By: Karen B.

Summary: Weechester. A Very Supernatural Christmas snippet. Always broke my heart -- little Sam crying after he just found out monsters are real. Just a short snippet following up that scene.

Rated: Angst both boys, with a little piece of fluff floating in at the end.

Disclaimer: Mr. Kripke is the real owner. I am but a mere sprinkle of fairy dust.

Thank you for your time in reading!

I lay under the coves, staring up at the ceiling, watching odd shadows move back and forth on the walls. Snow fell slow and steady outside, and dad, of course, still wasn't home. Everything was silent, except for the choking sobs coming from the bed next to mine. I twitched and wiggled, gripping my blanket tighter, trying to stick to the rules. Stay put. Let him work it out. Give him space. Pretend you don't hear him crying. Because Winchesters don't cry. Okay, so I'd broken into a house and stolen chick presents -- that didn't flush any of the other rules. Especially the no chick moments, rule.

I'd run out of magic -- been sprinkling the truth with fairy dust for a long time. Making up stories for years. Now, Sam knew monsters creeping around in the dark could really get you. Now, he'd go to bed scared -- every night. Sleep with a knife or gun under his pillow. Damn it, he knew. I never wanted Sam to know.

Deep down, I also knew, it was only a matter of time before he did find out. Sam was a lot younger than me, but nothing got past him. Always a grade level ahead of his time. He'd only believe mine and dad's lies for so long, anyway. Still, I was shocked that he'd actually found dad's journal. That bothered me the most. Sam shouldn't have had to read about mom's death. Shouldn't have had to read about all the worm-like, blood drinking, brittle boned and already dead things dad has had to kill and rekill. We should have told him before he found out on his own.

Now Sam knew, beasts didn't turn into the handsome prince because a hot babe kissed him.

It didn't matter if he was naughty or nice.

And, even though I tried to convince him he was safe -- I saw in my brother's eyes -- he knew he wasn't.

Crap, where could I find more fairy dust.

Dad didn't try to hide any of the life from me. I'd seen what supernatural shit could do first hand when I was only four. Even so, dad still tried to spare me. Not telling every detail after a hunt. He didn't have to. I could hear the horror in his slurred drunkeness, see by the way his hands shook when he knocked back shot after shot.

I shivered. Sam's cries, were grinding up my heart. Each sob whittling away another piece of me. I wanted to deck him, a good left hook, just so he wouldn't have to think about things anymore.

The sobbing was unlike any I'd ever heard come from him -- finding out on the sly-- was a pain I never had to go through.

I was on the verge of tears myself. I wanted to tell Sam it was all a big, fat, stupid joke. That dad's book was a fake, and he really wasn't a superhero killing and burning evil things. I made it all up. I really wanted Sam to think dad was working, and that's why he couldn't be here -- couldn't afford to give us a Christmas. Because we were shit-floor poor -- not because monsters are real.

Sam would never buy into the lie now. I was helpless. And my baby brother, he was forced to deal. Telling him the truth was a hard, hard thing to do.

I couldn't swallow past the lump that formed in my throat.

Sam continued to cry, sobs muffled by his pillow. I think the worst for him was the fact dad had lied to protect him. Now I'd lied, too. Telling him it would be all better when he woke up. What was worse, -- Sam would never again be able to just be a kid, playing with rocks and bugs. Now that Sam knew the truth, dad would start training him. Running him so fast through his childhood, making him a man, a solider. Preparing Sam for the blood and the horror.

The extra, sad twist of it all, Sam had to find out on Christmas. A day Sam always was so excited for. I used to think there were lots of different types of people in this world. Now I knew there were only two kinds. The lucky ones, and the not- so-lucky ones. Sam was one of the not-so- lucky ones. I understood why dad was gone, but Sam, Sam would never understand why dad had to do the superhero thing. Saving people, hunting things. Why he was always leaving us alone. Without much money, food, sometimes without heat. I understood. But reading about something and seeing somethig first hand -- two different things. Yet, superhro or not, I really hated when dad left Sam without a Christmas.

I glanced at the box on top the dresser. Sapphire Barbie -- what the hell? I'd lifted presents for Sammy before. Never botched a mission until tonight. The night the kid needed to believe the most -- of course.

I sallowed again, still couldn't get rid of the lump in my throat. I wished I was a superhero, like dad. I'd fly Sam's pain to the sun, drop it in and watch it burn. I finally couldn't take it any longer. Screw the rules. I quietly slipped out from under the covers, taking two barefooted steps, the cold floor creaking. I stopped, knees bumping up against Sam's bed. I watched his shoulders shake, listened to him sucking in breath after breath, felt the mattress vibrate with his fear.

My heart was pounding as I knew Sam's was. We've always been close. So close, that I could feel what Sam was feeling -- good and bad.

One time, Sam had a stomach ache. Dad thought he was faking. I knew he wasn't, because even though I had been feeling fine, I was the one who ended up on my knees puking. I asked Pastor Jim about the freakish crap once. Thinking there was something wrong with me. He said my freakish crap wasn't freakish. When you love someone -- when they hurt -- you hurt. Probably the only normal thing about us Winchesters.

I shifted nervously from one foot to the other, not sure what I could do for Sam. The floor creaking again brought him to sit up. Sam turned my way. Looking very small. His face red with tears, and a sadness in his eyes aging my baby brother right before me. Sam sat up straighter, rubbed his slobbering nose across his forearm and sniffled.

What could I say?

What could I do?

I said the only thing I could think to say. "Sammy, don't worry. I'll watch out for you."

Sam quickly glanced away, but even in the dark I could still see the rush of tears streaking silently down his face.

I sat on his bed, gathered him close in my arms and hugged him. Sam didn't resist, just grabbed me, and held on tight. I didn't say anything. There was nothing to say, anyway. I just held him and rocked him the way I used to when he was still in diapers, until the poor kid finally cried himself to sleep.

I felt my own tears come to my eyes, big drops falling down my cheeks.

I cried for Sam's pain -- not mine. I couldn't change the truth, monsters are real. There was only one thing I could do.

If a monster ever tried to lay a friggin' paw on my little brother -- I'd bash the son of a bitch in the head.

The End