Title: Lost and Found
Fandom: Supernatural
Summary: Sam decides it’ll be funny to hide from Dean in a Toy Store. Wee!Chester fic. The first one I’ve ever written *wibble*
Disclaimer: They belong to Kripke, I'm just playing. =)
Authors Notes: Completely and utterly for angelustatt. Because Thursday is her birthday and I happen to love her very much. =)


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When Sam was little - really little, smaller than Dean, for those few years he actually was - he kind of got lost.

He remembers it that way 'cause that's what Dean told Dad when he eventually caught up to them in the aisles of that stupid toy store, his face like thunder, even though it was totally Sam who'd slipped away and almost given a 10 year old Dean a heart attack.

“Sam! Sammy! Where the hell are you?! Come out, dude, this ain’t funny!”

He’d sniggered behind the door of the cubby house he’d hid in and when Dean pulled him out a second later, leaving finger marks on the top of his arm ‘cause he’d pulled way too hard, Sam had pouted.

“’Was only playing, Dean,” he poked out his tongue, wondering why his brother had to be so rough sometimes. And mean. Mean Dean.

“We have two rules, Sammy,” said Dean, trembling at the thought he’d almost lost his brother, wanting to shake sense into him for making his heart drop like that – I only turned round for a second, one second, and he was gone – “you stay by me. Remember? You don’t wander off.”

“I was just playing—“ Sam went to protest again, rubbing at his arm, which was around the time he saw Dad storming up the aisle. He hid behind his brother, staring at the scuff on his sneakers, at the toys and the candy and the treats they wouldn’t get now ‘cause Dad would think Sam’d run off.

“It was my fault,” he heard Dean say after a beat, “I turned round to look at something and he just wasn’t behind me. I’m sorry, Sir.”

John had muttered something that Sam hadn’t heard then and he’d looked up as he’d closed his iron-tight fist around his. Not enough to hurt but enough so that Sam wouldn’t think it funny to hide again.

He stared open-mouthed at Dean as Dad pulled him away, saw his brother shake his head and wink at him, his smile grim.

When Dad paid for Sam’s candy, he began to count out just how many sweets he owed Dean for taking the rap for him. Again.


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He tried to share them out later, after Dad had gone out on a hunt and Dean had made him Spaghetti-O’s for dinner.

“Those are yours,” he’d told Dean solemnly, pushing 6 Peanut M&M’s, a liquorice lace and a handful of Razzles towards his older brother.

Dean shook his head and pushed them back, getting up to clear Sam’s dinner plate away, “You shouldn’t eat too many,” he told him in that Dad-like voice of his, “You’ll get sick.”

Sam looked balefully at the 8 Peanut M&M’s he had left (fingering the sneaky one tucked in his pocket) and pushed another two of his towards Dean’s pile, screwing up his nose as he wondered if that was enough.

“Why’d you tell Dad it was your fault?” Sam asked, once Dean had moved back to the table.

Dean looked at the sweets and then back at Sam again, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “Dunno.”

“I was only playing,” said Sam again, more earnest this time as he slid another liquorice lace to Dean’s pile, “But you got all worried.”

Dean nodded and there was something in it that reminded him of Dad. Not scowly-Dad or hurt-after-a-hunt-Dad. The Dad that worried about them when something happened, the Dad that had told Sam once – when he’d been littler and hadn’t really understood – that it was his job to keep them safe.

“I didn’t know where you were,” Dean shrugged, “And if I’d lost you—“ He got this look in his eye like maybe that was the worse thing that could ever happen, worse than Mom dying in a fire, worse than… Worse than anything that’d ever happen to them.

And suddenly Sam got it.

“Sorry, Dean,” he said a little sheepishly.

“S’ok…” Said Dean, taking an M&M from the pile and popping it in his mouth, “I found you, didn’t I?”

Sam thought about that for a moment, nodded, and stole back a Peanut M&M.

“Dude!” Dean protested.

Sam gave him his best innocent look, “You hurt my arm,” he told him, blinking, “And you cussed and I didn’t tell Dad…”



The End