Sweet Sixteen, Winchester Style.
XXXXXXXXXX
Sam couldn't believe his good luck!
She was the girl of his dreams, blonde, perky, beautiful and filled with the love of life and enthusiasm that only a sixteen year old possessed, and it seemed she actually wanted to walk with him instead of the pushy popular students that frequented the school.
He had been shocked when in class he had realized that the flirty, encouraging glances she sent from under her long dark lashes were actually directed at him, his cheeks flushing as he tentatively smiled back.
X
Sam had a low opinion of his physical appearance.
He could have resembled a misshapen moose as far as John was concerned, interested only that his youngest followed orders, hunted and got the job done; and Dean although loving him deeply, teased him mercilessly about his gangly skinniness, so Sam wasn't exactly confident about himself.
Then the Winchesters weren't particularly well–versed in the social graces, unless it was cursing at some random monster before gutting it, so to have this cute girl hanging on to his arm, looking up at him as if he was someone special, was an unusual but wonderful sensation.
He was totally losing himself in her baby-blue eyes when a familiar voice ran out. "Drop Sam!" and Sam did; the Pavlovian reaction to the order now automatic when Dean gave it.
X
A second later he watched desolate as the girl fell to the ground, her body perforated by a silver bullet straight to the heart.
"Dean..! What the hell?"
"Sorry Sammy. Werewolf. Just got the info from Dad. You okay little brother?" Dean fussed while he manhandled his younger sibling, checking him over.
"Huh," Sam sighed, as he leaned dejectedly into his brother. "I knew it was too good to be true."
X
The enD.