"Dean?" Sammy whimpered, walking over to the couch. "I'm hungry."

Dean sighed, ripping his eyes away from the window and placing them on his brother. At four years old, Sam Winchester had a baby face, curly brown hair, and chocolate brown eyes that could pierce through you. He also ate like no other kid Dean had met before.

"But you just had Mac n' Cheese," Dean reminded him.

"Yeah, but I'm hungry Dean," Sam whined. "And there's no food in the 'fridgerator."

Dean knew there was no food left-he'd known that they would run out about a week earlier, and that's when he stopped eating. Except for what was left on Sammy's plate when he was done. Dad was two weeks overdue, and the money was almost gone.

"I know, Sammy," Dean answered. "I'll go get some, okay?"

He reached for the money jar that his father had left in the cabinet, and pulled out the only bill left in the jar-a battered, torn five.

"I'll be back in a while, okay? Do you remember the secret knock?"

"Yup. Two short ones and three long ones," Sammy replied, proud.

"Good job, buddy. I'll see you later."

Dean stepped out of the motel room and out into the cold street, rubbing his bare arms. He'd sold his jacket to pay for cold medicine for Sammy a couple of weeks ago, the remainders of which he was now using.

He sneezed. He was pretty sure that he was coming down with the flu-and that was something that they couldn't afford.

After walking about two miles down the street, Dean found himself standing outside of The Ripe Tomato, the only grocery store in this hick town. Everything was ridiculously expensive- $2.45 for a can of Progresso?-so Dean reached for the cheapest foods, like pasta and bread. He gave in and got a small jar of peanut butter, too-that should make Sam happy.

As he walked up to the counter, he realized how odd he would look to the cashier-an eight-year-old out at 8:45 on his own would surely grab attention. But there was nothing he could do about that, so he unloaded his meager merchandise on the checkout counter.

"Hey, buddy," the cashier said, staring at Dean. "Shouldn't your mommy or daddy be here with you?"

"Dad's outside, in the car," Dean lied, but it felt unconvincing.

"Okay. That'll be $4.89," the cashier said, and his heart broke when he saw the kid pull a torn five dollar bill out of his pocket. "Tell you what? Why don't you get a candy bar, too?"

"Are you sure?" Dean asked, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. Sammy loved candy bars, especially Hershey's.

"Definately."

So Dean grabbed the Hershey bar and held it tight, as the teenager behind the counter handed him his change and food.

"Thank you!"

As Dean walked to the hotel, he was ecstatic. Sammy would have food, and even a treat. Dean could go a couple more days without food-he'd only been feeling a little dizzy, and Dad woud be back soon.

When he passed the sign that was about halfway to the motel, he started coughing. And couldn't stop. He bent over, trying to catch his breath-and fell headfirst onto the hard, concrete ground, knocking himself out.