A/N I know what you're thinking. I should update my other stories before posting a new one. Fair enough. A new chapter of "Lean on Me" and "Man Comes Around" should be up in the next few days. In the meantime, I was attacked by an army of plot bunnies. Seemed my muse was demanding a weechester fic and this one will not leave me alone. This one is based on my E/O drabble for Alert. I dedicate this one to all the weechester fans and all the E/O players and E/O fans.

Dean is 10 in this one and Sammy is 6. I haven't been around kids much since I was, well since I was a kid, so I hope I do little Dean and little Sammy justice.

Disclaimer: Sam and Dean are sadly not mine.

Warning: Angst ahead. And on that note, enjoy!

Little Boy Lost

by Deana W.

His stomach was growling. Glancing behind him at Sammy who was happily eating his Chef Boyardee while watching TV Dean smiled warmly at his little brother so he couldn't see the worry in his eyes. When he turned to look out the window at the pouring rain, he frowned, biting his lip in indecision. It's been three weeks since Dad left. Three weeks. That was a long time—especially considering Dad said he'd only be a few days at most.

Still, looking out the window he watched the cars pass by, waiting, hoping that the next car to pull into the hotel parking lot would be the impala. Every night for the last two weeks he had been keeping vigil by the window, wondering what he should do. He usually waited to keep watch until after Sammy had gone to sleep because he didn't want to worry the kid but today though he couldn't help it. It had been three weeks, what if something happened? What if Dad wasn't coming back? Should he grab Sammy and go? But where would they go and how would they get there? He supposed they'd go to Bobby's but he hadn't been able to get a hold of him, the number dad had given him was out of service.

It had been three weeks and now they were officially out of food after opening the last can of spaghetti-o's. He had cooked it all on the little stove, put half in a bowl for Sammy and put the rest in the fridge so his little brother could have some tomorrow. Other than half a loaf of moldy bread in which Dean picked off the bad spots before eating it himself, that was it.

"Dean?" Sammy asked, wiping his snotty nose with his sleeve, "What'cha doing?"

"Watching the storm," Dean lied with a shrug, "'s cool."

"Where's your supper?" Sam inquired with a sniffle, putting his bowl on the table and padding over to the window to watch with him. He climbed into his big brother's lap and looked out the window, craning his neck to get a better view of the angry clouds in the sky.

At six, Sammy was starting to get too big to sit in Dean's lap, but Dean didn't mind so he wrapped his arm around his chest and watched out the window with him, "I'm not hungry, I'll eat it later," he lied.

Sammy looked at him curiously for a moment but shrugged and turned his head to look out the window again, accepting his excuse. After a few minutes of silence, save the distant thunder, Sammy asked, "When's daddy coming home?"

"Soon."

"That's what you said last week."

"Yeah, but he got delayed, he called and said he'd be late, work was taking him longer than he thought," Dean winced at the endless string of lies he was telling his little brother, but he couldn't tell him the truth—Sammy was scared as it was, there was no need to make it worse. He was just glad that Sam's back was to Dean so he couldn't see the deception and worry in his face.

"When did he call? I wanted to talk to him too!"

"You had already gone to bed," Dean shrugged.

"Can I stay up late so if he calls again I could talk to him?"

"Sorry Sammy but you can't. Dad would be mad if he knew I let you stay up, you know that," Dean replied, glad he could finally give him a truthful answer. His stomach growled again. "Besides, you're still getting over your cold, so you need to rest. Don't want to get sick again do you?"

"But I want to talk to dad!"

"I know, but I don't know when he'll call again," Dean placated, Please call Dad, I don't know what to do… "But he told me to tell you that he misses you and he loves you very much and wishes he could be here and he hates having to leave us and will be home as soon as he can."

"If he doesn't want to leave us, then why does he?"

"Because he has to, it's his job."

"Why?"

"People need his help, so he helps them. It's what he does."

"But I need him too."

"No you don't. I mean, you got me, right?"

Sammy grinned climbed out of his lap and turned to face him, "Yeah."

"And I got you, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then we're good. Dad knows that, that's why he knows we'll be OK when he goes to help other people who need him more. Dad will be back soon," Dean was almost willing to believe his own lie as he smiled at his brother, straightened his posture and erased the worry from his eyes to make it more convincing.

"I hope so," Sammy sighed, shuffling back to watch more TV.

Echoing his sigh Dean rose from his chair, feeling weak with hunger. He followed his brother, eying his bowl. There were a few bites left so he motioned towards the bowl, "You done with this?"

Sam shrugged, not taking his eyes off the TV.

Dean snatched the bowl and carried it over to the kitchenette and finished the last few bites, devouring it greedily, licking the bowl once he was sure Sammy wasn't looking. He was just too hungry. He had stopped serving himself supper once he realized that they were almost out of food and could very likely run out before dad came home. Instead he chose to eat whatever Sammy left on his plate and if there was enough for two servings he ate a few bites and put the rest in the fridge to stretch it out some. Sammy was getting over a cold, so he needed it more than Dean did.

Sammy's cold was another reason why the food issue was a problem. Dad had given Dean some money, just in case and he spent most of it on cold and cough medicine, Kleenex, orange juice and whatever else Sammy needed to get better. There wasn't much left.

If he were bigger and older, Dean figured he could try his hand at hustling. At ten he was already a good pool player, dad was teaching him and they played every chance they got, but good enough to hustle? Besides, who'd make bets against a kid? And he was too little to go into the places where Dad hustled anyway. He figured he could try to make some money and get a job, but he didn't want to leave Sammy alone for too long and anyway, where in this nothing town could he possibly find a place that would hire a ten-year old kid? Still, he needed to do something soon, this couldn't go on much longer.

"Stop picking your nose, Sammy," Dean chided when he checked on his brother.

"I wasn't!" Sammy protested, even as he wiped the big yellow-green booger off his finger and onto his pants.

Dean flopped onto the couch with him, "You're so gross." He put his hand on his brother's forehead, relieved to feel that it was still cool. A couple of days ago he had a nasty fever that scared the heck out of Dean, and even though it had broken without any complications he still worried that it would come back. "How you feelin' squirt?"

Sammy batted Dean's hand away indignantly, "Fine Deanie, stop worrying!"

"Can't afford for you to get sick again," Dean pointed out.

"Well, I'm better now," Sammy grinned and to prove his point, a mischievous smirk crossed his lips and he suddenly smacked his brother with his pillow, giggling.

Dean blocked the blow at the last second, grinning himself, "Oh you are so dead!" Without a pillow to defend himself with, he lunged, ducking away from another swing of the pillow to launch at his brother, tackling him gently and started to tickle him.

"Ahh! Dean! Stop it!"

"I'm the tickle monster!" he declared, knowing exactly where to tickle him.

"No! No! No!" Sammy laughed, dropping the pillow and kicking Dean away. Dean dodged the kicks and kept tickling him, then backed off long enough to give Sammy the chance to retaliate.

And retaliate he did as he tackled Dean with surprising ease. He fell back, but instead of landing on his end of the couch he fell off the couch completely, banging his head on the coffee table on the way down. "Ow!" he cried, throwing his hand to his head, "Sammy! Stop it!"

Sammy continued to tickle him for a couple of seconds before it registered that Dean wasn't playing anymore. "Dean? You OK?"

He winced as he moved his hand and saw blood on his fingers, but nodded, "'M OK." It really wasn't too bad, not a lot of blood. It just mostly took him by surprise because it wasn't like him to lose his balance like that and get bested by his six-year-old brother so quickly, even if he was letting his little brother win. Sammy normally had to put a lot of effort in to tackle Dean, and Dean usually still had enough control to not fall off the damn couch. His stomach growled again and for just a moment he felt dizzy, so he rested his head on the floor and closed his eyes until the room decided to stop spinning. He probably kept them closed a little too long because a few seconds later…

"Dean! Open your eyes!"

"I'm fine Sammy, jeez," Dean waved him off and pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"I was 'fraid you went to sleep and that I hurt you bad."

Dean chuckled, "You? Knock me out? Keep dreaming squirt!"

Sam relaxed a little and then offered Dean his hand and helped him to his feet. Dean swayed a little bit, and frowned as his stomach continued to growl. Silently he went to the bathroom, ignoring Sam as he followed him. He cleaned the small cut on his forehead deciding it was nothing serious even though it throbbed. He just hoped it wouldn't bruise too bad.

"I'm sorry Dean," Sam sniffled, wiping his red nose with the back of his hand, looking a little disheveled and pathetic.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Dean sighed, annoyed.

"Want a band-aid?"

"Nah," Dean rustled his hair, "No point, 's not too bad at all."

"Kay."

"Anything good on TV?" Dean asked.

"Dunno," Sam shrugged, skipping back to the couch and flipping through the channels. He stopped it when he came across "The Goonies" and Dean sat down beside him and watched for a few minutes until the commercial came and he went back to the window to continue to watch for Dad. The storm was getting worse and cars raced by, once in a while a car would pull into the motel parking lot but not one of them was the impala and for every car that pulled into the lot that wasn't the one he was looking for, his heart sank further and further.

Come on Dad, where are you? I don't know what to do.

He snaked his arm across his restless belly, pressed his aching forehead against the cool window, keeping watch. He worked to control his breathing as worry and indecision, combined with his hunger, weakness and exhaustion and the throbbing in his head put him on edge. He felt his control slipping and all he wanted to do was cry, scream, and punch something, anything. He was just a kid for crying out loud! He didn't know what to do if Dad didn't come back. If he didn't come back tonight or tomorrow morning, then what? Sure there was enough for Sammy to eat tomorrow morning, but what about him? What about later on?

They needed help, but who could they trust? They didn't know anyone, they were at a truck stop motel in the middle of some small nothing town. And Dean knew that Dad only rented the room for a month. What if they got kicked out before Dad came back? What if someone found out they were fending for themselves and called Child Protection Services? They'd separate them for sure and it would get Dad in serious trouble.

But he couldn't let Sammy know how scared he was, how knee deep in shit they really were, how he was so hungry he felt like he'd fall over and how after tomorrow morning, Sammy wouldn't have anything to eat either.

He had exactly $5.37 in his pocket, and that would only go so far. He shifted his gaze to the tall street signs for the 7 Eleven across the highway and then glanced at Sammy who was wiggling a loose tooth with his tongue as he watched the movie. He wondered how much he could buy with five dollars and some change. Enough for tomorrow he supposed.

A commercial came on and Sam climbed off the couch and joined his brother as a loud crack of thunder shook the motel and the lights flickered on and off before turning on again causing Sammy to jump. Even Dean jumped a little.

"Dean? Are you OK?" he asked softly, noticing the tired and worn look on his brother's face, wondering why he was sitting at the window for most of the evening.

"Yeah, just watching the storm," Dean replied, trying to keep his voice even. "What's up kiddo?"

"I'm hungry," he whined.

"But you just ate!" Dean exclaimed, sounding harsher than he intended because his stomach was doing somersaults in his belly, growling like a tiger and making his hands shake and his head swim. He felt that way so Sammy would have enough to eat and keep from starving and now he was complaining about being hungry!? He felt his cheeks grow hot from anger at how unfair it was and for a moment wished that he could be the little brother for a while so he could pass the responsibility onto him. He was tired of having so much responsibility thrust upon him and being expected to know what to do when he didn't really have much of a clue.

"But I'm still hungry," he whimpered.

"Well too bad!" he snapped, instantly regretting it but lacking the energy to do anything about it when he saw Sammy's reaction to his outburst as his eyes widened in shock and disappointment.

Pouting, Sammy ran back to his spot on the couch and folded his arms, watching the movie with a scowl on his face.

Dean buried his face in his hands, ran his fingers through his hair, wincing as his fingers brushed the cut on his head, feeling a small bump there. He huffed in frustration and looked out the window again. After an impressive lightning display it looked as though the storm was tapering off and the rain was falling in a light drizzle. He looked at the 7 Eleven again, thought of Sammy still being hungry and how poorly he reacted and his own growling stomach. He didn't know how much longer he could go without eating anything but moldy bread and Sammy's leftovers, "Hey Sammy?"

"Yeah?" he replied shortly, still miffed by Dean's outburst.

"I'm going to 7 Eleven, will you be OK while I'm gone?"

"Can I come?"

"You can't go outside Sammy," Dean said, "You're sick remember?"

"I feel better now," Sammy shrugged.

"Yeah well you're not going out in this weather."

"Fine," he huffed, pouting for a second before he suddenly perked up, "Can you get us some popcorn? And maybe some pop?"

"We'll see," Dean said, Depends on how much I can stretch five bucks.

"Please?"

"Sammy I don't know, I mean I don't have a lot of money," Dean admitted, "but I'll see what I can do, OK?"

He sighed, resignedly and nodded, "OK."

"Remember when I'm gone, stay in the room, don't answer the phone and don't answer the door for anyone but me, OK?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, I know the drill."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Dean promised, hating the idea of leaving Sammy alone and unprotected, but he wouldn't be gone long. He'd be OK by himself and besides, it wasn't like Dean had much of a choice. They needed food and he couldn't take Sammy with him because of his cold. Sure, Sammy was feeling better, but he still had a lingering cough sometimes, and a bit of the sniffles, and Dean was afraid that Sammy would get sick again and that it would be worse than before.

Dean put on his jacket, grabbed his backpack and opened the door, frowning at the light but steady rainfall. The storm had calmed down considerably, having moved past them, but now it was starting to get dark and it was cold. He supposed he could wait until morning, when the weather was better but he needed to get out, get some air, and get some food. He was on edge, and if he didn't take some course of action he thought he would scream.

Sammy was still hungry, a half a can of spaghetti-o's wasn't enough, and Dean was starving to the point where he was tempted to dig through the dumpster out behind the diner next door to get some grub. Maybe with the last of their cash he could find something that would satisfy them both, even if it was just for a little while. He could figure out what to do beyond that in the morning.

It took about ten minutes to cross the overpass and reach the 7 Eleven and by the time he got there he was soaked through and through and shivering. He sniffled once the warm air from inside hit him and he groaned, hoping he didn't catch Sammy's cold. That was the last thing they needed but if he was being completely honest with himself, he was starting to feel lousy and not just from hunger.

There was no one else in the convenience store other than a teenage girl at the cash counter and a teenage boy wearing a school sports jacket keeping her company. Dean made a disgusted face at their flirting and wandered up and down the aisles looking for something cheap and satisfying for them to eat.

He grabbed a carton of milk, figuring it would be better than pop to keep their stomach's satisfied and a dozen eggs and a loaf of bread because that he could make last a few days. There wasn't enough left over for popcorn though but he thought he might have enough for candy instead.

His stomach growled again and he blinked back a small wave of lightheadedness.

With a sigh he looked at the girl at the counter who wasn't paying him any heed--she was too busy flirting with the guy. He cocked his head, glancing at some of the canned foods, like Campbell's soup, Chef Boyardee, canned fruits and stuff and the temptation called to him. He put his backpack on the floor, standing up to peek over the shelves at the cashier and then crouching low again to the floor. Neither teenager was paying any attention to him, they wouldn't notice if he…

Biting his lip he opened up his pack and as quietly as he could he stuffed his backpack with food. He knew it was wrong to steal, but he figured it was worse if they starved to death. They were desperate. He peeked around the corner to make sure no one was looking. They weren't. Heart pounding in his chest with adrenaline he breathed a small sigh of relief and closed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Then he went into the candy isle, grabbed a small pack of peanut M&M's and went to the counter to pay for it and the milk, bread and eggs.

His backpack was feeling heavy, even though he tried not to go overboard with stuff, so he grunted a little as he shifted his weight to reach into his pocket for what was left of their funds.

The teenage boy looked at him suspiciously as the girl rang in his purchase. "Hey, that looks heavy kid."

"Nah," Dean shrugged with a grin, "It's not heavy at all."

"Looked almost empty when you came in," he pressed.

Shit. "Nope. Full of books and stuff."

"I think you're trying to get a five fingered discount," he accused with a sneer.

"No, I'm not. Honest."

The girl gave him a dirty look, "You stealing from me kid?"

The boy grabbed his arm, "Hey!" Dean shouted in protest, "Let me go!" But even as he fought his grip the boy yanked on the zipper of his backpack and opened it. The contents spilled out of his bag.

"You little shit!" the boy hissed, shoving Dean hard against the counter.

"I'm sorry!" Dean exclaimed, "I'm sorry! I won't do it again, I'm sorry!" He grabbed the bag of groceries he bought fair and square, "I'll go."

"You better scram you snot-nosed kid, and don't come back!" the girl exclaimed.

Dean nodded fervently and started out the door, "Yes ma'am, sorry."

But the teenage boy wouldn't let it go. He grabbed his arm again and Dean tried to lash out, using the defense moves Dad taught him but the teenager was much bigger than him and according to his school jacket was on both the football and wrestling team. Dean was just a scrawny kid who was half his size and weak from hunger so even though he had impressive fighting skills, the teenager managed to pin him to the glass door in no time. Dean grunted as his back made a harsh impact with the door handle and it pressed painfully into his back as the older boy held him there.

"You think you can get away with stealing from my girl you little ass-wipe?"

"Steve, let it go," the girl said, "He said he's sorry…"

"No," Steve shushed her twisting Dean's arm violently behind his back and then wrapping his arm around the kid's throat in a chokehold, "this kid needs to learn that it's wrong to steal."

"Please…" Dean whispered breathlessly, struggling to breathe.

"Didn't your mommy teach you anything?"

"He's just a kid!"

"Let me… go!"

"How would you like it if I stole from you?"

"Steve!"

"I wouldn't like it," Dean choked out weakly, feeling tears well in his eyes and his cheeks flush with embarrassment, fear and lack of air.

"Steve! Let him go!"

"Shut up Julia!" Steve turned bent down and leaned close to his face, "We don't like kids who steal here. You know what we do to kids who steal?"

Without letting Dean go, he opened the door and roughly shoved him outside, hard enough to cause him to fall onto the pavement, landing on his meager groceries. The teenager followed him outside and kicked him in the stomach while he was down and Dean curled into himself in pain.

"Let it go Steve! He's just a kid!" Julia snapped, following them outside, "You have no right to beat up a little kid!"

"Scram you little shithead," Steve hissed, "before we call the cops!"

Dean nodded and grabbed his stuff and ran, moving in the opposite direction of the hotel in case Steve decided to follow him or the police came and wanted to know which direction he ran off to. He'd backtrack later, once he was sure he wasn't being followed. The last thing he needed was the police catching him, then they'd call CPS for sure which would be worse than going hungry another night.

Meanwhile Steve and Julia watched him go and once he was out of sight Julia punched her boyfriend in the shoulder, angrily.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"You asshole," she pouted, "I know the kid was wrong but you took it way too far! Pick on someone your own size!" She bent down to pick up the stuff Dean had tried to swipe. It wasn't the usual stuff kids his age tried to steal, like baseball cards, trashy magazines, comic books and candy, instead the pale, scrawny looking kid with a cut on his forehead had packed his bag with canned food. Soup, pasta, creamed corn, mixed fruit… what kid would try to steal that stuff unless he really needed it?

"Ah, come on Julia, taught the little snot-nosed punk a lesson didn't it? And saved you from getting into trouble with your boss," Steve shrugged.

"Yeah but… I don't know, I think that kid was desperate," Julia said thoughtfully, now that her anger at the kid for trying to steal and at Steve for the way he handled the situation subsided, she found herself worrying about him and wondering what kind of situation he was in.

-

Meanwhile the rain began to fall heavily again and the storm began to act up once more and shaking and shivering Dean found cover in a playground, climbing onto a platform with orange plastic slides and large orange tubes to crawl through. He took shelter in one of the orange cylinders, and looked in his bag of groceries. He slammed his fist harshly into the hard orange plastic behind him and cursed loudly when he saw that most of the eggs broke when he fell on them, the milk was leaking and the bread was squished and soggy from the milk seeping through a tear in the package.

"Shit!" he cursed loudly, angrily, banging the back of his head against the inside of the cylinder.

And then he broke down and sobbed. He sat there and cried like a baby, even as he inwardly scolded himself for acting like one when he should be focusing on finding a plan B for their problem. Lightning struck all around, thunder rolled, shaking the playground equipment, the rain hammered down heavily, the wind howled and Dean, cold, starving and exhausted, aching all over and feeling dizzy and nauseous continued to cry wishing that Dad would return, hoping and praying that he was all right, hoping it was car trouble or another hunt that was keeping him away for so long instead of what he feared but dared not voice.

Please Dad, come back. I don't know what to do.

TBC

A/N Thank you so much for reading, now please let me know what you think, good or bad I need feedback. I'm a review junkie and I need my fix.