The first time Sam Winchester took a gun in his hand, he was nine years old.
He even remembered the exact time and date, the morning of the twenty-seventh of December nineteen ninety-two, just two days after Christmas; the Christmas on which an unhappy Dean had reluctantly confirmed that all the scary weird stuff in their father's journal was true.
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Sam had cried inconsolable tears, burying his head in the pillow, instinctively understanding that this was a defining moment in his young life.
Everything now clicked into place, his father's absences, the overabundance of weapons, his big brother's training practices touted as normal; simple bonding sessions between a dad and his son, passing on his hunting experiences.
"Never know when you might need to catch a rabbit or something bigger for dinner," John would explain.
"It's better Dean learns how to handle a weapon."
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But on that day, John with a rather relieved air, probably happy that the time for lies and avoidance had come to an end where Sam was concerned, had confirmed the existence of the supernatural, succeeding only in terrifying the young boy even more.
If his dad said all the unbelievable creatures in his journal existed, then there could be no doubts.
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"From now on you'll be practicing with your brother, " John had decreed, pulling out a gun from his duffel and placing it in Sam's small hand.
It felt alien, cold and heavy, and the boy quashed the urge to hurl it to the floor, glancing instead from the weapon to his father and brother.
John's expression was one of anticipation, curious to register what his youngest's reaction would be, recalling how enthusiastic Dean had been to handle a gun.
Dean on the other hand, was staring at his little brother with sad eyes, wishing with all his heart that Sam had delayed finding out the truth about the life they led for a while longer.
Lowering his eyes to contemplate the gun in his hand, Sam swallowed his fear.
This was his family, this was his life. He was only a kid, he had nowhere to run.
He caught his father's gaze and nodded.
"Fine," John said. "We'll start this afternoon." And as if it were some rite of initiation and a moment to celebrate, he added. "I guess this calls for burgers, fries and all the ice cream you can eat!"
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While their father made for the door, Sam and Dean exchanged silent glances.
'I'm sorry you had to find out, Sammy.'
'It's okay, Dean. I would've sooner or later anyway.'
Sam let the gun fall to the table with a clatter, and wiped his hand on his jeans.
Dean stretched out an arm and laid it along Sam's bony shoulders, pulling him close, before following their father out to the Impala.
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The end.