A/N: Hi guys! I've decided to try something a little different this time around. Those who read my fics know that I tend to write about a lot of angst: hurt Dean, depressed Sammy, the like. So I decided to try to lighten up the mood a bit by tackling a Weechester. This is my first attempt at writing from a child's perspective, so I hope you all like it! DISCLAIMER: I do not own Supernatural, or any of the characters.

Sammy sat at the edge of the double bed, swinging his legs absently against the mattress. Dean had been gone for hours, or at least, it seemed so to the six-year-old boy who was waiting impatiently for his big brother to come back. His daddy had gone on one of his long trips two nights ago, leaving the boys alone in this ugly motel room with only four channels on the black and white TV. Sammy knew that Daddy would sometimes have to leave him and Dean without notice, and that he would always, eventually, make his way back home, but this was small comfort to a six-year-old who just wanted to spend time with his father.

At least he had Dean. The big brother who was always there to play with him, to make sure that there were Lucky Charms and cans of Alphaghetti in the cupboard; to watch endless hours of Looney Tunes with him; to make him laugh when all he wanted to do was cry. Sometimes, Dean could be mean. He remembered the day one year ago, when he had first asked his big brother about why they didn't have a mom, and why their father was always pulling the disappearing act.

"Where does Daddy go, Dean?"

Dean had turned to him, and he looked angry. The little boy had rarely seen his brother look so mad, and for a moment, he almost dropped the question. He was moments away from letting out a frustrated "never mind." But he wanted to know: had to know. And if anyone would tell him, it would be his big brother. But Dean had replied with a "none of your business, Doofus," and Sam had dropped the question, his eyes smarting with the tears he was trying so hard to hide from the ten-year-old. Little did Sam know that Dean had cursed himself almost immediately for his seemingly cold response. He hadn't meant to sound so mean, but to tell Sam the truth about their father would be putting both of them in danger. It didn't bother Dean so much: he was a big boy of ten, and could take care of himself. But Sammy was his little brother. It was his job to make sure that he was safe. The boy had no clue about the truth of their family history, and Dean intended to keep it that way. But to the little boy crying in the bathroom, crushed that his beloved big brother had been so mean, Dean's response had been cruel, like slowly peeling off a Band-Aid. In a word, excruciating.

Then Sammy had asked about their mom, and that had been even worse. Dean had actually yelled at him that time, shoving him down on the bed. "Don't you EVER talk about Mom!" he had yelled, and Sammy had not even tried to hide the tears.

"I'm sorry, Dean!" the little boy wailed, and he buried his face against the comforter. "I won't say anything else about Mommy, I promise!" Dean immediately and gently pulled the comforter away, revealing the little boy's red, tear stained face. "I'm sorry, Sammy," he said softly, the little boy still hiccupping on the bed beside him. "I didn't mean to make you cry. Here." Dean reached into Sam's duffle and pulled out a stuffed teddy bear. It was old, a tiny cigarette burn hidden behind the tag, but Sam didn't notice.

"I was gonna save it for your birthday, but I think I owe it to ya know, squirt. I was acting like a jerk. I didn't mean to make you cry, Sammy, honest. It's just that when I talk about Mom, I get all mad inside."

Sam was about to ask why, but thought better of it. Instead, he accepted his brother's peace offering, snuggling against the toy's soft fur. The two had sat in silence for a while, Sammy still clinging to his new stuffy for dear life, until finally Dean broke the silence.

"You know, Sammy, Mom isn't here, but she still loves you."

"Really?" In a timid voice, as if at any moment, Dean would suddenly clam up, and the moment would be spoiled. Dean nodded. "Duh, Doofus." A tiny smile spread across Sammy's still damp face. "And you wanna know something else? She's an angel now, watching me an' you an' Dad. So you don't need to feel so sad and scared anymore, ok kiddo?" Dean looked squarely into his brother's eyes and hoped that the kid had bought the lie. Of course, he was only five, but Sammy was really smart for his age. Even if he had fallen for the angel crap now, it would only be a matter of time before he found out the truth.

But at the time, Sammy had seemed content, and looked up at his brother, his grip on the teddy starting to lessen. After a moment, he had set the toy on the bed and hopped up beside his brother, giving him a hug. "Thanks, Dean," he said with a smile. "You're the best big brother EVER!"

Dean had doubted that, but accepted the compliment with a freckled grin of his own. "'Course I am!" he bragged, giving his kid brother a little pat on the shoulder.


Sammy hopped off the bed and plopped on the tattered easy chair in the corner of the room. Sighing, he reached on the cushion and picked up the remote, turning on the TV. Dean had been gone for three hours now. He had only gone to the store to pick up a few groceries, so what was it taking so long? The boy clicked the channel button, surfing the four stations that the crappy motel had actually paid for, finally settling on a rerun of the cartoon Gostbusters. He didn't really pay much attention to the program, his thoughts wandering to the nightmare he had had the night before.

Sammy is alone in the woods. Dad is gone; Dean is nowhere to be found. Nightfall is rapidly approaching, and the little boy has no chance of escaping. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a humongous creature appears from the shadows, its fangs dripping with blood. Its pale yellow eyes seem to penetrate the boy's very soul, and Sammy stands, frozen in place. He knows he has to move, but his feet seem to be glued to the forest floor below. The monster sneers at him, smoke billowing from his nostrils. Sammy can feel his heart pounding in his chest, but still has hope that his brother will come and save him. He waits, impatiently, for the moment when his big brother will magically appear from the shadows, but he never does. Just as the creature is about to pounce, Sam looks up, finding his brother in a nearby tree, trapped in a cage and no doubt, unconscious. Sammy lets out a wounded cry as the monster comes in for the kill…

Sam had awakened from the nightmare in a sweat, breathing erratically. Beside him, Dean is fast asleep, his own breathing soft and regular. Oh so carefully, Sam climbs out of bed and snuggles beside his older brother, relishing the warmth and the regular rhythm of his heartbeat; and in moments, he is fast asleep, unaware that Dean has ever so gently wrapped his arms around his little brother's shoulders.


Sammy turns off the TV, bored with Slimer's antics. He checks at the clock again, wishing he knew how to tell time so that he could be sure just how long Dean has been gone. Realizing that his efforts would be useless, he reaches for a copy of Time magazine, not really understanding the articles, but enjoying the brightly coloured images within the pages. He sits there, flipping through the magazine, when the door opens and Dean enters, carrying a plastic shopping bag of (no doubt, stolen) groceries. The magazine slips from Sammy's fingers as he leaps from the chair and wraps his arms around Dean's waist. The boy quickly adjusts his grip on the bag, trying to avoid hitting his kid brother with the cans of Alphaghetti inside.

"Dean, where were you?" Usually Sammy hates acting like such a baby in front of his brother. Even at six, the boy tries to act all tough,, attempts which usually prompt smiles from his brother and father. Whenever either tried to treat him like a baby (which was rare), Sam would give them an indignant pout, hands on his hips. "I'm a BIG boy now!" he would announce, chest puffed up. "And it's SAM, not SAMMY!" But not this time. The child squeezes Dean's legs tightly, not letting go. At first, Dean is annoyed by Sam's sudden clingy behaviour, but soon lets the bag of groceries fall to the ground, and wraps his brother in a warm embrace. "I was only gone about an hour, bud," he says, ruffling the boy's mop of blondish brown hair. "I've been gone longer than that before."

Sam looks up at his brother, and stands on his tiptoes, trying to reach up to his towering height. Finally, he relaxes his grip and plops on the bed, toying with a blanket. "I had a bad dream last night," he admitted, not daring to look up at Dean.

Sam feels the slight sagging of the mattress as Dean sits behinds his brother. "Yeah, I know," Dean says, and Sam finally looks up, incredulous. "How did you know?" he asked with the logic of a six-year-old who believes his big brother knows everything about anything. "Because you crawled in be beside me like a little girl," smirked Dean with a devilish grin.


"What'd ya dream about, anyways?"

Sam hesitated, but finally admitted his nightmare to his brother. Dean listened, feeling for the kid, shuddering at the details of the creature on the attack. But when Sam got to the part when Dean was trapped in the cage, he patted his brother on the shoulder. Poor kid. No wonder he was upset that Dean had been gone.

"It's ok," Dean went on, quick to ease his brother's embarrassment on not only sharing the dream, but having curled up beside his brother afterward. "You know why?"

"Why?" Sam countered with a sniff. He hadn't realized he'd been crying, and he began to feel more embarrassed than before. First he makes a fool of himself in front of his brother, and then he gets caught snuggling with him like a little girl? It was too humiliating.

"Because I'm your big brother. I'm here for you Sam, always. And I'm not letting anything bad happen to you, I promise."

"Really? Pinky promise?"

Dean let out an exaggerated smile, and Sam let out the first true smile of the day. But the boy extended his pinky, a solemn expression on his face.

"Cross my heart, Sammy. As long as I'm here, nothing is going to happen to you. I swear."

Sammy grinned, and hugged his brother again. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean grunted, secretly pleased by his brother's affectionate embrace. "You better go pick up those cans you made me drop, Doofus."

Sam groaned and whacked his brother on the leg. "You're mean, Dean."

The brothers smiled at each other and hopped off the bed, ready to pick up the mess on the floor. As Sam reached for a box of Cocoa Puffs he looked at his big brother and smiled.

As long as I'm here, nothing is going to happen to you.

Sam smiled. His dad could be anywhere in the world right now. But as long as Dean was there, everything would be all right.