captonite

[captonite]

“Can I Listen to Your Breathing?”

Chubs asking to curl up into one of her big brothers’ chests to listen to their heartbeat is peak emotional warfare. That’s baby deer-level vulnerability, and the boys would absolutely melt into puddles.

It was late—moonlight spilling across the motel room floor in silver patches. The hunt had been a rough one. Sam’s knuckles were scraped raw, Dean had a fresh bruise blooming on his ribs, and the adrenaline had barely worn off.

Chubs—barely five, still in her mismatched PJs with her favorite cow plush stood by Dean’s bed, clutching her toy by the neck like it had offended her somehow. Her curls were messy, her eyes glassy with exhaustion, and her bottom lip wobbled.

Dean noticed first. “Hey, baby. Can’t sleep?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just padded forward with small, deliberate steps until she stood beside where he lay on top of the covers, still half-dressed and sore.

“Dean…” she whispered.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

Her voice was small. So small it nearly got lost in the hum of the air conditioner. “Can I curl up in your chest and… listen to your breathing?”

Dean’s heart cracked clean down the middle.

He sat up slowly, reaching his arms out without hesitation. “C’mere, baby girl. Course you can.”

She climbed into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world, pressing her cheek against his chest, just where his heartbeat was strongest. She let out a shaky breath and melted against him, her tiny hand clutching the fabric of his shirt.

Dean wrapped both arms around her like armor.

“I like the sound,” she mumbled, already half-asleep. “It’s loud but soft. It means you’re okay.”

Dean swallowed thickly. “I’m okay, baby. You’re safe.”

Sam, from his own bed across the room, watched in silence. The way Chubs burrowed into Dean’s chest, how Dean rested his chin on her head like he was anchoring them both. Sam remembered being that small once—remembered clinging to Dean the same way in dark motel rooms just like this.

He cleared his throat. “If you ever wanna… y’know, listen to mine sometime too, I’d be okay with that,” he offered gently.

Chubs shifted just a little. “You got good breathing too,” she said sleepily. “You’re my second favorite pillow.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Second?”

“You’re warmer,” she whispered, fingers still clutching his shirt. “Like a big ol’ furnace.”

Dean laughed softly. “Guess I’ll take it.”

And so she stayed there, listening to his heartbeat, her breathing syncing with his, until the rhythm lulled her into dreams. Sam watched them both with soft eyes, knowing in that moment they were exactly where they were meant to be.

—

The bunker was dark except for the kitchen’s nightlight glowing like a moon down the hall.

Sam was standing in front of the sink, still in his flannel and blood-smudged jeans, silently drying a mug he hadn’t even poured anything into. He wasn’t ready for sleep. Not yet. The hunt had been messy. Too close. He still felt the phantom brush of claws where they’d almost gotten her—where Chubs had screamed.

And then he heard it. Little footsteps. Bare and careful on the cold tile.

He turned just in time to see her—Chubs, bundled in Dean’s hoodie that hung past her knees, holding her plush rabbit by one ear, eyes puffy and uncertain.

“Chubs?” Sam crouched instinctively. “Hey, sweetheart. What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?”

She didn’t answer. Just walked right up to him and placed her small hands on his chest.

“...Can I listen to your breathing?” she asked in a whisper.

Sam froze. His heart squeezed so hard it hurt.

“Of course you can,” he said softly, gathering her up into his arms.

She clambered onto him without hesitation, curling into his chest just like she used to when she was a toddler. She pressed her ear right over his heart, tucking her legs against his ribs. Her tiny fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt like it was a lifeline.

Sam stood there, holding her, swaying gently.

After a moment, she whispered, “I just… I needed to make sure. You’re still here. That you’re still… alive.”

Sam’s breath caught in his throat. He pressed a kiss into her curls and blinked hard.

“I’m here, baby girl. I’m okay. I promise.”

“I heard you scream,” she murmured. “And then everything got quiet. Too quiet.”

Sam’s arms tightened protectively. “I’m so sorry, Chubs. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” she said. “Not on purpose. I just… I didn’t know if your heart was still going.”

He lowered onto the couch with her still cradled in his arms, resting her against his chest. “Well, now you know. Strong as ever. You wanna count the beats?”

Chubs nodded and started whispering numbers softly.

Sam stayed quiet, rocking her gently, until her counting faded and her breathing slowed. She was asleep again within minutes, cheek pressed over his heart.

Dean found them like that an hour later—Sam curled around her protectively, his chin resting in her hair, eyes closed, tears dried on his lashes.

“You good?” Dean asked quietly.

Sam nodded without opening his eyes. “Yeah. She just… needed to listen.”

Dean smiled a little, his voice a murmur. “She’s got both our hearts on speed dial.”

“She’s got ‘em in her back pocket,” Sam said. “And she knows it.”

[captonite]

Our Old Street & Go Home

Hiii mi bebe!! Angsty with some fluffy ending??? That I can do ;) Thank you for giving me the chance to write something so vulnerable it meant a lot, and I hope it meant something to you too. And as always thank you for coming along with Chubs and her journey with her brothers. Mwaaah kisses from Chubs and Her Boys (and me too duh) <333

The house was small. A little worn, tucked behind trees, with windchimes on the porch and a mailbox shaped like a cardinal. It wasn’t fancy, but it was theirs. And for the first time in years, Chubs had her own room. Real sheets. A window that wasn’t fogged by motel cigarette smoke. A closet with shelves and space just for her things.

It felt like a dream.

Dean painted the walls her favorite color—soft dusty pink—and Sam built the bookshelf by hand, even though he cursed half the time and got glue on his sleeve. They let her pick out a desk and even let her put up those glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. Dean teased her, but he was the one who stuck them on the highest points she couldn’t reach.

“I want you to have a life,” Sam had said, brushing her hair back as she beamed at her brand new school backpack. “Friends. Homework. Bad cafeteria pizza. All of it.”

She hugged him so tight his ribs ached.

The morning of enrollment, she wore the dress Dean picked out. Sam made her a lunch. They were already bickering in the car—Dean saying “no one needs Greek mythology in eighth grade,” and Sam arguing it was “cultural literacy.” Chubs just rolled her eyes and grinned. Everything felt normal. Happy.

Then the office lady asked for her birth certificate.

Then her social security number.

Then—confused, frowning—she stepped away from the desk and whispered into the phone, behind a closed glass door.

Sam and Dean stiffened.

Five minutes later, the principal came in with a cop.

"She’s still listed as missing," they were told. "From Ohio. Her foster records were never cleared. Her guardianship isn’t recognized. We have to notify child protective services.”

Dean exploded first. “She’s our sister. We’ve raised her. Where the hell was CPS when she was starving and scared in some piece of crap group home?”

Sam’s voice was calmer but no less furious. “We’ll fix this. There has to be a way to—just give us a second.”

Chubs had gone still.

Her sandwich was untouched in her lap.

She didn’t say anything the whole ride home.

Not even when Dean tried to joke about her getting out of her first day of school.

Not when Sam promised, quietly, that they’d fix it before nightfall.

That night, when she heard them talking in the living room—whispers, cursing, the sound of Sam pacing—Chubs stood on the other side of the wall.

She heard “custody.”

She heard “state intervention.”

She heard “can’t risk them taking her.”

And then she packed.

Just like she always did.

Just like she had in the past, in bedrooms she was never allowed to keep.

She left a note on her pillow. It said “I love you” in shaky marker, with a tiny sketch of them in the Impala underneath.

And then she ran.

—

The second Dean found her room empty, he knew.

“Sam,” he barked, already checking under the bed, the closet, the bathroom. “Sam, she’s gone.”

“What?” Sam burst in from the kitchen, holding the phone he’d just gotten off with a lawyer.

“Chubs. She’s—she left. Her bag’s gone. She left a note, man.”

Dean’s voice cracked.

Sam’s eyes scanned the paper, a shaky “I love you. I’m sorry.”

And then he ran.

They tore up the streets.

Checked every corner store, every alley, every bus station. Dean was pale. Sam kept calling her phone, begging her to pick up. By hour two, Sam was shaking so bad he had to stop driving. Dean took over.

“I shouldn’t have said anything near her,” Sam muttered. “She must’ve heard us—she must think we were gonna let them take her.”

“I’d die before I let that happen,” Dean growled. “We promised her. We promised she’d never be alone again.”

They found her five hours later.

Soaked to the bone, hoodie up, curled under a slide in the abandoned park five miles from home.

Dean spotted her first and choked on his own breath. “Baby…”

Chubs flinched at the sound of tires on gravel.

She didn’t move when Sam sprinted toward her, didn’t even lift her head when Dean dropped to his knees in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, lip trembling. “I didn’t want them to take me. I—I thought if I left first it wouldn’t hurt as bad.”

“No,” Dean said, voice breaking. “Baby, no. You don’t ever do that. You don’t ever leave.”

“We were scared, sweetheart,” Sam added, kneeling beside her. “But we weren’t scared of you. We were scared for you.”

Her voice was barely a breath. “I thought you were gonna let them have me.”

Dean made a sound Sam had never heard before—some broken, strangled thing—and pulled her into his arms like she was something fragile and vanishing.

“We’d burn the world before we let anyone take you,” he whispered into her hair. “You hear me? We’re your family. Not the law. Not a file in a cabinet. Us.”

She cried then.

Ugly, hiccupping sobs into his jacket.

Sam’s hand settled on her back, steady and warm. “We’re gonna fix it, baby girl. We’ve already started. We’ve got a real lawyer now. Not some back alley ID-forger. You’re gonna be safe. On paper. In law. Just like you already are in our hearts.”

Chubs curled into them both.

They stayed like that, in the dark and the rain, until she stopped shaking.

—

Back at the house, Dean wouldn’t let her out of his sight. Sam kept his hand on her back the whole time they helped her into dry clothes. They tucked her into bed together. Made her hot chocolate. Turned on the space heater. Played a Disney movie she’d never admit she still loved.

“Sorry I scared you guys,” she murmured into her pillow.

Dean kissed her forehead. “You’re our whole damn world, Bambi. Don’t do that again. Please.”

Sam nodded, kneeling at her side. “We meant what we said. This is your home. We’re not letting anyone take that from you.”

“I believe you,” she said softly.

Then, after a long beat…

“Can I still go to school? With real cafeteria pizza?”

Dean chuckled wetly, brushing a tear off her cheek. “Hell yeah you can. But only if you eat better than just pizza.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “Fine. I guess.”

—

Just a week later, Sam and Dean, like miracle workers that they are, worked tirelessly to obtain her records.

Her new records were official.

Sam handled the paperwork.

Dean bought her a cupcake on her first real day of class.

Chubs slipped a sticky note into Dean’s glovebox that read:

“You’re my home.”

—

Things were great until they weren't.

It was supposed to be a normal day.

Chubs had made it through her math test, finished her lunch with a goofy text from Dean, and had started walking home — earbuds in, music up, sun on her cheeks. She even hummed a little, her favorite hoodie wrapped around her shoulders, thinking about how she was gonna beg Sam to help her with science and con Dean into buying pizza.

She didn’t see the car until it screeched up behind her.

Didn’t see the arms coming until they were already around her.

Didn’t get the chance to scream.

—

An hour later, Dean’s phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Then silence. He frowned.

“She’s late.”

Sam looked up from his laptop, brow furrowed. “How late?”

“Twenty-five minutes.”

Sam stood immediately.

Dean was already grabbing his keys.

Meanwhile, somewhere dark. Chubs whimpered against the gag. The ropes were tight — too tight — biting into her wrists. The van smelled like mold and cigarette smoke, and her heart pounded like it was trying to punch its way out of her chest.

"Look what we have here,” her old foster mother purred from the front. “Thought you could disappear and no one would notice, huh?"

Her foster father chuckled low. “Bet your real family didn’t even look that hard.”

Something in Chubs cracked. Because she knew her brothers would move heaven and earth for her. She knew Dean would’ve burned the world down and Sam would’ve built it back up just to find her.

But right now, they didn’t know.

Right now, she was alone again.

Back at the house, Dean’s knuckles were white around the steering wheel. “She always texts. Even when she’s late. Something’s wrong.”

“Traffic cams didn’t pick her up past the school,” Sam muttered, typing furiously. “Last ping on her phone was right outside campus. Then nothing.”

Dean’s voice dropped, thick with fear. “Someone took her.”

Sam’s eyes flicked up. “You think it’s—?”

Dean didn’t answer. Just growled out, “Call Crowley.”

—

Chubs didn’t cry. She wanted to — her wrists hurt, her mouth was dry, and the cruel taunts from her foster parents scraped against old, barely-healed wounds — but she didn’t cry.

Dean had told her once, “You’re a goddamn Winchester. Even scared, even shaking, you’re strong.”

So she glared through the duct tape, bloodied lip trembling, teeth clenched.

“Still got that attitude, huh?” the woman sneered. “Maybe we need to beat it out of you again. Worked before.”

Chubs flinched.

That was the moment the door burst off its hinges.

Gunfire. Yelling. A demon’s scream.

And then Dean.

“Bambi,” he breathed, rushing to her side. “Baby, I got you. I got you, okay?”

She was sobbing now. She couldn’t help it. “D-Dean—”

“I’m here. Sammy’s here. You’re safe now.”

—

Wrapped in blankets, Chubs sat curled between her brothers, eyes vacant, throat raw. Every time she blinked, she flinched.

Dean’s arm was around her, shaking with barely restrained rage. “How the hell did they find her? We burned every record.”

Sam’s jaw was clenched. “Foster dad’s cousin works for a records department. Cross-checked her school ID with a missing child database.”

Dean’s voice broke. “We almost lost her. Again.”

There was a knock.

Crowley strolled in, dapper and dangerous, holding something small and soft.

“Don’t worry, Squirrel. Moose. I had a little chat with those monsters.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Define ‘chat.’”

Crowley’s smile was razor-sharp. “Let’s just say their souls are on a permanent vacation.”

Then he turned to Chubs, softened. “Bambi, darling, I brought you something.”

He handed her a goat plushie — tiny, fluffy, black with glittery horns.

Chubs blinked at it. “You got me… a demon goat?”

He winked. “His name is Balthazar. He’s got a mean bite, just like you.”

A small, choked laugh escaped her. It was the first sound she’d made in hours that didn’t break their hearts.

Sam leaned in, brushing hair from her face. “You’re safe, baby girl.”

Dean pressed a kiss to her temple. “Nobody’s ever taking you again. Not without going through us first.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “And me. Honestly.”

And for the first time since that day turned nightmare, Chubs leaned into her brothers and let herself believe it.

She was home.

And she was never going back.

—

The house was too quiet.

It wasn’t supposed to be. Not after everything. Not when she was finally home. But Chubs hadn’t spoken much since they got her back, hadn’t laughed, hadn’t even really cried. Sam and Dean had taken turns hovering—one always nearby, like she might vanish if they so much as blinked.

She sat curled on the couch now, a blanket wrapped tight around her small frame. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and her eyes, wide and dull, were fixed on the flickering TV. She wasn’t watching it. She was just… somewhere else.

Dean stood in the kitchen, gripping the counter until his knuckles went white. “I should’ve picked her up. I should’ve been there.”

“Dean,” Sam said softly. “We didn’t know.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “Doesn’t matter. We should have.”

It had been two days since they found her—bruised, bloodied, duct tape over her mouth, wrists red-raw from fighting the zip ties. The bastard foster father hadn’t even had the decency to keep her unconscious. She remembered every minute. She screamed when Dean broke in, screamed like she didn’t recognize them.

Sam had carried her out. Dean had gone back in and made sure the man would never touch another child again.

Now Chubs flinched at loud noises. She kept her back to walls. She didn’t like the dark. And when she did sleep, she woke up screaming.

Dean brought over the tea he’d made—chamomile with two teaspoons of honey, just how she used to like it. He knelt in front of her and gently touched her blanket-wrapped knee. “Hey, baby,” he said, voice gentle. “Think you could drink some of this for me?”

Her eyes flicked to him. She didn’t say anything. But she reached out with trembling hands and took the mug.

Dean smiled, trying not to let it crack. “Atta girl.”

Sam came and sat on her other side, careful not to crowd her. “You hungry, kiddo? I could make you grilled cheese. Or soup.”

She gave a tiny shake of her head.

Dean hesitated. “You, uh… want to talk about it?”

She blinked. Then finally, for the first time in hours, she whispered, “They said you wouldn't come.”

Dean froze. “What?”

“They told me no one was looking for me. That you forgot about me. That this was always gonna happen.”

Sam leaned in, heart shattering. “Baby girl, that’s not true. We never stopped looking.”

“I screamed,” she said, and her voice cracked. “I screamed so loud, Dean. I kept thinking—if I scream loud enough, you’ll hear me. You always hear me.”

Dean looked like someone had put a bullet straight through him. “God, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

“It hurt,” she whispered. “Everything hurt. I thought I was gonna die.”

Sam reached for her hand, brushing his thumb across her knuckles. “You're safe now. We’ve got you.”

Chubs dropped the mug on the coffee table and finally let herself lean sideways—falling into Dean’s chest, trembling like a leaf. “Don’t let them take me away.”

Dean wrapped his arms around her like a vise. “Never,” he rasped. “No one’s taking you anywhere. You're ours. You’re home.”

Sam leaned in too, rubbing her back. “I don’t care what the law says. You’re not going anywhere, Chubs.”

“I don’t want to go to school anymore,” she hiccuped. “Please don’t make me.”

Dean kissed the top of her head. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, okay? We’ll figure everything out.”

Chubs nodded against his chest, finally letting out a soft, broken sob. Dean held her tighter.

They stayed like that for hours—curled together, a mess of tears, apologies, and whispered promises. Sam eventually fell asleep in the armchair, head tilted back, while Dean sat protectively upright on the couch, Chubs still clinging to his chest.

The nightmare came around 3 AM.

Chubs thrashed and screamed until both boys jolted awake. Dean cupped her face, repeating over and over, “It’s me, baby. It’s me. You're safe. I got you.”

Sam turned on every light in the room.

They made a new rule that night: no more sleeping apart. Not for a while.

Dean built a blanket fort in the living room. Sam pulled in all the couch cushions. Chubs finally drifted off again between them, safe in the cocoon of her brothers’ arms.

Dean whispered into the dark, “She’s never leaving our sight again.”

Sam nodded, voice raw. “Not ever.”

And Chubs, half-asleep but safe for the first time in days, finally believed them.

[captonite]

Never at Her

It is canon that Dean is an angry sleeper. Jack nearly got obliterated that one time, and Castiel had to swoop in like “DON’T. WAKE. DEAN.” Not sure if that applies to Chubs though...?

—

Jack stood at the edge of the war room, wringing his hands nervously. “You… you can’t wake him up,” he whispered urgently. “Dean doesn’t like it.”

Chubs blinked up at him from where she stood, clutching a box of cereal and a sticky plastic spoon. Her hair was still sleep-mussed, freckles peeking out from beneath the hood of her oversized pajama hoodie. “But it’s breakfast.”

Jack leaned in like he was sharing a life-or-death secret. “He growled at me once. Growled. Like a wolf. I dropped my Pop-Tart.”

Chubs shrugged. “That’s because you’re loud like a kazoo in a church.”

“I am not loud like a—”

But she was already skipping off.

Jack followed in panic mode, whispering, “Cas says never wake him up before 9 unless the world is ending!”

Chubs ignored him, balancing her cereal like a treasure and stepping carefully toward Dean’s room. The door creaked as she pushed it open with a knee.

Inside, Dean was curled under a heavy comforter, one arm thrown across his face, the room dark and cave-like. He looked grizzled, dangerous, and deeply asleep.

Jack hovered behind her like she was approaching a bear den.

“Chubs, don’t. I’m telling you—”

She gently nudged the bed with her knee. “Deaaan,” she whispered sweetly, “I made cereal but it’s the good one with the little marshmallow ghosts, and I didn’t want to eat alone…”

Jack closed his eyes and braced for yelling.

But—

Dean made a deep, gruff sound. “Mmmgh… ‘s too early, baby girl…” he rasped.

Chubs giggled and climbed onto the bed without hesitation. “But it’s the marshmallow ghost cereal,” she whispered against his shoulder.

Dean cracked open one bleary green eye and blinked at her. His scowl vanished instantly. He reached out, pulled her close against him with one arm, and mumbled, “C’mere. You’re warm.”

Jack’s jaw dropped.

Dean smiled—smiled—while letting Chubs settle against his chest like a teddy bear. “You already eat?” he asked sleepily, voice rough.

“Waitin’ for you,” she mumbled.

Dean buried his face in her hair and sighed. “Best reason to wake up.”

Jack stood in stunned silence, blinking. “…So… she’s immune?”

From under the blanket cocoon, Dean’s voice grumbled, “Jack, if you’re still standing there when I open my eyes, I’m gonna make you do cardio.”

“Gone! I’m gone!” Jack yelped, bolting out the door.

Dean huffed, pressing a kiss to Chubs’ forehead. “You, though? You can always wake me up, sunshine.”

Chubs just grinned and curled into his warmth, already halfway asleep again.

—

When Sam finally woke up that morning—way later than planned thanks to a salt-and-burn the night before—he shuffled down the hallway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and muttering something about needing caffeine or divine intervention.

But when he passed Dean’s room, he stopped. Blinked. Squinted.

Because there, in the warm amber light spilling through the curtains, was a sight no one could’ve paid him to believe.

Dean. Asleep. On his back. Snoring. Mouth slightly open. Chubs curled up on top of him like a sleepy little baby possum.

One hand was tangled in her hair, and her cheek was smushed against his chest. Dean had both arms around her, protectively, like she was the most precious thing in the world. (Which, to be fair, she was.)

And Jack? Jack was standing in the doorway, staring at them like he’d just witnessed Bigfoot hug a kitten.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

Jack slowly turned his head. “...Did you know?”

Sam stifled a yawn. “Know what?”

“That he lets her wake him up.”

“Oh,” Sam smirked. “Yeah.”

“Without... swearing? Or throwing a shoe?”

“Oh yeah.”

Jack blinked like he was malfunctioning. “I once opened Dean’s door by accident and he called me a ‘graceless giraffe with no concept of boundaries.’”

Sam laughed. “Sounds about right.”

“But she poked his face. His face, Sam. And he—he smiled. And pulled her into his chest. And gave her the blanket.”

Sam leaned against the doorframe and looked inside again, heart softening a little. “Yeah... she’s kind of the only one who gets away with that.”

“But why?” Jack whispered, like he was asking about the secrets of the cosmos. “Even Cas said waking Dean up is like summoning a minor demon.”

“Because Chubs isn’t just anyone,” Sam said simply, voice low and fond. “She’s... different. For him.”

Jack tilted his head.

Sam crossed his arms. “Dean’s spent his whole life being told to wake up swinging. To be on edge. Ready to fight. Ready to yell. But with her? She makes him feel safe. Soft. Human.”

He looked back at Jack and smiled. “She’s the only person in the world who can crawl into his bed at 6 a.m. and not get a death glare. You, me, Cas—we’d get mauled.”

Jack nodded solemnly. “I once bumped his nightstand and he threw a boot at me.”

“Exactly.”

They both looked back into the room.

Dean stirred slightly in his sleep, arms tightening around his little sister, who mumbled something about “pancake clouds” in her dreams.

Jack’s voice dropped to a reverent whisper. “She’s like... the Anti-Dean Button.”

Sam chuckled. “Pretty much.”

Jack took out his phone.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Adding a new entry to my journal.” Jack tapped the screen. “‘Dean Winchester: Not a morning person... unless the morning starts with Chubs.’”

Sam nodded approvingly. “That’s solid intel.”

—

Dean stirred when he felt her little body shift on his chest.

Not that he was planning to move anytime soon.

There was something about the weight of her, the softness, the warmth, the way her tiny fingers had curled into his shirt that made him feel like maybe the world wasn’t such a nightmare. Maybe he didn’t have to fight all the time.

She whimpered softly in her sleep, nose scrunching up.

Dean’s palm immediately moved to her back, rubbing gentle circles. “Shh. ‘S okay, baby girl. I got you.”

She calmed.

He smiled. Eyes still closed. His voice came out hoarse and low: “Jack, if you take a picture, I swear to God—”

Jack flinched from the doorway, caught red-handed with his phone in his hand. “I wasn’t—! I just—!”

Dean cracked one eye open and glared. “You’re standing there like a stalker at Build-a-Bear.”

Sam snorted behind him.

Dean looked over, voice dropping even lower. “And you’re both talkin’ way too loud.”

Jack blinked. “We weren’t yelling.”

Dean gently pulled the blanket higher over Chubs’ shoulder. “You’re talkin’. That’s loud enough.”

He settled back into the pillows and tightened his arm around her tiny frame. His hand instinctively came up to shield the back of her head. Then he looked at them, eyes half-lidded but serious.

“Shhhh. My girl’s still asleep.”

That silenced them immediately.

Sam raised his eyebrows and gave Jack a look like see what I mean?

Jack just stood there like his heart had exploded.

Chubs let out a sleepy hum and nuzzled deeper into Dean’s chest, whispering something incoherent about “unicorn pancakes” and “nap castles.”

Dean smiled—smiled—and whispered back, “Yeah, sweetheart. You can build all the castles you want.”

Jack looked like he was about to cry again.

Dean cracked his eye open. “Jack?”

“Yes?”

“You cry and wake her up, I’m makin’ you sleep in the trunk.”

Jack nodded, wide-eyed. “Understood.”

Dean pulled the blanket over both of them a little tighter. He kissed the top of Chubs’ fluffy bedhead and sighed. “Now get outta here, both of you. Go journal or hold hands or whatever it is you weirdos do.”

Sam chuckled as he ushered Jack away. But just before he closed the door, he looked back one more time.

Dean Winchester. Big bad hunter. Grumpy morning menace. And there he was, holding a tiny girl like she was the last piece of peace he had left in the world.

Sam smiled.

Yeah. That was his brother. And that was his girl.

—

Jack sat at the kitchen table with a mug of cocoa, staring blankly into space.

He had just witnessed something that went against everything he thought he knew about the natural order of the universe.

Dean Winchester. Woken up. Before 9 a.m. Without threatening bodily harm. Smiling.

He took a slow sip of cocoa. “This is... unprecedented,” he muttered to himself.

He reached for a napkin and started scribbling a mental list—like all good hunters do when faced with phenomena that defy reality.

THINGS THAT DON’T MAKE SENSE (but I’m okay with it):

Cas can read ancient Enochian but gets confused by IKEA instructions.

Dean eats burgers with lettuce but complains if it’s leafy lettuce.

Sam says he doesn’t like dogs, but cries during dog movies.

Chubs with subheading: “Chubs Defies Physics, Gravity, and Dean Winchester.”

Jack tapped his pen. Under the fourth bullet, he added:

Dean once nearly stabbed me for waking him up on a Tuesday.

Cas said waking Dean early is “an offense punishable by death glare.”

And yet—Chubs climbs onto his bed like a pillow gremlin, and he just grumbles? Smiles??? Offers her snuggles???

Jack blinked at the napkin. This wasn’t science. This wasn’t magic.

This was... Chubs.

Jack smiled slowly to himself. “I guess I’m okay with that.”

[captonite]

Cry Wolf

Hiii mi bebe!! AHHH tysm for this request!! It’s giving chaotic prank gone wrong, but also… ouch?? and I absolutely LOVE that energy. Like, you handed me a silly little setup wrapped in a big ol’ ball of feelings, and I went yep that’s Chubs-core. She would 100% pull a prank, think it’s hilarious, and then spiral when it accidentally hurts someone (or herself). I’m so excited to dig into this thank you sm for trusting me with it!! I hope you’re ready for laughter, guilt, and hugs-that-hurt. Chubs says thank you too bebe <3333

—

They were always at war.

Chubs and Dean had been pranking each other for weeks. Toothpaste Oreos, salt in the sugar jar, plastic wrap on the toilet seat—classic Winchester shenanigans. Sam had begged for peace, but at this point, they were locked in an escalating Cold War.

So when Dean walked into the bunker’s library one afternoon to find Chubs collapsed on the floor, clutching her throat and gasping for air, he didn’t flinch.

He just rolled his eyes.

“Oh come on, baby girl,” he huffed, crossing his arms. “That’s low—even for you. Choking? Really?”

Chubs wheezed, flailed dramatically, and then flopped back like a ragdoll.

Dean threw a piece of paper at her. “You’re not even good at faking it.”

Sam peeked around the corner, looked at the scene, and groaned. “You’re gonna give one of us a heart attack someday.”

“I’m just keeping you on your toes,” Chubs said with a wicked grin, sitting up and wiggling her fingers in an eerie “ghostly” wave. “Boo.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Payback’s coming, Bambi. When you least expect it.”

She just winked.

—

A few days later, during dinner, the bunker kitchen was warm, filled with the smell of burgers and fries. Dean was bragging about his homemade seasoning blend, Sam was trying to read a book mid-meal, and Chubs was teasing them both from across the table.

She took a huge bite of her burger, chewing contentedly—until suddenly, her eyes went wide.

She grabbed at her throat, coughing violently.

Dean glanced at her, not even raising an eyebrow. “Nice try, sweetheart. Already fell for that one.”

Sam didn’t even look up. “Gotta work on new material.”

Chubs stood abruptly, her chair scraping the floor. She staggered, her face turning red.

Dean frowned. “Chubs?”

She beat her chest, gasping—but nothing came out.

Sam looked up, the color draining from his face. “Dean. Dean—she’s not faking.”

Time stopped.

Dean was out of his chair in an instant, his heart lurching violently in his chest. “Hey, hey, look at me—Chubs, baby, breathe—shit—she’s choking—”

Sam was already behind her, arms wrapping around her torso, trying the Heimlich.

One. Two. Nothing.

“Come on, come on, please—” Dean's voice cracked.

On the third squeeze, a chunk of burger flew out, landing with a dull plop on the tile.

Chubs collapsed into Dean’s arms, heaving for breath, trembling. Dean caught her, pulling her into his lap on the floor, rocking her without even realizing it.

“You’re okay,” he kept whispering, over and over. “You’re okay. You're okay, baby girl—breathe for me, c'mon—"

Sam was kneeling beside them, hands shaking. “I thought she was joking. God, I thought—”

“I didn’t know,” Chubs rasped hoarsely, eyes wet. “I couldn’t— I thought I was gonna—”

“Shhh,” Dean hugged her tighter. “No more pranks like that. Ever again. You hear me?”

She nodded against his chest, sniffling.

Sam rubbed her back gently. “You scared the crap out of us.”

Dean didn’t let go. Even hours later, when she was tucked on the couch under three blankets and sipping Gatorade with her voice almost gone, he hadn’t left her side.

“I’m never eating burgers again,” Chubs muttered.

“You’re never pulling a prank again,” Dean corrected.

“No promises.”

Dean’s jaw flexed, but he leaned in and kissed her hair. “You pull that stunt again, and I swear to God I’ll duct tape myself to you forever.”

Sam rolled his eyes from across the room, but he wasn’t arguing.

—

It had been three days.

Three days since Chubs had choked at dinner. Three days since Dean peeled the skin off his knuckles punching the wall, and Sam didn’t sleep a wink out of sheer guilt.

They were better now. Or at least pretending to be.

But the boys were… twitchy.

Chubs noticed it the first morning after, when she cleared her throat while brushing her teeth and Dean kicked open the bathroom door like she’d been possessed.

“You okay?!”

“I just—yeah, just toothpaste went down wrong!”

Dean nodded, very serious. “Right. Okay. Cool. Just checking.” He stood there another ten seconds before slowly backing out like she was holding a live grenade.

Then there was Sam.

She coughed once — once — while watching cartoons, and he spilled an entire cup of tea in his lap.

“You good?” he blurted.

“…I swallowed my juice wrong, Sam.”

“Oh. Okay.” He didn’t blink for a solid thirty seconds.

Now it was day three. And Chubs had caught a real cough — nothing serious, probably dust from the car. But she was nervous enough to even clear her throat around the boys.

Too late.

“Hkk!—” she covered her mouth, barely a tiny sound.

Dean’s head whipped around so fast it was a miracle his neck didn’t snap.

Sam dropped his book.

Both were on her in seconds.

“What was that?!” Dean crouched in front of her like she was in critical condition.

“Are you choking?! Talk to me, bug,” Sam said urgently, pressing a hand to her back.

Chubs blinked at them both, very confused, a hand still over her mouth. “I was just trying to cough, dudes.”

“You’re sure?” Dean asked. “You’re not gasping or grabbing your throat or—”

“Guys,” she said gently. “It was a cough.”

Sam frowned. “Okay. But is your throat dry? Are you lightheaded? Do you need water? Maybe tea. Lemon? Ginger? Dean, do we have honey?”

“We should take her to get checked out,” Dean muttered, pacing. “What if there’s damage from the other night? What if it’s like—residual swelling or some crap like that? I’ll Google it.”

“Dean. Sam.” Chubs grabbed their sleeves and tugged them both down beside her on the bed. “I love you, but you are both insane right now.”

Dean looked like he was about to protest, but she gently touched his cheek. “I’m okay. I’m not choking. You didn’t miss anything. You saved me. Both of you. I promise.”

Sam looked sheepish. Dean rubbed a hand over his face and sighed.

“I just keep seeing it,” Dean admitted quietly. “The way you looked. How long we didn’t do anything ‘cause we thought it was a prank. I—I can’t get that image outta my head.”

“It makes me feel sick,” Sam said. “Even now. Like, one second longer and—God.”

Chubs curled up between them, resting her head against Dean’s arm and wrapping her fingers around Sam’s.

“I get it,” she whispered. “It was scary. But you don’t have to panic every time I sneeze.”

“You’re our kid,” Dean said softly. “We get to panic.”

“I’d panic if it were you too,” she mumbled. “You’re my brothers.”

That shut them both up. For a while.

Eventually, Dean sighed and stood. “Okay. But you’re drinking a gallon of water today.”

Sam nodded. “And no popcorn. Ever again.”

Chubs rolled her eyes but smiled. “Deal.”

Still, that night, when she coughed in her sleep, barely a little sound, two grown men launched out of their beds to check on her.

Some scars don’t fade easily. And they weren’t taking any chances with her again.

[captonite]

The Great Toddler Escape

Chubs somehow learns how to unlock the motel door and decides to go on a “big girl adventure." Sam nearly has a heart attack when he finds the front door open, and Dean peels out of the parking lot barefoot. They find her sitting on a curb, happily petting a stray cat like she didn’t just give them a collective stroke.

It was a quiet morning. Too quiet. Dean was in the shower. Sam was brushing up on lore at the table. And Chubs? Well, they thought she was still curled up in the bed with her juice and cartoons.

Except— When Sam glanced at the bed… it was empty. And the room felt… off. And the front door was wide open.

His heart plummeted.

“DEAN!” he yelled, already bolting for the door, voice an octave too high.

Dean came flying out of the bathroom with only a towel and murder in his eyes. “What? What happened—” “She’s GONE.” “WHAT?!”

Dean didn’t even put on his shoes. He was barefoot and shirtless, dripping wet and already grabbing his keys. Sam scanned the parking lot, inside trash bins, under cars, the neighboring rooms. No sign. Dean peeled out of the lot, tires squealing, one hand on the wheel and the other calling Bobby, Cas, the President if needed.

Meanwhile—

Chubs, all of three years old, was strutting in her fuzzy pink socks, rainbow overalls, and a crooked glittery unicorn clip in her hair. She held a gummy bear in one hand and a leaf in the other, as if they were sacred treasures. She had no plan. Only vibes.

“Big girl ‘venture,” she whispered to herself with a proud little nod.

She found a butterfly and followed it for half a block. She found a vending machine and asked a very confused teenager if he had quarters. He gave her a soda and she gave him a sticker from her overall pocket.

And then— She found the cat.

A raggedy gray thing, purring its soul out as she scratched under its chin.

“Y’like me?” she cooed. “I like you too. Wanna come home with me? I got Goldfish crackers.”

—

Back to the brothers,

Dean spotted a blur of rainbow and pink socks at the edge of the curb and nearly broke the Impala’s steering wheel turning around.

“THERE SHE IS!”

Sam sprinted out before the car even stopped, shouting, “CHUBS?!”

Chubs looked up from her new feline friend, completely unbothered. “Oh hi, Sammy. Look! It’s a kitty!” Sam collapsed to his knees in front of her, shaking. “You— you can’t just—” Dean slammed the door shut behind him and swept her into his arms.

“Bubba, you can’t run off like that! We thought someone took you! We thought—you—” “Why are you crying, De?” she asked sweetly, patting his cheeks. “I went ‘sploring.”

Dean hugged her so tight she squeaked. Sam was holding his chest as if he were 90.

They brought her back to the motel, cat hair clinging to her overalls, a piece of gravel in her pocket, and the biggest smile on her face.

—

Back at the motel that night, they locked everything. Extra deadbolts. Window bars. Dean zip-tied a bell to the doorknob. Sam tucked her between them like a burrito.

“You’re not going anywhere, baby girl,” Sam mumbled sleepily. Dean kissed her curls. “Big girl adventures are on hold till you’re thirty, deal?” Chubs yawned. “What if I bring the kitty next time?” Sam groaned. Dean sighed. But they didn’t say no.

And Chubs? She drifted off with a smug little smile.

—

You’d think that one near-death experience would make her cautious. But this was Chubs.

The world was full of opportunity. And questionable judgment.

So while Sam was brushing his teeth and Dean was arguing with the motel coffee machine...

Chubs escaped again.

Dean slammed the motel door open. “SHE’S GONE AGAIN.” Sam was already on the phone with Cas. “She’s... she’s like vapor. Like air. I SWEAR we blinked—”

Cas appeared instantly.

“She is... petting a raccoon outside a diner across,” he said calmly.

Dean choked. “A WHAT?!”

Once Dean practically dragged her back into the motel room, she got a firm talking-to. A baby lecture. Sam paced. Dean gestured dramatically. Cas watched like he was trying to understand the human condition.

Chubs, still chewing muffin crumbs, nodded solemnly.

“I’m sowwy,” she whispered. “But I was brave.”

Dean scooped her up and buried his face in her hair. “You’re brave, Baby. But don’t you ever run off again. My heart can’t take it.”

Sam kissed her forehead. “Next time you want muffins or a freaking raccoon, just ask. We’ll go together. Okay?”

“Okay,” she nodded. “Can Ricky come?”

They looked at each other.

Cas replied, “I will take care of the raccoon.”

That night, the boys triple-locked the door. Moved all the furniture in front of it. Set a trap with bells and pillows.

Chubs fell asleep between them, tiara still on, cradling her new doll and whispering, “Best day ever…”

Dean looked down at her, utterly exhausted.

“I swear to God,” he muttered, “we need to start putting a GPS tracker in her socks.”

“She unlocked the deadbolt,” Sam muttered in shock.

Dean’s mouth was still open. “The deadbolt, Sam. That means she stacked something, climbed it, turned the knob and the latch—”

Chubs, happily munching on a string cheese now (gifted by a kind old lady who found her adorable), tilted her head. “Am I in trouble?”

Dean stared at her. “You committed felony-level toddler escape, baby.”

Sam exhaled, a hand dragging down his face. “We’re gonna need a leash.”

“Like a backpack leash?” “Exactly.” “I want a duck one,” Chubs chirped.

Sam exhaled a laugh. “But... she’s happy.”

And she was. Safe, warm, loved, chaotic.

Just the way they liked her.

—

The two men and one baby girl arrived back at the motel after questioning a local police officer. Sam barely glanced down before reflexively reaching out and catching a flash of movement. “Chubs!”

Too late. She had bolted.

Tiny feet in mismatched socks pattered toward the motel parking lot, little arms pumping with determination like she had a top-secret mission. Again.

Dean groaned from the trunk where he was organizing weapons. “She’s doing it again, isn’t she?”

Sam didn’t answer. He just took off, catching her just as she reached the sidewalk.

“Gotcha!” Sam scooped her up like a sack of potatoes while she squealed and kicked.

“I’m bored, Sammy!” she wailed. “You guys always do boring big brother duties, and I wanna do big girl stuff!”

Dean stomped over, shotgun in hand and scowl ready. “Big girl stuff? You’re three.”

“I’m three and a half,” she corrected with an adorably serious face.

Sam sighed, adjusting her on his hip while she dramatically flopped back with a sigh like a Shakespearean actress in footie pajamas.

Dean glanced at her, brow twitching. “What exactly counts as big girl stuff, huh?”

She pointed to the Impala. “Loading the trunk. Like you! Or sharpening the pointy stick. Or talkin’ to that man in the trench coat!”

Dean blinked. “That man was a cop, Chubs. You tried to trade him your gummy worm for a badge.”

She shrugged. “Seemed fair.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Sam said, already walking back toward the room. “You’re going in the pillow jail.”

Chubs gasped. “Not the pillow jail!”

Dean mock-gasped. “Shoulda thought about that before you tried to reenact a prison break.”

Back in the motel room, Sam deposited her in the middle of a pile of pillows on the bed. Dean threw another pillow on top of her legs dramatically. “There. Maximum security.”

Chubs pouted up at them, brown eyes wide and watery. “I just wanna help…”

Sam crouched beside the bed, instantly melting. “Baby girl, I know. But your job is to stay safe. That’s the most important big girl duty of all.”

Dean ruffled her hair. “Yeah. Let us handle the ugly, scary stuff. You just keep being our tiny ray of chaos.”

Chubs squinted up at him. “Can I have a badge though?”

Dean handed her a bottle cap. “You’re now Deputy Chaos. Try not to arrest the cat again.”

She grinned. “No promises.”

[captonite]

All That Remains

Hiii mi bebe!! <33 Thank you for the request!! I had a blast with this one—hope it hits you right in the feels let me know if you survive hehe. Here’s your Supernatural 12x2-inspired fic with Chubs tortured alongside Sam, Dean rescuing them, getting sick, and dealing with post-traumatic stress while fiercely loving his baby siblings. Mary is not included, and this is all about the Winchester trio and their pain, healing, and bond.

Dean had never run so fast in his life.

His heart pounded like a war drum as he tore through the corridors of the British Men of Letters’ temporary compound. His ears rang, not from any explosion — but from Sam’s screams echoing down from the basement.

And another scream.

Higher. Smaller.

"HELP!" It was her. It was Chubs.

He kicked in the final door and saw them.

Sam — chained and soaked, shivering, red welts blooming across his back.

And Chubs.

His baby sister, her little form curled up in the corner under the spitting pipes of a cold shower, her skin blue with cold, lips trembling, barely conscious.

“No... no no no—” Dean dropped his gun and bolted across the room, slipping on the wet floor as he reached her.

“Chubs,” he breathed, voice breaking, lifting her into his arms. She was so small like this. So damn still. Her wet hair clung to her cheeks, her lips were nearly purple.

She whimpered weakly, eyes fluttering open.

“D-Dean?” Her voice cracked, hoarse from crying and screaming.

He pressed his forehead to hers, barely breathing. “I'm here, baby girl. I’m here. You're okay now.”

Sam was groaning, trying to sit up. Dean looked over and saw the same chains binding him, bruises all over his arms. He’d deal with the bastards who did this later.

He looked down again — Chubs coughed, her breath shallow.

“Can’t... feel my fingers…” she whispered.

Dean’s rage boiled, his chest heaving. They tortured her. His little sister. His baby.

He scooped her into his arms, gently, protectively. “I got you. I got both of you.”

—

Two days later, at the Bunker, Dean hadn’t left their sides. Not once.

Not when Sam needed his burns cleaned. Not when Chubs woke screaming from nightmares of cold water and English accents. Not even when Castiel came back, looked at them both with horrified eyes, and healed the worst of the wounds.

Even then, Dean refused to let go of Chubs' hand.

But now that they were safe…

Dean cracked.

He didn’t tell them at first. He couldn’t. Because when the adrenaline wore off, something broke inside him.

It started with him pacing the hallways all night. Then silence. Then a fever. By the time Castiel found him slumped in a chair outside Chubs’ room, Dean was shaking and pale.

“You’re ill,” Cas said gently. “You need rest.”

Dean barely blinked. “She almost died.”

“You saved her.”

Dean’s eyes shimmered. “I didn’t get there fast enough.”

—

A week later, Chubs was the first to notice. Dean flinched every time the pipes in the bunker clanked. He jumped at running water. He barely ate. Barely spoke.

“Dean?” she whispered one night, curled up on the couch in her hoodie, still pale, but finally warm again. “What’s wrong?”

Dean was staring at the wall. At nothing. His eyes were haunted.

“Nothing, baby.”

She frowned, crawling over despite the aches in her muscles. She tugged on his sleeve, gently.

“Dean.”

He looked down at her. Eyes red. Jaw clenched.

“I failed you,” he said.

“No, you didn’t—”

“I did. I let them touch you. I let you get cold. I should’ve gotten to you sooner. I should’ve—”

“Dean,” she whispered, reaching up and cupping his cheek with her small hand, trembling a little. “You saved me.”

“I wasn’t supposed to let it happen at all.”

Sam stepped into the room, quiet, eyes raw too. “Dean. This wasn’t your fault.”

Dean stood up suddenly, pacing. “You think I sleep? I see her face, every time I close my eyes. Her lips were blue, man. Her hands—she was shaking so hard. That little sound she made when I picked her up—I hear it every damn second—”

Chubs stood slowly, despite how weak she still felt. She walked to him, heart pounding. And without a word, she wrapped her arms around him.

Dean froze.

“You didn’t fail me,” she said quietly against his chest. “I thought I was gonna die. But then I heard your voice. You came.”

Dean clutched her back. “Bambi…”

She looked up, big brown eyes shimmering. “It wasn’t the water that scared me the most. It was thinking I wouldn’t see you again.”

That broke him.

He sank to his knees, pulling her with him, burying his face in her hair.

“I’m never letting anything touch you again,” he whispered. “I swear to God.”

—

Later that night, Dean was fast asleep on the couch. Chubs was curled against him, wrapped in his flannel. Sam sat nearby, quietly flipping pages of a lore book, but his eyes kept going back to them.

Cas walked in softly.

“They’re healing,” he said.

Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

Cas looked at Dean. “But he’s not.”

“He will,” Sam said, voice quiet but sure. “Because she loves him. And he still sees her laugh. That means there’s hope.”

They watched as Chubs shifted in her sleep and unconsciously tucked her hand into Dean’s.

Dean tightened his grip in return.

Things always get better before they get worse; that's when Dean's nightmares start.

At first, Dean thinks he can tough it out. Push through the way he always does.

But they keep coming—vivid, brutal flashes of water pounding down on Chubs's skin while she screams, chained and sobbing. Sam calling for help, too late. Blood in the drain. Her eyes, blank. Her lips, blue.

He wakes up drenched in sweat, fists clenched, barely breathing.

Every time he closes his eyes, he’s back in that room.

Dean stops sleeping.

Stops eating, mostly. Keeps pacing the bunker halls at night, barefoot and shaking, chewing the inside of his cheek until it bleeds.

Sam notices.

He always notices.

One morning, he corners Dean in the kitchen.

“You didn’t come to bed again.”

Dean shrugs. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“You’re not eating. You barely talk to her unless it’s about whether she’s warm enough. You’re falling apart, Dean.”

“I’m fine,” Dean growls.

“Bullshit,” Sam snaps. “You’re not fine. You’re drowning and pretending it’s nothing.”

Dean turns on him, jaw tight. “What do you want me to say, huh? That I can’t stop seeing her in that room? That every time she touches me I flinch because all I can think about is how I let it happen?”

His voice cracks at the end.

Sam stares, quiet. “I want you to say something. Anything. Just stop carrying this alone.”

Dean looks down. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping the edge of the table.

“She was freezing, Sammy. And I wasn't there.”

—

Later that night, Sam finds Dean in the garage, curled up in the Impala’s front seat with the door open, shoulders shaking.

He doesn’t speak.

Just climbs in beside him and wraps an arm around his brother’s back.

Dean doesn’t move for a long time.

Then— “I thought she was dead.” It leaves his mouth in a whisper, like it took everything in him to say it. “I thought I lost her. And all I could do was watch it happen in my head. Over and over. You. Her. Both of you. I couldn’t breathe, Sam.”

Sam doesn’t say anything. Just squeezes his shoulder. Dean’s voice breaks entirely. “She was so cold. And I can’t stop hearing her scream. I can’t—”

He chokes on it. His whole body folds in, like it’s collapsing under months of weight.

Sam pulls him in and just lets him cry.

—

It’s Chubs who finds him the next morning—still sitting by Baby, eyes red, face pale.

She pads up to him in one of his old flannels, sleeves swallowing her hands.

“Dee?”

He blinks up at her like he’s not sure if she’s real.

“Hey, Bubba.”

She hesitates, then climbs up onto the hood beside him and gently leans her head on his shoulder.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says softly.

He flinches. “Do you?”

“You think I was scared. And I was. But not of dying.”

Dean swallows. “Then what?”

She lifts her head, looks at him—eyes shining but sure. “I was scared you’d blame yourself. Scared you’d think you didn’t save me in time. But Dean… I never stopped believing you'd come for me. Not even when I thought you were gone for good. Not once.”

Dean’s throat works, but no sound comes out.

She reaches for his hand and threads their fingers together.

“You always come back for us.”

His shoulders tremble.

She pulls him into a hug—his arms wrapping around her instinctively, burying his face in her shoulder like he’s finally allowing himself to fall apart.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispers. “You came. You always come.”

—

That night, Dean sleeps.

It’s not peaceful, not yet—but it’s real.

And when the nightmare starts to crawl in, Chubs would come up to his room and curl up beside him like she used to when she was little.

Dean doesn’t even open his eyes.

But he squeezes her back. He clutched her tighter, silent tears slipping down his face. His little sister—their baby girl—was holding him now. Stroking his back as if he were the one who’d been hurt.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered. “You don’t have to hold it alone anymore.”

Dean finally let go. He broke in her arms—silent sobs racking his chest as she clung to him with as much strength as she had left.

She kissed his forehead like he always did when she was hurting. “It wasn’t your fault, big brother.”

“I should’ve known. I should’ve—”

“Shh,” she whispered. “You did. You came. You saved me.”

And slowly, his breathing evened. Her warmth grounded him. Her hand in his hair steadied the quake in his chest. Dean leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.

For the first time in days, he let the quiet settle around them.

For the first time since the rescue, it didn’t feel like a punishment.

It felt like healing.

[captonite]

Make-Believe

Here's a little fic i had in my draft while I work on some request I hope you enjoy it!! Season 11 episode 8 remake, where Sam has an imaginary friend called Sully. However, in this version, Chubs has an imaginary friend who resembles her brothers, but they're very loving and different from her real brothers. Somewhere between hunts, Sam and Dean take a break at a small house they’re squatting in, and Chubs finds a quiet moment to revisit a part of her childhood she thought she'd left behind.

It started with a laugh.

Dean heard it first, light and warm and too high-pitched to be any of them. It was coming from Chubs' room. Then came the sound of her voice — excited, soft, and… talking to someone?

Dean exchanged a look with Sam.

“Is she on the phone?” Sam asked.

“No signal out here,” Dean muttered. “Come on.”

They knocked lightly before pushing the door open.

Chubs was sitting on the floor with a few old stuffed animals in a circle. But she wasn’t looking at them. She was looking past them. Talking. Smiling.

She froze when she saw them.

Dean blinked. “Hey, baby girl. Everything okay?”

She hesitated, clearly unsure if she should answer.

Sam stepped in slowly, crouching. “Who were you talking to, Chubs?”

She looked down at her lap. “...no one.”

“You sure?” Dean’s voice was gentle. “’Cause we heard you laughing. Sounded nice.”

She hesitated again, then mumbled, “Just my friends.”

“Your friends?”

“Imaginary ones,” she whispered. “But not really. They’re not fake to me. They’re just… not here right now.”

Dean slowly sat beside her. “Wanna tell us about ‘em?”

Her voice was small. “They’re like you. But… different.”

That gave both boys pause.

“Different how?” Sam asked.

“They hug me a lot,” she said softly. “They always listen when I talk. They read me stories when I can't sleep, and they hold my hand when I'm scared. They don’t get mad when I mess up.”

Dean swallowed. Hard.

Sam’s face was already falling.

“They look like you,” Chubs added. “But they’re warmer. Softer. Nicer. I made them when I was little. Back when I thought you didn’t like me very much.”

Dean felt something in his chest collapse.

“Baby girl…”

She looked at them quickly. “I didn’t mean it bad! I know you're trying. I just… it helped. To pretend I had big brothers who wanted me around. Who loved me a lot. Even if it was just in my head.”

Sam reached for her gently, pulling her into a hug. “Oh, Bubba… you never had to pretend.”

“I did back then,” she whispered. “But it’s okay. I didn’t mind. They kept me safe until you were ready.”

Dean knelt beside her, wrapping his arms around both of them. “I hate that you ever felt that alone. That you had to build a version of us that loved you better.”

She buried her face in his shoulder. “They were nice. But you guys… you’re real.”

Sam kissed the side of her head. “And we’re never gonna let you feel that way again.”

Dean nodded. “From now on, baby girl, the real us are gonna out-love those imaginary versions. No contest.”

She smiled a little, teary-eyed.

“You promise?”

Dean cupped her face. “Cross my heart, baby. Real Dean’s gonna do better than imaginary Dean.”

Sam grinned. “And real Sam gives the best piggyback rides.”

Her eyes lit up just a little. “They did do piggyback rides.”

Dean stood. “Alright, that’s it. I’m offended. Time to prove it. C'mere, baby girl.”

She squealed as he lifted her into a bear hug, spinning her gently around. Sam joined, wrapping his arms around them both.

And for the first time in a long time, Chubs didn’t need to pretend.

Her brothers were right here.

And they loved her.

Real, loud, messy, overprotective love.

The kind even imaginary friends couldn’t compete with.

---

Later that night...

The bunker was quiet.

Chubs drifted to sleep wrapped in soft flannel and the scent of her brothers close by — Dean’s aftershave, Sam’s shampoo, the grounding warmth of safety she never used to know. For the first time in a long time, there were no nightmares waiting for her.

Instead, she found herself standing in a meadow.

The sky was dusky pink, glowing like the world had exhaled. Grass brushed her bare ankles. And there — under a crooked old oak tree — they stood.

Two familiar figures.

Her imaginary Sam and Dean.

“Hey, kiddo,” said the older one, Dean-but-not-Dean, warm and grinning like the sun. “Took you long enough.”

Chubs smiled, though her throat tightened. “I missed you.”

Imaginary Sam stepped forward, hair a little too perfect, sweater sleeves pushed up the way the real Sam never bothered. “We missed you too. You’ve grown a lot.”

“I’m not that much taller,” she joked, wiping her eyes.

“No,” Imaginary Dean said, “but you’re stronger. Braver. Happier.”

She swallowed. “I didn’t mean to stop seeing you.”

“We know.”

Imaginary Sam knelt to look her in the eye. “We were here when you needed us. That’s what we were for.”

“You made us to keep you safe,” Imaginary Dean said gently. “To fill the space until your real brothers caught up.”

“And they did.” Imaginary Sam smiled. “They love you more than we ever could.”

“They are you,” she whispered.

“Not really,” Imaginary Dean said. “They’re better. They’re real. And you don’t need to pretend anymore.”

Chubs stepped forward and wrapped her arms around them both. They hugged her like they always did — steady and warm, full of made-up love that still somehow felt real.

“Thank you,” she said, voice cracking. “For everything.”

“You saved yourself,” Imaginary Sam murmured. “We just kept the light on.”

They pulled back.

The meadow began to fade, wind carrying the scent of old leather and gun oil and childhood lullabies.

“Time to go, sweetheart,” Imaginary Dean said. “They’re waiting.”

“I’ll never forget you.”

“We’ll always be part of you,” Imaginary Sam said.

And with one last wave, they were gone.

---

Chubs woke up with dried tears on her cheeks and both Sam and Dean curled close on either side of her, exactly like they’d promised.

Dean stirred first. “You okay, baby girl?”

She smiled softly. “Yeah. I think I said goodbye to someone important last night.”

Sam blinked awake. “Yeah? Who?”

Chubs took a breath. “Just… some old friends who kept me company when I was lonely. They were happy for me.”

Dean kissed her hair. “Well… tell ‘em thanks from us.”

“You don’t need them anymore?” Sam asked gently.

“No,” she whispered. “I have you now.”

Dean squeezed her tight. “Damn right you do.”

Sam wrapped an arm around both of them. “Forever, baby girl.”

And just like that, the last shadows of make-believe faded into morning light.

She was home.

For real, this time.

---

A week later...

Sam was helping Dean clean up the bunker. Nothing serious — just folding laundry, picking up snack wrappers, moving books back to shelves. Chubs was still asleep, curled up on the couch under three blankets with one of Dean’s old hoodies swallowing her whole.

Dean spotted her sketchbook half-open on the coffee table.

“Yo, Sam. What’s this?”

Sam leaned over his shoulder. “Her journal. She’s been writing more lately.”

Dean flipped the cover. “Think she’d mind if—?”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Sam frowned. “What is it?”

Dean turned the book toward him.

It was a drawing. Charcoal and pencil. Two figures standing under a crooked oak tree. One had Sam’s face — a little softer, hair neater, smile gentler. The other looked like Dean, but younger somehow. Warmer. Freckles that weren’t his. Softer eyes.

They were hugging a small girl.

Chubs.

And underneath the sketch, scrawled in her handwriting:

“Thank you for keeping me safe until my real brothers could find me.”

Dean stared at the page.

Then, silently, he sat down.

Sam’s throat worked. “That’s them. From her dream.”

Dean nodded slowly, jaw tight. “The imaginary us.”

“She drew them… to say goodbye,” Sam said softly.

Dean’s voice cracked. “She had to invent better versions of us to feel loved.”

Sam reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “She doesn’t anymore.”

“I know.” Dean wiped his eyes. “But damn it, Sam. That little girl deserved us back then. Not make-believe shadows. Us.”

Sam nodded, eyes wet. “We can’t change that. But we can give her everything now.”

Dean closed the sketchbook gently. “She ever loses this, I swear, I’ll get it tattooed on my damn back.”

Sam snorted through a sniffle. “Please don’t.”

Dean stood, walking over to where Chubs was just starting to stir. He knelt beside her, brushing a hand through her hair.

“Hey, baby girl.”

She blinked up at him, eyes still sleepy. “Hi…”

“We saw your drawing,” Sam said, kneeling on the other side.

Chubs looked nervous. “Was it weird?”

Dean shook his head. “It was beautiful.”

Sam smiled. “You gave them the kind of love you always deserved.”

Dean leaned closer. “And we’re gonna spend the rest of our lives earning it. Real us. Not the pretend versions.”

She sat up, yawning, then tugged both of them into a hug. “You already are.”

Dean kissed her head. “Still. Real Dean’s got work to do. Think I’m gonna start with waffles. Then maybe a Disney movie marathon.”

Sam grinned. “You pick the movie, princess.”

“Even if it’s Tangled again?”

“Even if,” Dean said with a smirk. “Rapunzel's growing on me.”

She laughed, burying her face between them.

And somewhere in that sketchbook, the shadows of her old imaginary brothers faded gently into memory — honored, loved, but no longer needed.

Because she had them now.

The real ones.

And they were never going to let her go.

[captonite]

Hey there! Will you be making a masterlist for all the Chubs stories?🩷

Hii youuu!! Yesss I'm still working on it right now. Thank you for being so patient and sweet bebe <33

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i have a question!!

it may seem a little stupid, but it's genuine, how old was chubs when she met the boys and the age gap between them? her name really is chubs?

also, love your writing and your amazing ideas, specially toddler chubs 🫶🏻

Noooo no no bebe your question is not stupid at all!!! It's my bad I never really addressed it. Chubs was around 3-4 years old when John dropped her off with Sam and Dean. Still a baby, really—chubby cheeks, baby curls, soft voice, and those big bambi eyes just begging to be loved.

As for their age gap... I'm not gonna lie, their age gap is... very far... I would say Chubs was born around 2004-2005 makes sense if she’s 3-4 when she meets the boys around 2008-ish, during the early seasons, and it gives you the perfect dynamic for protective big brothers who didn’t sign up to raise a toddler but end up falling head over heels for their sunshine baby sister.

When I first started writing Chubs' original name was Sachi and Chubs was Sam and Dean's nickname for her. But as I dive in deeper I feel Chubs was more fitting for her vibes. She's got that sunshine with a little rain cloud tucked behind her ear and fiercely loyal, a little chaotic, and deeply human energy me thinks.

Thank youuuu so much mi bebe for loving the story and loving chubs. You’re part of this now. You’re family too. I hope you always feel safe here. <33333

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How did you come up with the name Chubs????

Great question!! It just kinda popped into my head and felt right tbh it’s soft and silly and warm, like her. It just stuck and it tickles my brain in all the right places. Chubs felt like the kind of name someone would be called by people who love her most. Chubs was a name that felt full of love. It reminded me of childhood nicknames, of being small and cared for, of someone who might get teased a little, but in the most affectionate way.

Thank you for the question bebe <3

[captonite]

Hello, I'm new around here. Question, is Chubs an oc?

Hiiii bebe, welcome to our loving-chubs cult, I hope you like it here!!! And yes, Chubs is an oc :D

[captonite]

I love your articles. I'm so excited for the new ones!

Thank you so much for loving these stories the way you do mi bebe and worry not Chubs is always ready to share her stories with you <33333

[captonite]

Nurse Bambi’s Clinic of Cuddles

Kind of a part two for this, but can be read as a standalone. Toddler Chubs can't help much on a hunt, but she always tries her best to help. So when Sam and Dean are hurt on a hunt, she will play nurse with Doctor Bobby.

The door to Bobby’s living room slammed open.

Chubs—three years old, stuffed bunny in one arm and her baby backpack slung over the other—came sprinting inside like a tiny, chubby-cheeked bullet.

“Doc-Bobby! Doc-Bobby!!” she squealed.

Bobby Singer, knee-deep in a first-aid kit the size of a toolbox, looked up just in time to see two bleeding Winchesters stumble through his front door.

Dean was leaning heavily on Sam. Sam had blood trickling from a head wound, and Dean’s entire shirt was soaked red across the ribs.

“Jesus,” Bobby muttered. “What the hell happened?”

“Vamp nest,” Dean grunted. “Got the vamps. Vamps got me back.”

Chubs gasped. "Nooooo, not my Deanie!!"

Dean cracked a tired grin, flopping down on Bobby’s couch. “Hey, baby girl.”

Sam barely made it to the armchair before collapsing.

Chubs ran right over, wide brown eyes swimming with horror. “Y-you got a boo-boo!” she whispered, lip wobbling.

“A couple,” Dean muttered.

“So many,” Sam added woozily.

Chubs turned dramatically to Bobby. “We gotta save ‘em, Doc-Bobby! Stat!”

Bobby sighed but smiled, handing her a roll of bandages. “Alright, Nurse Bambi. Let’s get to work.”

Dean hissed as Bobby dabbed antiseptic into the long slice down his side. Chubs, sitting on the armrest beside him, looked deeply offended.

“Hey! No hissing,” she scolded. “You scaring the other patients!”

Dean snorted. “Yes, ma’am.”

She carefully peeled open a cartoon bandaid and stuck it gently to his forehead, where a small cut bled sluggishly. “There,” she whispered, smoothing it down. “Better?”

Dean tilted his head to smile at her, heart melting all over again. “So much better, baby.”

Meanwhile, Sam—still half-out of it—had somehow ended up with Chubs in his lap, holding out cotton balls and mumbling sleepily, “Is she... is she licensed?”

Bobby gave him a look. “More qualified than you, ya moron.”

Chubs held a clean bandage out with both hands, looking very serious. “Time for the big fix.”

She pressed it gently to Sam’s temple, then kissed just above the gauze.

Sam blinked at her. Then blinked again. “I think I’m healed.”

“I knew it,” she beamed. “My kisses got magic.”

Dean gave a woozy little laugh. “You’re a regular miracle worker, baby girl.”

“’S what nursies do,” she declared proudly, toddling between her boys, holding their hands while Bobby finished stitching Dean up.

That night, after everyone was bandaged, fed, and horizontal, Bobby stood in the doorway and watched the three of them curled up on the living room floor.

Dean, bruised but smiling, lay on one side with Chubs tucked to his chest.

Sam, arm in a sling, was snoring softly on her other side.

And in her sleep, Chubs was still holding gauze pads.

“Idjits,” Bobby muttered fondly. “God help me, I’m stuck with a bunch of adorable idjits.”

—

It started with a whisper.

“Bobby,” Dean rasped from the couch. “She made me wear a hat.”

Bobby, deeply uninterested and elbow-deep in library books, didn’t look up. “So take it off.”

“I can’t,” Dean hissed. “She taped it to my forehead.”

From the armchair, Sam sat frozen, his giant body draped awkwardly in a child-sized fleece blanket covered in cartoon ducks. A glittery star sticker was on his nose. He looked haunted.

“She said I needed to be identifiable as a patient,” he muttered.

Bobby finally looked up.

And there, in the middle of the living room, stood Chubs. Her curls were in two lopsided pigtails. She wore a too-big white button-up shirt with “Bambi M.D.” scrawled across the front in crayon. A toy stethoscope hung around her neck. Her little bunny plush wore a matching nurse cap made out of tissue paper.

She was pushing a pink plastic toy cart with a notepad, a thermometer, a tiny cup of Cheerios, and a tiny bottle of glitter glue labeled “medicine.”

Her voice was deadly serious.

“Doctor Bobby,” she said, marching up with her clipboard, “Patient Dean has been very non-cooperative.”

Dean gave her his best kicked-puppy eyes. “Bambi—”

“You refused your meds,” she cut in. “And you said a bad word when I said I needed to check your fever with the booty thermometer.”

Sam choked.

Dean threw his head back in despair. “It wasn’t even a real thermometer, it was a banana!”

“Rules is rules, Deanie.”

Bobby snorted.

Chubs turned to Sam. “And you,” she said gravely, “you need emergency rest time. Stat.”

Sam sighed, already lying down. “I am resting.”

“You’re not snuggling the comfort duck,” she said, pointing sternly to the rubber duck on the pillow.

“…I have to snuggle it?”

She folded her arms. “Do you want to get better or not?”

Sam looked to Dean for help. Dean shook his head like a man who had given up the fight hours ago.

Sam sighed and tucked the duck under his arm.

“Good boy,” she whispered, patting his head.

Later, she sat cross-legged in the middle of her "hospital" with her patients tucked in on either side and her bunny nurse tucked in her lap.

Dean had a paper “Get Well Soon” sticker slapped to his chest. Sam had a sock wrapped around his head like a bandage.

And Chubs, our fearless Nurse Bambi, handed them each a gummy bear in a tiny medicine cup.

“This one’s for fever control,” she whispered.

Dean popped it in. “Tastes like cherry.”

“That’s the antibiotic strawberry sneeze-flavor. Very rare.”

Bobby passed behind them and muttered, “Remind me to burn this room when y’all leave.”

Chubs ignored him and kissed Sam on the cheek.

“You’re gonna be okay, Sammy,” she said solemnly.

He smiled. “You’re the best nurse in the world, y’know that?”

She beamed, cheeks round and dimpled. “Mhm. And Bunny’s the best assistant.”

Dean reached over and flicked her pigtail gently. “Think you might be the death of me, baby girl.”

She grinned. “I’m the cure and the cause.”

Bobby snorted so hard he had to walk away.

[captonite]

Something So Small, So Hopeful

Hiii mi bebe <3 Thank you so much for the love and for loving chubs :D And you are absolutely right we never really touched on how chubs was like towards her brothers. Here's a fic to cover that, I really let the serotonin take the wheel on this one. All sunshine, comfort, and found family warmth—hope it makes you smile like an idiot (in the most loving way)!!

They weren’t expecting her to be so small.

John hadn’t said much. Just called them, barked an address, and when Sam and Dean showed up to the random diner in the middle of nowhere, there she was — sitting cross-legged on the cracked vinyl booth seat, feet too short to touch the floor, wearing overalls with a patchy yellow sun sewn on the chest.

Big brown eyes blinked up at them. Freckles scattered across her cheeks like constellations. A juice box in one hand. A crayon in the other.

She smiled. Wide. Hopeful. Unafraid.

“Hi. I’m Chubs! You’re my brothers!”

Sam crouched first. “Hey, kiddo… you sure about that?”

She nodded. “Daddy said so. He said I go with you now.”

Dean frowned. “What else did he say?”

Chubs thought for a second, swinging her legs. “He said you’re real smart. And you smell like gasoline.” She pointed at Dean. “That’s you.”

Dean blinked. “...Okay. Wow.”

Sam thought she looked like a puffed-up marshmallow in overalls. Dean thought she looked like trouble.

She held up a crayon drawing—two tall stick figures holding hands with a round little scribble in the middle. “Dis is us. You, me, and Sammy.”

Sam just blinked. “It’s Sam.”

She nodded solemnly. “S’what I said. Sammy.”

Dean had called Bobby like he might explode. “You knew about this?”

Bobby just raised a brow and grunted over the phone. “She’s your blood. Ain’t her fault she’s here.”

But Dean wasn’t mad at her. Not really. He just didn’t know what to do with something so small. So hopeful.

—

They took off to Bobby's. What does a two-man child know about taking care of a kid, let alone raising one? Though Dean had done it with Sam, he knew that Chubs was a different case. The first night, she tried to crawl into bed with them. Sam nearly kicked her off the mattress in his sleep. Dean groaned and rolled away.

She curled up at the edge instead, whispering to herself like she was trying not to cry.

“I be quiet,” she murmured into her plush rabbit’s ear. “I promise I be good.”

Sam heard it. And pretended he didn’t.

She was also careful. Too careful for someone her age.

When she ate, it was slowly. Like she was rationing it. She’d ask permission before touching anything — even her own blanket. She apologized if she spilled juice, dropped her crayon, or woke up from a nightmare.

—

Day two, she found an old box of cereal and brought it to Dean with a grin so wide it nearly split her face.

“Dis has marsh’mallows,” she whispered like it was the most precious secret in the world.

Dean took the box. “You can’t just dig through Bobby's cabinets, kid.”

Her smile faltered. “I jus’ wanted to share…”

She trudged away, dragging her rabbit by the ear, her tiny shoulders sinking.

Dean sighed. “…damn it.”

—

By day four, Sam was the first to crack.

He was reading in the living room when she toddled in and sat cross-legged on the floor, holding a picture book upside down.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at him. Just sat there, her presence quiet and gentle, like sunlight through a window.

He peered over his book. “You want me to read that to you?”

Her head snapped up. “You wanna?”

“…Sure.”

She scooted closer like a puppy starved for affection and flopped the book into his lap. She nestled against his side with a content little sigh, warm and soft.

Dean found them there an hour later—Sam with a book in one hand, and Chubs half-asleep against him.

Dean didn’t say anything. But he watched them. Long and quiet.

—

Day five. She drew Dean a new picture.

He took it, intending to toss it aside—but paused.

This time, it was just him and her. A big green scribble of a car next to them.

“You drew Baby?” he asked, squinting.

“Mhm!” she beamed. “You drive! I go wif you!”

Dean swallowed. “…Yeah. Maybe you do.”

She beamed like he’d handed her the stars.

—

That night, Dean tucked her in.

She yawned, blinking up at him. “You stay?”

He hesitated. Then nodded. “Just for a minute.”

“Kay.” She grabbed his hand. Her fingers were warm and sticky from jelly. “You’re my hero.”

Dean didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

She was asleep in seconds. Freckles scattered across her cheeks like galaxies. Eyelashes long and tangled. And still clinging to his hand like it was her lifeline.

Dean stared down at her.

“Damn kid,” he muttered.

But he stayed.

He didn’t let go.

—

It didn’t happen all at once. It started slowly. Like sunshine after rain. No thunderclap, no lightning. Just warmth that grew.

The first real sign was when she fell off the porch step and scraped her knee. Not a big fall. Just enough to tear her overalls and skin her leg. She’d tripped outside. Just chasing a ladybug, her round cheeks puffed up in glee. Then—bam. Face down. A little yelp, a trembling bottom lip, and suddenly she was sobbing.

Sam heard her cry first — just a little squeaky wail, the kind she usually swallowed down. By the time he rushed out the door, she was trying to sit up, hands balled into fists, lip wobbling.

“I’m okay,” she sniffled, voice too high, too fast. “I’m a big girl, I’m—”

“Hey, hey,” Sam dropped to his knees beside her. “You don’t gotta be brave right now.”

“I do,” she said, tears welling, defiant and shaking. “Daddy said cryin’s annoying. I don’t wanna—”

“We’re not him,” Dean said from behind them, his voice low but fierce.

She blinked up at them both, confused. Still scared.

“You don’t have to be brave with us,” Sam whispered. “You can just… be our baby, okay?”

Her little lip trembled. Then her face crumpled and she threw her arms around Sam’s neck.

She sobbed into his shoulder, hiccupy and snotty and loud. And for the first time, she didn’t apologize for it.

She didn’t apologize for crying. She didn’t hide the tears.

She let them take care of her.

Dean pressed a kiss to her temple, gentle and reverent.

“Atta girl,” he murmured. “Let it out, sunshine.”

They bandaged her up with cartoon bandaids and let her sit in Sam’s lap while Dean made her a peanut butter sandwich without crusts because she once whispered she didn’t like “the sharp parts.”

She didn’t ask for permission. Didn’t flinch when Dean wiped her cheeks. Just curled into his chest and let him hold her like she’d been born for it.

And maybe she had.

When she woke up, her voice was hoarse, curls messy from sleep. “Sammy?”

“Right here, bug,” he murmured, brushing her hair back.

“…You and Dee are my brothers.”

The room went still.

Dean’s hand froze mid-reach with her sandwich. Sam blinked.

“What’d you say, sweetheart?” Dean asked softly.

Chubs rubbed at her eye with the back of her tiny fist. “You’re my brothers,” she repeated. “Not ‘cause Daddy said. Just ‘cause you are. I picked you.”

Dean had to sit down.

Sam turned his head, like he could blink the tears back if he didn’t look at her.

She blinked between them, confused by the silence. “That’s okay, right?”

Sam scooped her up instantly, hugging her so tight she squeaked. “It’s more than okay.”

Dean ruffled her curls. His voice was raw. “Damn right it is.”

—

She said it the following week.

They were at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, Sam pumping fuel, Dean inside grabbing snacks.

Chubs tugged on the sleeve of the lady at the next pump, who smiled down at her with soft curiosity.

The woman glanced at the Impala. “You with your dad, sweetie?”

“Nope,” Chubs said brightly, shaking her head. “I’m with my brothers.”

The woman chuckled. “Older brothers, huh?”

“Yup.” Chubs beamed. “Sammy and Deanie. They’re mine.”

Dean caught it from inside the glass window. Sam turned around just in time to hear it.

Mine.

Not “Daddy said.” Not “they told me.” Just mine.

Dean paid for four candy bars instead of two. Sam spent the whole ride staring at her in the rearview like she’d just named a star after them.

She didn’t notice. She was busy humming along to Kansas, legs kicking the seat.

—

Later that night, when she was curled in Dean’s lap in her too-big pajamas, telling him all about her ladybug’s name (“Bugsy!”), she reached her arms out and said, “Can Sammy hold me too?”

Dean blinked. “You sure?”

She nodded. “He gives the best squishy hugs.”

Dean passed her over. Sam tucked her in tight, and she beamed, resting her head under his chin.

“Yup,” she mumbled. “Told you. Squishy.”

Sam laughed softly, trying not to cry.

Dean watched her for a long minute, her little hands curled against Sam’s shirt, her breathing slowing.

“She’s ours, huh?” Dean murmured.

Sam nodded. “Has been from the start.”

And when Chubs muttered something in her sleep — something soft and sweet like “love you, my brothers…” — they knew.

They’d never, ever let her go.

That night, long after she fell asleep between them, Dean looked over at Sam and whispered:

“We’re screwed.”

Sam didn’t look away from her sleeping face. “Yeah.” His voice cracked. “We’re in too deep.”

Dean sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “Can’t imagine life without her anymore.”

“Don’t want to.”

And just like that, a vow was made.

Unspoken. Ironclad. Etched into their bones.

No one would ever take her from them. Not a father. Not a monster. Not fate.

She was theirs. And they were hers.

Forever.

—

It happened on a Tuesday.

No monsters, no hunts, no bleeding injuries. Just a quiet morning in Bobby's house with cartoons on the TV and the smell of bacon in the air.

Dean was humming in the kitchen, flipping pancakes. Sam was half-asleep on the couch, and Chubs—tiny, warm, freshly woken from her nap—was snuggled under his hoodie, wearing it like a blanket that swallowed her whole.

“Sammy?” she whispered, voice rough and sleepy.

“Mm?” he peeked one eye open.

She squirmed closer and laid her cheek right over his heart. “Safe here.”

Sam’s mouth tugged into the softest smile. “Yeah, bug. You’re safe. Always.”

Then Dean peeked in, holding a plate. “Got some pancakes with your name on ‘em, baby.”

Chubs blinked up, hair fluffy and wild with sleep. “Me?”

“You,” Dean nodded. “With sprinkles.”

She scrambled out of Sam’s lap like it was urgent business, running on socked feet across the room, arms out like a baby duck. Dean knelt to catch her, lifting her up into his arms with a spin.

And she giggled. That beautiful, unguarded, belly-deep giggle. The kind they didn’t hear from her for the first few months. The kind that meant something.

Dean kissed her cheek. “You’re my favorite pain in the ass, you know that?”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Am I?”

“Course you are,” he said. “Me and Sam—we hit the jackpot with you, baby.”

And then, so easy, so simple, he said: “Love you, sunshine.”

She froze.

Dean didn’t notice it right away. He was walking her to the table, still humming.

But Sam saw. The way she blinked. The way her fingers tightened in Dean’s shirt. Like she wasn’t sure she heard it right.

Dean set her in her chair. “You okay, bug?”

Her lower lip wobbled. Her eyes went glassy.

Dean knelt down. “Hey, hey—what’s wrong?”

“…Y-you said you love me.”

Dean stilled. Sam sat up, heart thudding.

“Yeah,” Dean said, gently. “I do.”

“Me too,” Sam added from across the room, getting on her eye level. “More than anything.”

Her eyes filled instantly.

And that’s when they realized—

She’d never heard it before. Not like that. Not from someone who meant it.

Dean reached for her hand. “You don’t have to say it back, bambi. Not if you’re not ready.”

But her little voice, choked up and trembling, whispered:

“…I love you too.”

Then a beat later, firmer: “I love you both. I do.”

Dean closed his eyes like he’d been hit in the chest. Sam looked like he might cry right there on the floor.

“Okay,” Dean whispered, scooping her into his arms. “That’s it. I’m never letting you go.”

She sniffled against his shoulder. “Pancakes?”

“Yeah, baby,” Sam said, coming over to wrap them both in his arms. “Pancakes forever.”

And that’s how it started— three hearts finally saying what they’ve always known.

Love. Out loud. Safe and real.

Finally home.

[captonite]

No One’s Fault (But It Hurt Anyway)

Chubs is sick as a dog, Dean thought she's in good hands with Sam. She should be, right...?

Twelve-year-old Chubs had been sick for days now—low fever, nausea, barely eating, the works. Dean had done everything short of building a pharmacy inside their motel room: medicine, soups, cold compresses. He even let her watch cartoons on his laptop, which was a sacred privilege. But the hunt called—some rawhead situation two towns over, and he'd be back by morning, promised it wouldn’t take long.

“Sam’s here,” Dean had reassured her, tucking the covers around her chin and kissing her damp forehead. “He’ll take care of you, sweetheart, alright? I’ll be back soon. Hang in there for me.”

She nodded, trusting.

But she hadn’t known Sam—this Sam—wasn’t really Sam.

—

It was close to midnight when the pain hit. Sharp, hot, like something clawing inside her stomach.

She cried out, then whimpered as she tried to sit up, blinking through dizzy tears. “Sam?” she called.

Silence.

She tried again. “Sammy? I– I think something’s wrong…”

Nothing.

She dragged herself out of bed, wobbling and half-blind with pain, searching the tiny motel room. His coat was gone. His keys, too. She was alone.

She tried to hold on until she couldn't anymore. A strangled sob escaped her lips. She fumbled for the phone on the nightstand and called Dean.

—

“She’s in good hands,” he’d told himself. “Sam’s got this. She’ll be okay.”

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

It was around 3 AM when his phone rang—his personal one, the one only Chubs called.

He nearly dropped it when he saw her name flashing.

“Baby girl?” he answered, the panic already tight in his throat.

Her voice was soaked with tears and trembling so badly he could barely understand her. “Dean... it hurts... I—my stomach—it’s really bad, and Sam—he’s not here—I’m scared, Dean, please—!”

That was it. He was already in the car by the time she sobbed his name again. He didn’t even remember grabbing the keys. The entire thirty-minute drive was a blur of red lights and blaring horns. Dean drove like hell, breaking speed limits and nearly sideswiping a truck on the interstate. He’d left the hunt, dropped everything.

He burst into the motel room and found her curled up on the floor, drenched in sweat and trembling with pain.

“Chubs—oh God—” He scooped her up in his arms, kissing her burning temple. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. I’m so sorry. I’ve got you.”

He got her to the ER. Fast.

—

At the hospital, the doctor told him her appendix had nearly ruptured. If they’d waited any longer, it could’ve been fatal.

Dean sat in the stiff plastic waiting room chair, his hands clenched around a Styrofoam cup of stale coffee, jaw locked so tight it ached. He had called Sam five times. No answer. Dean paced the hospital corridor, rage and guilt simmering together in his gut.

The sixth call, he finally picked up.

"What, Dean?” Sam’s voice was cold and flat.

“You left her,” Dean growled. “She almost died, you son of a bitch. Where the hell were you?”

There was a pause, and then Sam, unbothered, replied, “She’s alive, right?”

Dean nearly crushed his phone in his fist.

“You’re not him,” Dean muttered. “You’re not my brother.”

—

The damage was done.

Dean didn’t talk about it again.

Chubs didn’t either.

Not until a year later

—

They got Sam’s soul back.

Death had done what he could—locked the worst of it away. Sam didn’t remember specifics. But something… gnawed at him.

Chubs wasn’t bouncing around like she usually did. Her skin was pale, her steps sluggish, and her big brown eyes were dull instead of bright. But when he asked her what was wrong, she waved him off with a shrug.

“I’m just tired,” she mumbled.

He let it go at first.

But then he caught her wincing when she thought no one was looking. She hadn’t touched her dinner. And when she reached for her water glass, her hand shook and dropped the glass.

Sam rushed over to help.

She flinched.

Sam froze. “Chubs…? Did I—did I do something?”

She didn’t meet his eyes.

“I said I’m fine.”

“Hey,” he said softly, kneeling in front of her. “Are you feeling okay?”

She nodded too fast. “Mhm. Totally fine.”

“Sweetheart…” His voice gentled. “You don’t look fine.”

That was when she pulled the blanket up over her face and turned her back to him.

And that’s when the worry turned into something else. Not irritation. Not anger.

Fear.

A pit opened in his stomach.

“Chubs?” he tried again. “Why are you hiding from me?”

“…‘m not.”

“You are.”

“No, I’m not,” she said, and sniffled quietly. Her voice was small. Shaky. “I just—I can handle it.”

Handle what?

Sam stood slowly. “Okay, talk to me. Did I do something wrong?”

There was a pause. Then, quietly: “You weren’t there last time.”

And then everything clicked.

The hesitance. The way she wouldn’t look at him. How she flinched a little when he touched her shoulder.

His heart dropped.

“…Last time?”

She peeked out from under the blanket. Her eyes were wet and rimmed red. “When I had appendicitis. I was really sick, Dean had to leave, and you were supposed to be with me, but… but you weren’t. I called and called…”

Her voice cracked.

“I thought you didn’t care.”

Sam’s knees gave out and he sat on the bed next to her, completely stunned. He barely even heard himself speak.

“I—I don’t remember that,” he whispered. “That must’ve been when I didn’t have my soul. Chubs, I didn’t—I would never leave you if I knew you were in pain. You know that, right?”

She stayed quiet.

Sam's throat burned.

“I’d die before I let you suffer like that again.”

A soft sob escaped her, and she finally whispered, “Then why does it still feel like you left me?”

That broke him.

He wrapped his arms around her slowly, careful and tender. She didn’t lean in at first.

But after a long beat, she did.

She melted into his chest, and he could feel how warm she was—fever-hot.

Sam closed his eyes and kissed the top of her head, heart shattering into a thousand pieces.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m gonna earn you back. Whatever it takes. You’re my baby sister, and I love you so much. And I swear—never again. I’m not leaving. Ever.”

—

Dean barreled into the motel room like a damn hurricane.

“Where is she?” he demanded, gun still tucked in the waistband of his jeans, jacket half-on, face wild with worry.

Sam barely looked up from the bed where Chubs lay curled under layers of blankets. Her cheeks were flushed with fever, her breaths shallow but steady.

“She’s okay now,” Sam murmured. “Sleeping.”

Dean dropped his bag and crossed the room in two strides. His eyes scanned her from head to toe, chest rising and falling too fast, like he wasn’t fully believing it.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “I told you to call me if anything happened—”

“I did,” Sam said quietly. “As soon as I realized she wasn’t okay, I stayed. I didn’t leave her side.”

Dean finally turned to face him. His jaw tightened, but the anger died before it could flare.

“…How bad was it?” he asked.

Sam exhaled shakily, brushing a curl from Chubs’ damp forehead.

“She wouldn’t tell me she was sick,” he said. “She was scared of me.”

Dean’s throat bobbed.

“Because of what happened before?”

Sam nodded. “She remembered everything. Even if I didn’t.”

Dean sat down slowly on the other side of the bed, eyes locked on their little sister’s face.

“She was crying for you that night,” he whispered. “She was so scared. I’ve never heard her beg like that.”

Sam looked like someone had just stabbed him.

“I didn’t know,” he choked. “I had no soul. I wasn’t me. But it doesn’t change that I let her down.”

There was a long pause. The motel room hummed with quiet — the clack of the heater, the soft rasp of Chubs’ breathing.

And then, a tiny, cracked voice:

“…You didn’t let me down now.”

Both brothers froze.

Chubs’ eyes blinked open, glassy and red, but unmistakably aware.

Sam moved first, leaning in. “Baby…”

“You stayed this time,” she whispered. “You didn’t leave.”

Dean leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple, voice thick with emotion. “Damn right we didn’t. You’re stuck with us, sweetheart.”

Sam tucked the blanket around her and whispered, “I love you.”

She turned her head toward him, slowly. “I love you too, Sammy.”

Dean blinked. “Wait. That—was that the first time?”

Chubs gave a sleepy nod, eyes fluttering.

Dean’s heart tripped. “Seriously? You’re just dropping that bomb on us while you’re delirious from fever?”

“Mm,” she hummed, already halfway asleep again. “Don’t make it weird.”

Dean huffed a soft laugh, brushing her hair back.

Sam watched her, quiet.

He didn’t say it, but he knew: she was his redemption. His second chance. The proof that love could survive even after all the awful things he’d done — or hadn’t meant to do.

Dean reached over and ruffled Sam’s hair with a crooked grin. “You okay, dude?”

Sam’s eyes were wet. “Not even close. But she’s here. So I’ll get there.”

—

The motel room was quiet when Chubs finally woke up.

Too quiet.

Which usually meant one of two things: Sam was sulking. Or Dean was plotting.

She shifted under the blanket—and immediately groaned. Her stomach still hurt, her head was stuffy, and every muscle felt like it had been replaced by wet cement.

A soft creak of the chair beside her made her blink.

“Hey, baby,” Sam said gently, sitting up straight. His hoodie was rumpled, his eyes were puffy, and he looked like he hadn’t slept all night. “You okay?”

Chubs gave a weak little grunt and held out her arms.

That was all it took. Sam melted.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, already climbing onto the bed beside her, wrapping her up in the softest, warmest bear hug ever. “You do still like me.”

She didn’t speak—just tucked her face into his chest, sniffling softly, fingers clutching at the fabric of his hoodie like she’d fall apart without it.

Sam didn’t let her go. Not for a second.

Dean walked in just in time to catch the moment—and immediately got hit with that warm fuzzy ache in his chest. The kind that came whenever Chubs looked small and loved and real in their arms.

“She up?” he asked softly, balancing a mug of soup in one hand and a plastic spoon in the other.

Sam nodded. “Won’t let go of me.”

Dean grinned. “Good. Means she’s finally got taste.”

“Shuddup,” Chubs mumbled, muffled by Sam’s chest.

“Oh, she speaks!” Dean said, mock-gasping as he set the soup down on the nightstand. “Sound the alarm.”

Chubs groaned but didn’t lift her head.

Dean sat on the other side of the bed and brushed some hair from her cheek. “I made you soup. It’s the only thing I know how to cook that won’t kill you.”

“She’s not gonna eat it unless she’s spoon-fed,” Sam said seriously, like this was a medical fact.

Chubs just hummed again and stayed right where she was, attached to Sam like a sleepy little barnacle.

Dean rolled his eyes, picked up the spoon, and said in his best princess voice, “Here comes the airplane~”

That made her giggle.

Which made both of them melt instantly.

“God, you’re cute when you’re sick,” Sam murmured, tucking a hand behind her head.

“Don’t encourage her,” Dean grumbled, even though he was smiling like an idiot.

Chubs peeked up at them finally. “Can I have snuggles and soup?”

“You can have anything, baby girl,” Dean said, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “You scared the hell out of us.”

Sam kissed her crown. “You’re not doing anything alone ever again, okay? Bathroom breaks, brushing teeth, existential crises—supervised.”

“I was literally just sick,” she croaked.

“Deathly ill,” Dean corrected, pointing the spoon at her dramatically.

Chubs rolled her eyes and flopped against Sam again. “Y’all are embarrassing.”

“And you love it,” Dean smirked.

She didn’t argue.

And she didn’t let go.

[captonite]

Hearts Full of Hay and Honey

Chubs is good with animals; the brothers wonder why. Here comes a full, warm, and cozy fic where our sweet chubs gets all the barn animal cuddles, veggies, and gentle love she deserves.

A haunting on a rural Nebraska farm. Barn doors slamming shut with no wind. Shadows skittering between the hay bales. Cattle restless and spooked, like they’d seen the devil himself.

Sam, Dean, and Chubs pulled up in Baby, tires crunching gravel as the sun dipped low behind the wheat fields. The air was warm and golden. The barn loomed, red and wide, framed by swaying grass and white-fenced pastures.

But Chubs didn’t care about the case.

Not right away.

The barn smelled like fresh hay and sunshine.

That was Chubs' first thought when she ducked through the big red doors, eyes wide and beaming. Her boots crunched against straw-strewn floorboards, her sweater sleeves pushed up as she nearly tripped over her own feet in excitement.

Because the second she stepped out of the Impala, she heard a soft "Moo."

And there it was—a tiny, floofy Highland cow, brown and shaggy, with a big pink nose and the kindest eyes she’d ever seen.

“DEAN LOOK!!” she squealed, spinning around with windblown hair and flushed cheeks. “MINI. COWS.”

Dean, still nursing a busted lip from last night’s ghost run-in, raised an eyebrow. “What in the—”

“Moo,” came the soft reply, as if one of the fuzzy Highland calves was greeting her directly.

Before either Winchester could protest, Chubs dropped into a crouch and held out her hand like she was meeting a new puppy. The calf—rust-colored and fluffy like a teddy bear—ambled over and nuzzled into her palm. Her entire face lit up.

The barn owner, a sweet elderly woman named Ms. Harlow, smiled as she approached. “Well, aren’t you precious? You like the babies?”

Chubs nodded, already slowly stepping toward the fence. One of the calves trotted up to her, nuzzling her palm without hesitation.

And it was like something clicked.

Every cow on the field began inching closer. Curious, soft, unafraid. Even the horse grazing nearby lifted its head and walked over.

Sam and Dean watched from the sidelines, stunned silent.

Chubs sat in the grass, surrounded by the small herd. One lay beside her. Another let her scratch behind its ears. The horse nosed gently at her shoulder until she giggled and stroked its mane.

“She looks like Snow White,” Sam muttered.

Dean blinked. “She looks like a damn Disney movie.”

Ms. Harlow chuckled. “Animals know a good soul when they see one. They can sense softness. Safety.”

Cas appeared beside them then, trench coat fluttering faintly in the breeze. “She radiates comfort,” he added simply. “She carries light, even when she’s hurting.”

Dean’s jaw clenched at that, the words a punch to the gut.

They hadn’t always made her feel safe. But here? Here she glowed.

---

The case had brought them to the outskirts of a small Nebraska town, where a few local kids swore the barn was haunted. Turns out it was just a mischievous spirit tied to an old pocketwatch. An easy salt-and-burn. Now, while Sam was helping the owner fill out the police report with minimal weirdness, Chubs had wandered into heaven.

And she hadn't stopped smiling since.

“She said she’d never even pet a real cow before,” Dean said, a little stunned, watching as the calf gently headbutted her hip and made her giggle. “Where the hell did she learn to do that?”

Another baby cow came up beside her. Then a third.

By the time the boys blinked again, Chubs was surrounded by fuzzy snouts and sleepy brown eyes, rubbing soft ears and making little “you’re so cuuute” noises that made Dean’s ears go pink.

---

The hunt had been simple enough— Once it was salted and burned, the air lightened.

But Chubs didn’t want to leave yet.

She was elbow-deep in a wicker basket, helping Ms. Harlow harvest cucumbers and tomatoes. Her sleeves were rolled up, cheeks flushed, hair tied back in a messy ponytail.

There was dirt on her nose. And joy in her eyes.

“Dean,” Sam said quietly, watching her from the porch. “She’s happy.”

Dean was quiet. “She’s glowing.”

Chubs looked up at them then, a cucumber in one hand and a mini cow pressed against her hip like a clingy dog. She waved excitedly, smile so wide it made both boys ache.

“She’s gonna cry,” Sam murmured, awestruck.

“I’m gonna cry,” Dean muttered.

“You boys okay over here?”

They turned to see Ms. Harlow—smiling softly as she leaned against the doorframe. “She’s got a gift, that girl.”

Sam nodded slowly. “We, uh. Yeah, we’ve noticed.”

The woman chuckled. “Animals know. They feel things we can’t always explain. She’s got a soft soul. Gentleness like that don’t come easy in this world.”

As if to prove the point, one of the calves flopped right down beside Chubs and nuzzled into her lap. Chubs immediately lay back in the hay, arms wrapped around the fuzzy creature, beaming up at the ceiling like she’d never known a better day.

“I didn’t even know she liked animals this much,” Dean murmured.

“She never had the chance,” Sam replied.

That was the part that stung.

She’d been through so much. Moved from one home to another. Had too many memories of being unwanted, unseen.

And now? She was knee-deep in sunshine, playing with calves and picking tomatoes like she’d been raised on love.

When Chubs finally ran back toward them, cheeks pink and eyes bright, she threw her arms around both their waists in a group hug.

“I wanna live here,” she mumbled into Dean’s jacket.

He huffed a laugh and kissed the top of her head. “We’ll build you a cow farm, baby girl. All yours.”

---

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of sunshine.

Chubs got to help harvest tomatoes, squealed when a horse licked her hand, and rode a gentle old mare with the grace of someone born for it—even if she kept giggling, “I’m gonna fall, I swear to God—SAM, HOLD THE SADDLE.”

Dean walked beside the horse like a nervous dad at a skating rink, arms hovering in case she slipped.

When they finally got back to the Impala that evening, Chubs was sleepily munching on an apple and had straw in her hair. Her hoodie smelled like cow and her boots were muddy. But her smile?

Radiant.

“Best day ever,” she mumbled around a yawn.

Dean looked over his shoulder as she curled up in the backseat like a cat. “We should buy a damn barn,” he said.

Sam chuckled. “Yeah. With what money?”

“I don’t know. Sell your laptop.”

“Dean—”

“Sell your soul. I don’t care. Look at her.”

Sam looked. Chubs, cheeks pink and lashes fluttering, had one hand curled under her cheek and the other still holding half an apple. Her nose twitched like she was dreaming.

“I’ll admit it,” Sam said softly. “She was made for that kind of peace.”

Dean nodded, voice low. “Someday… she’s gonna have it.”

Sam didn’t ask how. Or when. Or if Dean really believed it.

They just sat for a while. Watching the sun set behind the barn, with their baby sister grinning wide in the backseat, smelling like hay and safety and the warm part of the woods.

---

Dean was halfway through wiping mud off Baby’s backseat when he heard it.

“Baa.”

He froze.

Turned.

Stared.

There, standing with a suspicious amount of innocence in its round, rectangular eyes, was a very small, very determined goat.

Inside. The. Car.

Chubs stood behind it with the most exaggerated smile in the world, her arms awkwardly out like she definitely wasn’t doing anything sneaky.

Dean blinked. “...Is that a goat.”

Chubs didn't blink. “No.”

“Baa,” the goat insisted.

Dean slowly turned to her. “Chubs. Is there a literal goat in my car?”

“Okay first of all—his name is Peaches.”

Sam came jogging around the side of the Impala, saw the scene, and immediately burst into laughter. “No way. You tried to smuggle a goat?!”

Chubs threw her hands in the air. “He followed me! What was I supposed to do, say no?! Look at his face!”

Peaches, sensing a moment of high tension, bleated again and casually began chewing on one of Dean’s seatbelts.

Dean lunged. “HEY! NO! GET OUT! OUT!!”

---

Ten minutes later, Peaches was gently escorted back to the barn with great ceremony (and many bribes), and Chubs was standing beside the Impala, arms crossed, pouting so hard her bottom lip trembled.

“I just wanted a little goat friend,” she muttered.

“You wanted to kidnap livestock,” Dean muttered back, checking his seat for any leftover pellets. “There’s a difference.”

“Don’t worry,” Ms. Harlow chuckled, walking up with something clutched in her hands. “I figured she might try something.”

She handed Chubs a tiny, hand-crocheted Highland cow plushie—round and fuzzy with big little yarn eyes, soft cinnamon “fur,” and stubby legs. It was so perfect it almost squeaked.

“For you,” Ms. Harlow said gently. “Something to take home. That way, you don’t have to commit a felony.”

Chubs’ pout slowly transformed into the biggest grin in the hemisphere.

“Are you kidding me,” Dean muttered. “You’re rewarding her goat-thievery.”

“She didn’t steal him,” Sam teased. “She was just… borrowing him indefinitely.”

The plushie was already hugged to Chubs’ chest like it was holy. She looked up at the barn owner with the roundest eyes known to man. “Thank you so much,” she whispered.

“You’ve got a sweet soul, sugar,” Ms. Harlow said. “But try not to get arrested.”

---

Back on the road, Chubs climbed into the backseat, cow plushie tucked under her chin, smiling dreamily. She looked at peace.

Dean checked his rearview mirror and sighed. “If that cow ends up with a name and a seatbelt, I’m filing for custody of the car.”

“I was thinking of naming her Moo-donna,” Chubs murmured sleepily.

Sam barked a laugh.

Dean gave up entirely.

[captonite]

Dead in the Water (and in His Arms)

Hi mi bebe!! I apologize for the delay in completing this, but thank you for entrusting me with this idea. I hope it brings the exact amount of pain and joy you were craving <33 Here’s your “Dead in the Water” episode rewrite — but this time, Chubs is with them. She gets pulled in with Lucas, and for a terrifying moment, she doesn’t come back up. The boys lose their damn minds trying to save her. It's the same gritty, eerie energy as the ep, just with maximum big brother panic mode.

---

The lake was still again.

Too still.

Lucas stood by the dock, tiny hands trembling at his sides. The water called to him, low and humming. There was no wind. No sound. No reason for the chill running down Chubs’ spine.

“Lucas,” she said gently, “do you see something?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the water.

“Lucas?” she tried again, stepping closer.

And that’s when it happened.

The water exploded.

A force — invisible but violent — yanked Lucas in with a splash, and before she could scream—

Something wrapped around Chubs’ ankle and pulled her under too.

---

Dean saw it from across the lawn. One second Chubs was there, safe, standing beside the kid — and the next, she was gone.

“CHUBS?!” he roared, sprinting toward the lake, Sam on his heels.

Two splashes. One smaller. One hers.

“NO NO NO—” Dean hit the water without thinking, boots and all, diving in. “BABY GIRL!!”

---

Below the surface—

The water was dark and cold and angry.

Chubs fought to reach Lucas, but something had wrapped around her — not seaweed. Not rope. It was like hands. Small, vengeful hands. Drowning hands.

She kicked hard, bubbles escaping her mouth.

She saw Lucas drifting—eyes wide, terrified. He wasn’t moving.

Panic surged. Her lungs burned. She reached out—

Above—

Dean broke the surface, gasping. “SAM! I can’t see her!”

“Got her!” Sam yelled, diving back under, arms flailing. “I got—LUCAS! I got Lucas!”

“Where’s—” Dean’s voice broke. “Where’s Chubs?!”

Sam surfaced, dragging Lucas to shore. “He’s breathing!” he shouted, pressing a hand to the kid’s chest. “Dean—get her—now!”

Dean vanished beneath the water again.

His heart was screaming.

She can’t be gone. She can’t be.

Then — through the murk — he saw her.

Floating downward. Unmoving. Dress billowing like a ghost.

Dean launched himself forward, grabbed her waist, yanked her up with everything he had.

She was limp in his arms.

Shoreline.

Sam met them, dragging them both onto the dock.

“Chubs!” he shouted. “Is she—?!”

Dean was already doing compressions. “Come on, baby girl. Come on. Breathe for me.”

Nothing.

He tilted her head back, gave her a breath. Another. Pressed on her chest again.

Sam crouched beside him, shaking. “Come on, sweetheart. Come back.”

Dean was on the edge of breaking.

“Don’t do this to me. Don’t—don’t do this. You’re not allowed. You don’t die on me!”

And then—

She coughed.

Water gushed from her mouth. Her whole body jerked.

She gasped. Choked. Cried.

“Oh my God,” Dean dropped his head against her shoulder, arms shaking. “That’s it. That’s it, baby girl. I got you. I got you.”

Sam was already wrapping her in his flannel. “You’re okay now. You’re safe. It’s over.”

Chubs clung to Dean like her life depended on it — maybe it did. She couldn’t stop crying. Neither could Sam. Dean wiped her face like he wasn’t sobbing too.

“You scared the hell outta me,” Dean whispered into her hair. “You scared me worse than anything ever has. Don’t do that again. Don’t you ever do that again, baby girl.”

“I couldn’t breathe,” she hiccuped.

“I know,” Sam said gently. “But you came back. That’s what matters. You came back.”

Dean kissed her forehead, cradling her to his chest like she was the last thing keeping him alive.

“I got you now,” he whispered. “And I’m never letting go.”

---

The motel room door slammed open.

Dean carried Chubs in his arms, still wrapped in Sam’s flannel, her damp hair sticking to her cheeks. She was warm now — but not in a good way. She was burning up from the shock and the cold, and her skin was pale beneath the motel’s ugly yellow lighting.

Sam rushed ahead, peeling back the covers. “Get her in. Quick.”

Dean didn’t answer. He just laid her down gently, brushing soaked strands of hair from her forehead with a shaking hand.

“I’m okay,” Chubs whispered, voice hoarse. “You don’t have to look at me like that.”

But they did.

Sam knelt beside her, brows drawn tight. “You weren’t breathing, sweetheart.”

“You were blue,” Dean said, sitting on the edge of the bed. His voice cracked. “You were gone.”

She blinked slowly, exhaustion heavy on her face. “But I came back.”

“Barely.”

Sam stood and started grabbing extra blankets from the closet, doubling up the layers. “You're not sleeping alone tonight.”

Chubs blinked. “You guys don't have to—”

“Yes. We do,” Dean said sharply. “You think we're leaving you by yourself after that? Hell no.”

Sam nodded. “We're pulling a triple cuddle lockdown, princess. Deal with it.”

She managed the faintest smile. “You guys are so dramatic.”

Dean climbed into bed first, pulling her gently against his chest. “You died, baby girl. We’re allowed to be a little dramatic.”

Sam turned off the lights and slid in on the other side of her, wrapping an arm around her waist, face close to hers.

“You warm enough?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

There was a long silence.

Then:

“Dean?” she whispered.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I could hear you.”

Dean blinked in the dark. “What do you mean?”

“When I was under. Everything was cold. And I couldn’t move. But I heard you. Yelling. Screaming my name.” Her voice wavered. “It kept me from going all the way.”

Dean swallowed hard and pulled her tighter. “You hang onto that next time, okay? My voice. Sammy’s voice. We’ll always come for you.”

“You scared the crap outta me,” Sam said, his voice lower, almost trembling. “My heart hasn’t stopped pounding.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered.

“We know,” Dean said. “That’s why we’re not letting go tonight.”

She was tucked so tight between them she couldn’t move — one brother’s chest against her back, the other’s hand brushing rhythmically over her arm, like a lullaby in motion.

She drifted in and out of sleep, but each time she stirred, their hands were there. Checking her forehead. Stroking her hair. Soft whispers like:

“You still with us, baby girl?”

and

“Still breathing. That’s our girl.”

At some point, Sam spoke into the dark:

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“How did we live before we had her?”

Dean didn’t answer right away.

Then, with a shaky breath:

“We didn’t.”

They didn’t sleep much.

But they held her.

And that was enough.

---

Morning after,

Chubs woke slowly.

Warm.

Safe.

For a moment, she didn’t remember why that was strange.

The motel room was filled with soft light, golden rays cutting through the cheap blinds. The blankets were still wrapped around her, and someone had clearly tucked them just a little tighter — like they were afraid she’d float away again.

There was movement near the counter.

Dean was by the tiny stovetop, flipping pancakes with military precision. Sam sat at the table cutting strawberries, eyes flicking up every few seconds to check on her.

She blinked. Rubbed at her face.

Sam noticed first.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he said softly, standing.

Dean turned at the sound. “Well, look who’s up. Miss Drowny Pants herself.”

“Dean,” Sam hissed.

But Chubs just smiled, weak and warm. “Miss what?”

Dean grinned, approaching with a plate in hand. “Three pancakes. Extra syrup. Cut into baby-sized bites. You’re welcome.”

“And fruit,” Sam added, sliding into bed beside her. “Vitamin C and love.”

Dean handed her the plate, sitting on her other side like she was royalty and this bed was her throne.

“You guys didn’t have to—”

“We did,” they both said at the same time.

She blinked at the plate.

The pancakes were shaped like hearts.

“Oh my god.”

Dean shrugged. “We got bored. Sue us.”

She giggled — quiet and raw — and picked up her fork.

The first bite was warm. Sweet. Ridiculous.

She didn’t know why, but it made her throat tighten.

Dean noticed her go still. “Baby girl?”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

Sam tilted his head. “Chubs.”

She dropped the fork. Her hands shook just a little.

“It’s just—” she whispered. “I didn’t think anyone would ever do this for me. I didn’t think anyone would fight for me like that. Not jump into a lake. Not hold me all night. Not… pancakes in bed.”

And suddenly the tears were there.

Not sobbing.

Just soft.

Silent.

She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve.

Sam took the plate from her lap.

Dean shifted in close, wrapping his arms around her. “Hey. It’s okay. Let it out.”

“You’re allowed to cry, baby,” Sam said, hugging her from the other side. “Especially after what you went through.”

“I just… I didn’t know people loved like this,” she whispered, burying her face in Dean’s chest. “I didn’t think I was the kind of person who got saved.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “You always were.”

“You just didn’t have us yet,” Sam added softly.

They held her.

Not just with their arms — with their whole damn hearts.

“We’d die for you,” Dean murmured. “Don’t you get that yet? You’re ours. You’re everything.”

“We’ll always come for you,” Sam echoed. “Again and again and again.”

And she believed them.

In that little motel bed, surrounded by pancakes and flannel and fierce love, Chubs let herself believe it.

She didn’t just get saved.

She got chosen.

And she was never going to be alone again.