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Dean would definitely be harsher, but he wouldn’t kill Sam right away (one of the times it’s really, really good Sam was found by Dean and not by certain other hunters).

He would likely close his hand around Sam much tighter, though, and confiscate the knife from him before anything else. If Dean takes the time to look at the knife, there would be a lot more shock and demands of where did you get this and Sam completely confused and winded by it all, likely ending up under a vase until they both realize why they have matching knives, and then guilt for the ages for Dean.

May 11th excerpt:

Melody stooped to pick up what looked like an action figure from in front of the small section of Pokemon toys. She wrapped a hand around it casually, only noting that it was clearly out of place with the bright and colorful Pikachus and Char-whatevers. She hadn’t even bothered to put her purse on the counter yet; she’d spotted it all the way from the front of the store with just a passing glance. Probably Lloyd shirking cleanup for the closing shift again.

She carried it at her side to the front counter, her hand swinging slightly with each step. She tossed her purse on the cluttered shelf below the register with a casual flick of the wrist, and the bag gave a muffled clatter as her belongings banged against each other. Then, pushing a handful of her beaded braids behind her ear, Melody lifted the action figure up to take a look at it.

Her nose immediately wrinkled and her brow pinched in irritation. “God dammit, Lloyd,” she muttered. “How many times I gotta tell him to quit letting people play with the expensive shit?”

This model was clearly more than just an action figure. It was a custom made piece, without a doubt. She couldn’t even see the joints. She gently tilted the little man’s head with a finger and thumb, careful not to strain the delicate work. She brushed along the hem of the tiny jacket and smirked at the itty bitty boots. The little toy even had a very real-looking knife clutched in its hand.

She turned the action figure over to look for its tag, but something else caught her attention. The little messenger bag hanging over its shoulder … “Oh, for fu- really, Lloyd?” There was a mini stuffed in the bag, one of those D&D type toys barely over an inch tall.

April 2nd excerpt:

Sam stepped up next to Jacob. “Could you grab me a jacket?” he called up to his older brother. It would just waste time they needed for him to go grab one himself at this point, and he wanted to stick as close to Jacob as he could.

Dean nodded distractedly, already going over in his mind what they’d need. He snagged one of Sam’s tan jackets out of the little cloth bag of belongings, and took a second to dig the tiny, hand crafted knife out of the dirty jacket with careful, adept fingers. He handed both down to Sam while he went to get the rest of his stuff ready.

Sam has a knife he can use to cut his hair. It’s perhaps not as precise as scissors, but he keeps it sharpened and it gets the job done. For the most part, he doesn’t cut his hair often, merely keeping it straight as it grows out.

Others will find sharpened scraps of metal to use if they live near humans. Those that live out in the wilderness often let their hair grow wild, or can use sharpened stones to cut it if it begins to get in their way, a problem while trying to survive.

December 11th excerpt:

When nothing turned up there, Sherlock got up to repeat the process around the room. He paused, squinted and leaned over the worktop to scrutinize a minuscule smudge. There were a few tiny dots of blood, long since dried, a short distance from the book pile where the knife had been found, one of them spread thin in the vague impression of the toe of a minuscule boot.

A tiny foot kicks Sam’s knife across the surface, hard enough to cover several inches in distance.

Sherlock frowned at the image that flashed in his mind. If Sam was truly in danger from another human, why would he rid himself of his sole weapon? Unless he wasn’t alone…

December 10th excerpt:

If it wasn’t for the dire circumstances they were in, Dean’s face would have been painted with fascination at the chance to work with the tools Sherlock used on his cases. As it was, he set to his task with no wasted energy, carefully mopping up every drop of blood that speckled Sam’s knife. The murky gleam of red was soon replaced by the more familiar shine.

Dean’s small size made it simple to get the blood right on the tip of the paper. It was like working with oversized construction paper, and since the blade was made for Dean’s size, he didn’t have a problem.

A small mimic of Sherlock, Dean sat back on his heels, holding up the folded paper circle for Sherlock to take, its white surface marred by the ring of drying blood.

June 12th excerpt:

With a whirl in her faded green dress, Mallory padded right past Sam and Dean in her soft-soled shoes. They were left staring at each other, jaws slightly ajar.

After a beat of hesitation, all three of Mallory’s tall boys jumped into action to try and catch her, Dean scrambling to grab the knives from the ground.

“Wait!”

April 10th excerpt:

Sam didn’t know what kind of poison Scar had given him, but he hoped it would be potent enough to make a difference. Scar’s wings provided enough cover for him to pry off the cork and slather it onto the sharp, silver blade. Dean had imbued in Sam at a young age a care for his weapons that he’d taken to heart after his curse.

The blade might be small, but it was all he had.