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“Oh, oh no,” Felicia is on the brink of bursting into tears, “Oh she's not here.”
Sam trundles over, readjusting the home made costume and the mask from his head so that he can see the little girl properly. Her soldiers outfit is impeccable, the picture of neat perfection, but her red hair is messy beneath her helmet and her wide eyes are sparkling, light from above them glinting off the unshed tears.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, poking her with his finger to get her attention.
She sniffs once, then grabs his hand; pulls him towards the big curtain in the middle, where a sliver allows them to see the rows and rows of chairs, filled with buzzing parents. Stopping there, she makes another pitiful noise and lets go of him.
“My M-mom,” Another sniff, and she’s rubbing her hands all over her face, smudging the rosy cheeks and streaky black eyes. “Said she’d be here.” She takes a deep breath, her next sentence coming out as more of a squeak than spoken words, “I guess not.”
Pouting, Sam drags her into a hug. She goes willingly, giving out an equally high pitched squeak before the flood works really break out. He pulls away and smiles at her, goofy and wide because he lost a tooth the other day.
“Hey it’s ok-“
A boy pushes into him.
“Move out the way, weirdo,” The older boy scoffs, and Sam moves Felicia behind him, shielding her even though she’s a few inches taller, and this kid is a few inches taller still, “Just because you two losers are orphans.”
“My Mom’s alive!” Felicia shouts, and the kid glares back at her.
“Go away, Arnold.” Sam rolls his eyes, turning to face the now bordering on hysterical – ready to fight – Felicia. “Come here, we can both wave to someone ok?”
He peaks his head out again, feeling the intense grip that Felicia has on his arm. The faces of parents are all a blur, a few ‘awws’ spreading through the crowd at seeing him. There’s no sign of Dad, or-
“Dean!” He exclaims excitedly, drawing back to grab Felicia and pull her head through too.
Pointing eagerly to a boy, leg balancing on the back wall where he’s leaning, he waves, probably a little too enthusiastically.
Dean looks up at hearing his name, and Sam can just make out his lopsided smile from here.
He raises to fingers in a wave then gives him the thumbs up.
The teacher rakes them back before Sam can reciprocate, straightening their costumes and ushering them into place.
Felicia is still holding his hand, and she squeezes.
“Who was that?” She whispers, just as the big curtain is drawn and their play 'Our Town' starts.
Keenly bounding out onto the stage, Sam throws his head back.
“That’s my big brother.”