do an assignment.
Since the Winchesters rarely stayed in one location for more than a couple of weeks at a time, there was not enough time for schools to gather the equipment or staff which could help Sam excel academically.
Has Dad called yet? Sam signed to his brother, drawing his sibling from his musings.
"No, not since Monday," Dean told him.
Sam nodded and descended the staircase; his backpack hooked over one shoulder.
"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean murmured, "I'm sure we'll hear from him soon."
The thirteen-year old followed his brother into the den, where the small television sat atop a stand across from an old, naugahyde-fabric couch and dropped his backpack on the floor.
I'll be right back, Sam signed to his sibling and left the den, heading in the direction of the restroom.
Dean sank down onto the couch, right where he had been sitting before his brother had come home, and grabbed the TV remote, turning it on again.
John Winchester had lucked-out during this current case and had found a basement apartment for rent in the next town over. While he hunted, his sons stayed safe and sound in the lower level of a house, which included a den, a bathroom, a small kitchenette and two bedrooms. The great thing about the apartment was that it wasn't a motel room- which often didn't provide all the amenities- it was just down the street from an elementary school and that the resident living on the upper floor- who was renting out her basement- was an elderly woman almost as deaf as Sam was.
Dean channel surfed, trying to find something Sam would want to watch, and smiled when he found The Muppet Christmas Carol.
Footsteps announced the return of the thirteen-year old and Dean smiled as his brother sat down on the couch beside him.
How was your day? Sam signed and then leaned down to pull out his text and notebooks from his backpack.
"It was-" Dean began but then stopped, his eyes lighting upon a sheet of red paper that had fallen out of his brother's bag along with the books.
"What's this?" the seventeen-year old asked and grabbed the piece of paper before his brother could.
Sam dropped his books and quickly signed to his brother.
It's nothing, Dean. It's stupid.
Dean frowned and read what was printed on the paper.
"Sam," he looked up at his sibling as he spoke, "This is for a Christmas concert at your school."
So? You don't even like Christmas.
"It's tonight," Dean lowered the flyer but did not release it, "Are you going? Are you preforming? Why didn't you tell me about this?"
Sam wrung his hands together, a nervous tic he had, and turned his head to look at the television.
"Sam," Dean called but of course received no response, "Sammy, hey-"
"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Dean asked after laying a hand on his brother's shoulder and drawing Sam's attention back to him.
Sam lowered his head for a moment, signing slowly.
I didn't tell you about the concert because I'm not invited.
"What do you mean? Was your class not doing anything?"
No… they are. But…
Sam stopped and began to wring his hands again.
"Sammy," Dean reached out and laid one hand on both of his sibling's, "Tell me. You know you can tell me anything."
Sam sighed audibly and began signing again.
Mr. Hopewell said I couldn't sing with the class. He said I didn't sound good enough.
Dean frowned.
"What?" he asked, dumbfounded.
I… I tried to sing with the rest of the class but Mr. Hopewell told me I couldn't perform.
The seventeen-year old's eyes widened as he realized what his sibling was telling him.
Sam, though deaf, was not mute and could speak- albeit not very well- and it was clear that this concert had meant enough to him that he had tried to sing along with his classmates.
"Your teacher told you not to sing?" Dean asked, trying to comprehend what he was being told.
Sam shrugged; It's not a big deal, Dean.
"Not a big deal? Of course it's a big deal! Your teacher's an asshole! Did you tell someone what he said?"
Sam shook his head; It doesn't matter.
"Sam," Dean spoke, "Sammy, Mr. Hopewell had no right to do that. Who gives a shit how you sound? You're thirteen! You're just a kid! I doubt anyone else in your class can sing like a superstar."
Sam lowered his head but did not respond.
"So you didn't get invited to the concert, eh?" Dean muttered, still angry with Sam's teacher but wanting to help keep his brother's sense of self-worth intact.
"Sammy," Dean touched his sibling's shoulder, "What song was your class supposed to sing tonight?"
The teen hesitated for a moment before he answered.
Silent Night.
"Hm," Dean replied, "Why don't you sing the song, just for me?"
I don't know…
Dean gave his brother a wry smile, "Come on, Sammy, it's me. I know what you sound like."
Still, the younger sibling hesitated.
"Please?" Dean asked, "If you do this, you can pick what we eat for dinner. Deal?"
The eighth-grader smiled and nodded.
Dean grinned and sat up straighter. Sam gave a shy smile and opened his mouth, signing with his hands as he sang:
"Silent night, holy night," he sang loudly, not that Dean cared, "All is calm, all is bright…"
W
As soon as his brother had finished, the seventeen-year old clapped appropriately.
"That was great, Sammy!" he praised, "You sounded awesome! Mr. Hopewell doesn't know what he's talking about!"
Sam smiled and nodded, clearly embarrassed but also quite pleased by his brother's praise.
Dean reached out and put an arm around his younger sibling's shoulders.
"I knew you could do it," the older brother beamed, "You can do anything you want to, Sam."
The thirteen-year old grinned widely. Dean always believed in him, even when he didn't always believe in himself. Sam knew he shouldn't care what Mr. Hopewell thought; the only person whose opinion matter to the teen was his big brother.
The siblings sat side by side on the couch for a moment, watching the television when Dean's phone rang. The seventeen-year old fished it out of his pocket and checked the Caller ID.
He smiled, "It's Dad."
Author's Note, Part Two:
Another late Christmas fanfic. I hope you all enjoyed it!
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