A Supernatural poem by Lady Greensleeves, illustrating the subtle differences between the childhood of young Sam Winchester and that of other children.

Written for Fanny.

I do of course not own Supernatural or any of the characters.

Man, Dean, we were raised like warriors

When Sam was eleven, he heard a friend say

That he once was afraid of the dark late at night

But his father had chased all the ghosties away

By sitting beside him and holding him tight


Young Sam didn't answer, but thought of the once

He was scared of a big monster under his bed.

His father had handed him one of his guns

Said: "Hold it like this, son, and aim for its head."