A/N: Originally written for the "Lost Hobbit" challenge at hobbit_ficathon.

*

“What are you doing?”

Sam sighed. It was at least the fifth time he had been asked that question this morning. “Same as before, Mr. Pippin. I’m tending Mr. Bilbo’s garden.”

“Oh,” Pippin said. He crouched down in the dirt next to Sam and jabbed at the soil with his fingers. “Why do you call me Mr. Pippin? You’re older than I am.”

“Well,” Sam paused to wipe his brow. “It’s because you’re a gentlehobbit, and I’m not.”

Pippin squinted in the sunlight, closely scrutinizing Sam. “I think you are a gentle hobbit,” he concluded decisively. “You’re always nice to me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Pippin,” Sam replied. He could not help but smile at that. “But I’m afraid others don’t think that way. It’s just not how the world works.”

Pippin shrugged, sensing that the conversation was becoming confusing and therefore boring. “Where’s your da today?”

“He had to go over to the Sackville-Bagginses today to help out with their garden.” Sam bit his lip to keep from laughing as Pippin wrinkled his nose. “Something wrong with their hedges, it seems.”

“So now you’re the boss of this garden!” Pippin crowed. He leaned his head against the older hobbit’s arm and peered at the row of holes that Sam was digging. “What are you doing now?”

Sighing again, Sam set down his spade and turned to the young hobbit. “Wouldn’t you rather go inside, Mr. Pippin? It must be nearly time for luncheon, and I’ll bet your parents are missing you by now.”

“No,” Pippin replied cheerfully. “They said I was getting underfoot and that I should go outside and keep you company. Everyone is talking about boring grown-up things, even Frodo is, but Da said if I’m a good lad he’ll take me to the market later and buy me some sweets, and Frodo said he’ll play with me, and Sam, do you know why grass is green? You must know everything there is to know about plants. Why don’t flowers grow as tall as trees? And why are some flowers red and others yellow? And why…”

Sam shook his head and resumed his digging. This lad was asking about things that most hobbits never even questioned, a sign, according to the Gaffer, of either having too much brains or too little.

“I don’t know the answer to those questions any more than I know why the sky is blue, Mr. Pippin. You’d best ask your da or Mr. Bilbo. He knows a great many things I can’t get my head around.”

Pippin looked up at Sam, wide-eyed. “Why is the sky blue?” When it became apparent that Sam did not know the answer to this question either, Pippin flopped on his back (as Sam cringed, thinking how the lad’s fine clothes would be stained) and gazed at the sky. “Do you ever wish you could fly, Sam?”

“Fly? No, sir, Mr. Pippin,” Sam said firmly. “Flying is for birds, not for hobbits.”

“Well, I’d like to fly,” Pippin declared. “And maybe someday I will.”

Sam frowned. “If you say so, Mr. Pippin.” He stood then, and brushed the dirt from his knees. Pippin sprang to his feet as well, mimicking Sam’s movements as the older hobbit surveyed his work.

“What I need right now is the hoe,” Sam murmured, his mind absorbed with plotting and planning the new flowerbed. “I’ll be right back, Mr. Pippin.”

“I want to help!” Pippin cried.

“Oh no,” Sam said, shaking his head. “It’s twice your size, Mr. Pippin, and much too heavy for you to carry.”

“My da says I’m small but strong,” Pippin protested. He flexed his arm and pointed to non-existent muscles. “See?”

Sam smiled. “No thank you, Mr. Pippin. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt, and it’s my job to do besides. You just stay here, and I’ll be right back.”

Used to getting his way, Pippin sat down on an overturned bucket with a thump. “Fine,” he said, crossing his arms and glowering at Sam.

Hiding a grin, Sam trudged along the path to the small storage shed. He glanced over his shoulder once and saw Pippin dancing around the bucket and singing to himself, his reason for pouting already forgotten.

Inside the shed, Sam found the hoe he needed, and shook his head as he thought of Pippin trying to carry such a heavy tool. He paused for a moment, rummaging through the sacks of seeds for the ones Mr. Bilbo wanted – what were they again? Ah, yes, the sunflowers. He might as well take them now, Sam thought reasonably as he slung the sack over his shoulder, and save himself another trip to the shed.

Laden with supplies, Sam slowly made his way back up the path. He glanced over at the new flowerbed, and suddenly realized that it was much too quiet.

Pippin was gone.

Sam let everything fall to the ground with a thud, paying no attention to the seeds that scattered along the path as he raced over to the flowerbed, all the while berating himself.

“Samwise you ninnyhammer! How could you leave a little lad alone, and a Took besides? There’s no telling where he’s got to by now. Mr. Paladin’ll have your head for this, and Mr. Merry too when he comes to Hobbiton, make no mistake.”

His eyes darted around the garden, but there was no sign of Pippin anywhere.

“Mr. Pippin?” he hissed. “Mr. Pippin, sir? Where have you gone to?”

There was no answer, not that Sam had expected one. His mind ran away with him, and he imagined all sorts of horrifying scenarios – wolves and goblins and the like, running off with Pippin as he watched helplessly. Tears threatened to fall from Sam’s eyes but he wiped them away angrily with the back of his hand.

Sam ran along the outer edge of the smial, looking under each shrub and undergrowth. He ran back to the shed and searched in every corner and behind every sack of seeds.  There was no sign of Pippin anywhere.

“Well, Samwise, there’s nothing for it. You’ve got to keep looking for Mr. Pippin until you find him, even if,” Sam took a deep breath before continuing. “Even if he’s gone and left the Shire. If the goblins got him he could be anywhere. Mr. Bilbo will know where to start looking. But for now you have to tell the lad’s parents that you’ve gone and lost him. It’s only right.”

Squaring his shoulders, Sam began to march back to Bag End, fully prepared to meet his doom. He hurried past the wheelbarrow, and would have kept on walking, had he not seen one tiny foot hanging over the side.

Sam doubled back, his mouth agape as peered inside – there was Pippin, fast asleep.

“Mr. Pippin!” he cried, startling the young hobbit out of his slumber. “What are you doing in there?”

“Oh, hullo Sam,” Pippin said, yawning widely. “I was wondering where you went.”

“Where I went? I’ve been turning the garden inside out looking for you, Mr. Pippin! You had me worried. I thought you ran away, or that wolves or goblins got at you.”

“Wolves or goblins?” Pippin asked loudly. His eyes shone, and he did not seem too frightened by the prospect.

Sam shrugged a little, suddenly embarrassed that he had panicked so. “Never you mind, Mr. Pippin. I just let my imagination run away with me, is all.”

“Merry says I do that too,” Pippin admitted, nodding sagely. A troubled expression passed over his little face. “I’m sorry if I made you sad, Sam.”

“It’s all right, Mr. Pippin. There was no harm done.” Sam patted his shoulder awkwardly. “Come now, no tears. How about you help me with the planting before luncheon?”

“Really?” Pippin exclaimed. He bounced up and down excitedly, and would have tipped over the wheelbarrow if Sam had not steadied it.

“Hmm.” Sam looked at the wheelbarrow and its occupant thoughtfully. “Now there’s an idea.” He charged down the hill, then, pushing a gleefully squealing Pippin before him.