"Where's my brother?"
Dean could hear his little brother, Sam, the next isle over and hurried passed the rack of corn-chips, sodas, and candy. Just as he rounded passed the Pringles, little Sammy came into view. He was panicking and about to cry, Dean could tell. An older woman was crouched in front of him and was trying to comfort him.
"Are you lost, sweetheart?"
"He's fine," Dean announced, as he brushed past the woman and took hold of little Sam's hand. Sam wiped his eyes with his other hand and held tightly onto his bother but was quiet now.
"Is this your big brother?" the woman asked, smiling at the both of them from under a big, old-lady floppy hat. Her classes nearly covered her face.
"Yeah, he…he just wonders off sometimes. I'm sorry, if he was being a pain. Come on, Sam."
Dean tugged at Sam's hand, trying to leave. He didn't like strangers who asked questions.
"Sam. That's such a big boy name. And what's your name, young man?"
Dean fidgeted and looked at his shoes. "My… my name is Dean."
The woman smiled bigger. "Dean. You look about my grandson's age. He's seven, you know."
Sam now had one finger in his mouth and was trying to hide his face behind his bother's hand.
"That's great," Dean answered, somewhere between irritated and bored. He looked up and kept one eye on the door of the convenience store. "That's our dad over there. He's ready to go. He's kinda in a hurry so…" Dean nodded to a blonde-haired man counting change at the checkout counter.
"Daddy?" Little Sam chirped from behind his brother's arm, but still not showing his face.
The woman stood and turned to smile at the man standing at the counter. He smiled back politely.
"Well, then I better let you two boys go. Bye-bye, Sam," she said, waiving.
By then Sam was swinging his brother's arm back and forth and wrapped Dean's arm around his shoulders before waiving goodbye. When the woman was finally gone, Dean pulled back at his little brother's hand to get his attention.
He lowered his voice but was angry. "You know you're supposed to stay by me, Sam. I told you, if you don't listen, bad people are gonna come and take you away. Is that what you want?"
Sam put his finger back in his mouth and shook his head, trying to duck behind Dean's hand again.
Dean sighed and marched off toward the exit door, still holding Sam by the hand. Sam toddled hurriedly along just behind him, trying to keep up.
"Cocoa Puffs." Little Sam climbed up and into the old chair that stood beside the sink of their hotel room and patted the counter.
"I couldn't get you Cocoa Puffs. You were bad, remember?" Dean was tired and irritable and just wanted to be outside.
Sam's face drooped, lip puckered out , his eyes weepy.
"I want some Cocoa Puffs," he said again, sounding on the verge of tears this time.
"You should've done like I said and we could have gotten your stupid Cocoa Puffs! I wasn't supposed to leave the room anyway. Shut up about the stupid cereal, ok? Just shut up!"
Sam's chubby little features crumbled into his crying-face, and he began to wail. Dean felt like crying himself and climbed onto the nearby bed to bury his face in a pillow.
After a several minutes, the crying had finally stopped. Dean lifted his head. Sam's big blue eyes were staring back at him from the side of the bed. His face was still stained with tears. "Sorry," he said with a sniffle, between hiccup breaths. "Sorry, Dean." He put out his arms to be held.
Dean sat up and helped his brother scramble into the bed with him. He had been up since six but Dean knew Sam usually took a small nap around eight O'clock when he woke up that early. The clock on the nightstand said eight-thirty. He laid down again, already knowing his little brother would do the same.
"It's okay, Sammy," he said quietly . "I'm sorry I yelled at you."
Sam scooted in closer and sniffled again. Dean knew what always made Sam feel better. He cleared his throat and put an arm around his little brother. "You want a story, huh?"
Sam nodded that he did.
"'Kay. Once upon a time there was a little boy named Sam. Sam had a big bother named…"
"Dean," Sam said, blinking tiredly.
"Right. Dean. Sam and Dean lived on a big mountain top with their mom and dad. It was so high up nothing could find them. They had a big house, and a yard, and a dog, too."
"A dog," Sam repeated sleepily.
"Yeah, one of those big dogs with long, floppy ears. They 'd have campouts and make hotdogs and s'mores and stuff like that."
"Cocoa Puffs," Sam mumbled.
"And Coacoa Puffs," Dean agreed. "And one day Sam and Dean were in the woods and-"
"What's a mom?" Sam asked in the same sleepy voice and yawned.
Dean didn't speak for a moment. He hadn't realized he had mentioned his mother, and the question made him uncomfortable. He bit his lip and swallowed the bad taste that rose in his throat. The word "nothing" stood poised on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't say that. Not about his mother.
Sam had started to move restlessly. Even as his eyes began to close, he fought it . He never liked when Dean didn't answer his questions, Dean knew. And Dead didn't like that Sam always had so many of them.
Dean leaned to one side and raised his hip to put his left hand in the back pocket of his jeans. The small photo he removed was tattered and worn but the smiling face of a young blonde woman was still recognizable in it. "That's our mom," he said, his voice cracking just a little. Dean stared at the photo as if it were a broken dream crumbling between his two fingers. "Moms, they-they tuck you in at night. They make bacon and eggs for breakfast and make smiley faces with the bacon. They kiss your head when you're sick or when you're sad….mom's make everything all right." He stroked the corner if the picture with his thumb. "Moms are awesome."
Dean looked over and discovered Sam had fallen fast asleep. His little lips puckered and moved is if about to speak.
His eyes stayed a while longer on his little brother. Their mom had never tied Sam's shoes or walked him to the park to play, let him stay up late on his birthday and eat popcorn while watching tv. Sam didn't know her at all. Thinking about it, his stomach hurt the way it did when his dad would leave to go on a hunt. He hated to admit it, but Dean was starting to forget things about his mother, too. He couldn't quite remember her laugh now. But he still knew her smile. And what was it she used to read out of his storybooks? Something about a boy named Jack and a girl named Jill and water. Sometimes she would pretend to fall down, and then she would tickle him.
Moms were supposed to be there when you were scared- when your brother's crying because his stomach is hungry. They were supposed to make eggs with bacon smiley faces for breakfast.
Dean unwrapped Sam's little fingers from his shirt and slipped carefully out of the bed. He took the room key from the table next to the bed and made sure the door was locked behind him. He wouldn't be gone long. He just needed to get some Coacoa Puffs.