A/N: Hi frands! sorry it's taken a while to upload next chapter. I having a complete lack of confidence after no reviews :( It's probably rubbish, but I'm having to self isolate again, so I might as well write. Maybe someone one day will read and enjoy. If anyone wants to beta or help or make requests, DM me.

Sorry its still slow, it will get drama-filled soon. Just like writing the brothers bonding.

love panda x

Chapter 5

What felt like mere minutes after his head hit the pillow, Dean was woken by a rough shaking of his shoulder. Despite being sound asleep a second previously, he was suddenly alert and reaching for the knife he usually kept under his pillow. His first thoughts were of panic, when the knife wasn't where it should be. The room was dimly lit by one lamp across the room that silhouetted the figure by his bed so that he couldn't see their features. The person reached over and flicked on a lamp next to the bed Dean was on, illuminating them in a bright glow, and then Dean realised it was just Sam.

"God, Sam, you scared the shit outta me!" Dean exclaimed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, which were stunned by the sudden lamplight.

Sam just laughed silently, holding a steaming mug under his brothers nose. He kept a small coffee machine on a counter in the room, so that he could caffeinate in the middle of long study sessions without having to leave the dorm. Dean accepted the mug, bringing his fingers forward and down off his chin as 'thanks'.

"Time?" Dean signed, hugging his mug and breathing in the strong coffee scent.

"5:45," Sam responded, sipping his own hot drink.

"Uugh, why so early?" the elder brother grumbled to himself haughtily, eyes drooping closed for a moment.

Sam didn't catch this, but he could guess what Dean had said from his demeanour, and general hatred of early wake-up calls. He was always the last one up when they were living together, and it was the one point where Sam ever saw Dean and John come close to clashing. Dean's eyes were still closed now, and he looked like he could have fallen asleep again easily, so Sam rapped his knuckles on the bedside table.

"What?!" Dean's eyes shot open again.

"We should leave soon," Sam said after putting his mug down to sign with both hands. "Sooner we leave, sooner we get there."

It was a phrase their Dad had used many times, and Dean wondered if Sam was even aware who he sounded like right now. Truthfully, the youngest Winchester was actually the most like their father, which is probably why they clashed so much. Both had the same stubbornness, and drive once they set their mind to something. They were like the same ends of a magnet, constantly repelling the other away.

Dean slowly pulled himself out of bed, and dressed into some clean clothes, stuffing yesterday's shirt into a canvas backpack. Both brothers were ready, and down at the car just after 6am, throwing their bags into the trunk, just like old times. Dean briefly propped open the secret compartment in the trunk and fished out a folder containing about 10 newspaper clippings and printouts, thrusting them into Sam's line of sight.

"Hunt?" Sam held up his hand in a C shape and did a tight circle in front of his mouth twice.

The Winchester brothers had argued back and forth on the sign for "Hunt"; Dean preferred a double finger guns sign which translated more as the sport of hunting, whereas Sam's would rather use one that meant "to look for". This job was far from sporting for him, and he'd rather not think of it as such.

"Yeah. Men disappearing from their cars down the same stretch of road over the past 20 years. Not frequent enough for anyone to notice a pattern… until now," Dean gave the cliffnotes knowing Sam would read all the details himself.

"Could just be a serial killer," Sam reasoned.

"I said the same, but Dad wanted to check it out. This one, Andrew Carey," Dean pointed you one specific article. "Was the latest disappearance this September. One before that was April, so whatever it is, is ramping up."

"Why didn't you go with Dad?" Sam questioned.

"Had my own gig in New Orleans. Last spoke to Dad three weeks ago, which is bad enough, but then I got a voicemail two days ago…with some EVP in the background. I stripped it down, and it was a woman's voice."

"Saying…?"

"'I can never go home.' Whatever that means."

Sam frowned. That sounded like a vengeful spirit for sure. He didn't have to be able to hear the electronic voice phenomena to know that it's presence meant ghost.

"What did Dad say," Sam asked, trying to keep his expression passive.

"He said something big is starting, that he needed to find out what it was… and that we could be in danger." He hesitated before the last part, not sure if he should say it, but he couldn't hide it from his brother.

Sam frowned, contemplating what this could mean. Had their Dad finally found a lead? What did he mean when he said they were in danger? The voicemail had clearly thrown up more questions than answers, and there was only one way they were going to get to the bottom of it; find John Winchester.

Dean jumped in behind the wheel, while Sam slid into the passenger seat. With a twist of the key in the ignition, the motor rumbled into action, vibrations running through the seat and into Sam's body. There was an odd sense of familiarity to it, Sam noted as he sank down on the leather bench; familiar, but not necessarily welcome. The last time he had been in this car was the night before he had run away. The memories washed over him uninvited, as he noticed all the recognisable signs of his childhood in that car.

One thing was different though, his longer legs were much closer to the dashboard, so he pulled a lever under the chair, sliding it back to make room. Back when he was a kid, he'd always been relegated to the back seat. But as he grew older, he started vying for the passenger seat more, winning it from Dean in games of rock, paper, scissors, or pool. Their Dad drove 85% of the time, then Dean, and very, very occasionally, Sam had been allowed to take the wheel. He'd started learning to drive the Impala pretty much as soon as his feet could reach the pedals, so about 13 years old. Dean had given secret lessons when John had been working, then Sam had pretended not to know a thing when John himself had started teaching him at the age of 15. Sam was a good and careful driver, never speeding or running a red light. He didn't have a car at the moment while at college, and realised he did miss driving. He'd have to get one before going away to Law school so he could drive back and see Jess.

Dean steered the car out of the campus just as the sun was coming up behind the trees. It looked like it was going to be another bright, Fall day. Sam had decided that he wanted to make this trip as painless as possible, and was going to try with Dean, even if that meant putting some issues aside for the time being. He asked a few questions while Dean drove, such as how come he had the Impala, as Dad never usually let it out of his sight. Turns out Dean had been going on jobs by himself a lot now, while John worked different hunts, or continued his efforts to track down what had killed his wife. So Dean was officially given the Impala he'd wanted for so long, along with its hidden arsenal in the trunk, and John had bought a new truck. Sam remarked that it was odd Dad had let Dean do jobs alone, which earned him a sarcastic jab about being plenty old enough to hunt by himself.

Conversation was a struggle though as Dean had to keep eyes on the road, and hands on the wheel. Sam had been in the car with some Gallaudet friends several times before, and they signed while driving with a lot more ease. But it was different when that was all you were used to. Not wanting to cause too much distraction for Dean, Sam opted for scouring the articles in the folder for clues, then gazing out of the window once he'd finished, noting the places they passed, watching the world slowly waking up.

Out of his peripheral vision, Sam saw Dean reach for the stereo, and hit play on the old cassette player. Of course their Dad wouldn't have upgraded to a CD player, and Dean was unlikely to either. The music must have started playing as Dean was drumming his thumbs against the wheel rhythmically, but Sam couldn't feel anything other than the car's own noises. He'd always been able to feel the vibrations of the rock tunes Dean and their Dad favoured, and sometimes when it was cranked very loud, he could even hear some parts, the lower registers. However, not while their car was in motion. All he could feel was the thrum and purr of the engine in his feet and back as it reverberated through the old machine.

Dean turned the music up one or two notches more, and began drumming along with more vigour. Sam had always been aware of the feeling of music through his body, but had learnt to really enjoy it in his own way recently, exploring different styles, genres and instruments. He'd even been to a few gigs in the past year, and he and Jess had tickets to see Evelyn Glennie, a deaf percussionist who was touring next month. Being around other deaf people for the first time in his life had opened him up to a whole world of new things, and he was looking forward to getting back to that once this trip was over.

It was coming up to 9:30 in the morning, and the brothers had been on the road for a little over three hours. Dean could feel his stomach beginning to rumble, asking for food, so he'd been keeping an eye out for a roadside café or a town to pull into. There was something resembling a diner coming up, so he took his foot off the gas a little, and slowed to check. Sure enough, it was a place resembling an iHop, except with an older sign, and less corporate dollars-worth of cleaning. It still looked ok though, so he pulled in and parked in the lot. Sam looked at him with a quizzical expression.

"Breakfast. I'm starving. You're not?" Dean answered, clutching his belly dramatically.

Sam hadn't really noticed until Dean mentioned, but he could definitely eat something. He looked dubiously at the restaurant though, and wondered what kind of meal he'd be able to get here. Obviously Dean was still favouring the road menu of burgers, bacon and beer, but Sam preferred greener nourishment.

They entered the diner, which was just busy enough to have what you'd call a 'buzz' about it. There was a free booth by the window, and Dean made a bee-line for it, Sam followed behind. A server in her 40s called out that she'd be over shortly, to which Dean responded with a wave. The green vinyl seating looked like it had seen better days, and the linoleum floor was shiny with wear, but at least it wasn't sticky. The table hadn't been cleared yet, so a younger girl in her 20s with thick spectacles and a high ponytail apologetically cleaned around them while they took their seats.

"Sorry, it's been a busy one and we're short today," she chattered with a nervous air.

"No worries, sweetheart," Dean said with a wink.

The girl glanced up at Dean and her cheeks visibly heated. She smiled and scuttled away balancing a cup on a tray, almost colliding with a table on her way out to the kitchen. Sam rolled his eyes. Dean still couldn't help himself from flirting with every girl or woman with a pulse, it would seem.

The server who greeted them as they came in the door, who's name tag said Ruth, brought two menus over to the table then, and handed them one each. The menu was one large, newspaper-sized piece of laminated card, with large font, and glossy stock images of foods on both sides. Pancakes piled high on plates sat next to large milkshakes topped with neatly piped cream. $50 says the food looks nothing like that, Sam thought to himself.

"Can I get you boys any drinks to start with?" Ruth asked in a raspy, 20 smokes a day voice.

"Yeah coffee please, black. You want coffee, Sam?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded with a smile at the server. He hoped Dean wasn't planning on ordering his whole meal for him like that, or they were going to have another teaching moment.

Both had their heads down, reading the menu when server Ruth returned with two large cups filled with steaming coffee on a tray with two glasses of water. She set them down on the table like she'd done it a hundred times before, and asked if they were ready to order. Dean looked up expectantly at Sam, who nodded back.

"I'll have the short stack with double bacon, and eggs," Dean ordered, just like he had done a hundred times.

Ruth turned to Sam, ready to hear his order even though her pen was still scribbling out the end of Dean's. He waited patiently until she looked up at him, trying to ignore his brother's gaze from the other side of the table.

"Hun?" Ruth looked at Sam pointedly, pen hovering above the pad.

Sam pointed to himself, then tapped his ear, mouthing the word 'deaf'. Ruth looked puzzled, but didn't seem fazed at all by the Charades game. She just watched as Sam held up the menu, and pointed out the meal he wanted; a plain omelette and a side of toast.

"Omelette and toast?" Ruth repeated, raising her voice louder than she needed to. Sam could tell she was shouting by her face and muscles in her neck. He just nodded and smiled in reply, mouthing a 'thank you'.

After jotting down the orders, Ruth gathered the menus, said that their food would be along soon, and darted off to the kitchen. Dean was pouring a good measure of sugar into his coffee, but his eyes flicked up to observe Sam once… twice…

"What?" Sam signed on the third time.

"Nothing," Dean lied.

In the past, Sam had always spoken his food orders, aside from when he was very little and their Dad did it for him. This was Dean's first time seeing a 'voice off' version, and he was understandably curious. Sam shrugged as a response to the thoughts he could practically see in Dean's head, but that was the end of that conversation.

Hoping to catch up on the case they were heading to, Sam had brought his laptop into the diner, which he pulled out of his bag now. There was a shaky WiFi service available, which he was able to log on to without a password. Loading a browser page, he ran a search for news stories from Billings, Montana. It was apparently a slow news town as he quickly found the reported disappearances. There had been no new updates since the article in their folder, and police seemed stumped.

"We should start with Andrew Carey's family when we get there" Sam commented once Dean looked back at him.

"That's what Dad will have done. We can retrace his steps," Dean agreed. "Maybe we'll get lucky and catch his trail."

Sam nodded, but wasn't so sure about that, and he could tell from Dean's face that he wasn't either. Unless their Dad wanted to be found, it was not going to be that simple.

"What do you think he meant? Dad. When he said we could be in danger," Sam pulled the conversation back to the bigger matter at hand.

"I don't know, Sammy. He must have found something out about the thing we've been chasing. It's bigger than we thought."

They both let those words settle for a moment. What was bigger than they thought? Was this case related somehow? They'd have to get to the other end to figure that out, but it was possible. A lead after all these years would be an achievement to say the least.

Their meals arrived just then, so Sam closed the laptop and they ate in silence. Dean called for a coffee refill midway through inhaling his pancakes and crispy bacon; they still had another 16 hours of driving to do, and would need this caffeine plus much more.

"Breakfast is on me," Dean said with a grin as he pulled a credit card out of his wallet after finishing eating.

"Is it? Or is it on…" Sam grabbed the credit card and read the name embossed in the plastic. "Hector Aframian? Seriously?"

"What?!"

Dean snatched back the card and glanced around to check no one was watching. You couldn't really whisper in ASL so if someone was eavesdropping they'd see the conversation. But no one was paying them any attention right now, they were too busy eating or serving.

"It's not our fault they send us the cards. We just apply," Dean reasoned.

"Card scams are hardly ethical," Sam said judgmentally.

"Well this job doesn't exactly pay six figures, so we do what we do to get by," Dean sniped back, then got up and walked over to the register, effectively ending the conversation.

Sam rolled his eyes, packed up his laptop and walked out to the car. He checked his cell phone on the way, reading a cute text from Jess telling him to have fun with his brother. Ever the optimist, she was. Dean appeared by his side then, so Sam smacked his arm and offered to drive for a bit. But Dean wasn't going to relinquish the wheel of his prized baby that easily, not now it was all his own. Sam just shrugged, and thought to himself Dean had better not complain 200 miles in that his foot was cramped. He'd brought a book with him to study for his interview, so he grabbed that from the trunk, then climbed into the passenger seat, purposely avoiding Dean's gaze so he wouldn't get some snide 'nerd' jibe thrown at him. He was going to have block out many of those comments if they were to survive the next 16 hours in one piece.