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There But For the Grace of God…
By Waywardgirl222
It’s a bright and crisp October morning in the middle of nowhere Texas. It’s the kind of morning that promises Spring in the morning, Summer by noon, Autumn come mid-afternoon and Winter at nightfall. This was the changing of the seasons and the weather in Texas couldn’t be any more unpredictable than this. It was the time you layered clothes like an onion with thin papery skin that you could peel off one by one if you grew hot and bothered.
Dean woke up in a rather pleasant mood and that in itself was very odd indeed because he tended to be a light and angry sleeper, like a bear, as well as a very grouchy morning person. He wasn’t born this way. No, he became this way after years of living a hunter’s lifestyle that had you working till the wee hours between midnight and the ‘witching hour of three. Then you’d have to unwind from the high of the hunt.
But, he wasn’t about to let anything or anyone dampen his spirits. He’d scored bigly at last night’s pool hustle. Some poor fuck college kid had been stupid enough to fall for his — “Me? Play pool? I, I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’ll try.” He scored $353.00 dollars and a nice Casio military watch to boot last night. Now he has enough money to do one of his most favorite pastimes. Now he has enough money to buy his Sammy a nice big proper breakfast full of warm goodness at the local diner, maybe he’ll even spring for a nice lunch and dinner. Who knows? The day is full of promise.
He sits up in his ‘Magic Fingers’ motel bed and rubs the sleep from his ridiculously gorgeous green eyes. He cards his fingers through his dirty blonde short cropped hair and looks towards his ginormous baby brother that’s laying in the next bed beside him. He chuckles because who thinks of his six foot five inch sibling as a ‘ginormous baby’ anyways? It’s like saying one of those oxymorons like ‘jumbo shrimp’, ‘old news’, ‘open secret’, or the proverbial ‘living dead.’ Dean could go on and on. He loves the irony of oxymorons. Sammy was undoubtedly impressed when on one particular road-trip, Dean won a round of ‘How many oxymorons can you say?’ He won a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon that night.
He rips the hideous blue floral bedspread and staticky blankets off his body, gets his weary ass outta bed. He gingerly tiptoes clad in only his faded black threadbare boxers and his equally faded Zeppelin t-shirt and goes into the bathroom to piss. He yawns as he turns the shower on and waits for the water to warm up. This is probably his favorite time of day. It’s probably the only private moment he’ll get all day.
You see, Dean and his brother, Sammy live in each other’s pockets. There’s hardly ever any great amount of distance between them when the average size of the ratty motel room’s they can afford is sometimes less than 30 square feet. So, Dean will take this small silver lining and relish it for what it is. He’ll pray that this motel has good water pressure and an adequate water heater. If he’s lucky, the shower will be invigorating or soothing, depending on his needs. It’s also the time for ‘little Dean’ to come out and play, release some sexual tension with visions of Busty Asian Beauties swirling in his head.
Twelve minutes later, Dean comes out fully refreshed smelling a little fruity. Yes, he used Sammy’s shower gel and shampoo—- herbal blossom something or other. Sam will undoubtedly be pissed, but whatever. He hasn’t felt this good in a long, long time. The last hunt was a simple, yet successful “Salt & Burn” of some poor sap that was scaring the local folk much more than harming them. Dean didn’t get his head bashed into a headstone like last time. There were no concussions, just a couple of scrapes and cuts… nothing serious. He turns the water off and grabs a scratchy towel off the wobbly towel rack and wraps it around his torso. He takes another one and wraps it like a turban around his head. He walks out the bathroom door where steam is escaping and enters the main bedroom. Sammy’s already awake and sitting on his bed.
“Good morning, Sunshine!” Dean blurts out.
Sam looks at his brother deadpan.
“What’s so good about it? I’ve got grave dirt under my nails and I’m pretty sure it’s in my hair, too.”
Dean just grins and winks at Sam.
“Aww, little Sammy’s got grave dirt in his locks. Nothing a shower won’t take care of, Goldenlocks. Go take a nice shower, dude. The pressure’s great and the water’s still warm. I didn’t hog it up this time. And, hurry up ‘cause I’m hungry and I’m buying so…”
Dean takes the towel off his wet spiky hair and snaps Sam on the shoulder with it.
“Ouch!”
“Suck it up, Sasquatch!”
Sam looks at his brother with trepidation. Dean always uses up all the hot water when he showers first. He’s rather hedonistic with his morning shower routine.
A little while later, Sammy comes out of the shower squeaky clean.
“You used my bath products again didn’t you? Now we smell the same.” Sam pouts.
“Yeppers, we is brothers no doubt about it.” Dean chuckles.
They pack up their gear into their respective duffel bags, check the room and leave.
Goodbye and good riddance “Spanish Rose Inn.” They’re just outside of San Antonio near Hondo because Dean had to gaze and experience Hondo’s Corn Maze. It’s only accessible in Autumn and it’s on his bucket list.
Now, he wants to visit the Alamo because it’s where Davy Crockett and his valiant men made their last stand before all hell broke loose. And who can forget James Bowie and his infamous fixed blade fighting knife named after him at the duel known as the ‘Sanbar Fight.’ That was the whole reason Dean favored the big ass knife in the first place. Never mind that Sam says it’ll be a disappointment because it’s surrounded by urban sprawl and countless tourist traps. Dean doesn’t care as long as the historical building is still left standing. He wants to spend a moment of silence soaking in the ambience that is history. He wants to smell the quarried limestone and hear it’s hallowed ghosts whisper in his ear.
Dean has them headed north on Old US Highway 90 by early morning after a quick, but utterly satisfying fried egg breakfast complete with hash browns and pancakes at a diner called Sammy’s in Castroville. The irony isn’t lost on the Winchester brothers, especially Dean. He takes a picture of Sammy under the giant neon sign.
There’s an old Hispanic man sitting at the far end of the parking lot. He’s had a rough night by the looks of it. Dean notices him through the camera lens on his phone. He heads over to the old man and gives him something. Sam notices. Dean walks back to the Impala and gets into the driver’s seat. Sammy follows, gets into the passenger’s seat.
“What’d you give that old man?” Sam asks.
Dean quickly looks at his brother and then starts the car.
“‘S nothing.” He says.
Sammy shakes his head.
“You gave him money didn’t you? You know he’ll probably end up pissing it away on booze don’t you, Dean?”
Dean flinches slightly.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Not my call, Sam.”
The moment is soon forgotten as they roll northwards into the San Antonio city limits. They continue driving towards the heart of the big city. It’s certainly bigger than when they last saw it. Loop 1604 wasn’t even there. There was only Loop 410. The Impala stops at a red light on the corner of East Houston Street and Avenue E.
Dean spots a homeless woman with a small sign. Her stringy hair is bleached blonde by the sun, her wrinkly skin is overly tanned by being out in the sun way too much. Her clothes are dirty. She probably smells bad and she looks much older than she probably is. He honks the horn. She wobbles over. He gives her something that’s folded up. She thanks him profusely.
“Thank you so much, mister!” She responds in a gravelly voice that’s probably smoked too many cigarettes.
“You’re most welcome, sweetheart.”
Dean grins and winks at her. He’s obviously made her day as she unfolds the currency.
The light changes and Dean drives away leaving her behind in the distance.
Sammy shakes his head again.
“You did it again, dude. She’s probably a crackhead. You’re wasting your money by giving it away. You don’t have to do that just ‘cause you won big last night.”
Dean smiles.
“Point being that it’s my money to waste, Sammy… not yours.”
Sam sighs.
“Whatever, dude.”
Dean keeps rolling.
They finally make it to the Alamo parking lot. The Alamo is indeed surrounded by urban sprawl. They’ll have to walk the rest of the way by foot. Dean pays the elderly parking attendant, gives him a little extra for a soda or maybe a beer later. It’ll be getting hot soon enough. It’s Texas for crying out loud. Dean breathes a sigh of relief. Luckily, Sam didn’t notice.
They begin their trek towards the Alamo. They pass tons of elementary school students, some in very neat uniforms on their way to various field trips. Most of them are heading in the same direction.
“Look at all these lucky kids on their way to see a slice of history!” Dean beams.
Sam sighs.
“Yeah, lucky them. We never got a chance to go on field trips. Dad would always pull us out of school right before the big day, never wanted to pay for the field trips. Cheap bastard.”
Dean nods his head.
“Yeah. I remember. Did get to go to one in preschool, though. We went to a dairy farm that had it’s own ice creamery. Mom was still…”
Dean’s words simply stopped after that memory, too painful to remember.
Neither one said much after that. They simply followed the crowd towards the limestone structure.
When they finally arrived, they were ushered in by the Daughter’s of the Republic of Texas, caretakers of the Alamo. They reminded everyone to be respectfully quiet. Men died here. Dean bowed his head and said a silent prayer. They were led to see various rooms filled with historical artifacts. Dean and Sammy got to see the Shrine, the Gardens, and the diorama in the gift shop. Dean couldn’t resist buying another Bowie knife. They got to see the beautiful bronze statues depicting the fallen warriors. The statues conveyed the heroism, humanity, and sacrifice of those great men. Dean stood in awe just looking at them.
After the tour was over, they decided to have lunch at a nearby cafe. They ate outside because the weather was beautiful despite the flocks of pigeons begging for scraps of food. A homeless couple and their baby stood outside the cafe begging for donations. Dean looked sheepishly at Sam before he handed over a wad of bills to the young couple. Sam rolled his eyes.
They ate lunch in relative silence until Sam couldn’t take it anymore.
“Why?”
Dean had his mouth full of pastrami, kept chewing, talked with his mouth full.
“Why what?”
Sam huffed.
“Why’d you do that again?”
Dean stopped chewing. He didn’t reply until he chose his words well.
“You really don’t remember do you?”
Sammy shook his head. No, he doesn’t know what Dean’s talking about.
Dean puts his pastrami sandwich down, wipes his hands on his jeans and takes a sip of his iced tea.
“That weekend when dad left us in that rat infested skeevy motel in Cheyenne, Wyoming?”
Sam squints his slanted hazel eyes trying to remember.
“No. Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell.”
Dean continues.
“You were like four, maybe five… I was around eight or nine. Anyways, dad left us alone for the first time ‘cause Pastor Jim was at some kind of religious conference and Uncle Bobby was on a hunt of his own. Dad was on a Rougarou hunt that lasted a lot longer than he had anticipated. The motel room was paid up until Monday, but we ran out of food money by that Friday. It was colder than a witch’s tit, that I remember. I put your little blue jacket on, the one with the matching knit hat and mittens. I put my wool pea coat, didn’t have a hat or mittens… doesn’t matter. You and me walked over to a diner about two blocks away. We, we stood outside that diner hoping someone would give us money to buy food. Some folks did have pity on us, gave us money. One elderly couple gave us a twenty dollar bill. I cried, Sam. We finally had to split ‘cause the owner caught on and called the cops on us. We ended up doing the same thing on Saturday and Sunday just at different places.”
Sammy sat there with his mouth open.
“Geez, how can I have blocked that out?”
Dean shrugs.
“Sometimes people just don’t want to remember. But, but it happened… more than once I might add, especially when dad was on a bender. He’d forget a lot if he was on a bender. We did it here and there. Later on, when you were a little older, I would do it by myself… was too young to hustle pool or play cards. I used to lay down the salt lines on the windows and the doors, told you to lockup after me. We had a secret knock for when I came back. I was always able to scrounge up money for you to eat, Sammy. May I remind you that you ate like a horse, Sammy… a freaking horse. That’s why I do what I do… because I remember.”
Sam looked gobsmacked.
“I, I don’t know what to say. I feel like an ass.”
Dean eats a chip, savoring it’s flavor.
“These people… sometimes they don’t ask for what they get. Life throws them a curveball and they end up on the streets. It’s not for us to question the why. It’s only our job to make this life a little better for them no matter what they end up spending the money on. I know we ain’t got much, but there’ll always be someone with a hell of a lot less. Don’t ever judge someone, Sammy, until you’ve walked in their shoes. ‘Cause there but for the Grace of…”
Dean choked up a little, wiped a lone tear from his cheek. He remembers far more than what he’s willing to tell Sam. He remembers all the nefarious and sometimes illegal things he did just so he could put food on the table. That was John Winchester’s job, but their father always fell short. He had dropped that ball long ago, dropped it in Dean’s lap, so Dean ran with it. Dean made sure that Sammy never wanted for anything. Dean provided for Sammy even though he sometimes didn’t provide for himself. That didn’t seem to matter in the great scheme of things… “Look after your little brother, boy!”
They finished their lunch. Dean paid for it as promised. He also promised Sam a big steak dinner with a baked potato at the Little Red Barn on Hackberry later that evening. He still had a lot of things that he wanted to see and do in the Alamo City. He hadn’t made that big of a dent on his hustling money. He even gave the waitress a generous tip. Sam didn’t say anything.
They exited the little cafe quickly. The young couple, with the now crying baby, was still standing on the corner with their cardboard sign asking for money. Dean nodded to them, passed them by wishing them a good afternoon as he walked back to the parking lot.
Sam stopped briefly opening his wallet and pulled out a twenty. He folded it quickly and stuffed it in the young man’s hand. Dean had turned briefly to catch the encounter. Sam didn’t see Dean watching, didn’t wait for the young man to thank him. He actually ran to catch up with Dean instead. He didn’t want to be thanked. He didn’t perform some miraculous deed. It was just something that needed to be done. From now on he was going to be more mindful of those less fortunate than himself and Dean because there but for the Grace of God go the Winchester brothers had it not been for the generosity of others.
Sammy finally caught up with Dean in the parking lot. Dean knew what Sammy did, but he wasn’t about to say anything. All Dean had to do was to look into his brother’s beautiful hazel eyes to know that Sam Winchester had indeed finally remembered what happened all those years ago.
Growing up in a Hunter’s world wasn’t kind or easy, but it taught you the important things in life. The Winchester brothers didn’t go to regular schools like you or I. They learned their lessons in the “School of Hard Knocks” where there is no try, no second chance. You do or die. Dean had learned those lessons well and Sam… well, Sam remembers now.
The End