A/N: hello loves. So sorry it's taken a while to post the next chapter. My pesky muse disappeared for a while. I also had a slight crisis of confidence in how I was writing my Sammy, so please send me some feedback on where I need to improve.
Thank you so much to Kandilyn for lovely reviews! I'm keeping going for you!
Big thank you to the guest who left a very detailed review, and asked some great questions. I can't message you, so I'll try answer them here. You mentioned Sam wanting what's best for him, rather than what's safe/normal... it's kinda both, but he doesn't realise how unsafe he felt while hunting until he was away at college. I LOVE that you've noted some Deaf culture things I've included, and that I didn't make Sam a victim, or "poor little deaf kid". It was very important to me that him being Deaf was only a small part of the story, and I only want to write about how he adapts, or uses it as a strength. I'll probably even mention it less and less once everything is established.
Finally, you asked if Sam shouting at Dean was because of Deaf culture being more blunt... the answer is partly, but the way I wrote the fight scene before Sam left, it felt right that he would have a fight to pick with Dean after two years. Also, he's grown in confidence at college, and has learned to fight for his own advocacy. Great as Dean is, he can be insensitive, bordering on offensive, as he's only really known Sam, not Deaf culture.
Phew! Long note! Hope that explains some things. Any more Q's please comment or DM. So here's chapter 7. Was hoping to get to the bridge scene with the Woman in White where Dean falls in the river, but that's in the next one. Enjoy! Sorry if it's slow :)
Disclaimer; I do not own any of the characters or plot, I'm just gratefully borrowing from His Highness Kripke!
Chapter 7
It was approaching dawn on the Friday when Sam and Dean finally got within spitting distance of Billings, Montana. They'd blazed through many towns and cities in the past 5 hours, and being stuck in such close quarters, they were starting to feel the strain. Both were tired, grumpy, and stiff from sitting in the same positions for so long. Sam shifted awkwardly in his seat, trying in vain to stretch out his legs, only to sigh in frustration when it did nothing.
"What?" Dean groused at his brother.
"Nothing. Sore. And tired," Sam replied.
"We're almost there," Dean assured him, checking the clock on the dash. "Then you can stretch out your freakishly long legs all you like."
On a side angle Sam couldn't lip-read the last part, so he cocked his head, looking pointedly at Dean. When he got no response, he snapped his fingers, then bent one index finger in a hook twice meaning "what?".
"Never mind," Dean dismissed, earning him a pissed off huff from Sam, but he dropped it, too tired to argue.
The brothers had previously decided to check into a motel first to freshen up before hitting the case, but their plans were changed when they came upon a crime scene, complete with yellow tape, and three police cruisers. Dean pulled over before reaching the cop cars, giving them enough space and time to figure the situation out before barrelling into it.
"What's the chances this is just an accident, and not another disappearance?" Dean asked rhetorically, already knowing in his gut that it was the latter.
Sam shot him a look that showed he was thinking the exact same thing. He looked far more concerned than his brother though, as his heart had dropped to his stomach, his thoughts with the family who were likely now in the midst of searching for their missing loved one. He was always more engaged with what Dean called the 'touchy, feely crap' than his father or brother, and his empathy for others suffering is what made the job hard for him.
Reaching across to the passenger side of the car, Dean popped the glove compartment and pulled out a small, rectangular box, about the same dimensions as a small shoe box but made of wood. He rifled through for a minute, before selecting a metal badge in a leather holder, complete with an ID card with Dean's face on, but someone else's name. The box was his stash of fake identity cards that him, and his Dad had made, to use on hunts to gain access and information they needed. It really shouldn't be as easy as it was to purchase a fake shield for the FBI or DEA, stick a photo of themselves in there, and then walk onto every crime scene or government building like they belonged there. And yet it was, thankfully, as it was a huge part of the reconnaissance work on most cases. They could gain access to autopsy reports, witness statements, cover up any evidence of them ever being there, plus so, so much more.
"Who are you going in as today?" Sam asked with the slightest hint of judgment.
He hated the lying, and morally questionable parts of the job, and as a future lawyer, all he saw here was the 'illegal impersonation of a federal officer'.
"We are going in as Federal Marshals. I'm Agent Brian Johnson, you can be Agent Young. Malcolm though, you're not cool enough to pull off Angus," Dean quipped with a smirk, throwing a second shield and wallet at Sam, but without the photo ID.
"What?! You can't be serious. I can't pretend to be a federal marshal, Dean," Sam signed incredulously.
"Why not?" Dean asked. "I know you've never done it before, but it's easy. Follow my lead."
Before Sam had left for college, and was still hunting, he was slightly too young to believably con his way into anywhere as a police officer or other law enforcement, so he'd always left it to the older hunters. There was also the other elephant in the room as to why he may not pass as a beat cop let alone detective …
"Know many Deaf officers, Dean?" Sam replied with a note of bitterness at having to point out the obvious.
"I don't know many cops period, Sammy, so no. Doesn't mean there aren't any. Anyway, there's no flashing neon sign over your head, just keep your mouth shut, and no one will ever know. Let me do all the talking,"Dean quipped back, with a grin plastered on his face.
"That meant to be funny?" Sam fumed back with a glare that Dean used to call his 'bitch face'.
"I thought so," Dean replied with an even bigger grin, before pocketing the badge, and jumping out of the car.
Sam reluctantly followed his older brother, not wanting to miss anything, but also not sure that Dean's plan of keeping quiet and "faking it" was ever going to work. He quickly grabbed a pen and pad, plus his college ID from his wallet, sliding it into the badge holder, hoping that small town cops wouldn't bother to look too closely at it. Maybe he could just observe, and nod in all the right places, pretending he could hear the conversation. Wouldn't be the first time he'd done that to avoid awkward interactions, but he thought he was past that now.
"Officers," Dean greeted the cops with an air of importance. "I assume this welcome wagon isn't for us."
During the entire exchange, Sam stood silently watching, his eyes bouncing between the two cops and his brother like he was watching a game of tennis. He'd brought the paper and pen to make notes, but he had been focusing so hard on all of their lips, and trying to figure out what was being said that he hadn't dare look away to write anything. The old cop doing all of the talking had a long moustache that made it impossible to read his lips, so all he'd caught of the conversation so far was what Dean had said. He quickly gave up on following the words, instead turning his attention to the body language and expressions of the two deputies; the older one was clearly more senior in rank, and not used to being challenged, while the younger one had to fall in line, despite disagreeing.
The younger cop then seemed to tire of being in the background, and spoke up, meaning Sam was able to follow the conversation again to a degree. Younger cop disagreed with older cop, who looked uncomfortable at the implications that he wasn't doing his job very well. A small town like this, with a police force more used to missing dogs than people was always going to be ill equipped to handle something this big. But all the same, Dean's expression showed that he was surprised at how inept this old deputy seemed to be at connecting the dots.
Trying to keep up with the lip reading had given Sam a tension headache, so he'd given up and opted to survey the road instead. There was nothing much different about this stretch of road compared to the rest they'd driven down: there were trees either side, and the old fashioned bridge that crossed a fairly narrow river. There were no other cars on the road at this time of the morning, so it was a bad sign when two suddenly appeared and parked nearby. The first car was the Sheriff's followed by a black SUV with government plates. Sam coughed twice into a closed fist; their sign to one another that they should leave.
"Well, deputies, thanks for your time," Dean took the warning, and ended the conversation. "We'll come find you at the station if we have more questions."
The deputies nodded in response, then Sam and Dean spun round to make a hasty, yet unsuspicious exit. It wasn't quite hasty enough though, as the Sheriff had seen them already. He studied them warily, while the brothers smiled politely back, maintaining a calm pace back to the Impala.
"That was close. Think those feds made us?" Dean asked verbally once they were both back in the car with the engine going.
"Drive," Sam signed surreptitiously under the dash, out of sight of the still-watching Sheriff.
That WAS close, and he wasn't happy about it. If he got caught impersonating an officer, let alone a federal Marshall, that was it for his law career. 'Bet John would just love that,' he thought bitterly, as they put the crime scene in their rear view mirror.
"What did you catch from all of that?" Dean asked ten minutes later. He'd driven into the town centre and parked near a stretch of barely open convenience stores.
"Not a lot," Sam admitted. "Old cop is a stubborn ass who thinks it's suicide, younger cop disagrees."
"Honestly, you didn't miss much more. The cops are clueless… they don't even want to link the disappearances, even though the latest is only a mile from where Andrew Carey was last seen. I swear, goddamn small town cops, man!" Dean stopped signing the last part, unsure how to put his annoyance into the correct hand gestures.
"They're scared," Sam reasoned. "They wouldn't know what to do with anything worse than petty theft out here. Who's missing now?"
"Local kid, Troy Squire. He's dating that younger cop's daughter," Dean filled in some of the blanks.
"A M Y?" Sam finger spelled the only name he'd managed to decipher.
Dean bobbed a fist in affirmation.
"She's apparently out here somewhere putting up 'missing' posters… and I'll put money on it that's her," Dean pointed to a girl who was across the street from them, clutching a pile of paper and a rolls of tape.
Without leaving space for Sam to protest, Dean jumped out of the car, and headed over to the sad looking girl with the flyers. Sam again had no real choice but to follow, although he was starting to become annoyed by the lack of input in the decision making here. It never used to be like this, hunting with Dean. Their father, yes, that was always follow orders, ask questions never. But Dean used to ask his brother's opinion, or at least let him in on the plan. It seemed like two years was all it took to finally iron out the original thoughts Dean had, and turn him into a carbon copy of Dad.
"Hey, you must be Amy," Dean called out once he was a few paces from her, so as not to startle her.
"Yeah. Who are you?" Amy replied, defensively.
Amy couldn't have been more than 18, which was how old Troy, the missing kid was. She was dressed all in black with a leather coat that fell down to her knees, open to reveal a tank top under a fishnet shirt, paired with jeans, and finished with Doc Marten boots. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and yesterday's heavy black eyeliner still circled her eyes where it hadn't been cried down her cheeks, or half wiped off. She clearly hadn't slept, which was understandable in the circumstances.
"We're Troy's Uncles, from Modesto. I'm Dean, this is Sammy."
"Oh?" Amy blinked for a second. "He's never mentioned you," she sounded uncertain.
"Yeah, he probably wouldn't. We're not all that close. Families, you know?" Dean threw her a sad smile, and she relaxed just a little. "But he is still our little nephew so we came to help look for him."
Another girl then approached them, about the same age, dressed much the same, but with red hair instead of Amy's blond.
"Hey, you ok," the friend asked protectively, placing herself between Amy and the boys.
"Yeah Rachel, I'm fine. This is Troy's Uncles. Dean, and Sam?" Amy replied, unsure if she remembered the names correctly.
Sam nodded in response, smiling when she said his actual name, not the dumb nickname he'd seen Dean introduce him as. He was following the conversion best he could, but he was looking more at the girl's physicality's. He could tell they weren't readily trusting, which was extremely wise, but wouldn't help the boys any when they needed to get more information from them regarding the case. Dean looked like he was doing his best to put them at ease, but unless he was trying to get a woman into bed, his patience only ran so far. Sam had always been better with witnesses by just being there. He could switch on what Dean would call the "puppy eyes", and whoever they were questioning would open up quicker than a box of toys on Christmas morning.
Suddenly feeling the need to be of use here and move things forward, Sam stepped towards the girls and began to sign to them in earnestness.
"We came all this way, we just want to help find Troy. Will you let us help?"
Dean stood with his mouth agape looking at his little brother. Sammy had always been reluctant to instigate conversations with strangers, only doing so when absolutely necessary, so this was slightly new. The two girls also stood staring, looking confused. There was a high probability that the only deaf person they'd met before now was someone's Grandma.
"Dean…" Sam prompted, nudging his brother when the silence and staring became awkward.
Dean snapped his mouth shut, and translated what Sam had said to the girls. They both looked abashed when they realised what was going on, and then their expressions shifted to pity aimed at Sam. He usually despised this reaction from people, but today he was going to use it to his advantage.
"Mind if we ask you a few questions?" Sam signed focusing his best empathetic gaze on Amy, while Dean translated.
The girls agreed, and they all moved the conversation to a nearby coffee shop, one of the few places already open at this time of day. Sam, Dean and Rachel took a seat at a table by the window, while Amy went to ask if she could pin up a flyer on their notice board. The waitress looked at her with sadness, and said she could pin as many up as she wanted, then brought over a round of coffees on the house.
"So Amy, when did you last speak to Troy?" Dean began the questioning.
"Last night," Amy replied, mumbling down into her coffee cup. "I called him to ask him to come over, but he said he couldn't, that he had work early."
"Was that all he said?" Dean probed further.
But before Amy could answer, Sam started to sign something to Dean, causing both girls to stare again.
"Translate, please? Can't lip read, she's mumbling."
Dean looked genuinely apologetic, then he quickly relayed what Amy had told them. He hadn't translated on the fly like this in years, and had to take it slowly. The girls sat wide-eyed and silent, with matching looks of confusion during the exchange.
"Sorry ladies, just filling Sammy in on what you said. Deaf as a post, this one," Dean joked, eliciting another 'bitch-face' from Sam. "Carry on, what happened next?"
"Um… Troy hung up the phone, said he'd call me back… but he didn't. So I got impatient, and called his house. His Mom answered, she said she thought he was with me. That's when I started to panic."
"Did he say anything else before he hung up? Anything odd?" Dean pulled the conversation back to the phone call.
"No. Nothing. I've played it over in my head, but it was all… normal," Amy replied, fiddling with her necklace, holding back tears.
"I like your necklace," Sam said through Dean, who shot a confused look at his brother.
"Troy got it for me. He thought it would be funny to freak my parents out. You know, all that devil worship crap," Amy said with a humourless laugh.
"Actually it's the opposite. A pentagram is a symbol of protection, of good magic," Dean voiced Sam's signing, shooting him a sceptical glance.
"Do you believe in that sort of thing, ladies? Magic… folk stories… ghosts…?" Dean picked up Sam's lead.
"You think because we're goth we're into all that voodoo crap?" Rachel jumped in, angrily.
"No. But something weird is going on here. People don't just disappear into thin air, so if you know anything, even if it sounds weird, you can tell us," Dean's words were laced with meaning.
"Well… there is that one story…" Rachel began.
"What story?" Sam and Dean signed/spoke in unison.
"It's kinda a local legend. A girl was murdered out on Centennial like a hundred years ago or something," Amy said hesitantly.
"And apparently she's still out there. Her ghost, I mean. She's like… a phantom hitchhiker, and whoever picks her up, they're never seen again," Rachel finished, with more of a dramatic flare.
Sam and Dean exchanged loaded looks. Nine times out of ten, these local urban legends were complete bullcrap. Stories invented to scare the townie kids, or keep teenagers from breaking curfews. While on the road, they'd been fooled by similar stories a few times, and only once in Hohn Winchester's career so far had he found anything resembling truth in the tales. But paired with a string of disappeared men, it was a lead well worth following up on, sooner rather than later.
"I'm sure that's not what happened to Troy, but we'll look into it, ok? You should go home and get some rest," Sam signed gently to Amy, hoping Dean was relaying his words with the right intent. He turned up his sympathy expression just to be sure.
The boys briefly said their goodbyes, left Dean's number for them to contact him if anything happened, then exited the café and headed back to the car. The street was slightly busier now, with people heading to jobs or school, getting on with their days as normal.
"Library?" Sam asked simply as they were crossing the road, already thinking of their next steps.
"Library," Dean confirmed, looking like he'd just agreed to a root canal. He hated the research part with a passion.
"Don't look so scared, Dean. Books and computers don't bite," Sam teased lightly, trying not to smile.
"Yeah well, you would say that, geek boy," Dean grunted back.
With those last two words Sam was transported back more than two years into his past. Except this time, that jibe didn't irk him, but instead a small spot of warmth bloomed in his chest. He realised then with surprise how much he had missed his brother.
To be continued...