Boys Are Weird
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"No." Sam was desperate, his voice strong and smooth even as his eyes darted up and down the highway to their side and into the distance of the flat lands around them. There were no other noticeable pit stops for miles. And Dean was hungry.
Truthfully Sam was too, but he wasn't going into the hellhole in front of him. Not if he could help it.
Hot and dry air whispered past the two brothers sitting in the Impala. She was parked, and Dean had one foot out the door.
Sam refused to move an inch. Sweat trickled lazily down the side of his face as the summer heat soaked into the black oven that was Dean's car. Inside the dreaded place it would be cooler and there would be drinks… His throat was suddenly dry and scratchy; a small croak passed his lips before he cleared his throat and tried again. There was no way he was going in there.
"Leave me here. You go in. Get me something to go."
"I'm going to sit in the cool for a while Sammy." Dean's voice was suddenly rough as he boosted himself from the driver's seat and into the sweltering August sun. "You'll bake out here…It's around a hundred degrees out dude!" The Impala's door slammed shut with a wham of metal on metal even as it squeaked its need for a good spray of WD-40. Dean walked away. Traitor.
Sam settled back against the hot seat and relaxed. Maybe he could sleep through Dean's stay. Another breeze brushed through the lone open window and caressed the damp skin on the right side of his face. Then it dissipated leaving behind patches of dry salty skin on one half of his face while the other side remained sticky with perspiration.
The heat settled more fully into the car after a few minutes. There were no more breezes to cool off the interior as it absorbed more stifling heat. Eyelids, heavy with a false sense of drowsiness, dropped down groggily. Sam let the heat lull him to sleep. He only managed a five minute nap.
His stomach protesting from the lack of food, Sam gritted his teeth and banged his head against the headrest. He was hungry dammit. The gnawing, twisting sensation in his gut grew in the passing minutes and he realized he wouldn't be getting any relief with an attack on two fronts. He could bear the heat only if he slept through it, but he couldn't sleep with his stomach shouting out for sustenance.
Another vehicle pulled into the spot next to him. It was a van. A woman in her mid thirties popped out the driver's side and began reminding her passengers of "the rules" while they unloaded. Six boys dressed in blue and white baseball uniforms swarmed around their chaperone as the group walked into the building.
He was being stupid. If a bunch of ten-year-olds could go in, so could he.
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At a small table facing the fast food joint's doors sat a little brown eyed, blonde haired girl. She was four years old. She knew her Mommy loved her, she knew her colors, that peas were yucky, and that ice cream was tasty. She looked around the themed restaurant before settling her curious gaze on a man cringing and skittering away from one of the many smiling Ronald McDonalds. As she ate her sundae, Brittany decided to place one more thing on her list of things she knew. Boys were weird.