A/N: Some of you may remember from Chapter 1 that Terry (Thru Terry's Eyes) had requested Deaf Dean stories. I agreed to write one, and here you are reading it. But I made a request back - I asked her to give me some shirtless Dean torture - because, well, who wouldn't want that from time to time? But, I digress. Terry just started posting that story! If you have not already, please read her new fic, Lost to Madness.

A/N 2: #... # denotes texted or typed words.

Dean woke up with a start, and felt something in his throat that was probably a groan. He got himself upright, and swung his legs to the floor. He looked around the room. Where was his little brother? He was about to heave himself to his feet and check the bathroom, when he saw his phone and a note on the table. He checked the time. Almost two. He was so not taking one of those pain killers again. Even if he was useless, he'd like to be awake and useless.

But there was one thing he needed to do. He'd been terrified during that storm at the park. Not by the wind, even though he'd seen enough tornado destruction growing up to last more than a lifetime. What terrified him was that his brother could have been buried under debris, would have been out of his of his sight, maybe screaming for help, and he wouldn't've been able to find him.

He tucked his phone in his pocket, grabbed his wallet, made sure his knife was securely in his boot – check, check, check – finally found a room key behind the television, check, and headed for the door, with a quick detour to pick up Sam's note. He was pretty sure he knew what it was going to say - something like 'Stay in the room' - like he was some kind of parcel Sam could leave and pickup later. Hell, at this point, maybe he was.

Once he stepped outside, he held the note up in the light to read it. Got it in one. Sam had added an underlined 'Please' but the direction was the same. Sit, stay. Well, screw that.

He jammed the note in his pocket, closed the door behind him, and headed for the motel office. Mrs Pelham silently cooed and clucked at him, pursed her lips, and nodded seriously when he apologized for scaring her that morning, and told her he was having some hearing difficulties. She let him use her yellow pages and he found a Radio Shack less than a mile away. He thanked her and stepped out of the office. The sun was bright, the air clear, the sky a perfect blue … a walk would probably make him feel a lot better. Or at least not worse. He headed north.

He didn't move fast, but he was pretty steady on his feet, until the first car appeared in his peripheral vision. He was so surprised he felt his heart stutter. Small shadows crossed the sidewalk at his feet, and even though he knew it was just gulls wheeling overhead, he kept checking anyway. He put his head down and walked on, furious with himself. He was literally jumping at shadows, like a kid scared of the dark.

He was exhausted by the time he reached the store. He leaned against a wall for a few minutes to catch his breath. He'd come into the center's lot through the back, and took the time to scan the front, noting details. He stopped for a long minute to stare at the name of the shopping center on a prominent sign by 158. Croatan. He wasn't sure if he should laugh, or come back later to salt and burn it. With his luck, it was the same thing as Croatoan. Sam would know. Dean shook himself and went into the store.

The clerk who helped him was alright - in his 50's maybe, tall but not as tall as Dean, gray hair pulled back in a pig tail, dorky store vest, 'Jack' on his name tag. He didn't react when Dean told him he was having trouble with his ears, just listened to Dean's description, then scribbled down a question and held up the paper for Dean to read.

SOMETHING TO FIND A CHILD OR SENIOR CITIZEN?

Dean laughed and nodded. "Yeah, a child. Rambunctious. He keeps running off, and I can't hear him to find him."

After he selected a child locator and paid, Jack went so far as to help him unpack the kit, install the batteries, and test the equipment. The monitor was no bigger than his cell phone, and he got four little lo-jack tags that he could attach to his little brother. Sam might find one or two, but Dean would lay money he wouldn't find all four quickly.

When they were finished, Dean could fit everything into one pocket of his jeans, leaving him with no incriminating box or bag for Sam to find. Dean thanked the guy and headed out, angling behind the center again toward the Beach road. It was only a couple of blocks, and he was very thankful he had his hands free by the time he made it, because he'd definitely needed them to keep from faceplanting on the street or someone's yard.

He stood and breathed deeply for a minute, hoping to calm the headache lurking behind his eyes. He felt his front pocket and found the little bottle of Tylenol. His hands were shaking so much he almost couldn't get the bottle open, but he was finally able to tap out and dry swallow four pills. He looked south, considered the mile he had to walk, and sighed. At least he thought he did. He spotted a bench across the street overlooking the ocean, and on a whim, made his way across the street and to the bench.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He was so damned tired. He just needed a few minutes and then he'd be fine to walk back to the motel. Sam wouldn't even have to know he'd been gone. The wind was moaning in his ears, his head was pounding, and he just couldn't think straight. Everything was fragmented, sucked down into the sand all around him, disappearing and reappearing as the wind moved. The only thing he didn't want to think about was the only thing that kept coming back. What if he had to spend the last few months of his life deaf?

He'd always been sure that being deaf would be easier than being blind. Now he was sure that neither was better, but being deaf was a lot harder than he'd ever thought. Not that he wanted to trade or anything, sight was great, wonderful, perfect in fact, but it provided less than 180 degree coverage, while hearing was 360. Anything could, and had, he reminded himself, come up behind him. He couldn't sleep with his "peepers open" either … now that had been funny. Hell, he wouldn't hear anything like that again. And he'd saved himself and Sam all the time when they were kids by hearing things, and saved himself, both of them sometimes, over and over, by hearing things since they'd been hunting together.

And Sam, oh god, Sam. Dean would never hear his brother curse a blue streak when he stubbed his toe, or yell, or sigh, or anything. He'd never hear Sam pecking away at the laptop, or hear him clearing his throat, being bitchy, funny, patient, all emo, or snoring. Or hear the little noise he made when he fell asleep. Or hear him screaming.

He couldn't hear his Dad's voice mail message anymore.

He was pretty damn sure he'd still be able to hear hellhounds.

It had to be temporary. It just had to be. Sam has to have found something. Dean's hands were shaking so badly he pushed them under his thighs and sat on them. He was starting to hyperventilate and he knew he had to calm down or pass out. After a minute, he pulled out his phone to text Sam and saw that he'd missed a text earlier. Fuck – he'd been so wrapped up in his pity party he never felt the phone vibrating. Sam was still well over an hour away.

He tapped in a reply: # Ned picp pik ppikup plz # He shook his hands and angled the phone out of the sun. His phone vibrated a few minutes later.

# U need pickup #

Man, was Sam going to be pissed. # Yes #

# R u at motl #

# No # There wasn't an immediate reply. He stared at the phone, biting his lower lip. He found the punctuation signs and tried again. # Sm? #

# Whr #

# Bea ch rd ocen acs at dun st # He grimaced at the phone. He wasn't getting any better at this.

# Y #

Dean stared at that for a minute. Sam either wanted to know why he was there or he'd said yes. He decided to go with the 'yes' because he couldn't possibly text an explanation to Sam. He settled for # K # and pocketed his phone.

The sun was starting to set behind him, but it was still warm enough to pull off his outer shirt, and lean back in his tee. He sat up with a jerk and felt along the back of his jeans. No gun? Fuck, I'm naked. He patted his pockets – some M&Ms covered in lint, a quarter, a nickel, and a paperclip. He ate the M&Ms and started to laugh. He had his boot knife, he wasn't naked, but here he was wondering if he could use a paperclip as a weapon? He might as well smelt the coins into a gun. God, he was becoming a paranoid freak. He smiled, knowing Sam would say he'd been one for years.

The wind screamed in his ears making him lean forward to hold his head in his hands. He jerked around when something behind him blocked out the sun. It was a big guy, biker maybe, hair loose under a headband and down to his shoulders. Biker Dude was wearing a Black Sabbath tee shirt, a leather vest, wrist bands, studs everywhere, and tattoos snaking up both his arms to disappear under his sleeves. He jumped up and squared off with the guy.

"What can I do for you, buddy?"

The guy held his hands up, mouth moving, and reached for his pocket.

Damn it, maybe he should have sharpened the fucking paperclip. Dean bent to retrieve his knife, and almost kept going straight to the ground, but the biker jumped forward and caught him. Dean growled and shook him off, holding himself steady on the back of the bench, and watched as the guy found a pen and wrote briefly on a slip of paper.

Dean was wary but accepted the paper between two fingers and took a moment to glance it. It was a receipt for a glass tobacco pipe from the head shop next to the Radio Shack. What, the guy's offering him a toke? He frowned and looked up. The guy was gesturing broadly, flipping his hand over and back. Dean looked down and turned the receipt over, and read 'I work at Radio Shack, remember me?' Dean looked at him again. It was Jack – he'd let his hair down in a big way.

He couldn't help it – he grinned at the guy and said, "Nice look, Jack."

Jack smiled back. He took back the receipt, and wrote again.

Dean read 'Need ride?' When he looked up, Jack was pointing at a Harley almost as big as the Impala. Holy crap. He nodded.

"Hell, yeah. That's a beauty. I'm just down the road at the Seaside."

Jack nodded and started to walk to the motorcycle.

Dean pulled out his phone sent a text to Sam. # nvrhmd, got rid motl # He held up a hand to Jack as he waited for Sam's reply.

# what? #

He stared at the phone for a second, and then speed dialed Sam's number and handed his phone to Jack. "Dude, my brother Sam is going to answer and will probably yell at you."

Jack grinned and pantomimed holding the phone away from ear. His brows went up and he started to talk into the phone.

Dean said, "Tell him I have a ride to the hotel."

Jack nodded and spoke into the phone, once looking at Dean critically.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Tell him I'm fine, just getting a ride."

Jack talked for another minute, then hung up, and handed the phone back to Dean. He pulled what turned out to be a gas station receipt from his pocket, wrote on it, and handed it to Dean.

'Sam back hour, meet at motel'

Dean nodded and accepted a helmet from Jack. As he climbed on the back, he leaned forward and spoke in Jack's ear. "Know a good bar? With a pool table?"

Sam stormed out of the cottage, torn between worry and anger. Dean was not in the room, and was nowhere in sight. He walked to the car as he called Dean's number. The same stranger as before answered the phone.

"Sam, is that you?" Jack, that was his name, Jack was shouting over noise in the background.

"You were supposed to take my brother to the motel. What happened?" Sam could hear Dean's voice in the background, laughing, and Jack came back on the line.

"Dean told me to tell you that he's fine. We're at Harley's. Get onto 158, it's north of the motel at mile marker 9."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. He was at mile marker 14 or so. "You sure he's OK? He's been sick and …"

"He's beating us all at pool, but he's not too steady on his feet, and I can tell his head is killing him. I tried to bring him back about a half an hour ago, but he said he'd be good until you arrived."

"Thanks, Jack, I'm only a few miles out."

Sam was able to squeeze the Impala into a space in the parking lot about twenty minutes later. He opened the door and stood up in a sea of motorcycles. Of course, his brother would go to a biker bar when he was sick and deaf.

He stepped into the bar and quickly spotted Dean at the pool tables in the back. Dean was holding a cue, laughing, and gesturing at someone. The place was crowded and smoky and Sam moved as unobtrusively as he could, not wanting to jostle anyone in a busy, loud, and rowdy biker bar. The first time he felt a hand brush his arm, he didn't think twice, but the touches became more blatant and deliberate as he moved toward the back.

He straightened up to his full height and took another look around him. There didn't appear to be any women in the bar at all. He checked the guys on the small dance floor. His sick and deaf brother was in a gay biker bar. Now that was funny.

He dropped some of the unobtrusive, and shouldered his way through the crowd. Dean hadn't spotted Sam yet, proof he wasn't operating on all jets, since normally Dean's little brother radar would have brought his head up and moving until his eyes locked onto Sam. Dean's eyes were too bright, he was flushed, and he kept rubbing his right eyebrow, but he was laughing and talking.

Sam was having trouble reading the guys at the table. They seemed friendly enough but there were too many eyes focused on Dean. One big guy in studded leather was standing right behind his brother; the way he was looking at Dean set off all sorts of alarms in Sam's head. Every time Dean moved, this guy moved with him, possessively, always staying right behind Dean, and way too close for Sam's comfort.

Guys around the table were yelling out encouraging phrases over the din – Sam heard "Does this guy know he's yours?" and "Go ahead, grab his ass. He can't be straight and that pretty." The guy in studs was shaking his head and laughing. All of this going on even though they knew Dean couldn't hear.

Sam saw red and bulldozed through the crowd. The next time Dean moved, Sam stepped forward, body checking the studs, and stood between his brother and the biker. The guy was big, but Sam towered over him. He looked around the room, catching their eyes, getting their attention.

"You want a piece of him, you'll need to come through me."