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wrenwinchester · 6 months ago

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Happy birthday to Millie Wren Winchester, she’s 43 today, and she truly deserves the world. Also, this is fairly raw writing, haven’t had a chance to edit or anything, just a heads up. But without further ado, here is the

Fourth of July 1996

Dean went out for a bit, I honestly had no idea what he was doing, Dad was off hunting who knows what in southern Michigan, hadn't heard from him in like a week. And Sam was being a bratty 13 year old. Dean and I had tried everything, taking him to the local pool, taking him shopping, finding his favorite anything really, and nothing helped. He was mad at Dad because he missed his birthday, and mad at Dad for about 1,000 other reasons. And now. I was dealing with it alone. "Great."

Sam looks up from whatever book he was reading, Oliver Twist maybe. "What's wrong?" He asks, sitting up on the bed. And I mentally curse. I hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Nothing, I'm just tired and frustrated about stuff at the convenience store." I say, not entirely inaccurate, but definitely not what had me going.

"I can't believe you've already made assistant manager. I mean you just started what, a month ago?" He asks. Even though he knows the answer.

"Yeah, but think of all the different experience I have, and the fact that I actually have a work ethic." I say, and he nods looking over at me.

"That's true. Still, I'm proud of you." He smiles at me, and it feels like the first time he's smiled in weeks.

"Thanks, Sammy." I look at the time, it's 7:30. "Hey have you eaten yet?" I ask him.

"No, I wasn't really hungry earlier," his stomach growls. "Apparently that's not so true now."

"What do you want to eat?" Sam's not necessarily picky, but he is particular.

"Whatever you want is fine. I don't care." Ahh, there's the attitude I was expecting.

"Okay, well, I'm just doing cereal because it's easier, and right now cheaper." I say and Sam just shrugs. "By the way, do you know where Dean ran off to earlier? He didn't say anything to me." I say, and Sam shrugs again, putting his headphones on for the Walkman Dean and I pulled money together for his birthday, and goes back to reading. "Okay then."

Sam and I eat our cereal, basically ignoring each other, though it's more like he's ignoring me. I'm just respecting that.

Sam continues his reading when we're done, and I clean up our bowls and add milk to the shopping list. When that's done, I look over the newspaper for any possible cases.

Then, I pick up one of my books, something about protective sigils from the library in town, and I get to work on cleaning the weapons. Granted, all the ones that are here have already been cleaned, but I can engrave protective sigils into the handles, anything to help keep my family safe. When I look up it's 9:30, and I glance over towards the bed Sam's been reading on, and notice he's fast asleep. Book closed on his chest, headphones still playing whatever music he chose. (It's probably one of Dean's cassettes, but I'm not supposed to know that Sam likes Dean's music.)

I walk over to the bed and pick the book up, careful not to lose his spot, and place a bookmark in it before setting it on the nightstand. Dean's been gone for hours at this point, and I'm starting to worry. He should have called or something.

I move across the room, grabbing one of the spare blankets off the couch, and bring it over to lay across Sam. He shifts like he's going to wake up, but doesn't. "Nice to know I haven't lost my touch." I whisper to myself with a smile across my face.

I glance at the door, worrying about Dean again, and I shake my head. He's seventeen, he can handle himself. I repeat the thought over and over again trying to find some comfort in it, but the truth is it ends up making me pissed at Dad. Dean and I have been able to "handle" ourselves since we were 7 years old. We shouldn't have had to.

"Great. Now I'm thinking about Dad and what might have gone wrong on the hunt. And now I'm worried about two Winchesters. I pick up another one of my knives, it's one I don't use often, but it was a gift from an older lady, couldn't tell you much more than she was a redhead, I got it, oh it had to be 6 years ago now. She was nice, saw that I liked knives, and offered it to me. I haven't seen her since. Bobby said that this one was just a normal dagger, but I'm not sure I believe him. So, I keep it in the bag he and I made when I was really in my sewing phase, before I was constantly sewing up skin instead of cloth. Bobby helped me put some sigils on it to keep whatever mystical knives somehow ended up in my possession. (After a witch hunt, dad would let me go through the witches belongings for things that seemed useful. I almost always grabbed at least one knife, but occasionally, they were gifts, that later turned out to be from witches, but more knives meant more ways and more things I could protect my family from.) I set the knife down, not needing protection sigils on it since I never use it, and continue going through everything. A couple hours later, I decide to practice my knife throwing. Not that I really needed practice, I'd been throwing knives since before I started school, and they're my favorite weapon.

I don't leave the room, leaving Sammy alone never ends well. I already know something will happen, and we won't get our deposit back, so it might as well be this, I find a spot on the wall, and make a little x, that's my target. I decide to only use this specific knife, I don't know why, but it just feels right, and as a hunter, I've learned to trust my gut. Just as I'm about to through it, get out some of my frustration and worry about my family, the door swings open, I guess someone else is my target tonight.

My arms already poised to throw the knife before it registers who is at the door, I miss hitting Dean by a fraction of an inch, almost cutting his ear off.

"You nicked me!" He yells, his hand coming away from his ear, and looking at me bewilderedly.

"Dude, you're lucky it didn't go through your eyeball." I reply, going to grab the knife from where it stuck in the wall. It was meant to be funny, but it comes off snarkier than I meant it to, and Dean looks a little taken aback. I don't really have words for why or any idea what to say, really, I just shrug, and say, "Keep it down would you, Sam's sleeping."

Dean looks apologetically towards the bed where Sam is sleeping, he's moved since I closed his book, he's now curled up, practically in the fetal position curling in on himself. "Sorry. And Sorry I was gone so long. My errand had me running around for a while to find the stuff." He smiles gleefully, "but I did find it."

"What is "it", Dean?" I ask perturbed. Walking to put my knife away, obviously I didn't mean to hit my brother, but I figured he was an intruder or monster. "Oh, and sorry about your ear, want me to patch it up?" I ask, it's as good an apology as he's gonna get, besides he knows my frustrations aren't with him. Entirely.

"'It' is a surprise." He smiles, but it fades when I don't smile back. "How's Sam doing?" He asks, probably hoping that's all that's bothering me.

"Moody as ever. One minute he's telling me how proud he is of me for being promoted at the convenience store, and the next he's not talking to me again, and ignoring me." I sigh, as Dean nods along. "We were never that bad." I pause. "Were we?" It comes out quieter than I meant it to. But it's all just hitting me right now.

Dean just gives a wry laugh. "We never had the opportunity. Dad kept us moving, and we were taking turns taking care of Sammy." He says, and he's right. I'm surprised he said it, but he's right.

"So, what you're saying is if Dad had been a better parent, we would have been as bad as Sam?" I ask, mostly because u feel like pushing his buttons.

"Dad's not a bad parent, he just has a lot going on, just leave him alone will you." Dean says, and I realize that nerve is tighter than it usually is.

"I know, I'm just worried that we haven't heard from him. Usually he calls by now." Dean nods. "Not to mention we don't even know what or exactly where he's hunting. How're we supposed to help him if something comes up?"

Dean just shakes his head. "It's Dad. He'll be fine. He's always fine." I nod, still not reassured. And Dean shakes his head. "You know what, we need to get out of here. We need to just relax a little, have fun. It's the Fourth of July after all." He says and goes to put his coat back on.

"Dean, we can't just leave Sam, especially not to galavant around town—"

"We're not," He says pointing at Sam as he continues. "Wake him up, I have a surprise." I stare at him.

"We're not waking up Sam, we can do the surprise in the morning." I say, trying to put my foot down. And then I laugh a little, you'd think we were grown adults parenting our kid, and reality is we're 17 and 15.

"Come on, Wrennie, let's just go have some fun, act our ages for once. I promise it'll be worth it. Besides, it has to happen tonight." Dean would never know, but he has puppy dog eyes just like Sam. And for once. I agree.

"Okay, fine. But you're waking him up, it's almost midnight, and I'm not gonna be at the receiving end of a Winchester cold shoulder right now." I point at him, and go to put shoes on.

"Fine by me." He says recrossing the room to get to Sam's bed. He always sleeps on the bed furthest from the door. Old habits and all that.

Dean starts shaking him. "Sam.Sammy.Sam. Wake up!" Dean practically yells, and I through a pillow at him. We aren't the only ones in the motel.

Of course, the pillow misses and hits Sam in the face, he groans.

"What's wrong." He says, throwing the pillow off his face.

"Get up, I've got a surprise for you." Dean says and I roll my eyes. It shouldn't really surprise me anymore the leeway Sam has for Dean. I mean. I have it too, but still it irks me that I'm not granted the same courtesy by Sam. But because of it, Sam gets up looking for where his book fell, and finding it placed neatly on the side table.

I sit in the back of the impala on the drive to wherever we're going. It's supposed to be special for Sam, and frankly, Sam is mad at me for hitting him with a pillow, and for whatever else he convinced himself to be mad about. I should have just stayed at the motel, let them have a boys night doing whatever it is Dean has planned, but Dean's right. We should just act our age for once.

After 20 minutes of driving, where Sam and Dean are talking and anytime I try to say something Sam gives the cold shoulder, and Dean gives an apologetic look, before they continue talking, we finally arrived wherever Dean wanted to take us, and...

It was an empty field. "Dean, what are we doing here?" I ask, as we get out of the car and he pops the trunk.

"Sam, you wanna see what I've got in the trunk?" He says, and Sam eagerly goes to see what we're doing. I hear his excited squeals, and I'm already getting confused about it, but then Sam comes around the corner, a crate of fireworks in hand.

"Seriously, Dee?" I ask incredulously, but I can't help the smile spreading across my face.

"Yeah, like I said, it's the Fourth of July." He smiles back and I just shake my head.

"Come on! Let's go," Sam says, the biggest smile he's worn in a while across his face. And Dean and I follow closely behind as he brings them along.

Sam sets the crate down in the middle of the field, far enough away from any trees, and the car, but still close enough to the car just in case, we are still a hunter's kids.

Dean gestures to a couple of thinner fireworks for Sammy to grab, and pass between the three of us.

"You got your lighter, Dean?" I ask and he pats his pockets checking for it. It takes him a minute, before he pulls it out with a winning grin on his face.

"Always." The smug bastard. But I smile anyway. And Sam looks at me with glee.

"Light 'em up!" He says, and so Dean lights all three of our fireworks, and we hold them up into the air. Watching as they go off. And Sam looks at Dean, "Dad would never let us do anything like this. Thanks, Dean. This is great." And hugs Dean.

When they're done hugging, Dean slips Sam his lighter, and gives him a nod, letting him light all the other fireworks. Sam comes running back, the biggest smile on his face as he yells, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" And stands by Dean turning around to watch the fireworks go off.

As they continue going off, all of us laughing and smiling, Sam turns to dance under the sparks, and I turn to Dean. "You're right Dean, we really needed this. To act our own age for once." I smile up at him, before resting my head on his shoulder, and we continue watching Sam dance under the sparks and he gives both of us a smile. And of course, we smile back. And just enjoy our time just the three of us as the fireworks continue going off.

After the last of the fireworks explodes, and the sparks die down, we clean up most of our mess, and bring it back to the Impala. Sam sits in between Dean and I in the front, as he's still a little shorter than me. And the three of us ride back to our motel in a comfortable silence.

Sam falls asleep on my shoulder, and I revel in it, he's my baby brother, and I'd die right now if it meant getting could get out of this life, get Dean out. When I look over at Dean, he's got the biggest smile I've seen in a while on his face, just pure unfiltered joy.

"Dee," I whisper and he turns to look at me. I nod my head towards Sam, his body slumped over in a way that seems like it'd be uncomfortable, but he needs the sleep, and he's out cold.

Dean's smile grows soft, full of love, and admiration for our little brother, before his gaze slides back up to me. And he shrugs.

"I swear, you'd better be the one to carry him in, his getting too big for me to carry." I say jokingly as my left arm clutches Sammy closer to me, as if somehow I could just keep him this small, and protect him from all the pain in the world.

"I didn't say anything!" Dean whisper yells, and I just eyeball him. "Fine. I'll carry him in, but you know he's getting old enough where we could start waking him up when we get places." Dean says and I smack his arm. "I'm just saying, you and I were getting woken up when we arrived somewhere years before we hit double digits."

Of course, Dean is right. Sam is getting to be too big for either of us to carry, but the longer we do, the longer we can keep him little and safe. Even if it's not what Sam wants. It just means we have to work out more, build our muscles so we can carry him, especially if he's gonna be hunting more than just helping with the research.

I ignore the thought, because the truth is it terrifies me, ever since that wendigo incident a few years ago, the idea of Sam hunting isn't a comfortable one. I switch my focus back to tonight and look back at Dean.

"Hey, Dee?" I say, voice still quite so as not to wake Sam. He glances over at me in acknowledgement, "thank you, for tonight. I know it was mostly for Sam, but I really needed it too. The reminder that we are just kids." I smile at him. "And, I really needed to get out of the motel room, I think I'd been in there too long." I say, "and I know Sam needed it, to get his mind of off of Dad, and the fact he missed his birthday. I think you made up for it." Dean just shrugs me off, he's never been great at receiving praise, and I let him minimize what it meant to Sam and I, it's just easier. "I do mean it." Is all I say, and he just silently nods.

When we get to the motel, I help Dean get Sam, who turns into Dean and just holds onto his neck as he carries him up to our room. And I get the fireworks garbage out of the trunk, and toss it in the dumpster. Let someone else deal with the mess. When I make it into the room, Sam is still asleep, and Dean is being held down by him on the bed.

I lock the door as I glance between them, and I just shake my head before crawling into the bed and squishing Sam in the middle of us. It's a little small, but the three of us still fit, and we still need each other.

For the first time since we last saw Dad, I sleep completely peacefully without any nightmares. Because even if something does happen to Dad, I'll always have my brothers.

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em-ontv · 1 month ago

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Need some space — d.w.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x lover!fem!reader

Summary: Dean could never keep his hands off of you, latching onto you whenever he could

Content: fluff, established relationship, clingy/touch-starved Dean, not proofread, English is not my first language, mistakes should be present, sorry!

Word count: 912

Dean was a lot of things—sharp-tongued, reckless at times, stupidly brave—but you hadn't expected "clingy boyfriend" to be added to the list.

Yet somehow, here you were, flipping through dusty books with his head in your lap, eyes half-closed like an oversized housecat. He shifted to a more comfortable position on the couch, clearly uninterested in the research you were trying to get through.

"Dean," you sighed, nudging the book away from where it almost brushed against his face. "How am I supposed to read with your giant head in the way?"

"Don't mind me, sweetheart." he mumbled, eyes closing and voice bordering a purr. "You're doing great. Keep it up."

You gave his forehead a flick, earning a dramatic groan. He swatted half-heartedly at your hand but refused to move an inch. Instead, he stretched his legs out further, making himself even more comfortable.

"Seriously? You're not even gonna pretend to help?" you glared at him. "You know, I'd really appreciate it if you started flipping through some books too."

"Helping," he said lazily, cracking one eye open and giving you a smirk. "Emotional support."

Without waiting any further, he reached up, took your hand, and pressed it to his head. Your fingers tangled in his hair instinctively, and he melted under your touch like butter on a hot pan.

When you stopped and started to pull your hand back so you could flip a page of the book, he let out a pathetic whine, pushing your hand back against his head, like he’d die before letting you go.

"You're such a baby. I have to get this done before Sam comes back." you muttered, squishing his face between your fingers, making him pout.

"Cut it out," he grumbled, frowning up at you, though the way his frown dissolved when you laughed said otherwise.

"If you're not gonna help, you're not gonna complain either." you said, and he retaliated by kissing your wrist, peppering soft, warm kisses all the way up your arm.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. Dean's touchy-feely tendencies had only escalated since you started dating. Take the case last week, for example.

You'd been interviewing a witness at a diner, trying to keep your questions subtle and professional. Dean, however, had other ideas.

"So, you're saying the lights flickered just before you heard the noise?" you asked the frazzled waitress.

"Uh-huh," she nodded, glancing nervously between you and Dean.

Before you could respond, his hand found its way to the small of your back. Not a casual graze either—nope—it was a slow, deliberate caress, his fingers curling just enough to make his presence known. You froze, shooting him a warning glance, trying to shrug him off, but he was already leaning in closer, the picture of shamelessness.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, low enough that only you could hear. "You're doing amazing. Keep it up."

"Dean," you hissed through a forced smile. "Go sit down."

"What? I'm just keeping an eye on you," he replied, all wide-eyed innocence, grinning like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

The poor waitress looked like she wanted to crawl into the freezer.

And then there was that time in the library when you'd been deep into research, scanning page after page. Dean had sauntered in, plopped down next to you, and proceeded to rest his chin on your shoulder while humming AC/DC under his breath.

"Keep reading, sweetheart. I’m comfy." he murmured when you tried to shoo him off, knowing he'd just distract you. His arm snaked around your waist, and before you could protest, he was already pressing slow, feather-light kisses along your jaw.

Or the night you snuck into the kitchen for some quiet time with a PB&J. Five minutes later, Dean appeared in the doorway, his hair sticking up in every direction. He looked half-asleep, his brows pinched in sleepy frustration.

"What are you doing?" you asked, mid-bite of a PB&J.

"Couldn't sleep," he said, padding over to you with a frown. "Why'd you leave?"

"Dean, I was gone for five minutes."

He made a noise of dissatisfaction, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, nuzzling lazily into the crook of your neck. "Come back to bed with me." he muttered, his voice soft and heavy with sleep.

It was ridiculous. The same tough-as-nails hunter who'd taken on demons, monsters, and literal death couldn't go five minutes without missing you. But as much as you teased him for it, it brought a certain warmth to your heart.

Because for all his bravado, Dean was just a guy who'd spent most of his life terrified of losing the people he cared about, loved. His over-the-top clinginess? It was his way of making up for lost time.

"Alright, fine," you said, swallowing the last bite of your sandwich and dusting your hands off.

He grinned—smug at first, but it quickly melted into something far softer. He let out a content hum, nuzzling closer.

"Right now, please." he murmured, his voice heavy with drowsiness.

"Alright, just don't fall asleep on me in the middle of the kitchen." you said, rubbing his arm, leading him back to the comfort of your shared bed.

Under the covers, Dean curled up against you, his arms wrapped around your body, his face buried in your neck. His breath was gentle and even, warm against your skin. Just before sleep took him, he murmured faintly, "Love you, sweetheart."

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