I own none of these characters...and reviews are love :P

I was 11 when I first saw my family for what it was. I realised then that we weren't the perfect family and that I was not the typical 11 year old.

Dad had been leaving me in charge of Sam for years and going off for days at a time. I had orders to feed Sam and I, do some shopping, learn my curriculum (Latin and research, not English and Maths) and above all keep Sammy safe.

When he was here all he cared about was training us, there were no bedtime stories or asking how good our report cards were. Instead he'd question how much Latin we'd learned? How much fight training we'd done? Had I made sure Sam was OK?

At first dad had tried to keep the supernatural from Sam, he wasn't old enough to remember mum, or how she'd died, but the kid wasn't stupid and he'd soon figured it out. Then dad had dragged Sam into this mess. I'd flinch every time I saw dad showing Sam how to melt silver into bullets, or how to exorcise a demon.

I could hear my dad's voice echoing in my head, 'Take care of your brother boy. Make sure you protect him.'

I was the one in charge of keeping him safe, but how was I meant to tell my father I saw him as the biggest threat in Sammy's life, especially when I knew Sam needed to be able to protect himself. I was scared, I'll admit that, so I'd stood back and let dad continue training Sam, pushing him into a life he'd never wanted.

Sam was so innocent and so smart, but this was life, and this was our life. We owed it to our mum to kill this thing that took her from our lives. That ripped apart our home and left a gaping hole in our hearts. I had a yearning for my mother, for a time when things were normal, when we were all happy.

I don't know whether he was lucky to have never known the life we had lost and now had nothing to mourn, or if I was the lucky one, because at least I remembered what it felt like to have her hold me, to have her read stories to me, to have and to know my family before it was lost.

Either way I felt sorry for my brother, so when he would complain about being a 'freak' I would try to explain to him that things were different for us. I'd try to explain things in a way that made sense to him and that would make him accept this sometimes when he'd cry about having to move again I'd tell him he needed to grow up and accept who we were, and at the same time I'd try to suppress my own longing for some normality.

I'd tried so had to convince Sam that our lives were good, but, when I was 11 and I looked at my father, I knew what we were. No longer were we his kids, we were now just toy soldiers, who needed training and guidance for this war. Every moment was spent planning our next move, our next line of attack, there was no time for being sheltered, no time to just be kids. We had to grow up, and grow up quick, or we wouldn't make it.

I know now I looked up to my dad and I was thankful for the training, for him giving me the chance to help people, and of course to avenge my mum. And as much as I loved the man I couldn't help but think of the implications this life had for Sammy and I. Because if we were just toy soldiers, how long would it take for us to be torn apart? Would we win the battle? If we somehow managed to would it be worth it in the end? And finally how many of us would have to fall along the way?