Characters: The Winchester Boys
Word Count: 793
Summary: Sam's fears are put at ease by Dean a little knife.
Disclaimer: I merely play with them for fun. Kripke is the genius behind this stuff.
Notes: This is part of a meme from impalalove. Didn't think I'd end up doing it, but I did and I actually ended up doing a lot. Enjoy. Beta'd by blue_eyed_ace.
When Sam was a kid, let's say, seven, he was afraid of almost everything; cats, birds, closets, the dark, clowns, dolls and even balloons (among other things). John and Dean could hardly take Sam anywhere without having him freak out at least once.
Dean dealt with this more than John, and one day as he was picking Sam up from school decided enough was enough after Sammy flipped about a bird in his path. "Sam! Come on, it's just a bird. It can't do anything to you! You're bigger than it," Dean had pleaded, under his breath. Almost everyone leaving school was looking in the directing of a screaming, crying and scared Sam and a deeply embarrassed Dean.
"But what if it EATS me?!" Sam screamed.
"Sammy! It's not going to eat you. I'm right here," the frustration and embarrassment showing in Dean's facial expressions.
When the bird had finally flown away and Dean had gotten Sam to calm down, he pulled Sam away from the school as fast as possible. "Dammit, Sammy. You have to stop this crap. You're a big boy now," Dean had reprimanded Sam the whole way home.
"Look, buddy," Dean said, when he had gotten Sam home and something to eat. "This has got to stop. Birds are NOT going to eat you."
"But I was watching this movie an-"
"Movies are not real."
"Not. Real," Dean said sternly, looking Sam straight in the eye.
Sam, who was still not attuned to the difference between sternness and anger, began to cry. Wailing, Sam ran into the bedroom that he and Dean shared. Throwing himself on his bed and burying his head under his pillow Sam cried, the sad, lonely cry of a boy who thought he was in trouble.
"Aw, come on Sam! Don't-don't do that," Dean rolled his eyes.
Dean rummaged around his duffle bag, looking for something to give to Sam. Something that would make him happy and possibly not afraid of birds (and cats) anymore. At the bottom of Dean's bag, wedged in the corner was a tiny knife. Dean examined it. It was the first knife his father had given him. It had a small blade, a handle that was about the size of Sam's hand, and it came in its own sheath with straps that could be wrapped around a small torso. "Perfect," Dean breathed.
"Sammy. I got something for ya," Dean said, sitting on the edge of Sam's bed. Sammy, the sucker for presents he was, stopped crying and pulled his little head up.
"What is it?" he asked, still trying to be upset, though a little intrigued.
"A knife," Dean said simply.
"A knife?" Sam asked sceptically.
"Yep, a knife. A magic knife."
This piqued Sam's interest. "A magic knife, really?"
"Really really. You see, when you pull it out," Dean pulled the tiny knife from its sheath, "It makes whoever holds it fearless."
"Yeah right," Sam said, losing interest.
"No, really! Look. Know how I don't like going into the bathroom without the lights on?" He said, not caring regardless, turned the lights off in the bathroom, pulled the knife out and stepped in, closing the door behind him.
Sam stared at the door in awe, "Dean? Can I have the knife?"
From that point on, Sam was never afraid of cats, birds or the dark again. Through the years, Sam kept the knife, he eventually wrapped it in an old shirt and put it in the bottom of his bag. When Sam had left for college he left the knife, forgetting it in his anger and wanting so badly to call Dean or his father to send it. He never did, though, and so lost hope of ever seeing it again. He'd always figured they'd sell it for ammo or throw it out.
"Hey, Sammy. Go get my bag from the trunk!" Dean yelled from the bathroom.
"Screw you, get it yourself," Sam said, laying on his bed and changing the channels randomly.
"Dude, come on. I'm kinda in the middle of something."
"Didn't need to know that."
"Just do it, bitch."
"Jerk," Sam replied, closing the door. Digging through the Impala's trunk Sam came across a dirty rag, balled-up and shoved in an obscure corner of the trunk. "What the fu-" Sam whispered under his breath, his old knife falling with a clunk to the trunk bottom.
A smile spread across Sam's face: 'Should have known Dean would keep it. Sentimental loser,' Sam thought, a smile gracing his lips as he slipped the familiar old knife into his back pocket.
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