The Runt of the Litter

Violence Is Not the Answer (In the Majority of Cases)

Note: Hey my loves <3 Thank you so much for all your votes and comments. You guys know exactly how to feed a writer's soul.

I'm about ready for a nap and some garlic bread, so I decided to post an old story today. 

I wrote this a few years ago, when I was still in high school. I've gone back and forth a lot on whether I wanted to post it or not. But I think this is one of the only good lessons John ever taught Anna.

So, without further ado, Anna is four.

Violence Is Not the Answer (In the Majority of Cases)

"Give it back," the little girl whined as a boy a little older than Anna held a toy truck out of her reach.

Anna turned at the sound, curly pigtails bouncing on her shoulders as she did so, but she didn't get up immediately. She stayed kneeling in the sandbox and watched the boy holding the toy truck over his head.

"Trucks isn't for girls," he said as if he knew such things.

Anna glared at him, but she still didn't move.

The little girl whined a little more, wordlessly this time. She was about Anna's age or perhaps a little older. It was hard to say. She wore her brown hair in two dutch braids, and she was standing up in front of the boy, jumping and standing on her tiptoes in an effort to reach the toy he'd taken from her.

"Trucks are for everybody," she corrected him, putting her hands on her hips as she finally realized there was no way for her to reach the toy.

Anna turned back to her sandcastle, assuming this argument would end there. The little boy threw the truck down then, though, causing a puff of sandy dust to cloud the air. Anna squeezed her eyes shut and squealed indignantly as she felt the particles sting her eyes.

"You meanie!" the other little girl said angrily. She used both hands to push the boy backwards, and he landed on his butt in the sand.

Anna rubbed her eyes with both hands, but her hands were dirty too, and her eyes kept burning from the sand in them. She moved onto her hands and knees and then got to her feet.

"You pushed me!"

"Yeah, dummy." The boy scrambled upward and shoved the girl back. She didn't fall, but she did look angry. "Don't take people's toys and be mean and nobody's gonna push you anymore, okay?"

Anna took the opportunity while the boy was distracted to pick up the toy truck. She held it out to the little girl, knowing she'd been using it before. Anna continued to blink the sand out of her eyes as she waited for the girl to take the toy.

"You wanna play with me?" the girl asked, much to Anna's surprise.

Anna was about to answer with an excited yes, but the truck was torn roughly out of her hands, and she was shoved backwards by a hand on her chest. She landed hard in the sand, but she didn't stay down long. She was on her feet and the little boy on the ground inside of five seconds. 

Anna stood over him with a snarl on her face for a few seconds before the little boy started to wail, cupping both his hands over his face. He scrambled up and ran, crying, toward the benches where several parents were sitting, talking.

Anna turned to the little girl and said, "I'll play with you! What's your name?"

"Alicia. What's yours?"

"I'm-"

"Anna Winchester. Did you hit him?"

Anna's mouth formed a little 'o' of surprise. She hadn't foreseen this at all, yet before her stood an angry and confused John Winchester beside an angrier brown-haired woman and the mean little boy that had stolen Alicia's toy truck.

"Yes, sir," Anna said gravely. "But he deserved it."

"He said trucks aren't for girls!" Alicia backed her up.

The brown-haired woman took a deep breath and looked down at her son. "Levi, these little girls have as much a right to play with that truck as you," she said calmly. The little boy nodded, pink faced with shame or exertion or both. "But that's no excuse for your daughter hitting him in the face," she then said to John, who nodded.

"I know. I apologize. We're gonna talk about it. C'mere, Anna."

Dejectedly, Anna let John take her hand and lead her off the playground. They stopped by his truck and he set her on the hood so she was closer to eye level. "What was that?" he asked.

Anna wrinkled her nose and stuck her little chin out stubbornly. "He pushed me. And 'licia. He deserved it."

John studied her face for a minute, then nodded slowly. He took her chin in his hand and met her wide, curious green eyes with life-dimmed brown ones. "That's good," he said. Anna's surprise at that response was evident in every line of her baby face, but John didn't give her time to dwell on it. "Now listen, because I've got two things to tell you, and I want you to hear both of them loud and clear. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sometimes," John told her seriously, "you have to hit people. You can't let other people hurt you, so when it happens, you hit back. You don't stay down. You get up, and you fight. And, I'm sorry to say it, Peanut, but it's especially true that girls have to hit boys, because sometimes boys think it's okay for them to push and shove girls. You understand?"

"I think so, Daddy," Anna said, face scrunched up thoughtfully.

John settled for the answer and continued. "But you have to understand another thing too, Anna. You can't just hit people all the time either. A lot of the time, there's no reason to hurt anybody. No reason other than malice."

"What is malix?"

"Malice," John repeated, shaking his head at himself for using such a word in a talk with a four year old in the first place. "Malice is when you do something because you mean to hurt someone. It's like evil."

"But I'm not evil," Anna said, sounding offended at the very thought.

"No, you're not, Peanut. But if you hurt people when you don't absolutely have to, that's bad. What I'm trying to say is, violence isn't the answer." In the majority of cases, anyway, he thought but didn't say. "Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Anna replied with total confidence. "I only can hit people that deserve it. And a lots of times, boys deserve it." John hesitated to leave it at that, but Anna seemed to realize he needed her to elaborate. She frowned thoughtfully and said, "Because some boys like to be mean to girls."

John nodded. "You don't hit anyone unless there's no other way to stay safe and keep the people around you safe," he reiterated.

"So I did good."

"Today, Peanut, yeah. But I want you to remember that rule."

"I will, Daddy. I won't never be malice."

John didn't correct her grammatical error. She'd learned the lesson he needed her to.

La Fin