A/N: I am so sorry it took this long for an update. Real life has been incredibly busy for me lately, leaving me with little to no free time to write. I'm glad to be back at it again, though. Hope you enjoy this little one-shot of young Sam and Dean.
And I just realized that the next one-shot will be the 50th one in this collection. Any special suggestions on what you would like to see?
Hide and Seek
"Three...two...one!" Dean shouted into the air and whirled around, unshielding eyes. "Ready or not, here I come!"
Bobby's junkyard was the best spot for playing hide and seek. The house itself was bigger than it looked on the outside, but it was also surrounded by a massive graveyard of ancient cars that had outlived their use. Sometimes Bobby warned them not to play around in those old hollowed-out cars in case they got trapped or hurt. Being young boys, Sam and Dean didn't always listen. They had too much fun to worry about the consequences.
The cheap motels they stayed in with their dad were too small to offer many creative hiding spots, so they relished the days when they spent time at Bobby's house.
The thrill of the hunt roared through Dean's blood as he scrambled in search of his little brother. His legs pumped hard as he navigated around the rusty skeletons in Bobby's yard, his brain already compiling a list of typical hiding spots that Sam would choose. Know your enemy, Dad said more than once when teaching him the basics of hunting.
Dean knew Sam better than anyone else in the world.
A deep rumble started up behind Dean and he turned in time to see their dad's shiny black car backing out of the driveway. Even without being able to see through the windshield, Dean knew his dad would be behind the wheel. He didn't trust anyone else to drive that car, not even Bobby.
His dad would be going on another one of his hunting trips. There was no telling when he would be back.
Dean watched the dust kick up under the tires as the car pulled away, feeling a sting of hurt that his dad didn't say goodbye. Maybe if he did, it would be harder to leave. At least, that's what Dean told himself.
He shook it off and focused his mind on the game again. Where would Sammy hide this time? There were only so many places he could reach, being so small. It was usually harder for Sam to find Dean than the other way around.
Better check the house first.
Bobby's house mainly consisted of a small kitchen that branched off of his personal study, crowded with empty beer bottles and mountains of musty open books. They weren't allowed to touch those books, under any circumstances, in case Bobby lost track of some important information he was looking for. There was one bathroom, Bobby's room, and a narrow guest bedroom where the boys slept when they stayed the night.
There was also a basement, but Sam was still too afraid to venture down there, convinced that there was a monster lying in wait to eat him. What Sam didn't know yet was that there were real monsters lurking around in the world. Powerful supernatural creatures thirsting for the blood and lives of innocent people, but none of them were likely to be found in Bobby's basement. According to his dad, Bobby was one of the best hunters he ever met.
If Sam hid inside the house, Dean would be able to find him in a matter of minutes. The junkyard outside meant more ground to cover.
In the kitchen, Dean checked the cabinets beneath the sink, but could only find a bottle of bleach and air freshener covered in cobwebs. The food closet was stocked with cans of beans, soup, pasta, and sauce along with more bags of salt than the average person should have. For good reason, Dean thought, recalling his dad's lesson about always having salt on hand.
But what if it's not a demon or a ghost? he once asked.
Better to have some on hand and not need it than to be caught without it when you do, came his father's response. The life of a hunter is dangerous and unpredictable. Be prepared for anything.
On a shelf above the bags of salt, Dean spotted little wrapped packages of pies and took one. He didn't think Bobby would mind too much. He liked to think Bobby kept some in there for when the boys came over to stay, knowing that Dean could not resist them.
Happily wolfing down a sweet apple pie, he closed the doors of the food closet. He wandered through the study and met Bobby's weary eyes behind the desk.
"Don't look at me. He didn't come through here," Bobby said before Dean could even open his mouth to ask. Bobby always struck Dean as the type of person who knew everything.
"Would you really tell me if he did?" he dared to reply. Bobby lifted his head from the yellowed pages of a dusty tome he was thumbing through. He sat back in his chair and his eyebrows rose, appearing quite startled.
"Have I ever steered you wrong before?"
"No, Uncle Bobby," Dean murmured, glancing down at his dust-caked shoes. He should have known better than to ask that of Bobby, when the most valuable thing Bobby had was his word. Sometimes Sam hid under Bobby's desk, but Dean doubted Bobby would let him hang around when he had serious work to do.
"Listen, a good hunter always trusts his instincts, no matter what they're telling him," Bobby advised. Dean nodded and headed away from the study to continue his search. "Oh, and Dean?" He turned back to Bobby with a questioning look. "You got some apple pie on your nose." Bobby touched his own nose to indicate the spot before lowering his eyes back to the stack of books on his desk.
Dean rubbed the spot away with his sleeve.
"Sam," Dean called out as he crossed the threshold of the guest bedroom. There was only one bed that he and Sam shared. It was just big enough to hold both of them, but the mattress was much softer than the ones in the cheap roadside motels.
Sam wasn't under the covers or hiding beneath the bed, like he sometimes did. Nor was he in the pitifully bare closet. Aside from a change of clothes, the hangers were empty and they never stayed in one place long enough to fill the spaces with many material belongings.
Dean began to wonder if Sam really found a good hiding spot this time. Usually, it didn't take this long to find him.
Under the bathroom sink.
Behind the flimsy shower curtain.
Under Bobby's bed. There was no sign of Sam. He even went into the basement, thinking Sam finally mustered up the courage to go down there. All Dean found was old furniture, sticky cobwebs, and crawling spiders.
That only left the junkyard.
It seemed like an eternity that Dean wandered around the heaping piles of rusted cars, checking underneath for Sam curled up in a ball and trying to stay quiet. This time, there was nothing but swirls of dust in his face and the sound of his coughing as he fanned it away. Dean didn't think Sam was big enough to climb into many of the trunks. The cars closest to the ground were hollow, stripped of the doors and the wheels, so it was easy to see inside without getting too close to the sharp metal frame.
The rising afternoon sun beat down on his head and specks of dust flew into his eyes. His stomach growled, eager for more of those tasty little pies. Dean spun in a circle, no longer motivated to move in any direction. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Okay, Sammy, I give up! You win this time!"
Dean listened, but there was no answer. No scurrying feet as Sam climbed out of his hiding spot, no smug little brother taunting him for giving up too easily.
"You hear me, Sam? Game over! Come on out!"
The only answer Dean got was another lurch of his stomach and more dust in his face as a gentle breeze whistled through the junkyard. Dean didn't think that was the reason for the sudden chill down his spine. His green eyes scanned the junkyard and the house, but everything remained still and silent. Just like a graveyard.
One last time, Dean called out for his brother at the top of his lungs.
"Sam!"
Silence.
Dean was past the point of having fun and a tendril of dread crept in. What if Bobby had been right and Sam was stuck somewhere? What if he managed to crawl into the trunk of one of the cars and the lid slammed down, trapping him inside? What if he couldn't breathe and couldn't call out to his big brother for help?
What if some monster had come and hurt him?
A good hunter always trusts his instincts, no matter what, Bobby had said. Right now, Dean's instincts were screaming at him to find Sam. Finding him alone proved difficult, so he did the only thing he could think of.
"Uncle Bobby!" Dean shouted, racing back to the house as fast as his legs could carry him. Bobby would know what to do.
When he burst into the study, Bobby was on the phone, a deep frown on his lips. His favorite hat had been set aside on an open book while he rubbed his lined forehead.
"I told ya before, ya bloody fool, I'm not helping you bury another...hold on, Rufus." Bobby cradled the phone on his shoulder and turned his head to Dean, who urgently tugged at his sleeve. "What's the matter, Lassie? The barn on fire again?"
Normally, Dean would crack a smile at Bobby's sarcastic jokes, but at the moment his worry for Sam prevailed all else.
"Uncle Bobby, I need your help. I can't find Sam anywhere," he cried out, the first glimmer of tears welling up over his lashes. Dad had given him only one job his entire life: take care of Sammy. Here he was, helpless to find his little brother.
Bobby stared back for a moment, tight-lipped and contemplating, while Rufus' irritated garble streamed from the phone. He didn't bother to ask if Dean had already checked the usual hiding spots; if Dean was coming to him for help, it meant he was in serious trouble.
"You're on your own, Rufus," Bobby barked into the phone and slammed it back in its cradle. He pulled open one of the drawers of his desk and retrieved the revolver stashed there, checking the bullets inside and tucking it into his vest, just in case. Then he jumped up from his chair and let Dean lead the way back toward the junkyard.
"I think he might be out here, but there are too many places to look. What if he's stuck?" Dean sniffled, choking back the sob that clogged his throat.
"We'll find him," Bobby insisted, squeezing Dean's shoulder. "But see? This is why I warn you kids to stay away from the junkyard! You could get seriously hurt and that means your dad will have my head." Dean hung his head, thinking of all the times Bobby had told them and they didn't listen. "Come on. Less talking, more searching."
While Dean ran around scouring underneath the cars, Bobby hefted himself up on some of them to check the trunks and seats of each one. Dean doubted that Sam could even reach that high, but at the sight of his confused look, Bobby explained it was better to leave no stone unturned. For a very long time, the only sounds to be heard were the scraping of their running feet on the dusty paths, the screeching of old doors and heavy trunks, and their labored breathing as they quickly consumed their energy. Every few seconds, Dean called out for Sam again, hoping he was within earshot.
It took over an hour to search the entire junkyard, with the hot sun slowly streaking across the sky. Halfway through, Dean slowed in his steps and then stopped altogether. He leaned against the hood of a battered car and could only wonder where Sam was.
This was all his fault. It was his idea to play the game of hide and seek instead of rock-paper-scissors, and that was because Sam always won. What Sam didn't realize was that Dean often let Sam win. If he didn't, then Sam would get mad and insist they play until he won.
If he had given in and played that game instead, maybe Sam wouldn't be missing.
Bobby lumbered up beside him and removed his cap to wipe the sweat from his brow.
"No sign of him yet. Why don't we check the house again? Maybe there's something we missed," he suggested, steering Dean back the way they came. There was a slight tremor in Bobby's voice that Dean never heard before and he realized Bobby was just as fearful about Sam's fate.
Dean shuffled his feet as he went, his shoulders caving, all the while wondering what he would have to say to his dad. Dread swept like an icy chill through his heart as he pictured his father's face. He would be so angry when he found out he'd lost Sam. Dean would take any punishment his dad doled out without complaint, he knew. Anything to bring Sam back, Dean silently pleaded.
When he and Bobby stepped into the house again, the phone was ringing. Bobby muttered a curse under his breath, a word Dean only pretended not to hear as Bobby snatched up the phone.
"What do you want, you old, senile son of a-" He paused, whatever insult he had in mind left hanging on his tongue. "Oh, it's just you, John." Dean's head snapped up and he watched Bobby while he talked on the phone. Why would his dad be calling when he left not too long ago? Bobby's eyes flickered to Dean, for the first time darkening with perplexity and alarm. "He what? Yeah, yeah, you can save it until you get here."
Bobby hung up and sighed. Dean held his breath, waiting to hear the news.
"Found Sam. Turns out he stowed away in the trunk of your dad's car. Your dad stopped at a gas station and heard him banging around in there." Dean let out his breath in a huge sigh of relief, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Sam was okay and his dad was going to bring him back home.
While he waited, Bobby let him take a few more pies from the food closet and Dean munched on them one after the other, dusting his lips and clothes with crumbs, never moving from the kitchen window. It offered the perfect view of the road, so he could see the exact moment when his dad returned.
"You're lucky it ain't winter," Bobby said as he sat watching Dean from the kitchen table, where he had moved most of his work. "If you pressed your nose any closer to that glass, you'd be the one stuck."
Dean only moved back an inch or so, just enough to please Bobby, but so he could still see the road. The familiar rumble of the engine reached his ears and Dean darted out of the kitchen. He nearly tackled Sam as he slid out of the car.
"Sam! You're okay," Dean exclaimed, wrapping his arms around his little brother until Sam moaned from the tight squeeze. Their dad merely shook his head, not at all pleased that he had to make the trip back. At least he didn't seem to have the energy to scold Dean yet.
"Hi, Dean," Sammy sang in his ear, as if he just come back from a fun sleepover instead of stowing away in the trunk. As if he hadn't just scared his big brother to death. Those had been Sam's first words, and Dean had never been happier to hear them again. His heart was still pounding in his chest from worrying too much.
"Do you still want to play rock-paper-scissors?" Dean asked, holding out his fist. Sam's face lit up like a firework. They bumped their fists in their palms, but Dean already knew he was bound to play scissors again.
...
