A/N: Okay, I should be cut off from posting after midnight, and yet, here I am.

Damn NaNo goals...

Okay, so, this will probably be a three or four shot. First chapter's pretty angsty. The next ones will probably be cavity-sweet as Dean attempts to prove to Sam that he will be there for him, and not leave him again. My personal headcanon is that the writers were morons who couldn't count right, and obviously, Dean is meant to be fourteen and Sam is ten. No way a twelve year old Sam would calmly wait at Bobby's for his brother to be 'found' and no way Dean makes it to sixteen without kissing a girl.

I hate when writers don't even get there own characters.

This is at least a little AU, since Dean is pretty aggressive feeling towards John.

Read into this what you will.

Reviews are love, and NaNo is crazy. This fic will get completed this month, barring unseen circumstances, but it is still a slap-an-alert on it story, since it's not worked into the update schedule. The plot bunny just wouldn't let me focus.

Reviews are Love

As Always,

EverReader

Little Lost Things

Sam had thought when he saw Dean again, he'd be thrilled. He'd imagined meeting Dean again, had in fact, been worried sick when neither Bobby nor John could (or would) tell Sam where Dean was.

So when John pulled up outside of Bobby's place, declaring that it was time to go pick up Dean, Sam had been ecstatic.

But as they pulled into the winding lane of the farm where apparently Dean had been staying ever since getting 'lost' (and wasn't that a crock of shit if Sam ever heard it), a sinking feeling began to grow in Sam's stomach.

Dean hadn't called, hadn't wrote.

Neither had John, of course, but that wasn't unusual, and Bobby was a hell of a lot better than John at the sometimes-parenting thing anyway.

But...Dean hadn't called.

And he hadn't wrote.

Hadn't he missed Sam?

Sam had missed Dean like crazy, like a lost limb or...or his best friend.

He'd cried himself to sleep more than once out of anxiety and fear.

How did someone just...get lost?

John and Bobby hadn't seemed overly worried, so maybe...maybe Dean hadn't been lost?

Maybe he'd just wanted a break.

Maybe he'd liked not being around Sam, liked not having to take care of Sam.

John was always telling Sam to man up, to grow up, to stop relying on Dean to take care of things for Sam.

Dean had always reassured Sam that it was fine, that they were fine. That Dean was the big brother, and that was his job.

But maybe Dean was tired of Sam, tired of Sam being his job.

Maybe...maybe Dean hadn't called, hadn't wrote, hadn't come back...because he liked being lost.

Sam stared down in trepidation at the toy airplane Bobby had given him before he left. He was too old for toys like that, and Bobby had to know that, but he'd done it just the same, just like he'd taken Sam to the park, and let him join soccer.

In fact, staying with Bobby for four months (okay, almost four months, minus the two weeks John had had him with him), would have been pretty perfect.

If Dean had been with him.

Sam was smart, not just book smart, he was street smart. He'd watched Dean and John con enough people in his short lifetime to understand that people like his older brother and father didn't play the same game as everyone else, and they sure as hell didn't play by the same rules.

So if Dean had gotten lost...

Then he had probably wanted to get lost.

Which meant...he'd wanted to get away from Sam, in all likelihood.

John wasn't around enough to need escaping from.

There was just Sam.

Sam chewed his lip, now so nervous to see his brother that he actually felt nauseous.

Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural

Dean walked down the steps of Sonny's porch and he didn't let himself look back.

He could see the stoic silhouette of his little brother in the backseat, clutching what looked to be, off all things, a toy airplane.

He nodded tersely once at John, before climbing into the back seat beside his brother.

"Hey, kiddo." He said with a grin, expecting an armful of excited little brother.

But to his surprise, Sam actually jerked a little at the name, hunching into himself a little, like he thought Dean was going to kick him or something.

Or hit him.

And he wouldn't meet Dean's eyes.

Every sense suddenly on red alert, he shot a look at the back of his father's head as John pulled the Impala out of the yard.

"Sammy." He tried again, hoping his little brother was just tired. Maybe he had fallen asleep on the way over, and was only half awake now...

"How was Bobby's?" He asked.

Sam pulled even further away, leaning into the door opposite of Dean, still not meeting Dean's eyes. "Good." He mumbled softly, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them tightly.

Dean frowned, taking in his brother's tense body language, his quiet voice.

"You feeling okay, Sammy?" Dean asked, starting down his mental 'sick-Sammy' checklist. He reached out to feel if Sam had a fever, but Sam startled, jerking so hard he actually hit his head on the glass of his window.

"Jeez, Sammy, you okay?' Dean asked, starting to reach for Sam with both hands now, but Sam's wide eyes finally flew up to his, and the look in them stopped Dean in his tracks.

Sam looked...scared. Resigned. Frightened, confused, sad. Something.

Everything.

Dean knew all of Sam's faces, all his expressions, but he didn't know what to label the look he was aiming at Dean, except...

Except it looked a lot like Christmas and Birthday and Parent-Teacher conference night, and John was no where to be seen.

That was the look.

It was betrayal. It was broken trust. It was abandonment.

It wasn't anger, not really, though that might have made it easier.

But Sam didn't look angry, he just looked hurt, and what was even more heartbreaking, Dean could already see it fading from Sam's eyes, hiding behind the mask Sam had only started to develop a few months ago, when Dean had last seen him. The mask he used when he had to face John after John had failed him once again.

The mask he used because, somewhere along the line, Dean's little brother had given up crying.

But he had never used that mask on Dean before.

"Sam, hey, it's okay." Dean was babbling now, reaching for Sam, who stiffened but didn't resist as Dean pulled him into his arms. He held himself woodenly as Dean tightened his grip on his brother and cursed his father in his mind.

Bobby would never tell Dean to much about Sam, and he had been forbidden to talk to him. Dean had consoled himself with the thought that Bobby couldn't do any worse than John, but now, as he held Sam's too small frame against him, he wondered.

He met his father's eyes in the review, and something in John's eyes made a quiet anger seethe in Dean's belly.

That was what this was all about, in the end.

In John's eyes, Dean had misbehaved, so John had retaliated by taking away the one thing Dean actually cared about.

Sam.

The message was clear. Get his head in the game and be a good little soldier, or John would take Sam away again, this time for good.

Dean pulled his tense little brother closer, silently cursing his father. He'd meant to punish Dean, but Sonny's had been good, a good place, and Dean had allowed himself to forget just how dark their world could be.

Sam hadn't had that luxury, apparently.

And in his mind, Dean had just abandoned him for four months.

Maybe that was John's real punishment.

Making Dean look at the hurt and confusion in Sam's eyes, knowing that Sam was already to wise and world-worn to ask.

He was no longer the little boy who was always so full of questions. Now he was the little boy who had been left by everyone he loved at least once.

Dean wished for one wild moment that he could jump out of the car, and take Sam with him, back to Sonny's, back to safety.

Sam shivered once in his arms, and Dean looked down, frowning.

John had the windows cracked, both he and Dean ran hot, but Sam was always cold, had always been that way, and he wasn't even wearing a jacket, or long sleeves. Dean himself was wearing a new down jacket that Sonny had bought him, the first new jacket he'd ever had.

Dean had protested the purchase, but Sonny had pointed out that the courts gave him money for exactly that reason.

Now he unzipped it, pulling it open just long enough to pull Sam inside.

Sam stiffened even more, but soon relaxed despite himself, as he finally warmed up, probably for the first time all day.

Soon he was dozing lightly against Dean's side, and Dean wrapped his arms around him tightly as he stared holes into the back of John's head.

He'd like to pretend that Sam falling asleep against him meant that things were better, that they were better, but he knew it wouldn't be that easy.

As far as Sam knew, Dean had walked away from him for four months without so much as a look back.

Dean's little brother might be safe in his arms, but Dean was a far walk from having him back. Dean hadn't been the one lost for four months.

Sam had.