Best Kept Hidden
Chapter 3
Happy Camper Motel, Centralia Illinois, 8:23 a.m.:
Sunlight crept through the broken slats of the window blinds, playing shards of light across the cluttered room. Damp, muddy clothing was piled in a heap by the door, a backpack slung carelessly on the floor beside it. An old army duffel sat at the end of one bed, it's contents spilling out into a heap on the dingy grey carpeting.
The bathroom door creaked open slowly, then the rusting hinges emitted a loud squeal.
"Damn it!" Dean Winchester swore. He was trying his best to be quiet, attempting to let his brother sleep in. They rarely had the opportunity to catch a few extra hours rest, but Sammy seemed so, well... devastated by last night's hunt gone wrong. Dean figured it'd do the kid good to be lazy for once. Dad had sure never encouraged it; when they were younger, John Winchester made sure his boys saw the sun rise every day. Outta bed, boys, we're burnin' daylight... The habit had been instilled in Dean since before he learned to read, but Sammy, well.. Sammy just wasn't cut out to play junior Marine at five a.m.
Dean stepped carefully over a discarded potato chip bag and Sam's empty laptop case and peered at his sleeping brother. Hard to tell in the half-light but it looked like Sam was sporting a mean shiner and a nasty bruise across his left cheek. Play that up, little brother, Dean thought, pathetic always gets free pie at the diner. Sympathetic motherly waitresses were an easy mark for his brother's puppy-dog eyes; hurt puppy, well, that was just bonus points.
Kitty's Truck Stop, Cape Girardeau, Missouri June 1990
Seven year old Sammy was already asleep in the bed he and his big brother Dean shared when the motel phone jangled. Dad had been dozing, still clad in jeans and t-shirt, for a couple of hours. He sprang up, instantly alert and sounding pretty damned sober, considering. Dean held his breath and listened to the quick, whispered conversation. After four or five minutes, Dad hung up the phone and crossed the few steps to the boys' bed.
"Dean?" he said sharply and Dean instantly sat bolt upright, leaning slightly away from his father.
"Yes sir?" he asked in a small voice. Best answer quick. Something big was up, Dean knew, but he didn't know what. Dad had been out of sorts, really touchy, more so than usual. The slightest thing would set him off into a rage, then it was up to Dean to keep the peace. Or not.
John Winchester drew a hand slowly across his ragged beard, feeling the stubble tug at his fingers.
"Gotta help out a friend, son. Gonna be in Indiana for a few days. I need you to stay here and look after Sammy." John turned, grabbed his duffel bag off the floor and threw in on his bed. He stuffed a handful of items from the nightstand into the bag and zipped it, then dragged on his old leather jacket. He turned back to his older son.
"No screwing around, Dean. I mean it." John pointed a stern figure at Dean and Dean flinched slightly, then nodded his head.
John dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out some cash.
"That ought to be plenty," John dropped a fistful of crumpled bills and change in an ashtray on the dresser, mumbled "Watch your brother," and left without a goodbye.
The motel room door squeaked and then slammed, and Dean heard the key turn in the lock. He sat, unmoving, until he heard Dad's car engine crank and the Chevy wheeling out of the parking place. Then he relaxed, sank back onto his pillow and fell immediately asleep.
A few hours later, Dean picked his way across mud puddles and cracked asphalt in the rutted parking lot of The Truckers Inn, leading his little brother by the hand. Heavy rains had come after midnight, drowning out the sound of the big rigs motoring in and out of the adjoining truck stop. The dark skies still threatened, and Dean figured they should grab food before the downpour started again.
"Ooh Dean, look!" Sammy pointed with his free hand at the puddles. "It's got rainbows in the water!" Iridescent slicks of oil mixed with the rainwater, making a shimmery prism. It would have been pretty, Dean thought, if he hadn't been distracted by the cast on Sammy's left wrist.
"I hurted it jumping on my bed," Sammy had piped up in the ER last week. "I was being Robin and Dean was being Batman." John had gently scolded his sons for the benefit of the nurses, who plied Sammy with ice cream and stickers. No one on the hospital staff would ever have dreamed that this wide-eyed adorable seven year old and his well-behaved big brother could lie so smoothly.
Dean shook his head at the thought.
"Come on, dude," he said, gently tugging Sammy along. "Pancakes sound good?"
Kitty's Truck Stop waitresses were equally charmed by both Winchester boys; Sammy repeated his Batman and Robin story, mostly because, by now, he thought it was true.
Dean had told him what to say before they headed to the hospital, Sam sniffling and cradling his broken wrist as they both sat in the big backseat of Dad's Chevy. It had been a couple of hours since Dad, a few drinks into a restless evening, had grabbed Sammy by the hand and jerked it upward. Dean remembered in a blur, running to the ice machine, wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve as he ran, trying hard to stop crying before he got back to the room so Dad wouldn't get any angrier. "Wrestling around on the bed, I told 'em somebody was gonna get hurt, boys will be boys, right? Ha ha."
The boys sat in a red leatherette booth, surrounded by remains of breakfast. One of the older waitresses, a red-haired fireplug called Judy, brought over a brown paper bag.
"Here ya go, darlin," she said, plunking the bag down in front of Sammy. She shot a high-beam smile at Dean, who smiled right back , despite the split lip Dad had given him after dinner last night. Then she turned to Sammy. "Now, don't be throwin' no more Matchbox cars at your brother, okay?" Sammy nodded enthusiastically while he shoveled the last huge bite of Dean's pancakes in his mouth. The kid had a hollow leg, Uncle Bobby liked to say.
"There's three pieces of pie in that bag, sweetie," Judy told Dean. "On the house. You boys make sure and save some for Daddy when he gets home from work tonight, okay?" She sauntered off, flashing the nicotine-stained grin one more time.
Dean carefully counted out money for the bill, and some extra (months and months ago, Uncle Bobby told him all about tips, and why hard-working people needed them), then he gathered up the paper bag and Sammy and headed out the door. Sammy ran ahead, jumping in the rainbow-puddles, shouting "I'm Robin! Yay!" Dean walked a few paces behind his brother, watching for trucks and traffic.
Ah, the hell with it, Dean thought, then broke into a run. He galloped up behind Sammy and shouted "Come on, Robin! Let's go fight the Joker!" Sammy squealed in delight and they two brothers raced in dizzying circles around the Trucker Inn parking lot, splashing through the puddles.