Sammy pulled back the motel room's dusty, cigarette-stained curtains and watched as the 1967 Chevy Impala carrying his father and brother pulled away from the parking space and out into the gathering night.
The five-year old remained where he was, kneeling on the seat of a spindly chair whose cushion had long since been filched and struggled not to worry about his family.
Daddy had told him that it was just going to be a quick hunt and that he and Dean would be back before morning.
But Sammy always worried whenever he was left alone. He didn't like to be by himself, not knowing if his family would come back.
Letting the curtain fall back against the window, Sammy turned and landed on his bum on the chair's seat, fighting back the urge to cry.
Everything's gonna be okay, he told himself as he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand; Daddy won't let anything happen to Dean and Dean won't let anything happen to Daddy.
Kicking his feet for a moment, the Kindergartener wondered what he could do while he waited for his father and brother to return. The television was on, playing an episode of The Simpsons but Sammy didn't really like that show even though it was a cartoon; it had grown-up jokes in it that he just didn't understand.
Almost against his will, though, the little boy's eyes were drawn to the screen splashed with bright yellows, whites and reds until a commercial for some type of oven brand began playing.
Sammy watched the advertisement with little interest until its closing moments which showed a happy, nuclear family sitting around a massing table, passing around bowls and plates heaped with scrumptious looking foods most likely cooked in the very oven the commercial was trying to sell.
Daddy didn't have anything to eat, Sammy recalled. His Daddy had made him a peanut butter sandwich before leaving with Dean.
Sam hadn't even noticed if his brother had eaten anything before leaving to go on the hunt.
Maybe I can make them dinner for when they get home, the five-year old thought and smiled, his hazel eyes lighting up at the idea.
Slipping off the chair, the little boy grabbed the edge of its seat and dragged it across the room and towards the table where the meager supply of foodstuffs was laid out.
Climbing onto the chair, Sammy was discouraged to see a crumpled bread bag with one stale end sitting forlornly beside the half-empty jar of peanut butter, two cans of Macaroni and Cheese, a box of Lucky Charms and a quarter of a 2-litre bottle of Coca-Cola.
Okay, so maybe he couldn't make his Daddy and Dean sandwiches for dinner. But they did have other choices for food.
Reaching out, Sammy grabbed one of the cans of macaroni and smiled, seeing that the lid had a pull-tab. Smiling, the five-year old gathered up the other ingredients and stepped down from the chair.
He needed something to put the macaroni in. Depositing his cargo on the end of one of the beds, Sammy went to the motel room's garage can and picked a Styrofoam container from the trash. Bringing the makeshift bowl to the bed, Sam slowly broke the take-out container in half so that he had two vessels of equal size and shape to pour the macaroni.
Next, he carefully peeled the lids off of the cans and shook a helping of the macaroni into each Styrofoam bowl. Then he took the last bit of bread and crumbled it in his small fist, sprinkling the pieces over the containers.
Finally, he dumped the remaining Lucky Charms onto the bed and picked through the marshmallows until he had separated all the cereal and deposited them on top of the macaroni, remembering to put the mallows back into the box afterwards.
Now that all the ingredients had been added, Sammy just had to mix them together.
Climbing back onto the chair, the five-year old grabbed the pen that had been sitting on the table and returned to his concoction.
Slowly, carefully, with his tongue sticking out in concentration, the little boy stirred the cereal and breadcrumbs into the canned macaroni until everything was coated in the sticky, cheesy sauce.
Sammy sat back and admired his work, licking the gooey cheese from the end of the pen and thinking it tasted pretty good.
His Daddy and brother were going to be so surprised and happy that he'd made them dinner.
Since there was no fridge in the motel room, Sammy left the macaroni mess sitting on the bed and sat on the floor in front of the TV to wait for his brother and father to come home.
W
"Daddy! Dean!"
Sammy jumped up excitedly at the sound of the door being unlocked and his father and brother stepped wearily into the room.
"Hey Sport," John muttered but smiled.
"Did you get the monster?" the little boy asked eagerly.
It must have gone well; neither Dean nor his Daddy looked hurt.
"You bet we did, Sammy!" the nine-year old exclaimed, his freckled cheeks flushed with adrenaline.
John stood in the doorway, pulling his jacket off, "Why don't you both get into your pajamas and call it a night. We have an early day tomorrow."
Dean nodded, taking his own coat off. Sam knew the routine; once a job was done, they left, no questions asked, and the earlier in the morning they left, the better.
"Wait! We can't go to bed yet!" Sammy announced, glancing at two Styrofoam containers on the edge of his Daddy's bed.
"Why not?" Dean asked, frowning.
"I made you dinner," Sammy said proudly and smiled eagerly.
"You… what?" John blinked.
"I made you dinner," the little boy repeated and pointed to the two Styrofoam dishes.
"You didn't, Sammy," Dean crowed, chuckling.
"I did!" he insisted.
John moved forward and picked up one of the Styrofoam containers.
"Did you do this while we were gone?" he asked and Sammy nodded, "Uh huh."
The father glanced at his eldest son for a moment before he moved across the room, still holding the container, and fished a plastic fork from the trashcan.
"Well, I guess we'd better have some," John said and took a seat on the chair.
Dean grabbed his own container and fork and perched on the end of the bed, hesitating, waiting for his father to take the first bite.
Sammy stood between his two family members, eyeing them with excitement and anxiety. He wasn't sure they'd like it; he hoped they'd like it.
Finally, John broke the stalemate by digging his fork into the mess and scooping a large glob into his mouth.
Sammy watched with bated breath as his Daddy chewed, his expression unreadable.
"This is good," John said after he'd swallowed, "You really made this yourself?"
Sammy nodded and turned to look at Dean who was eating his portion with gusto.
"You really like it?" he asked and the nine-year old looked up.
"Yeah! C'mere and try some," Dean agreed and offered his little brother the fork.
Sammy stabbed a trio of noodle, cereal bit, and chunk of bread with the utensil and shoved it all into his mouth.
"Mmmm," the five-year old mumbled as he chewed, "That's yummy."
"Maybe you can make dinner for us every night?" Dean asked, smiling and John laughed as well.
Author's Note:
This was just a little Wee!Chester that came to me today. I was thinking about the strange food combinations children sometimes eat and thought I could make a story about it. I hope you guys and girls enjoyed it.
I know I haven't been updating, at least for a month. I posted a note on my profile but for anyone who might not know, I am back in school and so much of my time is working on stuff for that and I haven't had the desire to write. I apologize to anyone who has anxiously been waiting for a posting. I am hoping that I get back to writing soon. Thank you all for your patience and understanding.
Please remember to leave a review if you liked this story, Dear Readers.