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."