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How Could This Happen

I open my eyes.

I try to see but I'm blinded by the white light.

I can't remember how; I can't remember why.

I'm lyin' here tonight.

And I can't stand the pain; and I can't make it go away.

Dean

The motel room was dark and dreary-it was the kind of darkness that held the frightening power of scaring the five-year-old as he stared anxiously out the window of the place and out into the seedy parking lot where a few of the regulars from the bar across the street from them, were hanging around much too long for the child to feel remotely comfortable when he had his little one-year-old brother to consider. Biting his lip, a nervous habit he did when he was anxious, he went over to the wall behind the one door that led into the bedroom his brother was occupying.

Grabbing the gun that his father left for him to use in case something went wrong, he made sure it was loaded before he kept it behind him as he crept up behind the curtained window again. Taking a peek at the animal-shaped clock that hung on the wall above the microwave in the small eating nook that was in the motel room, he frowned when he realized that his father had been gone much too long; longer than he originally said he would be. It was a job only about an hour away from the motel room he was at now. The problem was he knew how often his father checked in on him when he was alone with Sam.

Pacing the length of the small space that was being afforded to him, he considered his options. He could call his father on the phone he always had with him. That seemed to be the most sensible option until something else happened. Reaching for the older-style phone that was on the side table near the sofa, he punched in the number. Putting the phone up to his ear, he could feel his heart beat anxiously when he heard nothing but the dull ringing tone in his ear that let him know his father would not answer.

Hanging up without even bothering to leave a message for his missing father, he looked around to see what else he could do that would help them. The food in the cupboards was long gone since earlier that morning when Sam insisted on trying the cereal his brother was having. Even though John did not normally allow Sam to eat cereal when he was still so young, he figured it would not hurt to give him that little treat. Watching as the last morsel of food disappeared into his brother's overly eager mouth, was difficult for him to take.

Sighing in frustration at what was happening (and even feeling a little bit of fear seep through his system), he walked over to the window to see if the people in the parking lot had gone. To his disappointment they were still there. It made him nervous when he had seen these kinds of people before, and knew what they were capable of under the best circumstances. Discreetly closing the blinds once he was certain of what he was facing once he saw one of the heavier set men on his phone, he walked into the room he shared with Sam.

Flattening himself under the bed to reach the duffel bag underneath, he quietly started packing up the things that they needed. All sorts of weapons and other protection had been left for him, and he knew enough to know that his dad would be mad if the police found the weapons. Carefully zipping the bag once he was done stuffing it to the brim with the things they needed, he considered his next move. Sam was still sleeping in the crib that was in the room next to the "big boy bed" he had to himself until John got back.

His one-year-old brother would be upset if he woke him too hastily. Remembering how cranky he could be when that happened, he stalled that until the last minute. His smart mind already working on overdrive, he went out into the other room and picked the phone up again. Putting in the number that he knew by heart, he waited for his father to answer this time. When that did not happen, he let the phone drop on the table once he heard the automated message come over the line and cheerfully instruct him to leave a message.

Shaking his head in confusion as to why his father was not answering when he would have if he could have, he walked back into the one bedroom. Sam was starting to wake up. No doubt the noise in the other portion of the room had alerted him. Giving his brother a smile when he saw Sam blink at him in sleepy curiosity, he lifted him from his crib and set him down on the bed while he did his best to make sure his brother was dressed appropriately for the cold weather of a late night.

Sam was not too hard to dress. It mostly depended on luck and his brother's willingness to pay attention to instruction. Slipping one arm through the hole in the jacket they had, he went through the same motions with the other hand. Finally succeeding in getting his brother dressed and ready to depart the motel when he knew these people would be calling the police to report them, he grabbed Sam in one arm and their things in the other arm.

Bidding the motel goodbye was a hard thing to do. It was his only protection against one of the "bad guys" finding them. Inhaling the cold air that was infused with the smoky scent of the cigarettes from the men who had been watching him earlier, he walked as fast as he could toward the lesser populated part of the town they were in. At five years of age, Dean was incredibly observant for someone his age and knew to pay attention to details that a child his age should have never stopped to consider.

Sam was starting to get upset in his arms. Undoubtedly he was wondering why they were moving so late at night, and why it was cold. Shushing him when he could hear him whimper and attract the attention of a few women who were walking past him, he flashed them a characteristic smile and kept on his way. If he was lucky, these people would not stop to think about what they saw. The women he saw who could have done something to hinder his progress, were teenagers. He figured they would probably forget what they saw.

It was scary to walk through the crowded streets and not know what was going to happen. Any of the cars that rushed past him in the bitter cold, could be someone who wanted to hurt them. Clutching his brother tighter against him when that terrifying thought raced through his mind, he wondered not for the first time where his father was. It was not like his daddy to ignore so many calls from him when he knew they were alone.

The flashing neon sign of a laundromat, gave him the salvation he needed. Sam was crying into his jacket, and his cries only seemed to be growing louder. Wishing that he knew to stay silent when he was trying to get someplace safe for the moment, he opened the door to the place and slipped inside. The one employee that was there so late at night, looked up at the people who came in. Giving him a smile that was meant to fool him into believing nothing was wrong, he walked toward their bathroom that was at the back of the tiled floor.

The bathroom was clear of any other people. It was something he was grateful for in that moment as he tried to calm Sam. It was not easy when his brother had a strong will at such an early age. Doing his best to soothe the situation, he set Sam down on the dirty counter. His arms were sore from carrying not only his brother, but their bag of things. Looking Sam over for any injuries that might have happened from his hurried race from the motel, he was happy to see nothing that raised the "Sam alarm" in his mind.

"Sam," Dean said, hugging his brother close against his damp clothes. "It's okay. It's okay, Sammy. You need to be quiet."

Sam appeared to show no sign he heard him. Pushing Sam against him, he hoped his touch would comfort him enough to make him forget why he was upset. Feeling tears spring to his eyes when the full reality of what they were facing hit him, he looked around for anything he could take that would help him. There was nothing in a laundromat bathroom that would help him, but he was not surprised either.

Sam looked at him with eyes that were wide with tears. In a big way, Dean could not blame him for his sadness. It was his automatic reaction to the horrible situation they were in. He wished they never had to leave the motel room, but he did not like the way those men were looking at him and he was not willing to let his brother become a victim to something that would be awful.

Shivering in the cold that was on his clothes from the light sprinkling rain that was outside, he looked through their things for some dry clothes for both of them. His hands were red from the cold and his teeth were chattering. Rubbing his hands together, he looked at Sam and saw he was faring better than he was. Glad for that one small mercy, he found dry clothes in his bag and quickly stripped himself of them and put dry ones on Sam, too.

His brother blabbed something to him that made him smile. Sam had been trying to recite his name for the longest time, but had been unable to. Ruffling his messy hair in his hand, he could feel himself tense when he heard someone speak to the employee outside. These people were the police, and he knew that. Panic was the first thought on his mind when he realized that he did not have a way to escape this time.

The police were good people, but he knew they would only separate him from possibly finding his father and ask questions he did not know how to answer. John coached him in what to say to people who asked questions, but he wondered if he could remember them when he was scared. Puffing out his chest in an obvious attempt to make himself feel braver than he really was, he heard the knock on the bathroom door before the officers invited themselves in.

"Hi, there," a woman in uniform said. "I'm Stacey. What's your name, hon?"

Dean looked at her critically; she appeared to be nice but he was not about to trust that based on appearances alone. His father had done a number on his small brain to convince him that he should never evertrust people who were not their friends. In a way, it made Dean feel sad that he could not trust someone who was clearly there to help him out.

Putting his arms around his brother in a protective stance, he saw the male officer look around the bathroom they were in before he saw the bag lying on the counter. Groaning when he knew how much trouble he would be in when the officer found the guns and knives tucked into the crevices in the bag, he turned back to the female officer and saw her tickle Sam's stomach, which made his brother laugh.

"Dean," Dean said softly.

"What are you doing here all by yourself? Are you alone?"

Every inclination he had was to lie. It was the default response he was trained to adapt when he was asked a direct question like that. Biting his lip, torn between what he knew he should do and something else he could not put a name to, he looked at the officer again. It was hard for him to keep his resolve about not trusting her when he could see a picture peeking out of her pocket that was of two children that looked like her.

"Yes, ma'am."

Dean had no clue what made him be honest with this person, but he knew it had to do with being too tired to work his exhausted mind into concocting a lie and then making her believe it. He did not miss it when the male officer found the contents inside of the bag, and pulled out the guns and knives one by one. It sent his heart nosediving into his stomach when he knew how much trouble they would be in.

John always took great pains to make sure their lives stayed "secret" as he told Dean one cold night when he was drunk and the five-year-old was tasked with stitching his injured shoulder. When Dean inquired where he got the nasty wound from, his father drunkenly informed him that the "demon" got the upper hand. The child was too young to know about the supernatural, but he could feel the fear go through him when he heard the word "demon" spoken by his father.

But that was nothing compared to the way his father flashed a smile at him and informed him in a voice that practically dripped with pride that his five-year-old was his "blunt little instrument" after Dean demonstrated his impressive ability to shoot the cans his father strategically lined up on the fence. Although he had no clue what the word meant and did not want to, he did not like the way it made him feel when his father said something like that.

"Where's your father?" Stacey asked kindly.

"Not here."

"I can see that. But where is he?"

That was where Dean faltered in answering her. How was he supposed to tell her that he was on a job? How was he supposed to let her know that he and his brother had been left alone in a dangerous part of town where anything could happen to them?

"He's working."

Dean could see the surprise on her face when she heard his answer. The other officer with her was bringing the guns out into the open. Staring at them with detached curiosity, he could see Stacey widen her eyes when she saw that sight. It did nothing to help their cause, and he knew that. It was bad enough he was being left alone with his brother, but what would the guns say to the police?

"There's about a dozen handguns in the bag," the male officer whispered to her. "His old man has a whole arsenal in there."

"Okay," Stacey said, nodding sadly as though she felt sorry for the two boys in her care. "We're going to take you-"

"Where?" Dean interjected.

There was no possible way he wanted to be taken anywhere he was not one hundred percent sure of first. All he had to do was take one look at Sam in his arms, and he knew that he would never allow something to happen to him. The sympathy on the officer's face was comforting to him when he was not accustomed to receiving any of that from his father, but it still scared him.

"To a safe place," she emphasized. "I believe your father has some emergency contacts inside of your bag?"

Sure enough when he looked closely enough, he could see her partner had found the slip of paper that held the names of the ones his father trusted with him and Sam. At the very least if he was forced to go along with what they wanted, he would be guaranteed the chance to see one of his father's few friends since his mom died. It was still precarious when he thought about how angry his father would be that he left the motel.

"Yes. Can you call Pastor Jim? Or Unko Bobby?"

Those two people and their friend Caleb, would be the ones he felt the most comfortable around. Looking at her face for her reaction to what he was requesting, he could see her nod her head in the affirmative. It made him feel better to know that people he knew, would be well on their way to helping him before too long. First he had to go along with them, and that was not easy for him to disregard the finely tuned instincts his father honed in him.

"Yes, honey."

Pulling back from Stacey when she reached forward to grab his brother from his arms, he gave her a look that told her if she tried anything like that again, she would be very sorry. Walking forward with them out of the bathroom and down the hall toward the main part of the laundromat, he could see the employee was once again calmly slapping his gum in his mouth as he listened to rock music that was blaring through his headphones.

The lighted police car was outside the front store. In another situation, Dean would have been fascinated with what was inside the car. Now he felt nothing but trepidation when he knew they were going someplace strange and scary to them. He could only hope that Jim, Bobby, or Caleb would be there to pick him up soon. It was the only chance he had at being promised the chance to rest and get out of the place in his mind that warned him of every possible danger in the area.

"Can Sammy stay with me?"

"Of course."