Word from the Author: Sometimes, I just like to give characters random hypothetical introspective. This, or so it seems, would happen to be one of those times...
Disclaimer: I don't see this status changing anytime soon either, but, it's still gotta be said - Supernatural is not mine.
Fear
When he was little Sam hated camping, though maybe hate was too strong a word. Nevertheless, there was something about the pastime that made him uneasy. He didn't think it was Mother Nature – he liked being outside. He didn't think it was the night either – that too he took pleasure in, the quiet solitude, the fresh crispness of cool nighttime air, the deep blue darkness of the sky, dotted through with countless stars. If anything, it was beautiful, the night. So that wasn't it. Nor was it like he was ever alone on such nights. He only ever went camping with his dad and brother.
As evening fell, Dean got started on the campfire, setting aside the marshmallows their dad had promised them. It wasn't long before he got the fire roaring, a beacon of warmth and light.
Staring into the flickering flames, a loud crackle from the fire made Sam jump, made him look about anxiously, as if this nameless fear that was suddenly scurrying about just beneath the skin would reveal itself to him, if only he looked hard enough.
The moment passed though. And it was just him and his family, on a hunting trip; nothing outside the usual for them, nothing to be afraid of.
Only, there was. Even as the years went by, this strange malaise would often take him. There must've been some pattern to it, as it was always at certain times and in certain places, like when they stayed at the cabin in winter. Or when they hunted certain things, like malicious spirits, desecrating their graves and salt and burning their remains. And yet, he wasn't ever quite sure what it was, exactly, that left him feeling that way, all he knew was that from time to time he did. Still, to be a good son, and a good Hunter, he repressed it as well as he was able, enough that no one could tell from just looking how not right such moments felt. If anyone were to touch him, however, they would immediately feel the tension of every muscle he could flex drawn tight to the point that any movement left them reverberating, and ready to snap.
It was the only way he knew how to deal.
Once he left for Stanford, the disquiet abated, and he couldn't help but think himself right in having chosen this path. Whatever it was he'd feared he'd somehow managed to get rid of it. Seeking normality, as he'd hoped, had led him to the key.
It wasn't until after that first fateful Hunt since he'd left home, at odds with both his Dad and Dean, when he'd come home to find Jessica pinned to the ceiling and ablaze, that he understood.
Staring up in horror, Sam couldn't move, couldn't do anything but scream, as his worst nightmare, his greatest fear was realized.
Sam wasn't so sure he could call it a phobia.
After all, for him, it was only rational to fear fire.
Finis.
Another Word from the Author: How was it? XD Feel free to let me know.