This story is set when Dean is 12 and Sam is 8.
I glanced at the clock. Two forty-three. Only seventeen minutes left to go. Less than that if Matt showed up early to take over my shift. He did that sometimes and I kind of hoped that today would be one of those times. It wasn't that today had been a bad day, full of problems and stress-inducing events. It was the exact opposite. Everything was good. It was all smooth sailing. The cashiers were capable, the registers were fully functioning, the customers were happy. And I was going out of my mind with boredom. There were a lot of better things I could be doing with my time than managing a grocery store that was managing itself. Oh well. Seventeen minutes wasn't that much. I could make it. Envisioning a caramel latte from the cafe across the street helped to improve my mood. Every now and then, I treated myself after work if I had earned it. And sometimes if I just felt like it.
As I rounded the corner of the cereal aisle, a small body smashed into mine. My arms pinwheeled as I fought for balance and my hands automatically shot out to grab something to steady myself with. Unfortunately, the towering display of Cap'n Crunch didn't hold my weight and I fell to the floor in a pile of limbs and yellow boxes, while a small yelp escaped my mouth. I pushed myself up, gazed at the mess around me, and quietly used my walkie-talkie to request clean up in aisle six. Among the spilled cereal, there was also a young boy, presumably the one responsible for the collision.
"Hey there, buddy," I called softly. "Are you okay?"
He blinked, dazed for a second.
"Here, let me help you up." I reached down and grabbed his arm, hidden as it was beneath a flannel shirt that was too long for him. As I got him standing, I noticed the cuffs of his pants were rolled up, as they too were bigger than he was. "Are you okay?" I asked him.
He nodded, stick-straight blonde hair falling into his eyes. I guessed his age to be between eight and ten. After glancing up and down the aisle and seeing no one aside from a tottering old man, I turned my attention back to the kid.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Sam Winchester." He was quick to answer, drawing himself up to his full height.
"Hello, Sam. I'm Emily," I introduced.
He rolled his eyes. "I know. I can read your name tag."
I automatically looked down at my apron and the mentioned tag. "Of course." I knew kids didn't like to be patronized so I hurriedly changed the subject. "Is that your grandpa?" I nodded at the elderly patron.
Sam snorted. "No. I don't know who that is."
I frowned. "Okay. Well, are you here with your mom?"
He didn't answer, just toed one of the cereal boxes with the tip of his sneaker.
"Do you know where she is?" I continued.
His silence remained so I briefly touched a hand to his shoulder. "Come on. Let's go to my office and we'll make a quick announcement over the PA so she can come get you."
At that moment, Kim appeared with a broom. I thanked her as I guided Sam around the mess and toward the back of the store. It didn't take us long to cross the building. I opened the door to the small room and gestured to the chair at the desk.
"Have a seat, Sam," I invited.
He leaped eagerly onto the swivel chair and pushed off the floor with his heels to start it spinning. I picked up the microphone and paused with my finger over the button to activate it.
"What's your mom's name, hun?" I asked.
Sam paused his spinning long enough to say "Mary" before he resumed the motion. Smiling at the boy's antics, I pressed the button and brought the microphone to my mouth.
"This is a page for Mary Winchester. Mary Winchester, Sam is waiting for you in the manager's office. Mary Winchester to the manager's office, please," I said as clearly as I could, knowing how terrible the sound quality was.
As I replaced the mic, I looked over to Sam. "She's on her way," I stated confidently.
He hummed noncommittally and switched the direction he was spinning. After racking my mind for a suitable topic of conversation with which to engage the young boy, and coming up empty, I scanned the room for a distraction. My eyes lighted on the filing cabinet. In the cardboard box on top was a random collection of food items, used as a sort of communal snack supply by the employees.
"Sam, would you like a snack?" I inquired, retrieving the box and setting it on the desktop.
His eyes widened and he scooched the chair closer to peer inside. He plunged his hand into the collection of packaged goods, withdrawing a fistful. It was only as he started tearing the paper off a Little Debbie that he paused and looked up at me through his bangs.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Help yourself," I invited.
After he scarfed down two snack cakes and was well on his way to polishing off a sleeve of Ritz, I realized I hadn't asked his mother's permission. Oh well. It was too late now. Besides, a lot of kids had a snack in the afternoon. I was just doing her a favor by giving her child free food. The clock on the wall told me that four minutes had passed since I made my announcement when the door to the office swung open. There were only two people I was expecting to come through the opening-Matt or Mary. But it was neither Matt nor Mary Winchester who came stomping in. It was another kid. He was probably only twelve or thirteen, the freckles on his face darkened by his expression. The young teen looked like a thundercloud.
"Sam!" he barked.
Sam startled, dropping the crackers and spraying crumbs across the chair, desk, and carpet.
"Excuse me." I stepped in front of the new arrival. Obviously he knew Sam. But as far as I could tell, he might be a bully, maybe the reason Sam had been running through the store and thereby getting separated from his mom in the first place. "Who are you?" I demanded.
"I'm his brother," the kid snapped, stabbing a finger at Sam.
Sam crossed his arms over his chest, lips turning down.
"Sam didn't mention anything about a brother," I pointed out.
"Yeah, well, just cuz he didn't say it doesn't mean he hasn't got one," the teen growled, attempting to step past me.
I moved to block him and he glowered at me. "All the same, we'll just wait for his mom to get here."
A pained expression flitted across the teen's face before he shifted a venomous glare toward Sam. Sam slunk low in the chair, guilt written all over him. The teen finally looked at me again.
"Our mom's dead," he stated bluntly.
"Oh. I'm sorry," I automatically comforted.
The casualness with which the teen shrugged was so forced it made my heart ache for him. "It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago." He shoved past me and snatched Sam by the wrist. "Come on, Sam. Let's go."
"No! Dean, I don't want to!" Sam immediately protested, pressing himself backward in the chair.
"Too bad," Dean snapped.
"No!" Sam shrieked, latching onto the edge of the desk with his free hand.
Noticing the tight shoulders of the older boy, I intervened. "How about we just wait for your dad to come get you both?" I suggested. "Where is he?"
"Back home," Dean reluctantly released Sam's hand and turned to face me. "It's not that far."
"If you can call a motel home," Sam whined.
"You're staying at the motel?" I repeated, surprised. There was only one motel in our small town but I didn't think that place had seen any business in the past two decades.
"Just until we find a place," Dean said. "Our dad's expecting us any minute." He added an arched eyebrow at Sam to the end of his sentence.
"Liar," Sam muttered.
"What?" I leaned closer, thinking I'd misheard.
"Nothing," Dean quickly cut in. "We'd better get going."
"But I don't want to," Sam reiterated. "I want to stay here." He spun the chair to showcase the reason for his refusal to leave.
Dean irritably halted the chair by sticking out his arm. The back of the chair smacked into it but he didn't even flinch.
"Hang on, I think I might be able to call the motel and they can put me through to your dad's room," I offered, moving to retrieve the phonebook from a desk drawer.
"He won't answer. He's at work," Dean scoffed.
I narrowed my eyes. "I thought you said he was waiting for you at the motel."
"No, I said he was expecting us back any minute," Dean quickly covered. "He gave us a curfew, which this dumbo is currently breaking." He smacked the palm of his hand against Sam's skull.
"Ow! Dean, what was that for?" Sam whined, rubbing at the spot.
"For running off on me." Dean whispered vehemently.
I was starting to get the picture, and my guesses were confirmed by the way Sam sheepishly squirmed in his seat.
"I looked everywhere for you," Dean hissed. "You know Dad'll kick my ass if you go missing."
Disapproving of cursing in general, but especially from a young teenager, I raised an eyebrow. Dean caught sight of my expression. He didn't apologize but he did lower his face closer to his brother's, voice dropping to a nearly inaudible volume.
"I don't know what I'd do if you…" he trailed off, hand unconsciously cupping the back of Sam's head, in the same place he'd hit earlier.
"'M sorry," Sam mumbled, leaning toward his sibling.
The door opened, spilling light, sound, and my fellow manager into the now crowded office.
"Hey, Em. How are you-whoa! Who are these guys?" Matt questioned, curiosity plain.
"Is it three o'clock already?" I asked, twisting to look at the clock on the wall.
"Close enough," Matt shrugged. I turned back in time to see Dean shift protectively in front of his brother when Matt stepped over, hand outstretched. "Hey, bud. I'm Matt."
Dean eyed the offered handshake suspiciously and kept his lips locked.
"This is Sam and Dean." I took up the slack, gesturing to each boy respectively.
"Cool," Matt stated, dropping his hand without a comment. "Are they new hires?" he joked, running his eyes over them. "They seem a bit young."
"I'm eight," Sam piped up.
Dean elbowed him.
"Nine. Good. That's perfect. I think I'll start you off with stacking the canned goods. How would you like that, Sam?" Matt obligingly inquired.
Sam giggled.
"I'm sure he would be the best employee we ever had," I winked at the young boy. "But unfortunately, I was just about to call their father to come and pick them up," I said. Dean's posture tightened when I turned my attention onto him. "What's the number I can reach him at?"
Dean licked his lips, the nervous tick making me reevaluate my earlier estimation of his age.
"I don't have it memorized. But it's on a sheet of paper in our motel room, next to the phone." He straightened, confidence returning. "If you'll just let us go, I can call him and make sure he knows why we were late getting back."
I jutted out my hip and planted a hand on it. "That would defeat the purpose of calling him in the first place."
"Look, lady. What do you want with me and my brother?" Dean demanded with far more authority than he should have commanded in his ripped jeans and saggy t-shirt. I opened my mouth but he didn't give me the chance to answer. "Did we do anything wrong? Steal anything? No? Good. Then you can't keep us here. My brother and I are leaving. Now."
I looked over to Matt for help but he was merely observing the scene with amusement.
"Come on, Sammy." Dean clapped his hand onto Sam's. This time, Sam didn't resist. He slid off the chair, snatching one last Little Debbie as he went.
"Wait, Dean," I tried.
But there was no stopping him. He led his sibling out the door without giving me a parting glance.
"Bye, thank you," Sam called over his shoulder.
I waved but I doubt he saw it, his brother was moving them at such a quick pace. I moved to catch the door before it slammed. Then I stood in the frame, watching the pair as they walked away.
"What were you thinking, Sam?" Dean growled.
Sam shrugged. "I dunno."
"You don't know?" Dean repeated, incredulous.
"I forgot," Sam brightly excused.
Before Dean could launch into a reprimand, Sam held out the Little Debbie-a peace offering. Just before they disappeared out of my line of sight, I saw Dean accept the snack before slinging his arm around Sam's shoulders.
"What was all that about?" Matt asked, coming up behind me.
"I'm not sure," I answered honestly. "But I think it's time for a caramel latte."