Blind Boys Don't Lie

Strange

The next day in Santa Carla was spent looking for a case. John had sent them out here for a reason: Santa Carla was a strange, strange place.

Dean and Sam were holed up in a shady looking motel because it's all you can afford on a hunter's salary.

Sam spent a lot of time looking out the motel window, a subtle notion of "please Dean can we go back to the Boardwalk today," which Dean was struggling to deny.

It was nearing lunchtime when the boys ordered from a little Chinese food place from down the street. They ate pretty quietly as Dean flipped through some newspapers for a case.

"Sammy, I think I got something," Dean said, tossing the article to his brother. "Strange disappearances have been occurring all around Santa Carla with no witnesses or leads to finding them."

Sam shrugged. "So? That doesn't seem like a ghost or anything. Stuff happens like this all the time."

"Dunno, Sammy, something about it seems wrong..." Dean started. Then he dropped it, taking the paper back. He took a large mouthful of white rice.

"Dean, you promised I could get comics today," Sam finally huffed after 20 minutes of Dean reading the paper.

"Dad didn't send us on this trip to buy comics. He sent us to hunt some of the monsters around the city."

"There's no case!" Sam complained.

"You want to go to the Boardwalk alone, then? In the Murder Capital of the world? You wanna go alone, Sam?" Dean raised his voice a little bit, getting frustrated that Sam was distracting him, and that John had sent them off with no leads.

"No," Sam mumbled, kicking the floor, knowing it was a reverse psychology test.

"We've been at this less than a day, can you wait a day at least, before you get distracted by some books in a shop you won't even read?!"

Sam was starting at the floor. Dean never yelled like that. There was silence for half a minute.

"Sammy...," Dean said, looking at his brother's sad face.

"Forget it," Sam responded quietly. "Just forget it."

"Hey, no, listen...," Dean got up and say in the bed next to his brother, putting the paper away. "I know I promised, so I'll tell ya what, I'll give you a 20, you go buy a comic, maybe ride the coaster once or twice, then you come back here? Okay?"

Sam nodded, looking up into his brother's green eyes.
"Thanks, Dean-o!"

"Hey. Take your switchblade,"

***

Sam wandered the Boardwalk alone, clutching the 20 as well as the switchblade Dean gave him for protection. He'd had it since he was 10 and had been learning how to use it ever since.

He found the shop easily and thumbed through some of the pages. A kid not too much older than him came up to help.

"You new here?" He asked gruffly.

Sam nodded, shuffling through a Batman comic. "Visiting, actually."

"What's a kid like you doing in the Murder Capital of the world?"

Sam's eyes narrowed a bit, eyeing him up and down once. His hair was held back by a red bandana, and he was dressed in jeans and a camouflage shirt.

"I'm not just a kid. It's not like I can't take care of myself."

The boy chuckled, like there was something Sam didn't know.
"Hah, in these parts?"

Sam turned to look at him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yes. In these parts." He said through his teeth. "You sound like my dad."