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Dean avoided the daggers glancing at him from the rearview mirror.
Nevertheless, his father’s stern tone rang through the cabin, “Asking for treats, have you done anything to earn those? No. I’m going to tell you now because you are- you have to understand this at some point. The world doesn’t reward you for anything. You do what you need to survive and that’s it.”
To Dean’s side, his younger brother Sam sniffles, his head is lowered, and for a five year kid, he is completely silent.
Dean’s father doesn’t seem to notice Sam, but continues to glance up from the road at Dean, “Am I understood?”
Trying to avoid escalating the situation, Dean nods, “Understood.”
~.~.~
When they got back to their motel, Dean helped his father carry the 4 grocery bags to their room, stocking up the mini-fridge with beer and a quart of 2% milk. The rest was tossed on the crummy desk where his dad’s collection of newspapers and police files were scattered.
His father, John Winchester, was on a case. Not like the ones in crime TV shows or investigations like the police stations did. He hunted the supernatural. Monsters, all real, all dangerous. Though, he never let Dean come with him, let alone Sam.
“I have to go into town to speak with some witnesses. No, you cannot go-“ John held his hand out as Dean was about to speak, but quickly shut his mouth before his father could turn to look at him, “I need you to take care of Sammy tonight. I will only be gone an hour,” John puts his arm through his worn coat, grabbing the remote to the small television and handing it to Sam, “Just watch cartoons till I get back.”
Dean knew what was coming next, stepping to the other side of the room away from Sam, who was already huddled on the sunken-in couch watching old Scooby-Doo reruns.
John pocketed his car keys and walked over, standing dauntingly over Dean. He lowered his voice so Sam couldn’t hear, but his gruff tone still rumbled through the floor, “You know the rules: No leaving the motel room, no snooping through anything on the desk, no stashing money, no answering the phone. If anything happens I will find out,” John clenched his jaw, reidriting once more, “I will find out.” He turned to the door, opening it before looking back at Dean, “9 o’clock. Keep Sammy occupied.”
As the whirring sound of John’s Impala faded from Dean’s ears, he sat next to Sam on the couch, watching the cartoon inattentively. They sat in silence, aside from the occasional giggle when something funny happened on screen, until Sam’s stomach growled loudly.
“Dean, I’m hungry,” Sam whined, crossing arms to his chest, “I wanted Rice Krispies.”
Dean sighed and scooted closer to him, patting Sam’s back gently, “How about I make you some cereal?”
Sam thrashed and turned away from Dean, curling tighter into himself, “No! I want Rice Krispies. Why does dad never let us have candy?”
Sam starts to sniffle, and that makes Dean go into “emergency-avoid-tantrum” mode, quickly stating, “I’ll go get us some.”
Sam uncoils immediately, smiling a toothy grin, “Really?”
The weight of his words crashed onto Dean’s shoulders, realizing what he had done, he purses his lips in resignation. “Yes, but you have to promise to do as I say ok? You have to stay in the motel, don’t unlock it or open it for anyone. Keep the curtains closed, and stay out of sight. If it’s close to nine and I’m still not back, turn on the shower so that dad thinks I’m here. Got that?”
Dean could see Sam’s head spinning with all the information he had just spewed at him, but after a couple of moments, Sam nods.
Dean gave a questioning look, “What do you say?”
Sam’s eyes dimmed a little, and muttered, “Understood.”
Noticing the change in attitude, Dean ruffled Sam’s hair, “Good job Sammy.”
Dean started staking out his plan as he got up from the couch, grabbing his hoodie and flipping it inside out, revealing a secret pocket he had made to stash things his father didn’t want him to have. He had around twenty dollars, counting thoroughly to double-check before sliding it back into its pocket, turning the hoodie over, and putting it on. Dean took one of John’s baseball caps from the duffel bag he kept beside his bed.
With one hand on the doorknob, Dean turns to Sam, “You remember the secret door code right?” He mimics the code, tapping once, then pausing, tapping thrice, then pausing before adding two final knocks.
Sam nods, becoming more enthusiastic than he was earlier, “I got it, Thank you Dean!”
Dean smiles softly, reminding him to lock the door behind him before leaving.
Now that Dean was out of the motel room, the stakes of his mission settled in. John couldn’t find out he left Sam. God knows what he would do with Dean, the thought of it made Dean shake. He pushed forward anyway, making quick out of the line of motel rooms, and closer to the corner of the street. He made sure that the front windows of the lobby couldn’t see him, as he didn’t want the clerk to have a chance to blow his cover. Dean surveyed his surroundings, trying to find a convenience store close enough to where it wouldn’t take too long to get back to the motel; he was running out of time quickly.
Lucky for Dean, a small corner store was a couple of blocks ahead of him, dingy and a little sketchy, but the bright neon sign he could see from miles away confirmed that it was open. Dean pressed ahead, crossing the street from the motel to jog down the sidewalk, keeping his head down as much as possible so those passing didn’t see his face.
Dean wasn’t the type to pray. After seeing his mother die the way that she did, seeing just how unremorseful the world can be, why should he beg God to keep him safe? He didn’t keep him safe then, why would that change now?
Thinking about praying and God made the walk shorter than Dean thought it would take, possibly because he stomped his way to the door of the corner store. Dean huffed, taking a deep breath before he walked inside.
The lighting was a grim yellow, the brr of the freezers overlapping with the whir of the air conditioner made the place sound like a tornado had permanently settled between the alcohol and the candy isles. Dean passed the attendant that stood behind the counter, an old, crotchety-looking man with no hair, but a thick beard coating his jaw and lips. Making a beeline for the candy, Dean managed to find the single packs of Rice Krispies without a problem, but now he had pay, and fast. Dean looked at the wall above the old man, where a shoddy alarm clock sat on top of the cabinet of cigarettes. It had taken twenty minutes just to get to the store. That left another 40 to pay, get back to the motel, eat the treats with Sam, and throw away the wrapper.
“You buying your folks cigarettes?”
The croaky southern voice that almost echoed through the room made Dean jump, but he realized it was just coming from the bald man at the counter. “Uh, no sir, just these.” He made his way to the counter, setting the two blue packs down and shuffling to get his money out of the secret pocket of his hoodie.
The man, the name tag clipped to his suspenders now identified him as Clark, grunted in acknowledgment and tapped a rusty cash register before extending his hand. Dean rushed to give Clark a ten-dollar bill, anxiously checking the alarm clock above him as the digits increased.
“Folks outside? It’s awfully late to be out here you know,” Clark said as he slowly counted Dean’s change. The pace was grueling, and Dean was close to telling Clark to have the change, but he knew he had to keep it for another mission like this. Though if this went wrong, if John were to find out, there might not be a next time.
“Eighty-seven cents is your change,” Clark dropped the change into Dean’s cupped hands, and from under the enormous beard, Dean could see a smile. “Stay safe kid.”
Dean nodded silently and walked out of the store calmly with his bag of goodies. As soon as he left, Dean started running back down the sidewalk. Colors blurred under his baseball cap, trees and people zooming by as he dashed the couple blocks he took originally from the motel.
He had made it, but now was the final stretch of the mission. Dean hunched over in front of the motel door, face red and palms sweaty, giving himself a moment to breathe before knocking the secret knock.
One knock, pause. Three knocks, pause. Two knocks.
Dean heard scuffling from inside, and after a moment the lock clicked, and Sam was giddy with glee. “Dean, you did it! You got the Rice Krispies!”
Closing the door firmly, locking it once more, Dean hushed Sam, “Quiet! What if dad comes back early? We don’t want the whole motel knowing I was gone.”
Sam frowned as Dean tucked John’s baseball cap back in his duffel bag, and stashed the change he had gotten from the corner store back into the pocket of his hoodie. It was up until then that Dean hadn’t seen a clock, but the clock beside his father’s nightstand blinked unwaveringly. 9:55. Dad would be back any minute.
Dean wracked his brain for a plan, how was he gonna hide a whole shopping bag? How could he keep Sam from accidentally spilling the truth? He flung his hoodie off of himself, tucking the shopping back inside the torso of the hoodie and folding it up neatly. Dean walked out of the bedroom, pacing with the bundle as he thought of where to put it.
Sam waddled with Dean, raising his hands above his head in an attempt to grab the bundle, “Deanie, I want it! Give it!”
“Sammy not now, Dad’s gonna be home any minute. Go sit on the couch,” Dean said through gritted teeth. When Sam didn’t listen, the panic Dean felt boiled over, “Go Sam!”
The command stopped Sam in his tracks, tears welling up in his eyes as he marched to the couch, Scooby-Doo still playing on the TV.
Dean clenched his jaw, scolding himself for letting him get angry at Sam. He didn’t want to be like John, but he had to, otherwise, sam would get treated something worse by his father.
Dean settled on hiding the hoodie in one of the drawers in the TV stand, as far as he could remember his father never touched those since they were only in town for a couple of days at most.
When Dean collapsed on the couch next to Sam, the door jiggled with the sounds of keys; Dad was home.
“Hey boys,” John said while he took off his coat, “Dean I need you to cook dinner tonight, I’m gonna take the night to try and piece together the case.”
From what Dean could observe, his father clearly learned something big while he was out. By the fact that John grabbed a beer before swiping his journal off his desk and leaving for his bedroom, it must have been pretty bad.
When he left, Sam nudged Dean lightly, eyes pleading at him.
Dean double-checks to see that his father was out of earshot before he whispered, “When he goes to bed, we can have them. We have to be quiet though.”
Sam nodded reluctantly, facing the TV again with a defeated look on his face.
While watching the rest of the Scooby-Doo marathon, Dean’s mind sat vacant, too busy trying to process what had happened in the last hour. He made it. No monsters, no danger, no big bad evil snatching him up at a moment's notice. Most of all, no dad. It confused him because things didn’t go wrong, so why was his dad so hellbent on keeping them locked up in the motel. ‘After tonight,’ Dean thought, ‘things were gonna change.’
John passed out in his bed a little more than an hour later, Dean checking on him to see the empty beer can discarded along with John’s journal next to his sleeping father. Tip-toeing his way to the kitchen, he ushered Sam over to the TV stand, pulling out the hoodie as quietly as possible.
The one thing Dean didn’t think about was just how loud the wrappers were going to be. As Dean unfolded the hoodie and took out the treats, Dean cussed under his breath. Carefully, he peeled the sides of both Rice Krispies, trying his level best to keep the noise down as much as possible. Sam practically vibrated next to him, and it took Dean even longer to open the treats because of his brother reaching over to grab his share prematurely.
At long last, they finally could eat in peace. No fear, just Dean and Sam, enjoying their hard-earned treats in comfortable silence.