"It's going to be another cold one tonight," Mrs. Pelinski warned, gloved fingers jamming a knit hat over her garden of graying curls. "I can feel it in my bones."
Sharona gathered up the check in one hand and the empty soup bowl in the other. "The radio forecast is calling it a blizzard."
Ian hooked an elbow over the booth seat, effectively inserting himself into the conversation. "It's probably just a regular snowstorm. You know how the weatherman likes to exaggerate."
A perfectly arched brow from Sharona had the busboy returning to his job. "Either way, try and stay warm, Mrs. Pelinski."
"Oh, I will, dear. You as well." With that, the old woman hobbled toward the door.
In the same moment that she was reaching for it, it was opened from the outside and a young boy swung through. The only thing that saved the senior citizen from a devastating collision was a hand yanking the boy out of the way by his backpack. Sharona breathed a sigh of relief as Mrs. Pelinski shuffled to her car without further physical endangerment. Now, cheeks flushed pink from more than the nip of the biting wind, the boy again entered the restaurant, followed by his older brother.
"Go on and grab a table, hon. I'll be right with you." After a quick stop at the register, Sharona swung back out to the dining area.
As she suspected they might, the boys had settled into the same booth they always did. Back right corner, next to the window. The older one faced the direction of the door, his brother across from him. The menus lay unopened on the table but Sharona pulled out her pad anyway.
"Grilled cheese, glass of milk. Cheeseburger, side of fries, and a soda?" Her pen was already moving.
"Actually can we make that two grilled cheeses? Just one glass of milk, and some water for me."
Sharona paused. "Dean, you two have been coming in here every day after school for the past three weeks and now, all of the sudden, you're going to switch things up on me?" She settled her hands on her hips and fixed him with a look of faux irritation.
Sam, too, seemed surprised. To his credit, Dean didn't falter under either of their appraising gazes. "I like to keep you on your toes." He offered her an innocent grin.
With a skeptical hum, Sharona corrected the order. "I'll be back with your drinks."
"Dean," Sam started.
"Sam."
Sam tilted his head. "Aren't you hungry?"
"Nah. I had a big lunch at school." Dean leaned back in his seat.
Sharona pushed through the door into the kitchen and lost the rest of their conversation. When she dropped their drinks off at their table, they were sitting quietly. "Sam, you still got that paper you're working on?"
After nudging the large bag set on the bench next to him, Sam looked up at her and nodded. "Yeah. I have two days until I have to turn it in."
"You think you'll get an A?" Sharona prodded.
Sam shrugged. "Mr. Henson's not that hard, so I guess." He grunted and Sharona had her suspicions that one of Dean's boots had found his ankle under the table.
"Sammy always gets As," Dean stated.
Sam glanced away shyly.
Sharona set the water down near Dean's hand. "And how about you, Dean? Do you have any projects you're working on?"
Dean shrugged. "Just the usual stuff."
"That's alright." The soft ping of the kitchen bell drew the waitress away before the exhausted conversation could turn awkward. She returned with their plates, the single sandwich looking awfully small in front of Dean. "Are you sure I can't get you anything else?"
"No, we're good. Thanks." With that dismissal, Dean wrapped his fingers, still red from the cold, around the warm buttery bread and tore a large bite out with his teeth.
"Okay, just let me know if you change your mind." Sharona tapped the table once before heading toward the kitchen again.
Randy had the radio on in the back, Seal's Kiss From a Rose playing softly until the next weather update. He lifted his chin as Sharona approached. "Hey, I figure the snow's going to be keeping people home tonight. Should be a light dinner crowd. We can probably let Ian get off early. Kimberly too."
Sharona nodded. "I'll let them know."
A chime sounded, alerting them to the arrival of more patrons. Sharona cracked the door, able to spy Kimberly seating the family of four at a table. When their order was ready, Sharona helped her coworker deliver the various plates of food, casting a surreptitious glance toward Sam and Dean. Sam's back was to her from where she was standing, but his head was bent over the table and from the movement of his shoulder, his arm was moving. Probably writing. Probably that English paper due in two days. The top of Dean's pencil was receiving poor treatment, nibbled between his teeth as he stared at the textbook that, spread open as it was, took up nearly half his portion of table space. Once finished with the family, Sharona passed closer to the boys' booth. Her guess was correct. Sam was clearly finishing his paper. The massive book Dean was laboring over turned out to be a math book. Sharona frowned, empathetic. She had never done very well with numbers. It was one of the reasons Randy took care of that aspect of their business. He handled the finances and she handled the customers. The division of labor in their marriage extended far beyond who folded laundry and who picked up groceries.
As Randy had predicted, business was slow that evening. A few of the regulars were brave enough to risk the impending storm. But they didn't stay long, hoping to be safe at home long before the first flakes of snow appeared. Sharona found odd tasks to pass the time, just little things such as cleaning the tops to the ketchup bottles in the table caddies or restocking the napkin dispensers. Every now and then, she'd scan the dining room, checking on the customers. Sometimes, she'd catch Dean watching the families that came in with something like wistfulness on his face. Then he'd shake himself and return to his homework.
Ian left at seven, grateful and promising to be on time tomorrow, if the weatherman turned out to be wrong about the whole blizzard thing. Seven thirty came and went, the sky as empty as the tables. But the wind was picking up. Sharona could hear it yanking on tree branches and racing through the parking lot. Kimberly twisted the hem of her apron, flitting between the window and the radio, as if her actions could sway nature. When the flakes started falling at eight, Sharona sent her home to her kids. Broom in hand, she set about finishing what would have been Kim's share of the work.
As she swept, her eyes went back to the only customers left. By now, Sam was wedged between the seat cushion and the window, feet propped on the bench. A book was balanced on his bent knees and he was so utterly absorbed in it, he didn't noticed how the chill from the window was making him shiver. Dean, however, was less ignorant and promptly removed his own coat, passing it across the table. His lips moved but Sharona was too far away to hear what he said.
"Hey, you boys ought to be packing it up and heading home," Randy called, not unkindly, from where he leaned in the doorway that led to the kitchen.
Dean shook his arm out, shifting his sleeve off his wrist so he could check his watch. "You're open until nine, right?"
Randy pursed his lips but didn't argue, letting the door swing shut behind him as he disappeared again. Sharona traded the broom in for a mop. Sam was still reading. Dean stared out the window at the rapidly falling snow. When Randy went to the front door, flipping the open sign around and twisting the lock, Sharona sighed.
"Dean, we're closing up."
There was a flicker of emotion in Dean's eyes, too quick for Sharona to put a name to it. "I know, but can we wait in here for our ride? Our dad is on his way."
Tucking a stray hair back into the elastic band of her ponytail, Sharona turned to catch Randy's gaze. He shrugged again. "Alright, we've got a few things to finish in the back. But Dean, you're going to have to leave when we do."
Dean nodded and Sam reluctantly uncurled from his position and began gathering all the notebooks, pencils and textbooks from the table, shoving them into his backpack. Sharona nodded too, then joined her husband in the kitchen. She helped by putting up the last few dishes while Randy took care of the paperwork. If she were honest, she would have to admit to taking longer than usual with the simple work, just to give Sam and Dean's father a chance to arrive. And while she was admitting things, she might as well confess to being curious about their dad. She had never seen him before. Sam and Dean dropped in around four and usually stayed until six. In all the weeks they'd been here, they'd always come alone.
Thirty minutes passed and she couldn't stall any longer. Randy was anxious to make it home before the snow got any worse. It was so quiet out in the dining area that Sharona felt a bubble of hope bloom. Maybe the boys had already been picked up. But no, Dean was still seated on the bench, Sam tucked under his arm. The older teen raised a finger to his lips and Sharona found out why, when she was close enough to see how Sam's eyes were closed. Heart sinking, Sharona scanned the parking lot through the fogged up windows. But there were no outlined automobiles, not even a pair of headlights down the street.
"Dean…" Her tone of voice conveyed her regret.
That emotion came back, this time clearer, painted across Dean's entire face. Helplessness. "Can't we wait here just a little longer? I'm sure my dad's almost here."
Sharona winced. "Hon, I'm sorry but Randy and I have to get home too, you know. Pretty soon, these roads will be covered in snow too thick to drive through."
"Please, Sharona." Dean had never called her by name before. "Please." His wide eyes pinned her in place. "My brother…" he trailed off, attention straying to the blond head resting on his chest.
"Sharona, it's time to go." Randy's voice carried through the silent restaurant.
"We could give you a ride," Sharona offered abruptly, kicking herself for not coming up with the idea sooner. "It'd be a tight fit in the truck but it would work."
Dean swallowed hard. "No, no. It's fine. We...we don't live far from here. It won't take us more than ten minutes to walk."
"So it would be no trouble at all for us to drop you off," Sharona insisted.
"No, really. We'll be okay," Dean said, voice harsh. He looked apologetic instantly. "Thanks, but I'm going to have to turn you down. My dad would kill me if he found out." At Sharona's shocked expression, the corner of his mouth curled ruefully. "He's got a bunch of rules and he's real strict about them." His eyes tracked over to Randy, who was now coming into the dining room. "We'll just be on our way." With more gentleness than Sharona had seen in any other sixteen year old, Dean brought Sam to wakefulness. Sam yawned and blinked up at his brother. "Come on, tiger. We gotta go."
Not even fully awake yet, Sam dutifully scooted out of the booth. "'s Dad here?"
"No, we're going to hoof it home tonight," Dean answered with forced casualness.
Randy stepped forward immediately. "You boys need a lift?"
"We're alright. It's not too far." Dean shouldered the backpack and made no move to reclaim his coat. "Let's go, Sam."
"Dean, please." Sharona blocked his way.
The steel in his eyes had her backing down. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but we're good walking. Isn't that right, Sammy?" Dean slung an arm across Sam's shoulders.
Sam yawned again.
"We'll see you later," Dean said in farewell.
When he tried to open the door, a gust of snow rushed into the restaurant right before the wind slammed the door closed in his face. Sam jumped at the unexpected bang and Dean grimaced before trying again, better prepared this time. He gave Sharona a final tight lipped smile before the boys headed out into the fierce weather.
"I don't feel right about letting them walk in this," Sharona confided to her husband, not moving from the spot where she had failed to prevent them from leaving.
"They're a stubborn pair of kids." Randy sighed. "We did what we could. We let them stay as long as possible and offered them a ride home. There's really nothing else we could have done." He scratched his chin. "Short of forcing them into the car."
Sharona snorted and elbowed his side. He grunted with fake pain and then held out her coat for her. As she slid her arms into the sleeves, she thought about Dean in his flannel shirt, with nothing more to combat the frigid temperature. She whirled on Randy. "How do you feel about kidnapping?"
The heavily falling snow made it difficult to see anything but a curtain of white, yet Sharona spotted them anyway. A bulky shadow in the headlights, nearly blotted out between fat flakes-Sam carried piggyback on Dean. She hopped out as soon as Randy slowed down enough for her to do so safely.
"Dean!" she called, the wind tossing her voice away as easily as it did the snow. She tried again but it wasn't until Randy honked the horn that the shadow stopped moving. "Dean, I can't let you walk home in this," Sharona shouted above the storm. "We'll give you a ride. I insist."
Dean started shaking his head.
"Dean, you're freezing. And you don't want Sam out in this, do you?" She knew she'd hit the mark when Dean's shoulders slumped in surrender. "Let us help you."
He put up one last argument. "My dad-"
"If your dad has an issue with you boys getting out of the cold, you can tell him to take it up with me. You know where I'll be." If it would have been visible, Sharona would have given him a wink.
It turned out, the gesture wasn't necessary. Dean gave in. He lowered Sam to the ground and Randy helped them climb into the cab. Aside from Dean's quiet directions, the boys didn't talk on the way to their house, just sniffled as their noses thawed. The radio smoothed over the silence, a comforting lull of guitar and vocals. It soon became apparent to Sharona that the estimation of a ten minute walk had been nothing more than a fabricated lie. On a day with better weather, it might have been closer to twenty, and that would only be if someone wasn't trying to carry their little brother the whole way. As they got closer to their destination, Dean squirmed in what little room there was to spare between the four of them in the front seat. He occasionally suggested that they had done more than enough, and that they could drop the boys off anytime now, that they would be good to walk the rest of the way. Sharona wouldn't have it.
They were now in a part of town Sharona had never been to before. She didn't like to judge by appearances, and maybe it was just the terrible weather anyway, but it certainly didn't seem like a welcoming neighborhood. Dean instructed them down a couple more streets before calling for a stop in front of a duplex that had obviously seen better times. The shuttered windows let cracks of light out on one side of the house but that wasn't the half Sam and Dean began walking toward. Dean paused at the door. He waited for Sam to get inside before he turned around and came back to the truck. Sharona rolled down her window and leaned over in order to hear him above the wind.
"Thank you. I know you didn't have to do this but…" He shifted his weight, as if he were embarrassed, although Sharona could think of no reason he should be. "Just...thanks."
"Anytime, Dean." Sharona smiled warmly at him. "I'll see you two for dinner?"
Dean jammed his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. He didn't reply aside from a sad smile. Then he turned and followed Sam into the shabby building.