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Brush Yourself Off; An Ana Winchester Story

First chapter of a Sister-Winchester story. Anastasia Winchester, youngest of three, and her life with her dad and brothers.

“Brush yourself off.”

That’s what dad always said. It started at the ripe age of four. Or at least, that’s when I became old enough to understand it. See, being a Winchester didn’t come with the hugs and kisses that normally came from a good dad. Not that my dad wasn’t a good one, he did the best that he could, all things considered. Truthfully, my brothers did most of the work raising me, with some help from uncle Bobby when dad was out of town.

I still remember the first encounter with something sinister. Something otherworldly. Something dad had been fighting for years. I remember the first wendigo I ever laid my eyes on. I was four. Dad told me to stay in the car like always. I tried to listen, I really did. Until I heard my brother, Dean, calling out for help. Dean was my best friend, not just my oldest brother. So naturally, as any logical four year old would, I threw open the car door and raced toward the call as quickly as my little legs could carry me. I was too late to save Dean from a gnarly gash on his leg, but not too late for the wendigo to spot me, and slash it’s nasty claws against my side, slamming me onto the ground and onto my back, screaming for help just like Dean.

Unsurprisingly, when dad finally made it to us and took care of the beast, he was not happy. I was fine, aside from the scrapes and bruises and a few wounds that probably should’ve been taken care of, but my ego was being quickly beaten down as dad yelled at Dean and I the whole ride back to the motel. “NEVER disobey me like that again.”, “that was a direct order.”, “you could have been killed!”, “how could you be so stupid?”, he screamed.

When he finally got bored of yelling, or just had nothing left to say, I turned to Sammy in the back seat, my hand still pressed firmly against my aching side, and quietly told him, “It hurts, Sammy…” Sam shushed me and wrapped an arm around me just before dad barked out, “Brush yourself off. You have to toughen up if you want to keep coming on the road with us. If I say you’re fine, you’re fine. Understand?”. “Yes sir.” I muttered sheepishly, tucking my head into Sammy’s arm.

It was one of the many times that I would be harshly told, “brush yourself off.”. I took it to heart. I became the perfect little soldier, just like Dean. I grew up sturdy, tough, and independant. I was Dean's little mini-me, dad's perfect little girl. Even when Sam went off to college, Dean and I stayed. I dropped out of school promptly after Sam left, and the three of us were the dream team.

I never asked for help, I never showed my pain. I lived by my dad's words, "brush yourself off.". He would say it after every hunt. Until he wasn't there.

Dean and I didn't start to worry until two weeks went by, and we still hadn't heard from him. Dean was quietly worried, I was more aggressive with my worry. I was more angry. How could the man who constantly told me to brush it off, not brush it off himself? He was my hero. How dare he disappear like that.

Dean and I were staying in different rooms the night I broke.

We rarely did, but I finally convinced Dean that as a teenage girl, I needed my own space sometimes, and as a Winchester, I would be fine on my own. In Dean's defense, he wasn't worried about me because he thought I couldn't handle myself, he was worried because he noticed how not okay I'd been since dad had left. He knew I was tough, but he raised me, he was the only one who was truly there for me through every scraped knee and werewolf scratch. Nothing got passed him when it came to me. I was his little girl. He noticed the way I responded to Sam leaving, he saw how it made me sloppier on hunts. Almost like I just stopped caring about what happened to me. He watched me shut down, but he knew I was too prideful to ever say anything.

That night was the night I just couldn't do it anymore. It had just been festering inside my head. Every victim I couldn't save, every friend I had lost. Every fight I had with dad where he said I would never amount to be as good as my brothers. Every little thing, every insult, every bruise, every monster, everytime I brushed myself off. I was sitting on my motel bed, just covered in dirt and blood from the hunt that evening, and I just couldn't bring myself to get up. This never happens to me. I'm always the strong one. That day, I felt about as helpless as I did as a little girl faced with a wendigo for the first time.

The clock on the wall just kept ticking, like it was taunting me for being so helpless. I had to do something. I felt paralyzed. I needed... help. But truthfully, I didn't even know if I was allowed to ask for help. I never had before.

With all the energy I could muster, I crept off the bed and to the door. It wasn't that late yet, and Dean hardly slept anyway, so I knew he'd still be up. If getting off the bed had been hard, lifting my hand to knock on his door was harder than fighting a goule.

He answered as quick as he always did, and his confused look on his face was the worst of everything, because I knew he would never expect this from me.

"You're a mess, kid." he said softly. I just stared at his feet, unsure of what to actually say. "Hey," he tried, "are you okay?" he asked, reaching a hand out nervously before withdrawing it, as if I would break at the touch. Holding back the same tear that had been threatening to fall for years, I managed to choke out the only thing I could think to say.

"I think I need you to brush me off..."

Just like that, everything the two of us had been taught to do went right out the window. Dean's hand finally made contact with my shoulder and he tentatively pulled me into the room and into his arms. He held the back of my head and tucked his chin onto the top of my head. I wanted to cry, but those pesky Winchester genes were still holding onto every unshed tear. So I just closed my eyes and tried to ground myself instead. "We'll get you cleaned up, kid, don't worry about a thing."

All I could do in response was let myself drop further into his arms, and he held up my weight without complaint, starting to walk me towards the motel bathroom.

"I'm so sorry..." I whispered, feeling the deepest guilt for not being as strong as my brothers yet again. "Not a thing to be sorry for, kiddo.", he answered, "we all break every once in a while." "You don't." I spat back as he lowered me onto the edge of the tub and turned the faucet on. "Oh I wish that was true, kid, but we all do, even dad." he answered again.

I just looked at him like he had two heads. "I'm not a kid, and you're lying.". He just chuckled and wet a rag to start rinsing dirt and grime off my arms. "Why are you being so nice? You should be mad at me." I asked, wincing just slightly as the rag went over some raw skin that I hadn't noticed before. "It's what I'm here for, you know that, sister. There's a reason you came to me. Obviously, you knew that you could." I didn't respond. I didn't even acknowledge that I heard him. He was right, but I didn't know how to admit it. He was always the one there, silently patching me and Sam up. He had been brushing me off for years, but neither of us were allowed to acknowledge it. He was nursing my fevers and helping me walk since before I could remember. It stayed quiet for some time. Dean didn't ask anything of me, he washed my hair, he got all the blood off of me, and even tried drying my hair with the shitty motel hairdryer. When I was all cleaned up, he grabbed one of his less worn shirts and helped me slip it on. Once I was finally sat on the bed, he sat next to me and sighed.

"Alright, kid." he started, before I cut him off. "I'm not a kid." I demanded. He chuckled again in a way that made me feel so small. "baby, you will always be a kid to me." he said, I huffed, and he continued quickly, "not because I don't respect and admire the incredible adult you're becoming, but because you will always be my kid sister for as long as I'm alive. Just like Sam will always be my kid brother, wherever he is. I raised you two."

At the mention of Sam I visibly stiffened, Dean blinked down at me.

"Oh, hey," he softened his voice, "Is that what's got you so upset?" he pried. "I really don't want to talk about Sam right now." He nodded. "I know.", and he didn't press it. "But I have a feeling you didn't come to me for help just because you were caked in blood. I've seen you looking a lot worse and a lot happier." I wasn't sure how to answer him. He was right again, I was usually so much stronger than this. "I don't know what's wrong with me." I finally chirped out. "There's a lot wrong with us, kid. That's what makes us Winchesters." I just barely cracked a smile. "I know, that's the problem, De. I'm not good enough to hold that name." He cocked his head and put an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side. "I know you won't believe me, but you are more of a Winchester than any of us combined. You are strong, and you have put up with so much for so long." I just lowered my head and stayed quiet. "Hey," he shook my shoulder, "what's going on inside that head of yours?" "I don't know.". I didn't know. He just nodded. "That's okay, we'll figure it out.", and it fell into silence again.

"How do you do it, De?" I finally piped up. "Do what?" "Brush yourself off." He tightened his grip on my shoulder. "Same way you always do," "Don't lie to me again, Dean. How do you KEEP doing it." He sighed. "I had no other choice, kid." he answered bluntly. I didn't answer, hoping he would continue. "Someone had to be there for you and Sammy." he continued. "And what about you?" I asked, guilt settling in the pit of my stomach. He smiled down at me. "You were there for me too, pipsqueak. If I didn't have you, I would have broken a long ass time ago. That's why I gotta keep your annoying ass around." I cracked a smile. "There she is," he quipped at the sight of my smile. "Is that why you can't sleep when we don't share a room?" I asked him. "Hey! Share a back seat with someone long enough and unfortunately you get used to their presence!" he smiled back at me, defensively. "You never shared the back seat with me!" I argued, "It was always Sam and I in the back!" "You clearly have some memory loss, kid. Must've gotten knocked in the head one too many times." he joked. "Bullshit!" I scolded and smacked his shoulder. "You always sit up front with dad!" "And you're always wrong!" he fought back, "when you were little you used to refuse to sleep next to anyone else! You would cry until I would crawl into the backseat with you. Even dad couldn't get you to bed without me." I didn't want to believe him, but I had to admit that it made sense. I always had trouble when dad and Dean went out on hunts together and I stayed with Bobby. Even now that I fought for my own room, I never really slept when I couldn't hear Dean on the other side of the wall cleaning his guns. "Well that wasn't my decision, I was a baby, it doesn't count." "You're still a baby." he shot back. "Am not!" he nudged my shoulder and I nudged him back. "How you feeling?" he asked suddenly. I shrugged. "I don't know.", I said again. "Are you gonna be okay?" he asked. I was quiet. "I don't know." I said once more. "Do you need anything from me?" I was about to say no, but he interrupted. "Don't give me the Winchester answer. Give me the baby sister answer, please. I don't need you hiding from me the way Sam always did." "I said I didn't want to talk about Sam." I said harshly. "I know.. sorry. Is there anything you need from me?" He repeated. I had to take a second to think. I never really knew what I needed. The hunter side of my brain knew that I wasn't allowed to think of my owns needs, only the needs of the civilians. "I'm tired.". It was all I could think to say. "and I'm worried about dad." I added. "Don't worry about dad, he's always okay." "I know." I said. "I-..." I paused to take in a deep breath, not sure if I was allowed to say this. This whole feelings thing was new to me. "I miss dad." I blurted out.

This was such uncharted territory for me and I half expected to get smacked in the back of the head by dad just for saying it. That's when it all suddenly dawned on me. I've been with dad for so long, that he had taken away the one thing from me that made me human. I was afraid to feel. The tears welled up in my eyes before I could register what was happening. I wiped desperately at my eyes, hoping I could somehow hide it from Dean.

"Hey hey hey!" he cooed, as if I was truly a baby again. "You're okay!" he stressed as all Hell broke loose in my emotions. "I know, I know, you're okay, I've got you." he pulled me in closer and tried to help me wipe away my tears.

I was panicking. This had never happened to me before, and if Dean was being completely honest, he was panicking too. He couldn't remember the last time I cried. Even when I was badly hurt on hunts I hardly let a tear fall.

"I-.." he started. "I miss him too." he lied. He truthfully couldn't say that he missed him, more like he was scared. Scared of what could possibly keep dad from contacting us both. He never went more than a week without reaching out somehow. All Dean knew was that he had to take care of you. He had to take care of dad's little girl. That was always his job, before anything else.

"No!" I shouted through broken sobs. I shoved Dean away and stood from the bed, backing away quickly. Dean raised his hands in a surrendering motion and stood up. "This isn't right!" I screamed. "I don't know why I feel this way! I should feel happy he's gone! I should feel RELIEF! Why do I miss him?! He's the reason I'm like this! He's the reason I'm broken! He broke me!". I was an absolute mess. Dean never saw me like this, not once, and he was scared.

"I know, I know, kid. Please. Come here." He took a slow short step toward me, "Please. We can figure this out together. You don't have to be scared. He's not here, he can't hurt you or get mad at you. It's just you and me, kid.". He spoke to me like I could break at any moment. Like I was made of glass. I felt like I was. "Dean I-..." I didn't know what I needed. "I'm..." I tried to breathe through a sob. "I'm tired." I finally choked out pathetically, defeated.

He looked at me like I was breaking his heart. He took another step toward me and opened his arms slightly. "C'mon then, kid. Let me brush you off, please."

I all but collapsed in his arms again, my sobs now falling into his chest. "I miss him..." I choked out one more time. "I know. We'll find him." "No-..." I connected, "Not dad..."

Dean took a breath and shut his eyes, tilting his chin up off my head for just a moment. "I know." he whispered. "I miss him too." I tried to catch my breath. "I don't understand how he could leave us... He knows how dad is. He left us here with him." Every word out of my mouth shocked me to my core. Never in my life had I said a single word against my father. Dean didn't know how to answer me this time. He had his own trauma with dad, and even though I was breaking, he never could. Dad was still a saint in his eyes, but he also couldn't argue with me. Not when I was so broken up. "You wouldn't have left even if he had tried to take you with him." I nodded and cried. "Then he should have stayed..." I explained. Dean brushed a piece of hair behind my ear. "I can't speak for Sam, pipsqueak. But I can promise you that I will never leave you. Under absolutely no circumstances are you ever getting rid of me." he pulled my head up at the end of his sentence and looked in my eyes. I just nodded and tried to hold more tears at bay. "Do you hear me, kid?" he asked. "I hear you, De." "Good. And you better not ever forget it." he kissed my forehead and then held my head to his chest again. I soaked in the scent of motor oil and gunpowder and tried to find my breath again.

"Hey kid?" Dean asked. "Yeah?" "Since-.." he paused. "Since when do you call me 'De' again? You haven't called me that since you were a kid."

I froze. I hadn't even registered that I had said it. "Well..." I tried to think up an excuse to not seem vulnerable. "I'll... I'll always be a kid to you, right? You just said that." He smiled over me. "Yeah. Yeah, kid, you're right." He held me a little tighter. "Hey Dean?" I asked. "Yeah, kid?" he sounded so soft. "Can I stay with you tonight?" I asked shyly. He shifted slightly. "After all that fuss about having your own room?" he teased. "Please?" I looked up at him with red rimmed eyes and for just a moment he could've sworn I was four again in the back of the impala. "Yeah, yeah of course you can, pipsqueak. Anytime you need to." He let go of me and I climbed into the bed. He sat atop the covers near me and turned on the shitty motel TV. Scooby-doo was playing, and I finally felt at home.

"Dean?" I asked much later, and my eyes began to get heavy. "Yeah?" he responded, still very much wide awake. "Are we gonna find dad?" I asked. "Yeah, baby, we are." he told me, confident. I paused. "And what if he's not okay?" I continued. "We'll do what he taught us to do." he said firmly, taking his eyes away from the TV and looking at me finally. I looked at him confused.

"We'll brushed him off too."

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