Chapter Three
3.)Chapter Three
The house is bigger than it looks. From the doorway, Dean can spot the open living room. To his immediate left, he spots the stair case leading upstairs. Along side it, the living room features a couch, toys and a television which is currently playing My Little Pony. Dean cringes. Caroline, he remembers, must be one of those girly girls that adore everything princess-y. He claps his brother on the shoulder.
“Looks like you’ll be right at home, princess.” He teases. Sam shrugs him off, fixing Dean with a look that he returns with an unapologetic grin. Sam looks like he wants to say something, but before he can a man comes through the door gripping a roller in one hand a and a small child held in the other. Dean lifts an eyebrow at the man - Roger, he assumes.
Roger looks at them for a moment, and Dean can see the expression clearly through the clean shaven chin. They lock eyes for a moment, and Roger is the first to look away though he covers it by fixing a look at his wife. From the way his jaw clenches, Dean wonders if maybe he and Sammy should get out of the way.
“I thought they were coming tomorrow?”
“They came early.”
It’s an old argument. Dean can read the unspoken words like they’re a second language. He fights a sigh, carefully grasping Sam by the arm. If Roger doesn’t want them there that isn’t their problem and they don’t need to hear about it. He pulls his younger brother up the stairs. “Come on Sammy, I bet I can guess which room is ours.”
They leave the adults seething at each other.
The first one is large. It has a huge bed with one side unmade and things clustered all over the floor. It reminds Dean of a motel room, with the photograph face down at the bedside table. He knows his father kept a picture of them beneath his pillow. Sometimes, Dean wakes up early enough to find his father staring at it for hours.
The second bedroom is obviously Caroline’s. It is a soft blue with pink littered all over the room. Toys are scattered on the floor - most of them Barbie’s and plastic horses. Dean wrinkles his nose and immediately drags Sam into the third room. It’s like the first, but neater. Sam is behind him, blinking at the bland brown-black-and-white tones that dull the area.
“There’s only one bed.” Sam observes.
“She told us we’d be sharing a room. Not like we haven’t before, Sammy.” Dean muses, venturing further into the room so he can jump on the bed. It’s soft and warm, like someone had slept in it before. Dean doesn’t question it, but Sam picks up a shirt that’d been shoved under the bed.
“Are parents supposed to be sleeping in different rooms?” Sam wonders aloud and Dean does sigh this time, reaching to pull his brother onto the bed next to him.
“Who says it's his?” Dean ignores the slap at his side, grinning as he pulls Sam into a headlock. Sam squeaks indignantly, and Dean has to laugh.
“Okay, okay, I give!” Sam exclaims. Dean promptly releases the nine year old.
“Don’t think about it, okay? This place is weird enough as it is.”
Sam doesn’t say anything, but Dean doesn’t bother looking. He’s had enough of fixing other people’s problems. The fact that they probably just fueled the fire doesn’t bother him. That's what Dean tells himself as he pulls the CD player out of the duffel bag.
They pass out on the bed within minutes. If they were at a hotel, Dean would have found the clicker and cartoons. This was a house though, with screaming matches and slammed doors and shirts that don’t belong. Sam is wearing his headphones. Sleep is hard to come by when people are fighting about you, and while Dean can ignore it, Sam gets this puppy-dog look in his eyes when he listens to it for too long.
That is why, with his arm over his forehead, Dean is humming to Smoke on the Water as he taps the rhythm on his leg. He concentrates on remembering the lyrics, bobbing his head every so often as the mood strikes him. Sam may have his headphones, but he doesn’t need them to know great music.
The house sounds empty. Food cooks a flight down, but Dean isn’t about to go into a strangers kitchen and beg. He isn’t stupid. A tap on his shoulder brings Dean out from his thoughts. He blinks at the intrusion and peers over at his brother.
“What?”
“Battery’s dead.” Sam says, tugging the headphone off his ears.
“Again?” Dean swears, running a hand through his hair as he snatches the CD player from Sam’s lap. He is too rough in his pull, and the headphones clatter on the bed but Dean doesn’t pay attention as he sits up to investigate.
Sam is sitting up now, with him and watches as Dean flips the device around so he can get into the battery holder. “Didn’t you get new ones when we got here?”
“Yeah,” Dean says, not looking up as he pulls them out. “Must be shot.”
“Maybe its’ the weather.”
Sam shrugs. “Can you get new ones? I liked that song.”
Dean shook his head. “You hate my music.” He says, finally sparing a glance for his brother.
Sam shrugs. “Headbanger isn’t, you know...” He agrees, “but I still like the song.”
Dean rolls his eyes and reaches for the duffle bag. He got a whole pack somewhere, but the package is nowhere to be found. He sighs.
“Must’ve left them in the car.” He tells Sam, “I’ll go get some.”
“You sure Liz will be okay with that?”
Dean rolls his eyes. “So what if she’s not? She isn’t here anyway.”
“Then whose cooking?”
“Roger.”
Sam shifts at the name. “I don’t think he likes us.” He admits and Dean rolls his eyes.
“So? We don’t have to like him either.” Dean grabs a wallet from the duffle bag and shoves it into his pocket as he pushes the duffle bag to the edge of the bed. “I’m going to the gas station.” He tells Sam, before the boy can protest. “Stay in the room till’ I get back, okay?”
Sam blinks at him but he gives a slow nod. This part of the routine is familiar and Dean reaches over to mess up Sam’s hair. “Want anything?”
“No.”
“Okay then.” Dean gets out of the bed, patting the pocket where the wallet is and heads down the stairs.
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