Child!Sam Winchester x Child!Shy!Reader: Drawings

    Another new school, another new batch of kids to fit in with, another few weeks of struggling to thread together a friendship with anyone not already settled into a clique. Sam always thought those cliques just be run by someone using a binding spell to hold a couple other kids to him. But then again, Sam didn't really know the beauty of solid, lasting friendship. Brotherhood, sure, but friendship? He didn't live a life made for friendship.

    "Class, this is Sam Winchester," the second grade homeroom teacher repeated the routine words every smiling, rosy-cheeked elementary teacher said. "He and his family are new in our little town, so let's give him a warm welcome."

    "Hi, Sam," the class muttered, sounding no more amused than Sam felt during arithmetic.

    After a moment of awkward swaying on his feet, Sam readjusted his bag on his shoulder and went to the back of the classroom, sinking down into an unoccupied desk. Looking to his right, he noticed you at the desk in the corner. Your head was bent down towards your desk as you concentrated on whatever doodle you were drawing, and your hair fell in front of your face, shielding you from his view.

    You caught his eye because you reminded him of...well...himself. While the teacher went back to her lessons in spelling assorted words like 'helpful', 'mixing', and the extra credit word 'delighted', he kept catching himself looking at you. You brushed your hair back once, and he thought he caught a glimpse of a satisfied smile as you gazed down at your artwork. He couldn't see it, but to you, it was a masterpiece; you and your daddy were in a field, and a sun with a smile and sunglasses on--you thought a sun with sunglasses was funny--shone down on you while you played together. Both of you had big smiles etched over your faces.

    It was near the end of class that you noticed Sam glancing over at you. Your eyes met once and you quickly looked away. He was about as good looking as a second grade boy could be, and had chick magnet written all over him. You were sure that even if he WAS new, he'd be popular in no time. So why was he bothering to take an interest in you?

    When lunchtime rolled around, a couple of boys stood by Sam in the cafeteria line and made conversation while they waited to get scoops of whatever the lunch ladies decided to call food this time around.

    "So you already noticed (y/n)," one of them, a chunky, short boy chuckled.

    "The girl at the corner desk?" Sam asked. The chunky boy and his friend, who was much lankier and had glasses that looked half an inch thick. "Yeah, I guess."

    "She's a weirdo, huh?" The lanky boy laughed. Sam tilted his head in confusion, his jaw clenching. So that's why you reminded him of himself. You were an outcast, too. "Just sits there in the back, drawing all the time. She gets all A's too, but she doesn't really have any friends. Most of us just tease her; it's fun."

    "We're actually planning on catching up with her after school and tripping her--us and a few other guys. Make her spill her books all over like in the movies, you know? It'll be funny," the chunky kid put in excitedly. "Wanna come?"

    "N-No thanks," Sam stuttered out, grabbing a lunch tray and using the opportunity to turn away, get his food, and walk into the crowded cafeteria. Tables full of laughing, smiling kids were on all sides. His eyes searched until he spotted a familiar girl sitting with a lunchbox in front of her, almost as if she were hiding behind it. He took quick strides on his short legs to snag an empty place beside you.

    "They'll never like you if you're nice to me," you muttered,  turning to face him. He was immediately captivated by your rosy cheeks, your bright (eye color) eyes, everything about you. He'd seen enough of the ugly to know the beautiful, and you were the embodiment of it, especially in the eyes of someone your age.

    "Who says I want 'em to like me?"

    You smiled a little. "Everyone wants to be liked," you answered quietly. Hurt flashed in your eyes for a second, and you tried to tuck it away by taking a bite of your sandwich. Sam took a bite of the nameless, somewhat disgusting casserole he'd been given. "So...Sam," you continued slowly, taking a moment to remember his name. "Where are you from?"

    "Everywhere," he answered. "My Dad, my brother, and I move around a lot. I probably won't be staying long here," he said. Now it was his turn to have a pained feeling for an instant.

    "Wow," you said, mystified. "Everywhere?"

    He smiled. "Kinda, yeah." His eyes widened when you offered him half of your cookie. It was homemade, and it looked delicious. "Oh, no, I couldn't--"

    "Please?" You looked at him with pleading eyes. "I never have anyone to share with." Sam looked from you to the treat and, biting his lip uncertainly, took it. You smiled widely. "Thank you, Sam."

    The lunch bell rang and you jumped up from your seat, scurrying off before Sam could even warn you about the bullies that were coming for you after school. He couldn't get his mind off of you for the rest of the day, telling Dean about it. After suffering through Dean's initial reaction of 'Aww, Sammy's got a crush!', Dean agreed to let him walk you home.

    "You better get home without gettin' caught by these shifters, though," Dean warned, concern clouding his eyes. Of course, Sam assured him he would.

    Sam didn't quite manage to find you before you left the school premises, but he did see a group of rowdy boys heading off together down a dirt trail through the forest, so he went after them, keeping his distance, knowing the element of the surprise was crucial for a group that size.

    And that's why he was a few seconds too late.

    You, walking unconcerned through the forest, we're too surprised to scream when a surprisingly strong hand spun you around and shoved you towards Tom Perkins, the toughest, meanest second grader in school. Your eyes widened in terror as you hurtled towards him. He stepped to the side, extending his foot in front of you, causing you to stumble and topple to the ground, hitting your chin hard on a tree root in the ground. You accidentally bit your tongue and tasted blood. Your books, which you'd been carrying home in your arms to help with your homework, flew in all directions. One of those books was your drawing journal...and it landed right at Tom's feet.

    You tried to grasp it, but Tom got it first, snatching it from the ground and holding it high, using his unnaturally tall height to keep it out of your reach. Snickers erupted from the four other boys watching the scene. "Give it back!" You tried to sound threatening, but the shakiness in your voice betrayed you. Tom laughed cruelly.

    "I don't think so," he responded, smirking. He flipped through a few pages and went as far as to tear some out, dropping the book while clinging to the most recently drawn-on pages.

    "Please, Tom," you pleaded, tears filling your eyes as you hopelessly grasped your notebook, your gaze locked on the stolen pages.

    "What are these?" he questioned with a smirk, glancing at them. They were all of you and your father, some of your most prized drawings. "Ahh, they're of you and Daddy. Come on, (y/n), everyone in town knows you don't have one," he taunted, his cruel smile never fading. "He left when you were a baby. Everybody knows that."

    "S-Stop," you muttered, sadness gripping your voice as your eyes shifted to the ground until you heard the sound of ripping paper. You looked up, mortified to see the torn halves of your drawings floating lazily to the ground. You felt your heart breaking in your chest.

    "Hey!" A new voice suddenly joined in the conversation. Sam appeared seemingly for out of nowhere, landing a solid punch on Tom's jaw. Two other boys that approached him were rewarded with black eyes, and Tom received a bruised cheek as well. You could barely believe what you saw as Sam sent the bullies running off, tails tucked between their pathetic legs. As they disappeared, the flame of anger flickered, leaving only sympathy in Sam's expression. He bent down, picking up the pieces of your artwork and glanced at them for a few seconds before offering them to you. Sniffling, you added them to your pile of books and set everything on the ground, running over and hugging the taller boy tightly.

    "Sam, how did you find me?" you inquired, your voice shaky as your mind replayed the past few minutes' events.

    "You left the lunchroom before I could warn you. Those creeps told me they were following you, so I came too. I thought you might need help--not that, um, you couldn't have handled it yourself. It's just, I know how to fight." he answered, giving you a small smile when you leaned back to look at his features. He looked more protective and caring than anyone your age you'd ever met.

    "Thank you, Sam..." you whispered. Before you knew what was happening, you were kissing him. Well, your lips were pressed together. You were a bit young to even know what proper kissing was; you were only going from what you'd seen on television.

    "You're welcome," he said, sounding a bit breathless once you pulled away.

    "You're leaving soon, aren't you?" you asked him sadly. He didn't answer, but he couldn't meet your eyes either. "It's okay. Just..." you grasped a sheet of blank paper from your drawing journal, scribbling down your address. "Write to me, okay?"

    Sam's eyes lit up. He didn't live a life made for friendship, but then again, maybe you didn't either. And maybe that's why you managed to stay friends all those years. You always had a letter coming from your knight in shining armor, the one you'd bestowed your first kiss upon. You always had a friend, no matter how bad things got, and so did he.

    And he always did love you.