A/N: For the theme Werewolf. A bit angsty. You have been warned.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.
Not Fair
It wasn't fair. Bitter tears stung Sam's eyes as he stared down at the small creature snapping and snarling at him, fangs gleaming dangerously in the light of the full moon. It just wasn't fair. He wasn't in any danger at the moment- the restraints should hold until his father and brother arrived- but that was the farthest thought from his mind.
"I'm sorry this happened to you." He spoke out loud, though he wasn't sure if his words would mean anything to the raving little monster, but perhaps a human voice would help sooth it. "It shouldn't have, and if there were anything I could do to take it from you, I would."
There were more snarls, but they seemed to be quieting, as if the poor beast had accepted that she wouldn't be getting free any time soon.
Sam sighed, running a hand through his brown hair as he continued to speak. "Your father shouldn't have done this to you- any of you. I don't care what his reasons for it were. Nothing can justify damning his wife and child to a monster's life. I really and truly am sorry."
Those dark orbs were fixed on him, feral, but with a hint of intelligence in their depths. The angry growls and snarls had faded into silence and now she was curled into a ball, eyeing him as he spoke.
"I'm kinda in the same boat, you know," he continued conversationally, leaning back against the wall as he spoke. "I was dragged into doing this sort of thing by my dad. At first it was just him and my older brother doing it, but once he decided I was old enough to stay out of danger for the most part." Sam snorted, shaking his head. "Honestly. Who in their right mind would bring their teenager into this sort of thing? I'm seventeen, and I've seen things that most people would never even dream of."
When John and Dean Winchester arrived at the abandoned warehouse a few hours after dawn, it was to find Sam fast asleep, a tiny girl no older than 7 or 8, cuddled in his lap also slumbering. Her long dark brown hair was matted and tangled, deep scratches on her slim pale arms, clothing bloody and torn. Dean's face twisted and he turned away, swearing under his breath and even John seemed to waver.
"When Sam told us he needed help taking care of a werewolf, I was expecting-"
Voice breaking, Dean turned away, his fist balling up. John didn't speak, touching his eldest son's shoulder lightly in comfort, though his eyes were still fixed on his youngest, still fast asleep with the little werewolf girl held protectively to his chest.