Author's Note: I had a really bad urge to write and this is it.

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue

The Good Little Soldier

Her name is Karen and she wears tight skirts, too much make-up, and no underwear. She's known as the town slut.

This is important, a fact to be remembered for later use, when you lie in bed together, and she whispers in your ear, fuck you're good. And you really are. You don't even hesitate when you drive the knife upwards into her stomach, and your mouth is saying all those ancient words. Karen writhes against you in her death throws, before she goes back to hell. You clean your knife on the bed sheets, and leave without looking back.

That night, Sammy asks you where you've been, and you say, out getting some action, which really isn't a lie. The answer doesn't content your brother. He leaves you alone, frowning in that way he'll frown for most of his life. Your dad will look at you over the newspaper he's reading, and his eyes will show a calm satisfaction, another one vanquished, and nobody the wiser.

Succubae, you think, suck.

His name is Carver and he doesn't like young punks with an attitude, but young men with manners. He's known as the town eccentric.

He owns a bookstore three blocks from the school, which means just outside downtown. He goes to the theatre at night, and sits, watching the movies they play there, among the kids, and teens, and adults. Your dad notices him before you do. He tells you with a glance.

Two days later, you're in the bookstore, enquiring as to whether or not he's got any first editions of Stephen King hanging around, because, you never lie in this situation because you could get caught. He's pleased you asked, and he leads to the back of the bookstore, saying I think I might have something.

You mutter under your breath, Christo, and the old man turns, his eyes black, and his smile wide and knowing. And you know you're in way over your head, but you've done this before.

It comes at you, and you roll with its attack, and let it get close. Then you burn it with holy water and cast it out. And its same old, same old, business as usual, and you banish it back to hell.

The old guy is so thankful to you he gives you a free book. That night, you get home, and Sammy isn't there because he's someplace else. Your dad patches you up, telling you you've done a good job. You crawl into bed, and in the morning, Sammy, sitting at the breakfast table, doesn't ask about your swollen lip.

And now, here comes the fun part. Two parts of the whole, you think. Sam refuses to come, this time, and you're happy in one sense, but not so much in another. There's something in your bones telling you this is not good, and you're not sure you'll be able to handle it alone.

Your dad says I've got your back, because he knows too.

This time there are four of them, but you don't know that until you've got one of them alone, a young woman. And you say all the right stuff, because that is what you are trained to say. This is what you do.

And it's going extremely well. The bitch is almost dead. Until something comes from behind you, and the world is gone before you can scream.

You wake up between breaths, One, Two, Three. Not doing so well, because they know what you are and what you're trying to do. And your dad hasn't shown.

They're way too happy about that.

You've always been a good fighter, but let's face it, four to one? You're good, but they're not human. There are arms and limps everywhere, and they're your arms and limbs, and dude, where is that back up when you need it?

Between breaths again, and that's when your dad comes swinging to the rescue, guns blazing. The creatures don't stand a chance, especially after you regain your feet and pummel their bodies with silver, and holy water, and your knife.

Your dad holds you after that for a long time. Then he takes you for ice cream, even though you're getting too old for these outings with him. But the kid in you still cries out that if you get ice cream, then maybe there's still a chance of everything healing.

When you get home, Sam is working, arithmetic, or something. He looks up as you two enter, and his eyes fall on you. They stay there for a long time, and you try to remember how old he is, twelve? Fourteen?

You barely make it to the washroom before you throw up. You hear dad telling Sam, The stomach flu, it's been going around. But you can't hear Sam's answer.

That night, you hear Sam enter your room, mumbling something under his breath, trying not to wake you. You wait until he leaves to turn on the light.

You have to do serious research to discover the true meaning of the symbol on the small chain. And after you do, you don't blame him when he goes of to Stanford several years later.

And now comes the final time for you. His name is John Winchester, and he is missing.

You don't hesitate to grab back up, because, like that night a long time ago, you have a feeling you're going to need it. It's in your bones.

Sam looks at you and says, Dad's letting you hunt by yourself?

And you can only frown, because how naïve has Sam been, and reply, Dude, I'm, twenty-six.

Because this is the oldest you've ever been.