Maybe tomorrow will explain what yesterday meant – Garnet Rogers

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I needed to work on the car. Yeah, the car needed it - all the driving I'd been doing across the Dakotas looking for our escapee and she was due for an oil change. And even impending Apocalypse shouldn't interfere with good car maintenance. But I needed it too, just to have something to concentrate on, something to settle my nerves and make me feel normal again.

Or as normal as possible under the circumstances.

Sam was - absent. Oh, his body was here, buried under books and flying away from contact. But the force or energy or soul had been sucked right out of him. He'd lay down but not sleep, he'd eat but almost by rote. All the while he wore a pinched expression on his face like his thumb was caught in a vice and he couldn't figure out how to release it.

I'd been trying to talk to him, not even anything heavy, just - what was he reading, how was he feeling, did he want mustard or mayonnaise on his sandwich? Each time he looked at me like I was an apparition he could see but couldn't hear and then he'd go back to whatever book he had in his hands right then.

He'd respond if he was told to do something - come in the kitchen and eat, go upstairs and lay down, get clean clothes from the dryer and take a shower. He'd do anything he was told but asking him a question put his brain on lockdown and I needed to do something I knew I could accomplish successfully, and communicating with Sam wasn't it.

So – changing the oil it was.

I set out my tools and the oil and oil filter, got the creeper and slid under the car to crack the plug on the oil pan. I heard Bobby's back door open and close and a quick look out from under the car showed me Sam's boots on the steps. Before I could spend much time wondering where he was going, he stopped and apparently sat himself on the top step.

Something was up.

Well, given the success I'd been having for the past few days, I wasn't about to try talking to Sam. If he wanted to say something to me, he could say it. Otherwise, I was changing the oil.

I moved the drip pan into place and pulled the plug and the oil started draining. I pushed myself back out from under the car and gave Sam a look, but he wasn't looking at me, he was staring at his knees and picking at something on his shirt. He looked so tired and so - small. Sammy is so big sometimes he is just small and there are things I can't help remembering.

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Day four at Pastor Jim's, waiting for Dad to come back from hunting the shrigta that I nearly let kill Sam. Waiting for him to come back and tell me again what a screw up I was. And waiting for that was right up there with sitting in ER waiting rooms waiting for shots and stitches and non-oral painkillers.

Sam had been sleeping a lot since we got here, courtesy of the shrigta. He was listless and whiny enough to be driving me up a wall. A lot of walls. He wanted to sit with me, he wanted to sleep with me, he wanted me to take his naps with him, he wanted us to eat the same food, watch the same TV, basically live two lives in one skin.

I wanted to be so alone that I didn't know anybody else existed.

But nobody can go very long without knowing Sammy existed.

"Deeeean - are you mad at me?"

I was on one end of the couch, trying to read a comic book. Sam had started at the other end of the couch and gradually inched his way toward me until he was practically in my lap. I had our laundry going in Pastor Jim's basement so all Sam had on now was my red t-shirt that went down to his knees and his last pair of clean underwear.

"I'm not mad at you." I told him without taking my eyes off my comic book. I was mad at him, even though I knew it was my own fault. But there'd be no explaining that to him.

"But how come why you don't talk to me? You don't let me sleep with you when I get scared. And Pastor Jim made me eat squash and I don't like squash and you didn't tell him I didn't have to eat squash 'cause you never make me eat squash."

My guess was the squash was the worst part of his ordeal.

"You're tired Sam. Go take a nap."

"I'm not tired."

"You're tired. Saying you're not is always the first sign."

"DeeeEEEEaaannn..." He started another whine, then his face opened right up and he gasped enough to take all the air out of the room. "DADDY!!!!" He jumped off the couch and raced to the front door where I could hear the car rumbling to a stop. I thought about hiding under my bed, but nobody likes a coward, least of all Dad. So I followed Sam to the front door and stood out of the way while he launched himself at Dad's knees with a squeal he would deny for the rest of his life.

"Daddy!!!"

"Hey Sammy. How're you doing?" Dad swung him up onto his hip. Then he turned to me - and smiled. "Heya Dean."

"Hey Dad."

He reached out and pulled me close to his side and we were okay again.

Well, Dad and I were. Sammy wasn't.

"Daaaad, Pastor Jim made me eat squash and I don't like squash and Dean didn't tell him I don't hafta each squash and -."

"But you love squash." Dad told him. Sammy, being Sammy, even being six, stopped his rant long enough to consider whether Dad was telling the truth.

"Noooo I dooooooon't. Daaaaad. You're teeeeasing meeee."

Dad laughed and set Sammy back on the floor. I could see he was exhausted.

"Where's Pastor Jim?"

"In his library." I said. "You want something to eat Dad? I can make you a sandwich. I think there's German potato salad too. I can make you coffee."

"Thanks Tiger. That'll be great. I'm just gonna talk with Jim and I'll meet you in the kitchen. Okay?"

"Okay."

Sam tried to follow Dad but Dad pointed him to me and he stuck close by while I got Dad's food ready. We'd already eaten breakfast and it was too early for our lunch but I knew Dad never took time to eat when he was on his way back to us and I made him a full plate.

"Are you still mad at me?" Sam asked. He was kneeling on the backwards chair next to the table where I was working.

"I told you Sam. I'm not mad at you."

"You let Pastor Jim make me eat squash."

"And that means I'm mad at you?"

"You never make me eat squash."

I sighed. I had to. To live in a world where squash was the worst thing that could happen.

"I'm not mad at you Sammy."

"Then will you take a nap with me?"

"We'll see. Okay?"

"Okay."

And he rested his chin on the back of the chair and kept watching me.

Dad came out from Pastor Jim's study and into the kitchen. He spun the chair around and scooped Sam to sit in his lap while he ate his meal. He still looked all kinds of exhausted.

"You gonna lie down Dad?"

"Actually I was thinking maybe you'd help me changed the oil in the car?"

"Sure!" If Dad was asking my help on the car, we were really okay.

We went out to the car, Sammy padding along behind us on his chubby bare feet.

"Where's your pants?" Dad finally noticed.

"Dean's doin' lawn dreeee."

"Okay, then you stay inside while we work. Don't come outside with no pants and no shoes on."

"Okaaaay."

Dad and I went outside and Sammy plunked himself right down at the doorstop. Tell me that kid didn't have 'lawyer' in him from early on. Technically he wasn't outside, but he was as close to it as he could get. He watched us work, not saying anything, only changing position every now and then. On his stomach, head in his hands. Sitting up with the t-shirt pulled over his knees. Leaning against the door frame. Just sitting and watching us. Finally when the job was done and Dad slammed the hood shut, Sam jumped up.

"Are you all done?"

"All done kiddo." Dad told him. Sam jumped to his feet and ran out of the room. I hoped he hadn't been waiting for us to be done to go use the bathroom or something. I hadn't put his clothes in the dryer yet, he'd have nothing else to change into. But he was back in a second carrying a Nutty Buddy Ice Cream still in its wrapper.

"Sam – I didn't say you could have that." Dad told him. We were just walking through the doorway back into the house.

"It's for Dean."

"Where's yours?" We both knew Sam couldn't have eaten one in the time it took him to get to the kitchen and back again.

"It's the only one left."

"And you want ME to have it?"

Sam nodded so hard his shaggy hair bounced. He held the ice cream out to me.

"So you don't be mad at me anymore."

Like anybody could ever be mad at that face.

I looked at Dad and he just smiled and said he was going to wash up and see about getting lunch started for us. Sammy waited, holding that ice cream out to me, waiting for me to make his world okay again.

"C'mon, we can share." I walked us onto the porch and sat on the floor and Sam sat next to me. I peeled the paper wrapper off of the ice cream and held it out to Sam. "You take the first bite."

He did, then I did. Yeah, I took bigger bites than he did but I left most of the peanuts and chocolate on top for him. And after we'd worked our way down the cone, I let him have the tip that was solid with chocolate. Then he smiled at me like I was the best big brother in the whole world, with his face all covered with ice cream and melted chocolate. I took him into the kitchen and got a wet paper towel and washed his face and his hands.

"Thanks Dean."

"Yeah, whatever." I said but Sam giggled because he knew I wasn't as put out as I was trying to sound.

After lunch of hot dogs and 'Scabettios', after I put our dishes in the sink and Sam yawned a yawn so big I could see what he had for dinner last night, Dad said,

"Somebody's tired."

"I'm not tired." Sam insisted then turned to me. "Deeeean – you said you'd take a nap with me."

I did not say that, I said 'we'd see', but how could I refuse Sammy after he gave me the last ice cream cone in his whole world? Especially when he pressed himself against my leg and leaned his head back so far just to beam that smile up at me?

"Pleeeeeease."

"All right. C'mon."

He grabbed my hand and tugged me to the stairs and our bedroom on the second floor. I kicked off my sneakers and got in bed on top of the covers and Sam jumped in and snuggled his back up against my chest and pulled my arm around himself so that I was practically draped over him like a blanket.

All apparently was right in his world again.

Then he was out like a light and I wasn't too far behind him, and as I wavered on the edge, I heard Dad come in the room. He pulled a blanket over us, probably from the other bed, then I felt him put his hand on my head for a minute and I didn't look up at him because I didn't want that to end.

After that minute, I heard Dad's boots hit the floor and a quick peek showed him stretched out in the other bed.

My world was looking pretty good right then too.

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While the oil drained, hoping I could get somewhere with Sam, I got up from under the car and sat next to him on the top of the steps. Bobby said he didn't think I'd be able to get through to Sam like this. But he also said I'd have a hard time finding Sam that last time he took off with Ruby.

"Here." Sam reached behind himself and brought out a bottle of beer.

"Where's yours?"

"Bobby said – he said I should stick with water – until we see what the blood is gonna do – this time."

Ah Sammy. So desperate to do right he'd put his socks on upside down and backwards if we told him to. He needed to remember how good playing hooky could feel.

"Beer's good for you." I said and popped the top and offered it to him. "Here."

"But – Bobby said -."

"What Bobby doesn't know -." But I couldn't come up with a non-lethal scenario – " – he doesn't know. C'mon, take the first swig."

So he accepted the bottle and took a very reserved sip.

"Y'gotta drink more than that." I told him. He took a healthy swallow and handed it back.

"Thanks."

I took a swig and handed it back and we managed to finish it off pretty quickly.

"C'mon, give me a hand changing the oil. If we're not done by the time Bobby makes dinner, he might not let us eat."

"Sure."

It doesn't take long to change the oil in a car, but I made it stretch out as long as I could. Sam was with me, he was answering me when I talked to him, it was just a nice time between us.

When we were done and everything put away, I led the way to the kitchen and the kitchen sink. I washed up first and then Sam did and all the while Bobby was looking at me liked I'd parted the Red Sea just because he said I couldn't.

"So what's on for dinner?" I asked.

"It ain't ready yet. I'll let you know."

"Okay. We'll be in the library. C'mon Sam."

"Okay."

He followed me in and sat on the couch. He picked up the last book he'd been looking at but instead of opening it up, he rested his head on the back of the couch. I picked up a random book from a random pile and sat down next to him. It's an old couch with tired springs and the way they sagged canted Sam a little toward me. Our arms pressed together and after a minute a weight that I could tell was more than gravitational rested against me.

In not three minutes Sam was asleep by my side.

"Dinner's –." Bobby came in but stopped short. "Guess that's a moot point, hunh? You want me to bring you something in?"

"Not right now. I'm just gonna let him sleep for right now."

"Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks."

I looked at Sammy, with his head turned toward me, and his features finally relaxed in rest. How could I need anything else? My world was looking pretty good right then.

The end.