Best Kept Hidden
Chapter Five
Highway 90, Fill 'Er Up Gas, east of Sioux Falls
The black Chevy eased off the highway, carefully crunching over the gravel, and stopped under the faded striped canopy that covered the gas pumps. Dean stole a look at his sleeping brother; Sam had faded out about a hundred and fifty miles earlier, slumping and sprawling by degrees, until his lanky frame practically draped over the leather bench seat. Not a particularly comfortable way to catch a nap, but they both realized there was rarely a perfect night's sleep in store.
Dean rubbed his eyes wearily. They had driven straight through, except for one brief fuel stop in Center Point, Iowa, for about six hundred miles and about forty more would bring them into Sioux Falls. He needed to gas up his baby, fuel his own stomach and he desperately needed to pee. He leaned across the seat and thumped Sam across the chest lightly.
"Appletinis all around Francis... " Dean forced a brightness into his voice that he didn't really feel. No sense being all snappy and setting a tone for the rest of the night.
Sam startled awake, sniffed and wiped his hand across his mouth. Drool, great. He blinked blearily and asked in a mumble "Where are we?"
Dean popped the clasp on his seatbelt and peered into the darkness.
"Smack Middle of Jack Nowhere, looks like," he said, pushing the car door open and stepping out into the chilly air. He turned back and leaned into the open door. "Hafta, hafta take a leak, man. Seriously."
(Men's Room)
The too-small, grimy bulb cast a sickly grey shadow over the stained porcelain basin, once-yellow walls rubbed and scrubbed a dingy shade of tan. The floor... sticky didn't even begin to describe it.
Dean stood at the urinal, idly reading the graffiti that seemed to adorn every square inch of the cement wall. One or two entries made him laugh out loud; some were deep and thoughtful and oddly poignant in that particular setting; a couple were just plain disgusting.
Dean's eyes wandered across the wall, left to right, reading in order (a personal quirk, one he never cared to share with Sam). A flicker of movement on his right startled him, and he stumbled back a step.
God, just a reflection in the mirror, Dean sighed inwardly. He zipped, buckled and ambled over to the leaky basin to wash his hands. No soap in the dispenser... no surprise there. A hasty rinse in the vaguely brown tap water, then Dean snapped off a couple of paper towels from the plastic holder nailed to the wall.
As he dried his hands, his gaze drifted across the chipped mirror. And, just at that moment, time seemed to stand still as Dean read the message scratched into the cracked glass.
Howdy Dean-See you boys soon. Love, Daddy.
Seconds, minutes or hours later, Dean dropped the towel, hit the door, and broke into a dead run.
March 1995, Wasatch Mountains, Utah.
What started off to be a three day hunting expedition in Idaho stretched into a week, then two. Dad had been gone longer than that before, but Dean and Sam had never been so alone. The double-paned windows of the small log cabin showed an expanse of white nothingness... in every direction. Snow, trees, then more snowy trees. Sixteen year old Dean seemed to revel in the solitude, where Sam felt somehow trapped in the expanse.
On the fifth day of John Winchester's absence, Sam began his first journal.
"I'm not sure what to write but if I keep busy then Dean will leave me alone, probably. It snowed again today hahaha.. it snows every day. Dad has been gone since Monday, and this is Friday so duh, he's been gone for five days. Dean spends all day sharpening knives and cleaning the guns, like we have anything to cut or shoot.
I miss school a lot. I don't even mind being the new kid all the time; but it would be pretty cool to stay in one place long enough to have friends and go to their houses and eat dinner and hang out and watch TV. I wouldn't want them to come to my house even though I like Dean a lot and he's very cool but I don't tell him because he'll get all stuck-up... but I would hate for my friends to know what a weirdo my dad is. Honest to god, Dad's not just embarrassing; I think he's probably a lot more dangerous than anybody knows.
The truth is, Dad scares me. I started thinking one day, what if all this stuff he told me and Dean about demons and monsters and stuff just isn't true? What if it's just Dad being crazy? What if he killed Mom? What if he tries to kill us? Dean trusts Dad, no matter what. He would never even think that might be possible, but I do. In fact, it's sort of on my mind all the time. Every time I look at Dad I wonder, are you really my Dad? Are you some murderer just telling us so, and you killed my real mom and dad and stole me and Dean? But if he did, Bobby would know, and why would Bobby lie? There has to be something else behind it all, some true real reason that Dad treats Dean like he's stupid but looks at me like.. I dunno.. like he's waiting for me to start something. Like he's challenging me.
I guess I gotta go and help Dean make dinner. Maybe if Dad is gone long enough I can talk to Dean about this idea...
Hey, guess what? It's snowing again. Hahaha."