CHAPTER 1
After everything, it ended up being the Black Hills Oasis off of Highway 12 that threw Sam into an existential crisis. Here, where a herd of bronze-plated antelope and buffalo would forever graze the gravel plains beside the pink stucco toilet building, guarded by a sun-cracked mural of an Apache warrior atop his snarling steed.
To Sam, the rest stop's most memorable feature was the scrawl of graffiti in the first toilet stall: Eat a dick. Sam was six when he first asked Dean what it meant. Dean had snorted, delighted at knowing something the younger didn't. Still, faithful to his duty as wise older brother, he gestured to his groin and whispered back, "It's another word for penis, dummy." Sam held that thought in his head for a full five minutes - until they were back in the boiling interior of the Impala and Dad was peeling out onto the highway - gravel popping under the tires - and Sam leaned over the backseat between his father and brother and asked with wonder, "How can you eat a penis?"
The thing was, Sam had memories here. If a hundred no-tell motels and rest stops scattered across the country were his equivalent of a home, the Black Hills Oasis was as near of a backyard playground as he could imagine. Oh give me a home, where the buffalos roam… He was five when Dean was finally big enough to lift him up to ride on the back of the bronze buffalo. At eight, he could make it up on his own. At nine, he'd conquered the antelope. At ten, he'd tried for the horns of the elk and fallen off spectacularly, earning himself a swollen elbow that throbbed spectacularly after his father's rough inspection.
Later, in the car, John turned down the radio and shot a sideways glance at Dean. Dad's disapproving glances, however brief, were not easily forgotten. "You gotta quit babying him, Dean. You're making him soft. You're gonna get him killed one day."
In the backseat, Sam mouthed his silent protest: I'm not a baby!
But Dean didn't say a word other than "Yessir" which hurt Sam even more. He wanted his brother to defend him. More than that, he wanted his brother to defend himself. Instead, Dean held onto his silence for the remainder of the ride to the motel. In fact, the silence lingered even after John had departed for the hunt and Dean had reset the salt lines and thrown Sam's half-eaten Chef Boyardee into the kitchenette sink and then found a Rambo marathon on TV to fill the vacuum of sound.
Later that night, Sam was asleep in the bed farthest from the door when he felt the blankets stretch and his brother's weight tilting the thin mattress. He popped an eye open and saw John's monstrous silhouette in the bed closest to the door, heard his guttural snores grinding like a bad muffler. Then, Dean settled down and closed the space between them.
Sam decided it was now or never.
"Dean, are you mad at me?" he whispered into the back of his brother's head.
In response, Dean shot an elbow back, forcing Sam to retreat to the opposite edge of the narrow bed.
"Hey!" Sam yelped, dangerously loudly. They both froze as John sputtered.
Dean's anger took up more space on the bed than Sam could make room for. He felt goose pimples break out on his shoulders. The room was cold. The heat wasn't working. His brother's usual furnace of body heat was lost in the vastness of space between them.
John's distance was all he'd known since birth. Dean's was something new and it made him feel vulnerable and alone. Scared like a baby, Sam realized. Maybe this was just Dean's way of following orders and forcing him to be a man.
"Dean?" he tried again. "I'm sorry I got you in trouble, okay? Please don't be mad."
Dean remained silent. Sam curled his arms around himself and sought the hard edge of the mattress. One foot dangled out into the unwelcome air, but when the shivering came, it was more from worry than the cold.
He fell into a semi-sleep, unaware of the time passing until he felt the heavy weight of his brother's arm wrap over his shoulders and drag him back into the warmth. Instantly, his body stilled.
Before sleep rolled over him, Sam heard his brother's whispered voice return: "Relax bro. We're good."
