Thanks to Brigid Tanner and Hotshow for their continual support and suggestions. Now, on with the story!

Chapter 17

Martin dropped his pen and notebook in order to catch the cell phone soaring through the air, aimed right at his face. He saw that Dean guy laugh at him as he caught the phone, but he tried not to let his irritation show. It was unprofessional.

He cleared his throat as he lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"This is Dolan, executor of the McDermott Estate. What is the fax number?"

Martin froze for a moment. McDermott Estate? He studied the odd little family engaging in secret smiles in the kitchen. They did not look like they could be affiliated with any kind of estate. Why did the name McDermott sound familiar, though? He relayed the fax number, then insisted on Dolan giving him a call back number. There was something odd going on here.

Martin checked the rooms again. Dean and Sam were both hesitant to allow him in the second bedroom that they shared, making him wonder if they were indeed brothers. There were two single beds in there and it was a bit messy, dirty clothes piled in one corner of the room, but nothing to indicate anything terrible. Rae's room was probably the most barren teenage girl room he had ever seen. He thought it odd she had a queen bed when her father and uncle had singles, but he did not press the issue. She might be one of those kids who sleep all over and fall out of a single bed. The queen bed was something of a relief to see, honestly.

He was not allowed to look through their closets, but they had no problem with him checking all the kitchen cabinets. Martin was surprised at the amount of healthy food he found in addition to the normal junk he expected. Dean blamed, used that word specifically, his brother for the healthy stuff. But when Dean said it, he smiled. That was when he noticed the fist-sized hole in the wall. Dean insisted it was there when they moved in, but Martin seriously doubted that. Even so, Sam and Rae backed up his weak story. Martin made a note anyway.

The longer Martin stayed in the cramped apartment, the less worried he was about this family. There was definitely something odd here, but it was not the family dynamic. There was no fear he could observe between the girl and the two men raising her, they appeared completely at ease around one another. Of course, appearances like that could be deceiving. He really needed to schedule some serious interviews.

"Could I speak with Rae alone for a few minutes?" Martin asked once his kitchen inspection was done.

When he saw the almost frightened look Dean and Sam exchanged, he felt like he may have discovered the way to rooting out the problems here. Even if this was a perfectly happy family with no internal problems, it was pretty clear that the child in question had some serious problems. And if that paper had a grain of truth in it, he could make a pretty educated guess what was wrong. If it didn't, then it was a screaming neon sign for help. Either way, Martin was determined that this girl get the kind of help she needed, but for now he needed to talk to her. Maybe he could get a good idea by talking to her.

Dean turned to him with a shrug. "You can try. We'll be in there." He headed for the shared bedroom.

Sam was slower to follow. He paused by Rae, patting her on the shoulder, before disappearing behind the bedroom door.

Now Rae did look scared, her eyes fixed on that closed door. Martin cleared his throat, trying to get her attention, but her eyes did not waver.

"Rae? I need to ask you just a couple of questions." Martin tried to catch her eye. He waved a hand in front of her face. "Rae?"

She turned to face him and he could literally see her emotional walls slam into place. It was nothing new for him, unfortunately, but it did not bode well. He weighed his options on which tactic might work best with this girl.

"Rae. This is an assessment visit. Do you know what that means?" he asked, making certain he was directly in her line of sight. She shook her head. "It means that this visit determines whether or not we will begin a full investigation of your family." He watched as her eyes widened dramatically, but she remained mute.

Martin slipped his notebook into his pocket, knowing it was often intimidating. "My job is to determine if there is any type of abuse or neglect here. If your Dad or uncle hurt you or don't take care of you the right way," he searched her eyes for some hint if any of this might be the case, "if they have ever touched you wrong?"

The last part seemed to confuse her, but he might be reading too much into her silent reactions. "I need to know if they do anything you don't like, or that makes you uncomfortable. Anything?"

Rae chewed her lower lip, eyes darting to the closed door. She leaned in close. Excited about maybe breaking through to her, Martin turned his ear closer to the girl.

"I have to try out for track," she whispered.

That was so far from what he expected, it took Martin a moment to process it. "Track? Anything else?"

Rae swallowed hard, nodding. "They..they make me," she took a shuddering breath. Martin waited patiently, the hairs on the back of his neck standing out. What could possibly make this girl act this way? "Order dinner."

Martin straightened up. "What's wrong with ordering dinner?" he demanded.

Her eyes bounced nervously from him to the closed bedroom door. She rubbed her hands on her jeans, her voice barely a whisper. "I don't like…talking…to people."

"Why not?" he asked, leaning in closer.

"People…scare…me." That was when he noticed how defensive her body language was, arms crossed in front of her, leaning away from him, eyes almost glued to the bedroom door. With a jolt he realized that he was scaring her, that he forced her to tell him these things. She was practically choking on her words.

He held up both hand. "Okay. I think that's enough for now. You okay?"

She shook her head, staring at the door.

"Why don't you go tell your uncle I'd like to talk to him now?" Martin suggested. Relief flooded her face as she made a mad dash for the bedroom. A few moments later the uncle, looking very disgruntled, appeared.

He stood over Martin, glaring. "What was that about?"

Martin motioned to the couch. "This is just a preliminary interview. We'll have to schedule more in-depth interviews later."

Sam sat on the edge of the couch, glowering. "What happened?" he demanded.

"That is between me and Rae," Martin answered evenly, pulling out his notebook.

A knowing smile crept across Sam's face. "That's what you think." He nodded to the bedroom. "Once he gets her calmed down, I can pretty much guarantee you're going to answer that question."

"Is that a threat, Sam?" Martin held his pen poised above his notebook.

"Nope." Sam held his gaze, intense eyes boring into him. Martin looked away first. "Just thought you'd like a warning is all."

Martin tugged at his collar. Was it warm in here? "Can you tell me about that hole in the wall. If I had to guess, I'd say it was about fist sized."

"Really?" Sam leaned back, looking at it. He shrugged. "I wouldn't have guessed. Have a lot of experience gauging holes like that?"

"I see a lot of domestic violence in my line of work," Martin said, noting the uncle's unwillingness to discuss the hole.

"That's terrible. Must really start to wear on you after a while." Sam did not sound sympathetic at all. Martin decided the guy must still be annoyed over Rae's reaction to his questions. Too bad.

"Hey, Sam?" A gruff voice shouted from the shared bedroom.

"Yeah?" Sam did not move or look away from Martin.

"Come here."

Sam stood, casting periodic looks his way as the larger man walked to the bedroom door. The uncle disappeared into the room, replaced almost instantly with his shorter brother. Dean did not look pleased. As a matter of fact, if Sam looked disgruntled then Dean looked downright livid.

Dean crossed the room swiftly, bearing down on him. Martin resisted the urge to run and hide, especially since there was no place to hide in this tiny apartment. He stood, readying himself for an attack. Waiting with closed eyes for an attack that never came, Martin cracked open an eyelid. Dean, fuming, stood inches away.

"What. Did. You. Say." Dean appeared to be exerting enormous self-control, or succumbing to a large capacity for anger. Unfortunately, this was also a work hazard, one Martin had managed to avoid until now. "Well?" The last word was barely a whisper, yet it conveyed intensity Martin found impossible to ignore.

"I just asked her if you and your brother ever made her do things that were uncomfortable." Martin consulted his notebook even though he had not written down her responses yet. "Apparently track and ordering dinner make her uncomfortable." He was quite proud of the fact he was maintaining his composure despite the fact his heart hammered hard enough against his ribs to be audible.

Dean took a single step back. "Yeah, it does. That a problem?"

Martin cleared this throat, hoping his voice would continue to work. "Yes, it is." He hurried to add, because Dean's eyes narrowed, "Not the fact you are making her do that, but the fact it is troublesome for her. That's not healthy."

Dean's eyes stayed narrowed. "A kid afraid of strangers isn't healthy? You kidding me? After all those don't talk to strangers campaigns?"

Martin sighed. "This is not going well, I'm afraid." His eyes drifted over to that hole in the wall. "That was you, wasn't it?"

A sneer came over Dean's face, which was a welcome respite from the pure hatred flowing off the man. "Nope, it was there when we moved in."

"Fine." Martin slipped his notebook back into his pocket. "Thank you for your time, Mister Cooper. I will be in touch."

---------------

It took every ounce of willpower Dean had not to slam the door behind that man. He glared daggers at the door until he felt a pressure on his shoulder.

"Uh, Dean? I think he's gone." Sam's welcome voice cut through his anger, shoving it away. He allowed Sam to steer him back to the couch, trying to wrap his mind around just how many things went wrong today. Well, when a Winchester had a bad day, it was never a wimpy, half-assed attempt, that was for sure.

"Dad?" Rae stood over him, her voice soft. "You okay?"

With a deep breath, Dean allowed a smile to form. "Sure. Why not?"

"No, uh," Sam fumbled for words.

"No panic attack, Sam. Don't worry." Dean reached out to grab Rae, pull her down next to him. "It's not like there's anything to worry about."

"No?" Rae looked up at him, her eyes full of trust.

"Nah. If I thought for an instant someone was going to try to take you away, we'd leave. Disappear." Dean snapped his fingers. "Like that."

"What," Rae stammered, "what about my friends?"

"What about them?" Dean demanded. At the stricken look on her face, he knew it was the wrong response. She looked just like Sammy did every time they had to move after his brother had made friends. "Hey," he reached out, holding her shoulder, "last resort, okay?"

She sighed, nodding her head.

"Uncle Sam bought some photo albums today. Want to give me a hand?"

"As long as the pajama picture doesn't go in one," she mumbled.

"But, where's the fun in that?" Dean protested, smiling.

She glared at him, but her eyes were smiling. "I've been wondering if Uncle Sam had any good pictures of you."

Dean snorted. "All pictures of me are good."

She opened his box, pulling out his stacks of pictures. "Not what I meant."

Dean exchanged a look with Sam as he lowered himself to the floor. "I know."

"I thought we could put the old pictures, the ones where we were kids, in one album, and use the other one for Rae pictures," Sam said, folding those freaky long legs to join him on the floor.

"So," Dean started sorting through some pictures, deciding what order they should go in, "heard from Sarah lately?"

Sam cleared his throat. "No, not in the last eight hours since the last time you asked."

"Why do you like her?" Rae asked, not looking up from her task.

Sam looked at Dean, eyebrows up. Dean shrugged, giving Sam a free reign with this one.

"Well, she's nice. And smart." Sam handed Dean a few pics for the older album. "Sarah's a good person."

"And smokin'?" Rae asked. Dean choked back a laugh as Sam shot him a nasty look.

As Sam's jaw worked to produce words, the sound of Sam's cell going off saved him. "Thank god," he murmured, standing to reach into his pocket.