Chapter Four: Façade

Day four. Dean was still in Sam's hotel room doing research. John was finishing up a case elsewhere. He checked in every mealtime, but there were never any updates. Dean was working with Bobby full time now to try and figure things out. This wasn't just any case they could leave on the shelf anymore. They had to find Sammy.

Bobby gave him basic details on all forty-five people, but there wasn't a single unifying factor. Obviously everyone went missing in Montana, but even the specific locations were different. Some went missing in town, some out of town, some at gas stations in the middle of nowhere—There was nothing solid enough to connect anyone.

"That's it, Bobby," Dean sighed into the phone. "That's everyone I have."

"Are you sure?" Bobby asked on the other end. "I got records for one more person in my files."

"Let me check quick." He set down the phone and fingered through the photographs again. As much as possible, he kept Sam's organization exactly the way that it had been. Photos were in the same lines as before and in the same order. It was possible that one of them got stuck to another one, though. After thumbing through them all again, Dean didn't see anything. "That's all I have," he repeated.

"I got a girl named Erin Walton. Olympic hopeful, apparently. Nothin' too noteworthy except that her dad Phillip Walton still lives in town."

That got Dean's attention. "You think he's the one Sam went and interviewed?" he thought as he leaned forward on his chair.

"Well, you already checked with the Mann family in town and they said they didn't see Sam…."

By that point, Dean was hardly even listening to the response. He shoved his room key into his pocket and hid a gun underneath his shirt. If Sam did interview Phillip Walton about his daughter, then he must have had a card for Erin. It's possible Sam had the card on him—No, that wasn't likely. Sam had everyone organized right in front of him. Erin's picture should have been front and center since she was just looked into.

Sam came out of that interview with a breakthrough in the case. He needed to go talk to Walton and see what set Sam over the edge.

Dean kept thinking through the possibilities as he stood outside the small home of Phillip Walton. It looked ordinary enough, but they always did. Smooth landscaping, a clean house, neighbors—

"Well, this is rare," a woman's voice said from the next lawn over. He snapped his head over and spotted an elderly woman snipping one of her own hedges. "Are you here to see Mr. Walton too?"

"Yes ma'am," Dean said simply. If she started the conversation with him, she must have been pretty chatty. If he just waited long enough, she'd keep going.

"Mr. Walton rarely gets any visitors. He's a very private man—has been ever since he moved in six years ago. But on Friday, another young man came to see him too."

"What did he look like?" Dean asked as his heart pounded heavily.

"Well, he was a short little thing. Thirteen years old, if I had to guess. Brown hair, green jacket…"

Sam. That was definitely Sam. He wanted to ask her a few more questions, but he was suddenly aware that he was still standing outside Walton's door and that Phillip could come at any time. If Walton was watching, he was probably wondering what they were talking about.

"You boys are lucky you've caught him," the woman continued. "Mr. Walton goes away every weekend. He has some cabin in the woods somewhere. Must be nice for him to leave for every-"

At that moment, the front door opened. Dean had looked up Phillip Walton online just to know what he looked like, and he knew for a fact that the man in front of him really was the guy he was looking for.

"Oh, hello Mr. Walton," the elderly woman greeted.

"Good afternoon," he greeted in response, nodding to both the people in front of him. He looked at Dean with a confused expression, but he wasn't cold. "How can I help you?" he asked Dean.

"I'm looking for a missing person," Dean replied. "I've got a picture right here." He pulled out his wallet and unfolded the picture of Sam, holding it up for the man as he continued speaking. "He's on the scrawny side, and his hair's gotten a little longer since this picture was taken. Have you seen him?"

Once more, the old woman butted in, even if she hadn't seen the picture. "Is that the young man that visited you the other day? I hope he's alright…"

Phillip cast the woman a look that Dean couldn't describe. He began to put the photo back in his wallet, realizing that he hadn't gotten a response. It took just a second for Phillip to step aside and motion to the rest of his house.

"Please, come in," he said.

*…*…*…*…*…*

Sam was shocked that three days passed and he was still locked in a cage. By now, he was sure that both Dean and his dad knew that he was missing. They should have been here by now; they should have followed all of his notes and found out what was happening. He labeled the people who he knew went hiking in the woods a few days before their kidnappings and narrowed down the area that people were being watched in. He left it marked on a huge map right on the desk! Along with that and the people, how couldn't Dean and his dad follow him here?

Unless, Sam suddenly realized, they messed with my research. What if they took everything away? What if Dean and Dad have nothing to follow at all?

Sam fought the urge to groan. That's probably what happened. And if that was the case, there was no way Dean and Dad would piece things together fast enough to save them all?

Or there was another thing to worry about. What if Dean followed the clues like he did and wound up in the cell next to him? If he talked to Phillip Walton—

Phillip. Sam couldn't believe what a fraud he was. He had thought he was a genuine, open man who wanted the mystery of his daughter solved so much he was willing to open up to a hopeful future journalist. It was Phillip's interview that gave Sam the last few details he needed to piece together that all the victims hiked within the scouting radius of the arena. He was so relieved when he got back to the hotel room and the pieces began to align. And before that, Dean called him. Dean wasn't too straightforward with his emotions, but Sam knew his brother's tone. Dean was proud of him for starting to piece things together.

So, Sam worked that much harder to line things up so that he'd have a definite conclusion when he called Dean back that afternoon. He was interrupted by a knock on the hotel room. Naturally he grabbed his gun and prepared to defend himself, but he was relieved to see that it was only Mr. Walton. Sam figured that Phillip just remembered something significant about his daughter that he wanted to share with him or something along those lines.

Sam put his gun away safely and then opened the hotel room and spoke to Phillip in the doorway. He wasn't going to let anyone in to see all of his hard work; they'd probably start to freak out and realize that he wasn't just an aspiring journalist or detective. The last thing he remembered was some fabric being put over his mouth. He struggled and reached for some kind of weapon, but the closest one he had was a knife tucked away in his shoe. It didn't matter. Whatever was soaked in that cloth knocked him out, and the next thing he knew, he was in a cell.

Dean, he silently willed, you gotta be smarter than me. You need to see through him, or you'll end up just like me.

*…*…*…*….*…*

Dean accepted Phillip's tea, but he didn't bother sipping any of it. He lifted it to his lips, tilted it, and then sat it down on the coffee table.

"I'm so sorry about Mrs. Schultz," Phillip said as he sat down in an easy chair across from Dean. "She's very lonely. She'll talk off anybody's ear as long as you give her a chance."

"It's no biggie," Dean said casually, though his posture was anything but. He leaned forward on his seat, clasping his hands in front of him as he got straight to business. "Have you seen the kid?"

Phillip nodded as he set down his own beverage. "He was here for a few hours on…what day was it…Thursday? Friday? He was asking me questions about my daughter."

"Hopefully he didn't step over any lines or anything."

"Oh no," the man said quickly. "He was very polite. It was a nice conversation. I'm just sorry that he's missing now. I haven't seen him since he left that afternoon and headed back to…well, wherever he was staying. Are you two from out of town?"

"Yeah, on a trip with family across the country. Everyone's real worried about Sam…are you sure you haven't seen him since?"

"I'm positive," he nodded. "Sorry."

"That's alright." Dean leaned back and settled into the couch, feeling the gun against his side. "Why don't you tell me a little bit of what you guys talked about? It may give me a lead on the kid."

Phillip began talking about his daughter. How she was always great at track and how she trained since she was ten years old to be in the Olympics. He rattled off a few meaningless stories that were surely meant to be sentimental. Dean wasn't paying attention to the stories themselves. Even if Sam did get something out of the stories to help him solve the case, Dean didn't think he was smart enough to make the same connections.

No, this was a test. That whole time with Phillip being long winded and Dean inserting questions here and there, he was watching for any signs of distress or lying. Even though he wasn't in the hunting game nearly as long as his dad, Dean knew the signs of a liar. Sweating. Drinking water whenever he had a chance so he could hide behind the glass. Upward glances that he wanted Dean to think were just him reminiscing about his daughter.

At the end of it, Dean wasn't sure what to do. Confront Phillip and force him to break through what was likely a façade, or risk attacking a man who still had a slight chance of being innocent. He had a lot of things against him: He was the last person to see Sam, the picture of his daughter was missing, and he was showing a few signs of nerves. But those were pretty frail things to hold against him…

"Thanks for talking to me," Dean eventually said, rising to his feet. Phillip rose as well, his posture relaxing only a fraction. "I think knowing all that'll help me a lot."

"Of course," the man nodded. "Let me know if you find him."

Dean agreed, and then he turned around and left. It had been about an hour since he first stepped inside Walton's house, but the old woman was still outside, trimming her bushes. That was more than Dean could have hoped for. He nodded to her and then started walking off, making it a point to follow that road and then turn so that it looked like he truly left and wasn't coming back.

He may not have attacked Walton right then and there, but he read him well enough to know that if he was guilty, he wasn't going to react well to Dean saying that their talk really helped him get a sense of where Sam was. Walking through a back alley, Dean made his way back to the house. The kitchen and kitchen door were in the back of the house, away from listening ears. He knelt down outside the open window and overheard Phillip on the phone.

"I didn't think anyone would miss him," Phillip was in the middle of saying. "He was just some kid from out of town staying alone in a crummy motel. How was I supposed to know he had family in the area?"

Phillip was pacing. He wasn't looking near the door or window; he kept looking up, as if praying to God that he could take this all back to spare himself the stress.

"I'm hopping on a plane and going to Maine," Phillip declared. "I quit, you hear me? I'm out."

Talking on the other end.

"Just kill the kid and have his body turn up at the edge of the woods. That's how you cleaned up the mess ten years ago."

Dean felt his blood pressure rise immediately. Phillip did not just order people to kill his little brother. He rose to his feet and silently began to lift the screen while Phillip had his back to him.

"Not my problem." He hung up his phone and placed it on the kitchen counter. Then he lifted his hand, running it over his haggard face.

"Excuse me," Dean said lowly.

Phillip jumped, spinning around only to find a gun three feet away from him and aiming right in the middle of his face. He looked pasted it, seeing the dark and deadly expression that Dean Winchester wore.

"What did you just tell them to do to my brother?" Dean growled.

Phillip knew that he was busted, and that he would never convince Dean he wasn't a part of the missing persons case. He opened his mouth to scream only to have the barrel inserted right in.

"You and I," Dean said darkly, "are going to have a talk."

*…*…*…*…*…*

Welp, that seems like a good spot to end this week. I know with the last chapter I had you choose between two options, and neither of them appeared in this one. I wasn't expecting this chapter to turn out so Dean-centric, but it definitely turned out better this way. Next chapter, you'll see what I decided to do with your votes last time.

As always, drop a review, check out my other stories, et cetera, et cetera.

Peanut