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

-o-

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."