#supernatural x sibling reader

[imaginesbymonika]

Red lights.

Plot: If guilt had a name it would be Dean Winchester.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x sister!Reader

Warnings: mention of violence, mention of Demon!Dean, needles, blood, fluff in the end but only a bit

Everything happened so fast. So very fast.

The red lightning, which emerges from the lamps above you turns the bunker into a place you're unable to recognize. This whole situation has been feeling like a never-ending nightmare for a while and now it was also looking like one. Dean has always reassured you, that while the world around you was filled with ghosts and demons he would always look out for you. And you never questioned him. However, right now, you were hiding from him as if he turned into one of those monsters he swore to protect you from. You look up you can notice it in Sam's eyes. You're not the only one terrified of your oldest brother.

"Smart, Sam. Looking the place down. Doors won't open. I get it." His deep voice is echoing through the empty and cold hallways. "But here's the thing. I don't wanna leave. Not till I find you two."

Your relationship with Dean has always been different from the one you have with Sam. While the younger brother actually feels like a brother to you, Dean has always meant more to you. After all, he practically raised you since you were a little child. However, at this moment, while his hammer was destroying the door, you tried your best to still see him in all of this. He may be a demon, but underneath all of that hatred your brother had to remain… right? But it becomes much more difficult with every second that passes. You take a deep breath.

"Y/N.", Dean suddenly says and Sam instantly pushes you behind his bigger body. "Oh, come on.", you can see how a fake pout emerges on his face:" I just want to talk to my sweet little baby girl." For a moment he lowers his weapon as he stares you down through the shattered wood:" Don't think, that I won't also kill you. I can still sense my love for you, however, it is not enough for me to save you. But if you help me kill Sammy, I might make it quick for you." There's a ringing in your ears. "Don't listen to him.", Sam whispers but his voice is muffled and feels unbelievably far away.

Dean has never ever threatened you. Even when you were much younger and he had earned a beating from John, because of something that you did on his watch… he never ever threatened you before. It was something that seemed impossible to you. But now it had happened and it filled you with an unknown emotion.

"Come on.", Sam speaks and clutches your hand, bringing you back into reality. You two rush through the red hallways and after a minute or two you stop. Sam takes a deep breath and when he turns around to face you, his eyes widen in fear. You don't even have time to properly react before he pushes you to the cold ground. And when you look up, you make eye contact with Dean. His hammer sticking to the wall. It was hurled with such an immense force that it makes your jaw drop.

"Oh man, looks like I missed.", he says softly:" Can I try again?" There is a sincerity in his voice that makes your skin crawl. You nearly throw up. Meanwhile, Sam's knife is close to his throat. So close, it's almost making him bleed.

"Do it!", the oldest brother angrily hisses, his spit dripping down his chin. But Sam's arm just drops after a few seconds. You shut your eyes, not knowing what is about to happen next before you unexpectedly hear Castiel's voice. "It's over!"

You sit on the floor next to the door, your back is leaning against one of the shelves while you observe how Sam pushes yet another needle into your oldest brother's forearm. A weird emptiness has been filling you up for a while now, and while you should be happy that Dean is back at the bunker… you can't help but feel drained. "Are you okay, Y/N?", Castiel asks, and when you eventually tear your eyes off Dean's unconscious body you only nod.

Sam sighs:" He almost killed her." Castiel's eyes widen in shock, as his head snaps towards him. "He did what?" You want to defend Dean, but before you can answer someone groans. Castiel notices how you quickly get up from your spot, and softly nudges you to stand behind him. His grip on his knife tightens to the point where his knuckles are white. Meanwhile, Sam was slowly opening up the bottle with the holy water.

Dean lifts his head and when you notice his black eyes you can't help but feel sick. You quickly turn around and throw up into the corner. Sam and Castiel exchange a quick but worried look. The blackness quickly fades and when his normal eyes scan the room he takes one final deep breath. "You look worried, fellas.", he jokes, but no one laughs. You turn around at the sound of his voice, before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Without waiting a second longer, you snatch the bottle out of Sam's hand and toss the liquid into Dean's face. A pleased sigh escapes your lips when you acknowledge that there is no smoke. "Welcome back, Dean!"

"How is he holding up?"

Sam, who is entering the room looks over at the angel. "Well, he is still a bit out of it, nevertheless, he is doing better." You look up from your book. "The whole thing really took a turn on him- he… he just feels really guilty." The last word leaves Castiels lips as a whisper as if he was hoping you wouldn't hear it. But you did.

A knock on the door catches Dean's attention and he shifts on his bed before sitting up straight:" Yeah?" He expected to see either his brother or Castiel, however when he makes eye contact with you his jaw clenches. "Hey.", you say and slowly walk into his room. You sit down on the edge of the bed. A soft but tired smile emerges on your lips and Dean mirrors it. "Hey."

"I just- I just wanted to check in with you.", you explain and your brother nods. A silence falls over the two of you and you clear your throat:" Remember- Remember when we were younger… you came back from a hunt and you were hurt and John was… god knows where. We didn't have anything in the fridge except for some eggs and cheese."

At that Dean laughs:" And you made me that god-awful omelet? Of course, how could I ever forget about that? My arm was broken and I had the worst stomach pains on top of that." Once again you both sit in silence before Dean runs a hand down his face:" I am so sorry, Y/N." The sound of his voice breaks your heart and you move closer to him:" It's okay, Dee." He just chuckles dry. You know that he won't ever believe you.

[scornedserendipity]

I. Bobby's (Winchester x Younger Sibling)

Summary: Dean goes to check on his little sister at Bobby's before heading out for Sam. He didn't except her to ride a long.

I don't like writing Y/N so deal with an OC that I think adds an interesting twist. She will of course have her own kind of things going on but im going to try and be as true to the plot line as possible. but I hope you enjoy. Help me come up with a title after a few chapters maybe.

Word count: 1.7k and some change.

Jamie Winchester was not an ordinary girl in any sense of the word. She could take a car apart and put it back it together like she made it herself. She could cook something out of nothing every time and definitely take over the world if she tried.. She could also decapitate damn near anything that stood in her way and no matter how much she tried, she always knew what the people around her were feeling, and Dean was not feeling the best. He was anxious and stressed, maybe a little scared. 

“I don’t know Dean, Sam was pretty adament about not hunting anymore. I think he’ll punch you if you even mention it to him.” She said in response to her brother as she reached for her wrench.

Dean sighed and picked it up, handing it to his little big sister. He couldn’t help but get sentimental. Remebering the times she would sit on the edge of the car while Dad taught him how to fix them. She definentaly picked that up.

“Yeah…but we can’t do it just me and you. You have school and he won’t want to be gone for more than a couple days.”

“Actually, I graduated last summer. You would know if you made it and Sam has a girlfriend. They live together pretty sure.” 

“Wait, you talked to Sam?” Dean asked with raised eyebrows as his kid sister turned to face him, taking a giant gulp of her lemonade. She passed it to Dean and he accepted.

“Well yeah, He’s my brother and he is about to graduate. Bobby won’t let me drive his truck but he said if I fixed one of the cars up I could have it. You think I’d be out here in the heat otherwise?” She said as she grabbed a rag and wiped the grase off her hands.

“Right.”

“Dean, you never call and you sure as hell never pick up. Just like Dad, I swear.” She said rolling her eyes and walking away. Dean sighed and followed his sister into Bobby’s. Him and Dad had dropped her off so she could finish her last year of school without any inturuptions.

“Hey James Dean.” A joke Bobby had when he learned the kids names and just as siblings do, they greeting him at the same time unintentionally. Jamie rolled her eyes again.

“Bobby, I have work in an hour. Could you dig up a new belt for me?” Jamie asked as she throughly washed her hands and face in the kitchen sink.

“yeah, i have some around here somewhere. How have you been Dean?” Bobby asked, grabbing two beers from the fridge and handing Jamie a rag. She thanked him and leaned on the counter.

“I’ve been good Bobby, nothing too seerious. But Dad’s been on a hunting trip and hasn’t been back in two weeks. I’m getting worried.” Dean said. 

There is was. What was nagging at her brother’s brain.

“Why didn’t you start with that Dean? My answer would have been totally different!” She piped up before Bobby could respond.

“Well, because I didn’t want you using your mumbo jumbo crap on me and trying to convicne me not to go looking for him!”

“Hey, I’ve changed a lot in the past year! I’ve even been on my own hunts!” She said. immedietly regretting saying what she just said. She looked at Bobby who looked away. They had an agreement after all. 

“What the hell did you just say?” Dean said, standing up. Like everytime before, everything was always a yelling match at some point.

“Nothing, I have to get ready for work!” jamie said, running up the stairs and to her room. She locked the door and slid down. 

“Fuck. i’ll never hear the end of it.” She muttered to herself. She couldn’t even imagine what would happen if Dad found out, but she was almost 18. She wouldn’t have to worry about that for a while, not till they found him at least. She sighed. She liked her job, at the local market just a general associate but it helped out, especially with her car. 

She pulled out her phone. remembering when her dad gave it to her. Already opened and preprogramed with his, Dean, Sam, Bobby’s, and even her Mom’s last known phone number. She had added to the contact last since and a few charms on the end. She searched through her contacts for her boss and called him. 

“Jamie, how are you?” Her boss said.

“Hey Carl. I know this is a really bad time but I have to quit.” She said. She felt really bad because Carl had ben really good to her. Giving her a job and any hours he could. “Some really important family issue came up.”

“Well, it is an hour before your shift. I’ll be a cool manager and cover since you’ve been working so hard. I’m gonna miss you Jamie. You’ll always have a shift here at the store. Best of luck with your family.” 

“Thank you for being so understanding Carl, and I appriciate everything you’ve done for me this past year. Bye.” She hung up and looked at her room. It used to belong to Bobby’s daughters, but when Dad had asked him to house her for a while he couldn’t say no. She knew that she made Bobby feel better just by being there. She felt bad for having to leave but he would understand.

Jamie stood up and quickly packed her things. Over the years she had gotten good at making it quick. Always laid things out in the order in case Dad rushed in and screamed at her to pack. 

She could still hear Dean downstairs. He could feel his intentions of interrogating her build in his gut. She grabbed a towel and jumped into the shower. She contemplated the choice she was making. The Family Business. She always saw herself as a solo hunter in her adulthood. Worked part-time jobs as she guarded unsuspecting towns against what went bump in the night. Just like her family, just not with them. It was like the military sometimes. Always on the move, always ready to run at any second. She loved her family and they loved her as far as she could tell. None of them knew how to feel about her being a legit empath but she knew somewhere along the lines they accepted and came to see it as an asset. 

Empathy. A curse in her eyes. Supposedly a powerful mental gift was passed down by her mother who was a psychic and wanted nothing to do with her. Only Sam related to her feeling different. they never spoke about it more than two or three times in their life, the most right before Sam left. Dad did his best to never treat her differently but he had no idea how to raise a kid with physcic abiltites, but he did his best. She always knew he did his best. Dean, he was always harder to read more blocked off with those emotions.

She finished her shower, put on some clothes and grabbed her duffle. Racing downstairs and back to the dining room where her brother and uncle still sat. 

“Hey, where are you going?” Bobby asked.

“With my brother, to find my Dad.” She said as if it was the most normal thing in the world. She went to the fridge and grabbed a soda and a road beer for Dean.

“No way, it will be way to dangerous,” Dean said standing up and confronting his little sister.

“and what about your job?” Bobby asked. 

“I quit. I am a Winchester, not a clerk. We need to go get Sam and we need to find Dad.” She said, staring up at him, another thing she inherited. Her very own Winchester Stare.

On her way out the back door she gave Bobby a quick peck on the cheek. “Bye Bobby. I’ll call you when we get Sam.” She said.

“oh uhm Okay. I guess? Teenagers.” He said with a sigh as he got up and grabbed another beer.

“Bobby you’re just gonna let her go!?” Dean asked.

“Hey you heard her. Plus, she has made some major improvments since you guys left her here. After she graduated she hit the lore hard. She wants to do everything she can to help you guys hunt that demon and find her mom. You can’t blame her. She is you’re sister!”

“We left her here so she could get away from this life! Not go out on her own!”

“I didn’t even know she was till she called me covered in vamp blood. I’ve seen it, she is as ready as she will ever be.”

The conversation was broken up by the Impala’s car alarm. Dean tried to keep talking but the horn began to blow. Jamie, always the one to pinch Dean’s nerves.

“This isn’t over Bobby,” he said as he made his way outside. He was missing how Bobby rolled his eyes. He could only chuckle at how much like their Dad they were. 

“Alright enough!” Dean shouted. Turning off the alarm and getting into the driver’s seat. Jame had already made herself comfortable in the passenger.

“This will be fun, I never get to ride shotgun.” She said, already combing through Dad’s cassettes for her mixtape.

“Jamie.” Dean said as he watched his sister. He knew she knew what he was going to ask and that he didn’t even need to.

Jamie sighed. “I know. I shouldn’t be hunting. But Dean! Just after Sam left I thought you guys would finally take me seriously. Dad taught me the same stuff after all, but it didn’t change one bit. “Stay in the car Jamie in case we have to run. Shoot anything that moves.” and then you guys left me here after the vampire in Omaha i just. i don’t want to be the only Winchester who can’t do her job.” She rambled. 

“Dad’s gonna be pissed.” Dean said looking forward.

“We can cross that bridge when we find him.” She said, popping open the beer she had grabbed for Dean and handing it to him and opening her cream soda. Dean chuckled. 

“You remembered?” Dean asked. Their tradition. A beer and a cream soda. 

“Of course!” She said as Dean turned the engine over and cheered with his little sister. “Just wait till it’s a beer!” She said. 

"Don't push it. You're still my little sister."

-

and scene. hope u like it. follow for more

[samsblades]

SUPERNATURAL M.LIST all works are gender neutral, reblogs + feedback are greatly appreciated !! MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI WITH MY NSFW CONTENT. YOU WILL IMMEDIATELY BE BLOCKED !!! all nsfw fics are clearly labeled MDNI, this applies to ageless blogs. p for platonic! f for fluff, a for angst, h/c for hurt/comfort, s for smut, su for suggestive!

SAM WINCHESTER

DRABBLES / ONESHOTS ⟢ something about being close | 9.5K, a, f ⟢ makes you wonder | 5.2K, f ↳ ⟢ part two : now you know | 6.8K, f, h/c ⟢ better than a sight for sore eyes | 1K, su, MDNI ⟢ take my breath away | 13.7K, a, f, h/c ⟢ give and take | 0.7K, f ⟢ warm brown jacket | 1.3K, f ⟢ you’d dance with me? | 1.4K, f ⟢ three seconds | 1.2K, f ⟢ literary parallels | 3.6K, a, f ⟢ this is real, it’s right | 3K, h/c ⟢ my boy only breaks his favorite toys | 10.6K, a ↳ ⟢ part two : to leave him with love | 8K, a ⟢ forget-me-nots | 5.6K, f ⟢ but daddy i love him | 11.3K, a, f ⟢ some other time |1.1K, f ⟢ just an observation | 1.3K, f ⟢ hold me, it’s enough | 1.6K, h/c ⟢ breathe, baby | 4.1K, s, f, MDNI ⟢ only got eyes for you | 2.7K, f ⟢ dead eyes | 2.4K, h/c ⟢ abstract (psychopomp)| 1.9K, h/c, a ⟢ love you again| 2K, f, h/c ⟢ motel room, 10:00 p.m. | 545, f, h/c ⟢ book shop, 12:00 p.m.| 515, f ⟢ motel shower, 12:00 a.m. |629, h/c ⟢ cabin, 3:17 a.m.| 658, h/c ⟢ campus library, 7:00 a.m.| 658, f ⟢ the impala, 4:00 p.m.| 608, f, h/c, p ⟢ drooling honey | 1.1K, s, MDNI ⟢ our girl | 1.2K, s, MDNI, w/jess ⟢ i got you | 4.1K, s, MDNI ⟢ you can take it | [tfem!sam]. 1.3K, s, MDNI ⟢ worship you | 1.5K, s, MDNI ⟢ my hands are yours | 2.8K, h/c ⟢ sweet smile | 1.9K, f ⟢ noticed | 1.1K, h/c ⟢ soft 'n sleepy | 1.3K words, s, f, MDNI ⟢ like a miracle | 1.1K, f ⟢ laundry machines | 1.7K, f ⟢ love you like that | 783, f ⟢ the object of his affections | 1K, f ⟢ in the morning | 959, f ⟢ smirking and butterflies | 783, f ⟢ blabbermouth | 845, h/c ⟢ no one else here | 908, f ⟢ ruined (not really) | 1.4K, f ⟢ green couch | 898, f ⟢ sweet potatoes |1.2K, f ⟢ hallway hardwood floors | 676 f, su ⟢ natural | 5.3K, f, s, MDNI

continued ! bc theres a character limit for a block of text :( ⟢ liked it too | 1.9K, s, MDNI ⟢ just a little bit | 1.7K, s, MDNI ⟢ lucky charm | 1.4K, f ⟢ deep satisfaction | 1.5K, s, MDNI ⟢ just because | 8K, f, s, MDNI

HEADCANONS ⟢ random boyfriend hcs | 1.6K , f ⟢ nsfw boyfriend hcs | 1.6K, s, MDNI ⟢ pirate!au | 1.1K, f, a ⟢ with adhd!reader | 0.8K, f ⟢ with talkative!reader | 0.7K, f ⟢ fake-dating!au | 1K, f ⟢ with angel!reader | 2.4K, f ⟢ tfem!sam x tmasc!reader | 1.3K, f

FAKE TEXTS ⟢ gen z younger sibling | f, humor, p ↳ ⟢ part two | f, humor, p ⟢ librarian!reader | f

౨���

DEAN WINCHESTER DRABBLES / ONESHOTS ⟢ the language of love isn’t dead | 2.4K, f, a ⟢ flower shop, 11:00 a.m. | 644, f ⟢ gas station, 3:04 a.m. | 615, h/c, p

HEADCANONS ⟢ best friend!dean | 1K , f, p

౨ৎ

BOTH DRABBLES / ONESHOTS (all platonic) ⟢ sorry won’t cut it (rewrite) | 4.1K, a, h/c ⟢ broken, fine for tonight | 1.3K, h/c ⟢ easy, maybe | 3K, h/c ⟢ safe now | 1.4K, h/c

HEADCANONS (all separate) … nothing yet !

౨ৎ

RUBY DRABBLES / ONESHOTS ⟢ abandoned church, 5:30 a.m. | 540, f ⟢ cry for me | 1.2K, s, MDNI ⟢ lick it better | 1.2K, s, MDNI ⟢ indulge | 1.2K, f ⟢ real cute | 3.5K, s, MDNI ⟢ don't mind | 597, a

HEADCANONS ⟢ girlfriend hcs | 1.3K, f

౨ৎ

CHARLIE BRADBURY DRABBLES / ONESHOTS ⟢ make you feel so good | 1.K, s, MDNI

HEADCANONS … nothing yet !

౨ৎ

JO HARVELLE DRABBLES / ONESHOTS ⟢ so pretty | 1.7K, s, MDNI ⟢ hooked | 1.6K, s, MDNI

HEADCANONS ⟢ girlfriend hcs | 1.6K, f

౨ৎ

JESSICA MOORE DRABBLES / ONESHOTS ⟢ our girl | 1.2K, s, MDNI, w/sam

HEADCANONS … nothing yet !

౨ৎ

ROWENA MCLEOD DRABBLES / ONESHOTS ⟢ whiskey wanting | 1K, su, MDNI

HEADCANONS … nothing yet !

౨ৎ

© SAMSBLADES 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. COPYING, TRANSLATING, AND REPOSTING IS PROHIBITED.

[musubi05]

╰┈➤ Left Out

Team Free Will x Winchester's sister!reader

Castiel x platonic!reader

Summary: Sam and Dean have been ignoring you but Castiel still tries to include you.

Warnings: None

Age: 14-16

The bunker felt colder than usual. Not in temperature - no, the heat still hummed through the old pipes and radiators - but in the way people spoke, or didn’t.

You sat in the war room, fingers wrapped around a lukewarm mug of coffee, watching the glow of the map table flicker faintly. Sam and Dean were down the hall, voices low, laughter occasional, but they hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to you in days.

Not since the last hunt went sideways. Not since the salt rounds ran out and Dean had to pull you out of that abandoned house half-conscious. Not since Sam blamed you for missing the sigil that would’ve ended things faster.

You didn’t fight back. You understood. At least, you thought you did.

Still, it hurt.

"You're not invisible."

You turned your head quickly, startled by the voice - low, gravelly, calm. Castiel stood at the edge of the room, trench coat rumpled as always, blue eyes studying you carefully.

“They’re just… processing,” he added. “But that doesn’t make it right to leave you alone.”

You tried to smile. “I’m used to it.”

Cas tilted his head. “That doesn’t mean you should be.”

He crossed the room, pulling out the chair beside you. It creaked under him as he sat, hands folded in his lap like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “I brought something,” he said, suddenly awkward. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, battered paperback book.

“‘The Ballad of Reading Gaol,’” you read from the cover.

“It’s one of my favorites. I thought… maybe we could read it together.”

You blinked. “You want to read poetry with me?”

He nodded. “Oscar Wilde understood being misunderstood.”

You laughed - an honest, soft sound you hadn’t heard from yourself in a while.

Sam and Dean passed by the door once. Neither of them looked in. But Castiel didn’t notice - or if he did, he didn’t care.

He read the first stanza aloud. His voice was rough around the edges, not smooth like a trained narrator, but full of heart.

And for the first time in days, the silence wasn’t so lonely.

You leaned back in your chair, letting Castiel’s steady voice fill the empty space around you. The bunker’s hum and the distant clatter of Dean digging through the fridge faded into the background.

Cas paused after a few pages, his thumb keeping the book open. He looked at you carefully. “You’re still upset.”

It wasn’t really a question, but you nodded anyway, blinking down at your coffee. It was cold now. Bitter.

“I don't know what to do,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “They don’t trust me. Maybe they never did.”

Castiel frowned, a deep line forming between his brows. “You made a mistake. So have they. More times than they would admit.”

You managed a bitter laugh. “Yeah, but they always forgive each other. I’m just… the outsider.”

Castiel closed the book gently. He shifted in his seat so he was facing you more fully. “You are not expendable. You are not forgotten.” He hesitated, like he was weighing his next words carefully. “You are family, whether they acknowledge it right now or not.”

You didn’t realize your hands were trembling until he reached out and covered one with his own. His touch was warm, grounding.

“Maybe…” you said, voice cracking, “maybe it’s time to stop waiting for them to come around.”

Cas’s gaze softened. “Or maybe it’s time to remind them what they’re about to lose.”

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you pushed your chair back and stood. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you crossed the bunker hallway. You spotted Sam and Dean in the library, heads bent over a lore book.

They barely glanced up.

You cleared your throat. Loudly.

Dean finally looked up. His face was unreadable, guarded in a way that only made the ache in your chest worse.

Sam set his pen down, careful, deliberate. “Hey,” he said, like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t been freezing you out.

You folded your arms. “You’re mad. Fine. I get it. But if you’ve decided I’m not part of this anymore, just say it to my face.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. Sam opened his mouth, but for once, he didn’t have a ready answer.

“I nearly died trying to help you,” you continued, voice rising. “I made a mistake. But so have you—both of you. Hell, Dean, you’ve died more times than I can count, and we never left you behind.”

Dean’s expression cracked, just a little. His shoulders slumped.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, guilt flashing across his face. “(Y/N)… we never meant to…”

“Didn’t you?” you shot back. “Because it sure felt like it.”

There was a long, aching pause.

Then Dean stood up slowly. “You’re right,” he said, voice rough. “You’re right. We screwed up.”

Sam gave a small, miserable nod. “We were scared. And we took it out on you. That’s not family. That’s not how this works.”

You stared at them for a long moment, every instinct screaming to turn around and leave them standing there.

But then Castiel was there behind you, a quiet, steady presence. Not pushing you either way - just… there.

You took a breath. “I’m not going to fight for a place you don’t want me in,” you said. “But I’m not going to disappear, either.”

Dean looked at you, real regret in his eyes. “We want you here. We’ve just been... idiots.”

Sam offered a small, almost sheepish smile. “Can you forgive us?”

You felt the crack in your heart start to mend, just a little. Not fully - but enough.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just walked forward and dropped heavily into a chair at the table. You looked up at them, daring them to do better.

Dean smirked faintly. “So... pizza and bad horror movies later?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Only if Cas gets to pick the movie.”

Cas, still behind you, looked startled. “I have many selections.”

Sam groaned playfully. “We’re doomed.”

You finally smiled for real. “Good. You deserve it.”

And for the first time in days, the bunker didn’t feel so cold anymore.

[prentissluvr]

sorry won't cut it — sam and dean winchester

pairing : sam and dean winchester x gn!sibling!reader ➖⟢ genre : angst, hurt/comfort ➖⟢ cw : set in season 8 LOL, sam and dean are kind of/definitely assholes to reader, swearing, arguments, crying, use of kid, kiddo, honey, and sweetheart to refer to reader, only light editing ➖⟢ wc : 4K summary : you meet up with sam to discover that dean is back from purgatory, and both have been keeping secrets from you.

when sam answers your call, it comes as a relief. a surprise, but more than anything, a relief. it’s been two and a half months, almost on the dot, since he’s answered a call. usually it’s just one month. he has a single burner phone just for you, but it’s off half the time, and the other half he never answers.

you’ve grown used to his distance, to an extent. it still stings when your phone rings till voicemail sometimes, but you’ve just been too tired to argue with him, to ask him to comfort you, make him keep hashing through the pain of looking for dean and finding nothing but trouble. 

you want him to have the normalcy, the girl who loves him and makes him feel alright. you want to have faith that he’ll figure out how to factor you into it all eventually, but you still miss him, and you’re still lonely, so you keep calling, never getting angry or upset when he occasionally picks up. you just act like it’s normal, and you can tell he appreciates it, so you keep it up. in return, he asks you over sometimes, tells you each time how much amelia raves about you after you leave, hugs you tight before you go.

it’s been several months since he’s invited you over, and he doesn’t really talk about her anymore. you figure something must have happened, but you never push anything anymore with him.

this call is different. one, because he finally picks up. two, because he tells you to meet up with him, no explanation or normal talk about what you should bring for dinner. three, he asks you to meet at a random address in kansas.

he sighs deep, “just… get here as soon as you can. i’ll send you the location.” then he hangs up and it feels like the hunting life all over again.

⟢

it’s a seven hour drive, and you’re tired out of your mind, high-strung and worn out from leaving right after your shift at a diner full of sleezes who don’t tip enough. even though this whole thing is strange for the new, hunting-free sam, there’s relief coursing through you at the thought of seeing him, hoping he’ll let your tired feet carry you right into his arms. you pull into a driveway of sorts, no obvious entrance to the unremarkable building in front of you, but your years of hunting and meeting up with your brothers at strange places during strange hours after strange calls help you find the door. it's a bunker, one you've never seen before.

you were always a little bit more like sam, disillusioned to the hunter life and the way your father raised you. you weren’t a fighter like him, but you slipped away at eighteen to go to college and found somewhere near stanford so you’d be able to visit sam often. he loved that, always so glad that you got out too. but you were barely gone a year before dean came back to collect you and sam to look for your dad. you came easier than sam, less attached to your new place and always finding yourself missing dean.

that’s what you’d been doing this past year. missing dean, and painfully. so when you knock on the door, calling out, “it’s me, sammy,” you freeze when it opens several beats later.

because the person behind the door isn’t sam. but it is your older brother. just the one who’s been stuck in purgatory for the last year or so, the one you’ve endlessly searched for to no avail.

“dean?” your voice is small as his name slips from your mouth.

his eyes go soft, the way they rarely get, and the slight smile on his lips is half pained, half pure relief to see you after so long. “hey, kid.”

you launch yourself into his arms, and he catches you easy, right there in the doorway, and you have to fend off tears that you know wouldn’t put up so much of a fight if you weren’t so exhausted. but you were raised tough, and winchesters don’t cry all that often, at least not where someone else can see. so you swallow hard and tough it out, letting dean pull away from you and lead you inside. he moves through the house with a sort of ease he’d only have if he felt comfortable and safe there. this raises questions, along with the fact that he's here at all.

you’re speechless, but not for a lack of anything to say. endless questions stream through your mind, each one pushing to be asked, even more desperate to be answered.

but the only thing you can figure out how to say is “hello” to sam when he greets you in the living room. he pulls you into a hug, letting you linger for a moment before you know you have to ask all of the hard questions. something in his face is unreadable to you, which is rare when it comes to your brothers. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was a hint of guilt. that rings alarms in your mind, but you brush your nerves aside when dean takes a seat on the couch.

you relax a bit when you sink down next to him, curling into his side a little. it makes you feel a bit childish, but you need it after everything this past year. he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you a little closer. sam sits down across from the two of you and you heave a sigh, wondering where to start.

opening your mouth and forcing words out is like a crack in a dam. everything comes out slow at first, but that lasts mere seconds before the flood.

“how did you… dean, how did you get out? i mean, i tried– i tried everything,” your voice breaks at that word, the weight of it meaning something only you understand. you look at him, brows taught and you’re confused by the surprise on his face, as if he didn’t expect you to say such a thing.

“what do you mean, you tried everything?” he asks, voice suddenly gruff and severe. you recoil from his side to get a better look at him. you don’t miss the look he shoots sam. this is already departing from what you expected, which is probably exactly what you should have expected. it’s just that, when dean hugged you back and he was solid and real and alive, when he sat on the couch instead of a chair so you could sit next to him, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to stay tucked safe into his side as they told you what happened, as they asked you to stay with them. 

“what do you mean?” you shoot back. “what, did you think i’d just kick back and call it someone else’s problem?”

“that’s what sam did. that’s what sam said you did.” his voice is accusatory and when you whirl to look at sam, utter bewilderment evident on your face, you can see him physically grimace. which means dean’s telling the truth.

“sam did what?” the question sounds like it’s targeted for dean, but you’re staring the younger down.

“listen, i– no, you know what, i’m not going to explain myself on this again. what do you mean you did everything, you said you were going to school?” sam looks irked and defeated all at once.

“that is completely beside the point, sam, you lied to me?” you ask incredulously, “but you’re not going to explain to me why? why you lied to me or why you apparently didn’t look for dean, i mean are you crazy?” dean’s hand on your shoulder prevents you from standing as your voice grows louder.

“listen, kid, sam and i, we’ve already hashed this out, okay? it’s uh– it’s fine, alright?” with the way he says the word “fine”, you know that it still bothers dean, so you can’t understand why he’d say so. “we’ve got things to discuss here,” dean tries to reason with you before sam can respond. he’s no peace maker, but a full blown fight between the two of you could have an ugly ending.

“things to discuss?” you repeat, in disbelief of the audacity. knowing them, that means they need something from you, which begs the question of why sam asked you over in the first place. you don’t even want to think about them having ulterior motives outside ofjust wanting to see you, so you brush it off angrily. “well, i’m glad to hear that you two have hashed it out, but i haven’t yet, so we can discuss whatever that is later.” you shrug off dean’s hand, trying to focus on the things you’re already angry about instead of asking the even bigger question nagging at you now. when the hell did dean get back that those two had time to hash out something that major? you turn your anger back to sam, thinking about what it was like when dean first disappeared. “you told me you looked. you told me you did all that you could, that you tried everything in your power. now dean’s telling me that you did jack shit?”

sam sighs heavily. “yes, okay. listen, i’m sorry i lied to you, alright? but i just wanted you to try and live your life for once. i figured if i told you i did everything i could, that, i don’t know, maybe you’d give up and try to move on? go to school, do something you love, have real friends, maybe find someone?” he throws his hands up in the air, a defeated gesture because he knows you don’t agree, while he still thinks he did the right thing.

you scoff, because, god, he really has no idea. arms crossed and face the kind of calm that says run to anyone on the other end of your anger, you nod in false understanding. “yeah, what good that did,” you say, your tone so sarcastic and dry that sam just clenches his jaw and dean’s face turns from concerned to full-blown worried. he wonders if he should ask what that means, because whatever it does, it’s certainly not “good.” 

but you pick up again after a moment of thick, dripping silence. “you know, sam, you have absolutely no idea how this past year really was for me. i’m not saying it was easy for you, because i know it wasn’t. though now i know you also skipped the trouble of looking for your stuck-in-purgatory-brother and really, actually lived that hunting-free life you wanted.” sam cringes at the venom in your voice. “all i’m saying is that just about nothing has been all, i don’t know, rainbows and butterflies like you think,” your voice is practically scathing, a tone so rare to both of your brothers that neither knows what to say, “and you know what, sam? it’s looking to me like i’d be a lot better off if you’d just decided to tell me the goddamn truth.”

sam says your name, tentative like he’s testing hot waters, “i thought you said things were going well. you said you liked school, that you were making friends there? just explain to me what you mean so we can figure this out.”

“figure it out,” you repeat under your breath, sticking your tongue against the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something too harsh. “sam, things were going well! they were!” now you’re feeling desperate to make him understand, “but that night you told me there was nothing else we could do, nothing else to try and that i should just do my best to move on? i couldn’t, sam, i couldn’t do that. there had to be something more we could do, so i gave up on the things you said you did and i went further. i let you think i was fine, that i was doing what you wanted for me because you always sounded so tired. you always sounded like one more thing on your plate would make the sweet little life you built with a girl and a dog come crashing down, so i made sure you wouldn’t have to worry about me.”

dean’s voice is uncharacteristically soft when he does his best to make his interruption gentle. he doesn’t want to upset you more, but you can hear the tension in his voice when he asks, “kiddo? what do you mean by you ‘went further?’”

suddenly you shrink in on yourself, your lower lip caught between your teeth and your eyes shining with fresh tears. “dean–,” your voice breaks before you can even say anything else. his hand is on your back, meant to be comforting, but it only makes you feel worse about it all. you know how much dean would hate the lengths you went to to try and get him back. “i can’t–” you shake your head, “i can’t right now, but maybe… maybe if you’d told me the truth, sam, if i’d just started by reading through all of bobby’s books like you said you did, things would have worked out differently.”

“well, maybe if you told me you were going to keep trying, i could have helped you!” sam fires back.

you let out a strangled, frustrated noise as you stand, unable to keep sitting down. “would you? really? because i really don’t think you would’ve! you were so focused on moving on from losing dean that you distanced yourself from me, too! you barely picked up, never called, only talked about dean in three word sentences to tell me a lie about how you tried and failed to find anything to help! maybe if you paid any attention to me, gave any indication that you wanted to help or see me or be a major part of life like i wanted of you, i would have opened up to you!” it makes you even more angry when your voice turns teary, “and for once, i wanted to try to be the one to take care of you two. i kept my secrets, i never let on how fucking lonely i was, just so you wouldn’t worry about me!” a stunned silence falls over you brothers, sam’s guilt beginning to overrun his natural response of anger, and dean making up for that fading anger with his own. your chest heaves with laboured breath as you stare sam down.

dean’s tone is icy as he breaks the silence, “sam, is that really how you treated them while i was gone?” 

sam exhales hard, ignoring dean in favor of looking at you, “i was just doing what i thought was the best for both of us. i didn’t know, okay, i’m sorry.”

“are you kidding me?” you exclaim, voice turning shrill and growing louder by the second, “people got hurt, on my account,” you have to force that part out through gritted teeth, “i got kicked out of school, and i spent three months running from hunters!” both sam and dean want to interrupt at that, but you keep going, your voice quieter now, but harsh and trembling, “but you were doing what you thought was best for both of us? try what was best for you. dean was gone, and i needed you, sammy, i needed you and the second you said you needed to get away, alone, i knew i didn’t have you.”

that shuts him up, has him deflating and his guilt taking over, and you can see it and you hate it. you almost wish he’d get angry instead because that means you can keep shouting at him to try and make him understand. but all you get are his clenched jaw, his sad eyes, and his guilty silence that tell you he knows he fucked up but he can’t figure out a way to make it better since sorry sure as hell won’t cut it.

it’s dean who cuts into the heavy silence again. “sam.” his name hangs in the air, weighed down with unspoken words. “we’ll talk about this later,” you guess is the message. you can feel how angry dean is without even looking at him. you know all he ever asked of sam if he was gone was to take care of you, and now dean knows he didn’t. then his attention is back on you. he says your name, clear and careful. “i’m gonna need you to tell me what you did, okay?”

you wipe at your face angrily as you whirl to face dean. trying to keep the ever present tears at bay, you tap right back into your anger. but it's more tired this time, less convincing with your voice taut from unshed tears begging to be released.

“all that, and that’s what you take away from this? really, dean? you’re gonna need to know what i did? i don’t need you to tell me to know that– that it was wrong and i don’t need you to make me feel any more shitty than i already do right now, okay?”

it’s his turn to wear a look of guilt on his face, but it only sits there for a flash before he keeps going. “kid, that’s not what i’m tryna’ do here, alright? i just wanna understand so i can keep us safe, yeah?” he puts his hands out in a peaceful motion, but something else unresolved floats back up into your focus.

“no. dean, no! because there’s something else here, something both of you have been avoiding this entire time!” there’s a sudden change in the air, like both of them are holding their breath, silently begging you won’t ask the question. “dean, how long have you been back?”

his hesitancy to answer tells you everything. “kid, listen, that’s not imp–”

“don’t you dare say it’s not important! did you hear anything i just said, dean? anything about how shit my life has been since you’ve been gone, how lonely i’ve been?”

“you’re right,” sam relents, forging on before dean can stop him, “he’s been back for three months now. it’s my fault we didn’t tell you. it’s all my fault, and believe me, i am so sorry.” you collapse into a chair with your head in your hands as he continues, “i know that does nothing to fix things, but i am sorry, and i promise i will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, kiddo. i’m all in now, and i did it all so this wouldn’t have to be your life, but you’re here now and we want more than anything to have you around, okay?” 

you lift your head up to stare at him. “three months.” your voice is dangerously quiet. “you two…” your tired mind can’t think of words strong enough, “drive me insane, you know that? dean, you just– you just went along with that and decided, let me guess, that it was best for me? because i was at school, living a normal life and away from the danger of this one? is that it? it’s best for me not to know my brother’s alive? because, you know, that reminds me of something. hm, maybe the time sam hid from us that he was alive for a year because he didn’t have his fucking soul? oh, yeah, it must be that.” you let out a short bark of laughter, but it and your voice are completely devoid of any humor. dean visibly recoils when you mention that. he’s thought of it, and still decided to keep you in the dark. “come on, dean, you know how that feels and you go and do it to me again? really?”

you’ve beat him too. “honey,” he sighs, “i’m sorry. we were wrong to do that to you, okay?”

finally, you think you might be out of things to say, to be hurt about. your voice is quiet and fragile now, and the dam holding back your tears is fractured in a million places, more than ready to break. “i missed you so much. both of you,” you whisper. you meant to make a scathing comment about how “sorry” and “we were wrong” don’t even begin to cover it, but you find that you’re not in complete control of the things coming out of your mouth. you’re just too goddamn tired. dean is crouching in front of you in an instant.

“i missed you, too, sweetheart. so much. i’m so sorry.” he takes it as a good sign that you let him place his hand on your knee. you want to flick it away, maybe shove him away too.

“and i was so, so lonely. i was so scared,” you sob out, wishing you didn’t have to cry when you got angry. “and i’m so mad that you two did this to me.”

“i know, kiddo, i know. i’m sorry.” gently, slowly, he tugs you towards him and into his arms and you slide onto the floor and cry into his chest, shaking and unable to say a thing. you want to tell him this doesn’t make it right, but dean hushes you gently when you try. “shhh, it’s okay, just let it out, alright? i got you. i got you,” he comforts. it’s true that this doesn’t make it right, but it’s almost all you need in that moment.

“sammy,” you choke out, still so angry with him, but wanting him near anyways, knowing that he’s too scared to come close to you after coming face to face with all of the things he did wrong. his hand is on your back a moment later, hesitant at first, then strong and soothing moments later when you blindly grab for the fabric of his flannel to keep him close.

“okay. okay, i’m here. i’m sorry. i’m here now, i promise,” he whispers, silently letting a few of his own guilty tears fall.

utterly exhausted, you stay slumped on the floor in dean's arms when your tears dry up. you can barely keep your eyes open and your breathing is soft and slow. 

“let’s get you to bed,” dean whispers, hoisting you all the way into his arms and up as he stands. “sam’ll grab you a glass of water.” you sigh an imperceptible sigh because you know that dean is still pissed at sam. rightfully so, you’re more than just pissed at both of them, but you’re too tired to care in this moment, and the last thing you want is for them to be angry at each other. that’s your job for when you wake up hours from now. 

dean sets you down in a foreign bed pulling the blankets over you, and sam is back moments later with the promised glass of water and tissues for your face. you curl up and tug at the covers slightly, eager to fall asleep.

“see you in the morning,” you mumble, effectively dismissing them with your voice hoarse from crying. you close your eyes before either of them can say a thing, but your words are also a whisper of the beginning of forgiveness. 

“goodnight, kiddo,” dean says, his voice full of a familiar affection that he only uses for his little siblings as he presses a kiss to your hairline, before disappearing out the door.

you drowsily register the sound of sam setting the glass of water on the night stand by your head. “i’m right across the hallway if you need anything.” a moment, then, “goodnight,” and a gentle hand on the side of your head before a kiss to your temple.

you fall asleep coming up with a list of petty ways you’ll have them make things up to you. neither sam nor dean will be pleased to hear that you’re calling shotgun in the impala for the next three months, minimum. sam for obvious reasons, and dean because he’ll know that means you’ll be taking your job as youngest sibling to annoy the living hell out of him very seriously.

[winniewritesstories]

Taking After Them | Winchester!Reader

Some headcanons on what it would be like if you were just like your big brothers!!

Taking after Dean:

Having the same taste in music, rocking out in Baby to Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Bob Seger, etc.

Driving Sam crazy because there's basically two of Dean

On movie nights, you and Dean basically act out the scenes for Rocky, every Clint Eastwood film, Die Hard, so on, there's really no need to even play the movie (Sam is dying inside)

Arguing over the last slice of pie

Stealing his clothes, especially band t shirts

Always begging Dean to let you drive Baby

Loving slasher films & Halloween, always planning costumes with him (but rarely getting to actually dress up as hunting gets in the way)

Making pop culture references with Dean

Being obsessed with bacon

Calling each other Batman & Robin

Being pretty flirty as you get older, Dean giving you pick up lines & tips

Him teaching you to fight & defend yourself, being proud of how strong you are but also scared for you

Taking after Sam:

Always down for a library trip with Sam

Dean rolling his eyes at his "nerdy little siblings"

Arguing over the best fantasy books and films

Swapping & sharing books, talking about how you liked the book or what you didn't like

Eating your fair share of salads BUT you love pie almost as much as Dean does

Going through a break up and Sam playing Celine Dion at full volume while you cry

Talking about college when the time comes, Sam helping you with your admissions essays

Him helping you study by quizzing you, marking practice tests, etc.

Dean always complaining about how long you both take to wash your hair

Dragging Dean around museums, you & Sam having a great time & Dean losing his mind (he likes the gift shop though)

Sam teaching you Latin & lore, you helping him organise the Bunker's files & archives

Going for runs with him but complaining like 90% of the time

BUT overall I think you'd be a little bit like both of them while still being your own person. Growing up with little influence other than those two, it would impossible for you not to be like them.

graphics from @saradika-graphics <3

[jjmbbg]

sam and dean hcs with a younger sibling? like, kid/toddler :3

"Dean and Sam with a younger sibling headcanons"

- dean was sixteen, and sam twelve when john suddenly appeared with a one-year-old kid in his arms.

- honestly, dean would have some resentment towards you, not for you really, but for john bringing one more child that he knew he was going to take care of with sam. so, dean would be a little mean to you, at least during your first years.

- potty train would be horrible. dean would have to teach you to tell him when you needed to go to the bathroom and be able to use the toilet, because... time to buy a potty? no, there wasn't.

- you would always ask sam to read to you when you were asleep because you liked his voice, he always would make little voices for the characters. dean didn't even read to you with actual interest.

- you always followed your brothers, in motel rooms, in the supermarket, at bobby's house, everywhere.

- dean, when he started to resent you less, he started dressing you up for halloween, silly ghosts, princesses, even as scooby-doo. and you two would eat candy while watching horror movies on tv, giving you nightmares and ending up sleeping with him (stealing half of the sheets).

- your clothes were the ones sam and dean wore when they were little, so, you will always dress flannels.

- you always draw pictures for them, and they basically have folders full of drawings.

- john gets mad at you constantly, resulting in dean having to defend you and sam comforting you if you start crying.

- ofc john doesn't get violent with you, but you're always gonna be afraid of it.

- you get scared easily (dean mocks you).

- but sam understands that (at least they didn't give you a gun like john did with sam lol)

- you loved christmas. perfect an opportunity to give your brothers more drawings and crafts.

- (sam has a drawing of the two of you in his wallet)

- when sam left you were seven, and back at that moment you didn't understand why john was so pissed off with your brother and why dean started to act so cold.

- somehow you thought it was your fault that sam left.

- when you reached puberty, oh it was hell.

- if the winchesters raised another boy, easy, they have the same shit. easy talk.

- but if they had a little sis? oh, no, what the hell are pads? the fuck you mean a cup? b cup? whaaaat??? night pads? tf? what size yo pussy??

- they tried their best to help you either way, even if something was uncomfortable.

- you're their soft spot, clearly <3.

[noobiestnoober]

Haunted House Hunt (Reader, Kol and Rebekah Mikaelson)

Kol bets you won’t last an hour in a haunted mansion. You accept. You expected creaky floorboards, maybe a cold draft… You did not expect Rebekah Mikaelson in full ghost mode. What starts as a dare quickly turns into a chaotic, ghost-filled sibling showdown—and the house might not be as empty as they thought.

👻 Mischief. Screams. A chandelier with opinions. Read if you love supernatural pranks, Mikaelson drama, and haunted vibes

The full moon hung low over Mystic Falls, casting silvery shadows across the crumbling façade of the Whitmore estate—a decaying mansion left to rot on the outskirts of town. Long abandoned, its once-grand halls had become the subject of local lore, whispered about in hushed tones: cursed walls, footsteps with no source, and mirrors that reflected more than your own face. It was the kind of place only someone with a death wish—or a Mikaelson—would find entertaining.

"Bet you won't last an hour," Kol said smugly, tossing you a rusted key that felt cold to the touch. He leaned lazily against the hood of his car, moonlight glinting off his smirk. "You scream before the thirty-minute mark, I win. You survive the full sixty? You get to choose my next humiliating dare."

You snatched the key midair. "You’re going to regret that."

"Am I?" Kol tilted his head, the challenge twinkling in his eyes. "Don’t get lost in there, love. That house has a way of... remembering its visitors."

You rolled your eyes, but your heartbeat spiked as you stepped through the creaking gates and onto the overgrown path. Kol followed close behind, humming a haunting little tune that didn’t help your nerves one bit.

Inside, the mansion breathed with decay. The once-glorious grand hall now lay blanketed in dust and cobwebs, the chandeliers hanging like frozen insects, their crystals dulled by time. The air was thick, tinged with mold and something metallic—like old blood. Every step echoed like a scream swallowed by the darkness.

"This place could use a decorator," you muttered.

Kol chuckled. "It’s got charm. Gothic dread and death—very on brand for us."

Ten minutes in, he was already wandering ahead, poking his nose into faded portraits and crumbling side rooms. You followed the beam of your flashlight, which danced over broken furniture and cracked tiles, each one whispering its own story.

"Honestly, I expected more," Kol called over his shoulder. "Where are the poltergeists? The spooky whispers? This is just—"

A sudden thud echoed from upstairs, followed by slow, deliberate footsteps.

You froze. So did Kol.

"...You didn’t invite anyone else, right?" you asked.

His grin slipped. "Nope. Did you?"

Before either of you could react, the lights flickered violently. At the top of the staircase stood a ghostly figure clad in white, with long, tangled blonde hair and vacant, hollow eyes. It stared down at you both in absolute silence.

Kol’s bravado evaporated. "No bloody way."

The figure let out a piercing, mournful wail that chilled your bones.

Kol grabbed your arm. "Run."

No hesitation. You bolted through the corridors, tripping over loose floorboards and half-broken chairs as the howling echoed behind you. Doors slammed on their own. Paintings fell from walls. It felt like the house itself was alive. You barely made it into the drawing room before the heavy doors slammed shut behind you.

Kol leaned against the wood, panting. "Okay, that’s... not what I planned."

Then—laughter. Rich, amused, and unmistakably familiar. From the shadows emerged the 'ghost,' pulling off the white curtain she’d draped over herself. Rebekah Mikaelson. Smug. Triumphant.

"Really, Kol? Trying to host a haunted house hunt without me? How rude."

Kol stared at her, wide-eyed. "You orchestrated that? You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"That was the goal," Rebekah said sweetly. "I even rigged the lights. Very convincing, wasn’t it?"

You let out a breathless laugh, still trying to calm your pulse. "Okay, that was evil—and brilliant."

"Thank you," she said with a gracious nod.

Kol groaned dramatically. "You cheated."

"There were no rules against psychological warfare," she said, crossing her arms. "Besides, it was more fun than watching you two tiptoe through dust for an hour."

You smirked. "Pretty sure I win the bet, by the way. I lasted the full hour and you screamed first."

"That’s highly debatable," Kol muttered, brushing dust off his shirt.

Rebekah walked around the room like she owned it—probably did, in some century. "Next time, I say we try that monastery outside Richmond. Supposedly cursed by witches."

You raised a brow. "There’s going to be a next time?"

Kol shot her a glare. "Not unless I plan it. And no fake ghosts, Bekah."

Rebekah turned, smiling mischievously. "Who said I was fake?"

A loud creak groaned above your heads. One of the chandelier’s crystals dropped to the ground with a soft, chilling clink. The room went quiet.

Your voice came out a whisper. "Okay. We’re leaving now."

The three of you exited the house quickly—maybe a bit too quickly—laughing nervously under your breath as you stepped into the cool night air. The mansion loomed behind you, silent and still.

As Kol drove you away, tires crunching on the gravel, you glanced back. In the top window of the Whitmore estate, a pale face watched from the shadows. And this time... it wasn’t Rebekah.

[ellieslittleburrow]

WHO WOULD BE A BETTER DAD, SAM WINCHESTER OR DEAN WINCHESTER?

Personally for me it would be Dean. Dean is all about family and i think that could turn into a bad thing (overprotectiveness) but mostly, Dean would be a more present(although maybe emotionally distant) father.

Sam i think he'd be physically present. But mentally ehhhh not so much idk IDK

[sunshine-on-marz]

Being the Winchesters’ little sister

Im imagining a more girly little sister for this so im super sorry if that doesn’t apply to you:(

Headcanons for being the youngest Winchester

-for the sake of this we’ll say your kinnda like Adam except you stay with John and not your mom

-the boys adore you from the second you’re brought home

-they aren’t too on board when John explains the situation

-but the second Dean is holding you he’s in love

-and when Sam sees how happy Dean looks? Obviously he loves you too.

-you get dotted on by Dean as much as possible

-and once you’re a little older, Sam teaches you all sorts of stuff

-Dean keeps you street smart Sam keeps you book smart

-these boys are so good to you

-you don’t go on your first hunt till you’re 13 at minimum

-Dean and John have screaming matches about it because John thinks you’re old enough and Dean genuinely never wants you to go on a hunt

-He much prefers you being safe in the motel

-But eventually he’s convinced

-You don’t get more than a foot and half away from Dean for nearly the whole hunt

-you get hurt on that hunt, not bad, just a busted knee

-you don’t go on another hunt for almost two months and Dean hardly lets you out of his sight that whole time

-bandages your knee like he thinks it’ll go septic (the scrape barley got through the second layer of skin)

-anyways, back to the general stuff

-Dean calls you sweetheart, baby, baby girl and “my girl”

-Sam calls you sweetheart and baby girl

-Dean was the original one to start calling you nicknames and Sam picked up on it

-the first sentence Dean tells you when he picks you up as a baby is “it’s alright babygirl I’ve got you now”

-and the name just sticks

[dcnatural]

You Don't Know How Hard I Can Make It

Word Count: 2327

Pairing: Sister!Reader x Sam

Rating: Explicit

Synopsis: A long time ago, you and Sam were more than just siblings, until John put a stop to that. Now John is gone and you, Sam and Dean travel across the country fighting demons and monsters. And, even though Sam claims to be over your affair, he keeps getting very flustered whenever he see your lips in actions.

Or: Four times you tease Sam with your mouth, and one time in which you finally suck him.

A/N: Work written for the @macrocest winter bingo, filling the prompt for "finger sucking".

You were sitting across from Sam at a diner, listening as your younger brother complained about Dean's latest prank when you noticed a stray bit of whipped cream on the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, you reached across the table and swiped your thumb over it.

"There," you murmured, automatically bringing your thumb to your lips and sucking it clean.

You didn't even register what you'd done until you saw Sam's expression shift. His jaw tightened, his shoulders went stiff, and his eyes widened. It was as if you had just short-circuited his brain. 

Your cheeks flushed as you realized too late how intimate the gesture had been. "I… uh… I just noticed you had some... whipped cream."

Sam's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, his hazel eyes darting between your face and your thumb. He cleared his throat and he tried to recompose himself. "Yeah, I know," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. "I was saving it for later." He laughed at his own joke, but his smile was strained. He grabbed his napkin and wiped his mouth, even though you'd already taken care of it. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the paper, like he needed something to do with his hands.

Trying to change the subject, Sam went back to complaining about Dean's behaviour, but you weren't really listening. Your focus remained on Sam, on how his ears had turned pink, on the way his knee bounced under the table. His nervousness told you exactly what you needed to know: he wasn't over you. Not at all.

You smirked, taking a slow sip of your milkshake. Interesting .

* * *

It was a blisteringly hot day, and the gas station's freezer section had been your salvation. You emerged victorious, peeling open a bright red popsicle as you and Sam leaned against the store's wall watching while Dean tinkered with the smoking engine of the Impala. It didn't take you long to realise that Sam kept sneaking glances at you.

You took a long, exaggerated lick, the sugary sweetness of the cherry popsicle coating your tongue. Sam's gaze flicked up from his phone, landing on you before quickly darting back to his screen.

He cleared his throat, "You know, those things are full of chemicals and stuff. Not exactly healthy."

You smirked, "Oh, Sam. Let a girl have a bit of fun. The forbidden fruit is always more delicious, isn't it?" You paused, letting the words hang in the air, before giving the popsicle another slow lick, letting your tongue linger over the surface, swirling around the top deliberately before taking a slow, exaggerated suck. Then another.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, crossing his legs and trying to act casual despite the flush creeping up his neck. "Yeah, well, just don't want you getting sick or anything."

You shrugged. "I'll be fine", you said, licking a stray drip off the tip with the flat of your tongue. When you sneaked a glance towards him, you couldn't help but notice the volume in his pants. 

His eyes followed your gaze and quickly turned around. "Gonna go help Dean", he mumbled as he went towards your other brother.

You watched him go, flicking your tongue over the popsicle again just for the hell of it and holding back a grin. That had been too easy.

* * *

Sam had been avoiding you in the past few days, tensing up whenever you got close to him. He had even objected when you called shotgun after he announced he was going to drive, but of course you had gotten your way and now sat in the passenger seat, sipping lazily from a glass Coke bottle, letting the cool fizz linger on your tongue before swallowing. 

The Impala rumbled down the highway, the steady hum of the engine filling the warm night air. Sam was clearly bothered by having you on his side: shoulders tense, hands gripping the wheel a little too tightly, jaw set like he was determined to focus on the road and nothing else.

But you knew better. You could see the way his eyes flicked towards you every few seconds, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. You couldn't help but smile, knowing you were the cause of his distraction. 

You took another sip, letting your lips wrap around the bottle, your eyes never leaving Sam's profile. "So, Sam," you said, your voice a sultry purr, "what's got you all worked up today?" 

He glanced at you, the way his fingers tapped against the steering wheel giving away his nervousness. "Nothing, just... driving," he muttered, his voice a low growl.

You could see the muscle in his cheek twitch, a telltale sign that he was struggling to keep his composure. You knew you were playing with fire, but you couldn't help it. You were loving teasing him, to see him squirm.

Dean, who was sprawled out in the backseat and seemingly dozing off, groaned loudly and sat up. "Oh my god," he muttered, then suddenly, his head popped between the two front seats. "Alright, that's it. Spill it."

Sam flinched so hard the car swerved slightly. "Jesus, Dean! What ? "

Dean narrowed his eyes at him. "What's what ? You. You've been acting weird as hell, dude. And you, sis" he said, turning his attention to you, "you're looking like the cat that got the cream.

You puckered your lips. "The cream? Not yet," you threw Sam a wink as you said finished your sentence.

Sam choked. Full-on, coughed on his own spit choked. He barely kept the car steady as he thumped his fist against his chest.

 Dean flopped back against the seat. "See what I mean? You're so wound up you can't even drive straight. Are you two back into fucking?" Dean then shook his head, hands rubbing his temples in an attempt to drive away the forming headache. "Actually, I don't wanna know. But I do know that you two need to just…" he waved a hand vaguely, "to figure it out."

Sam shot him a glare, ears burning red. "Would you just shut up ?"

Dean just smirked and shut his eyes again.

You took another sip of Coke, biting back a grin as you settled into your seat. This road trip was turning out to be very entertaining. You were having too much fun with this new game of yours. 

* * *

Dean had wandered off to a bar, leaving you and Sam alone in the motel room with takeout. The food was good, but the real entertainment was watching Sam struggle with the mess. A smear of barbecue sauce clung to his index finger. You watched him hesitate, clearly debating whether to wipe it on a napkin or just go for it.

Before he could decide, you grabbed his wrist. "Here," you said smoothly, lifting his hand toward your mouth. "Let me help with that."

Sam's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't pull away. You could see the pulse at his wrist quickening as you leaned in, your tongue darting out to lick the sauce off his finger. You made a show of it, your eyes locked onto his, sucking gently as you pulled back, before popping off his finger with a little smirk.

"Mmm," you hummed, releasing his finger with a pop. "Delicious."

Sam swallowed hard, looking as if he was about to explode. "You're my sister, you know that?" he said, his voice coming out a little hoarse.

You shrugged, releasing his wrist and leaning back in your seat. "So what? It's not like Dad is here to stop us now."

He chuckled, shaking his head and picking up his burger. "That was a teenage mistake", he said, thinking back to when you two had begun a relationship as teens, only for John to promptly try to kick Sam out of the family for doing that, even though it had been your idea in the first place. 

Leaning back, you stretched your arms behind your head. "Either way, what were you saying?"

He swallowed hard. "I…Uhhh. Nothing. Never mind."

* * *

Once more, Dean had left you and Sam alone in a motel while he went out to scout a location. If you didn't know better, you would assume Dean was trying to help you and Sam get back together.

You sat on the edge of your bed, watching Sam from the corner of your eye as he read about the creatures haunting this town, his back hunched over a pile of books that he had got in the town's library. His broad shoulders were tense, and his jaw was clenched. You could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to figure out a way to kill whatever monster was plaguing the town.

"Sam," you said, breaking the silence. "Aren't you tired of working? You've been reading all day." 

Sam looked up from his book, his hazel eyes meeting yours. You smiled, glad to have finally caught his attention. Sam's gaze lingered on you for a moment before he sighed and closed his book. 

"I could use a break," he admitted, rising up from his seat and stretching his arms above his head. His t-shirt rode up, revealing a sliver of tanned skin and toned abs, and you couldn't help but let your eyes wander. "What do you suggest?"

You smirked, a perfect plan coming to your mind. "Well, you need to relax. You have been so tense lately. And I know just how," you said, your voice low and sultry. You stood up, walking towards him with a sway in your hips that you knew would catch his eye. Sam watched you, his eyes darkening as you approached, his breath hitching slightly.

"Oh yeah?" he asked, his voice rough.

You stopped in front of him, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. You reached up, tracing your fingers along his jawline, feeling the stubble under your touch. Sam's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his breath hitching again. You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "I know what you need, Sammy. Let me take care of you."

You felt his body tense slightly, and you knew he was trying to resist. But you also knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't be able to deny you for long. It was delightful to watch the effect you had on him. You pulled back, looking into his eyes, and you saw the moment he gave in. His eyes softened, and he let out a soft sigh.

"Fuck, you're gonna be the death of me, aren't you?" he murmured. You smiled in satisfaction and brought your lips to his, kissing him deeply. Sam responded immediately, his  hands finding their way to your waist and pulling you closer to him. You broke the kiss to trail your lips down his neck, nipping and sucking until you heard him groan.

"Fuck, that feels good," he breathed out, his hands tangling in your hair. You grinned against his skin and continued your exploration, your hands finding the hem of his pants and pushing them down, along with his underwear. Sam's cock sprang free, hard and ready, and you felt yourself start drooling at the sight.

"Already so hard for me," you murmured as you kneeled in front of him. "Just like the old times." Sam groaned, his hips jerking forward as you wrapped your hand around his shaft. You stroked him slowly, feeling him pulse in your hand. You leaned in, your tongue flicking out to lick the precum beading at the tip. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. "I have been wanting to do this for days," you said, before wrapping your lips around the head of his cock.

You could taste the saltiness of his precum, and it only spurred you on. You needed more. You wanted to make him come undone, to hear him moan your name, to feel him lose control. You wanted to remind him of what he had been missing all these years. Sam groaned, his hands tangling in your hair as you took him deeper into your mouth, his length hitting the back of your throat. You could feel him throbbing against your tongue as you began to move your head back and forth. 

"Fuck, you're so good at that," Sam groaned, his hips moving in time with your head. You felt his hands tighten in your hair, guiding your movements as you took him deeper and deeper. Spit dripped from your chin, falling onto your breasts, and your eyes watered every time he pushed it too far. But you didn't care. You wanted to make him feel so damn good that he would forget any moral concerns and lose control.

You hummed around him, the vibrations eliciting a guttural moan from Sam. "Shit, I had missed this", he rasped, his breath coming in short gasps. "You're so goddamn good at this." His dirty talk only spurred you on, and began to suck him harder. You could feel his body tensing, his hips moving faster, fucking your mouth with reckless abandon. You moved your hand to his balls, gently squeezing and massaging them, feeling them tighten in your palm.

Sam chanted your name, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. You felt his cock throbbing in your mouth, ready to explode. You wanted to push him over the edge, make him scream your name. You doubled your efforts, taking him as deep as you could, your nose pressed against his stomach, and his body trembled.

Soon enough, you felt him explode, his cock pulsing as he filled your mouth with his hot seed. You swallowed every drop before pulling back. You stood up, wiping the corner of your mouth with your finger, before sucking it clean, your eyes never leaving his.

"Told you I know what you need," you said, with a wink.

[imaginesbymonika]

Buzz cut season.

Prologue.

Summary: Sam looses his hair and his siblings can't help but make jokes about it.

Warnings: humor, siblings being siblings, mentions of violence later on)

Pairings: Sam and Dean Winchester x younger sister! reader, Castiel x Winchester!reader (platonic)

A/N: This fanfiction is based on THIS post made by @myfandomhell <3

It was a blood-curling scream, that woke Y/N up in the middle of the night. It sounded as if somebody was not only skinned alive but also thrown into the darkest and deepest pits of hell. She pauses and holds her breath while sitting up straight in her bed. Her left hand is moving underneath her pillow where she had placed her gun. Then she waits. And for a moment she almost believes that maybe she has simply imagined it, but when another scream pierces the silence the woman rapidly gets up.

A shiver runs down her spine, while she moves towards the hallway. It's dark and the tiles underneath her bare feet are cold. The youngest Winchester looks left and around, before moving towards her brother's room.

Maybe he heard it as well. "Dean?", she whispers, and peeks into his room only to discover that his bed is empty. She looks around and licks her lips:" Fuck."

A few moments later, she suddenly senses a hand on her shoulder. Y/N quickly spins around and lifts her gun, just to meet eyes with her brother. He holds up his hands:" Hey, easy. It's just me. Are you okay?", his deep voice is one loaded with concern, as his gaze scans her face for any bruises. However, once she nods his features soften almost immediately:" Good."

Y/N opens her mouth to say something in return, but before any words can leave her lips another scream fills the bunker. It echoes through the halls. "Sammy!", Dean shouts and rushes past his sister toward his youngest brother's room. He opens the wooden door and instantly raises his gun when he notices a tall man. He has his back turned to the two siblings, while he stands in the corner of the room. His hands are frantically rubbing over his short hair.

"Who are you and where is my brother?!"

Still, the stranger in Sam's room isn't moving. He seems as if he is staring at himself in the small mirror. "Answer me!" Y/N furrows her eyebrows before she pushes past Dean. "Y/N, what-? No!", he tries to stop her but she only shushes him. The y/h/ced woman moves closer… and closer… her hand slowly moves up to touch the man's shoulder. She turns him around and her eyes widen at the sight in front of her:" Oh my fucking god."

The whole room is silent while Dean and Y/n stare at their brother in pure shock. For a moment, Y/n nearly forgets how to breathe correctly and when she looks over at Dean she gasps:" Oh my god, that's- he's-... I'm...

"Why the fuck are you bald?", is all Dean can ask while he continues to stare at his younger brother. Sam swallows thickly, before once again examining himself in the mirror.

———

"Will you stop staring at me like that?", Sam who is sitting at the table in the kitchen can feel his sibling's eyes on him.

"Well, I'm sorry, Sammy", Dean replies and walks over to him. He sits down in front of him and makes a few hand gesticulations:" I just have never seen you this...naked." Sam rolls his eyes at his brother's comment:" I still have hair." "Barely."

Y/N chuckles. However, when Sam gives her an aggravated look she clears her throat:" Sorry." "Can I touch it?" "No, Dean., Sam shuts his laptop and stands up:" You can't touch it. And by the way, could you two stop acting like this is some kind of joke and maybe help me find out why I lost my hair in the first place?"

His sister brings her coffee mug up to her mouth:" Well, perhaps you're just getting old." Sam blinks and tilts his head:" I'm 36." "Yeah, I know. But remember Bobby said that he began to lose his hair around the time he was 25.", She explains and out of the corner of his eye she notices that Dean is hiding his smirk behind his own mug. Sam simply shakes his head, before walking out of the room. Defeated:" Shut up."

[aspenmissing]

ꜱᴜᴘᴇʀɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

☆ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | ❋ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ | ✧ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ | ʀᴇQᴜ��ꜱᴛᴇᴅ

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

𝚂𝚊𝚖 𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛

𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛

𝚂𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐!𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛

𝙲𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚕 𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚊𝚔

𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙺𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 (𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌)

𝙶𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚕

𝙻𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚛

𝙲𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚢

𝚁𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚊

𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗

[samsblades]

✶ . ၄၃ . easy, maybe — sam and dean w.

cw : gn!winchester!reader, hurt/comfort, reader’s the middle sibling, peacekeeper/selfless(?) reader, blood, injury & pain, stitches, nicknames (bud), poorly edited, no y/n, 3K words. requested !

summary : you try to hide a bad injury after a hunt. sam and dean patch you up, and spend the night worrying until you wake.

it’s not as hard being easy as some people might think. maybe that’s because it’s all you know how to be. the easy one, the quiet one, the peacekeeper, the blend into the background and don’t worry about me one. and it’s not that you’re weak-willed or unopinionated; there are times when you put your foot down, times when you argue, times when you’re petty or annoying or grumpy because you’re legitimately upset or possibly just a little too hungry.

one must note that easy does not mean perfect. it just means that you let sam ride shotgun despite being two years older. it means you take the couch most nights, you’re often impressively polite, and you patch up your own injuries in the bathroom before helping your brothers out. it means you let annoying little things slide, you pick up food when the other two are too tired to drive, you take care of the most tedious or boring tasks, and you tend not to get into any trouble with law enforcement or regular citizens. life is just easier for you all when sam and dean don’t have to worry about you too much.

naturally, you’ve developed quite a pain tolerance over the years of hunting and killing and nearly being killed; all three of you have. but you have become concerningly and particularly excellent at hiding wounds. it’s mostly about the breathing, you’ve decided. if you can hide the blood, move without any apparent stiffness, and keep your breathing even and normal, then sam and dean tend not to notice. they’ve got enough to worry about, you think.

but, unfortunately, there's certain things you can't quite hide, no matter how good of a little actor you can be. there's just far too much blood, more than you think you've ever bled from any one wound. it's not arterial, that much you know; you're familiar enough with basic anatomy to understand that a knife to your lower left side shouldn't be piercing any main veins or arteries. but it is soaking through your jacket and you're getting lightheaded. and you're almost to the impala, you remind yourself. you can make it that far, you're sure. if you just keep breathing, watching dean's trudging form as the distance between the two of you grows while your sluggish footsteps slow... if you just keep breathing, you're sure you can make it.

the leaves under your feet hush your footsteps, soft and soaked from this morning’s rain. dean doesn't question the fact that he can't hear you right behind him; you're quiet nearly all the time. the growing fog in your head makes you stumble. you slip, deprived of the bearings or stability you'd need to right yourself. the softened soil welcomes the crumple of your body, but your cheek scrapes on a ragged twig embedded in the ground. the dampness of the earth swallows any loudness to your fall, the little strangled noise that leaves your lips in surprise and hot white pain. the twig that draws a line of blood across your cheek doesn't even snap.

but you can't fall in complete silence; there's a rustle and a dull thud and dean's ears are attuned to listen for you and sam. he hears your grunt of pain, regardless of how quiet the sound is. he's immediately on high alert, spinning around and holding his gun at the ready. for split second, he thinks you've disappeared completely. he didn't know you'd been falling behind, twilight is ending, and your brown jacket melts into the color of the ground. but he's got keen eyes and spots you quickly.

"shit," he curses under his breath, all but sprinting back to you, long legs clearing logs and rocks without any fuss. before he's dropped to his knees by your side, he's already asking, "hey, hey, hey, talk to me, bud. what happened?"

you've managed to twist over onto your back by the time he gets there, though not without much effort. there's dirt clinging to the side of your face and wet leaves stuck to your clothes. it's become too dark for dean to see the spread of blood on your jacket.

"just a... just a cut," you breathe out. your voice doesn't sound quite right and it sets off blaring alarms in dean's head.

"where?" he demands, not harshly. his flashlight clicks on and you squint at the sudden brightness. he doesn't need you to answer. his free hand doesn't hesitate to move your bloodied jacket out of the way, and he sucks in a sharp breath before he even sees the full extent of the wound. his fingers gather up your soaked through shirt and gently peel the fabric away from your skin. "jesus, what the hell? when did this happen? just a cut?" he asks, bewildered and beyond concerned.

"b-before," you answer unhelpfully. "it's fine. help me up." you don't feel fine at all. your head pounds and your limbs are heavy and your voice is tight with pain.

dean scoffs, pulling off his jacket with an almost panicked urgency. "you were stabbed, are you crazy?" he accuses, sounding much more worried than actually angry. he messily folds up his jacket, not hesitating to push it against your wound, not so gentle in an effort to slow the bleeding. you grunt and he frowns deeper.

"more like a… a slash… less- less stabby. 's not that bad," you mumble, completely unconvincing.

dean's jaw clenches like he disagreed. "sammy'll fix you up," is all he says. "c'mon, let's get you up. you'll be just fine." dean knows that you prefer patching yourself up. he knows that you don't like letting them see you injured. but this is bad, he thinks, and his blood boils and his heart lurches at the thought that you tried to hide it.

sam, stuck in the motel with his healing broken arm, doesn’t expect much but a “we’re on the way back” sort of phone call from dean when he answers the ringing tone. dean himself is barely paying any attention to the phone. he should be paying attention to the road, but his eyes flick over to you often, and linger for too long. the first thing that sam hears over the phone is the muffled honk of a car horn.

then comes a quiet, “shit. i’m sorry, bud. you’re alright,” from dean. he doesn’t hear the little sound of pain you made when dean had to swerve the car.

“dean?” sam says, voice plainly worried. dean sounds off. “what’s going on?”

“sammy,” dean breathes, uncharacteristically afraid, “they’re bleeding bad. need you to be ready to stitch ‘em up when we get there. five minutes.”

“where? how bad?” sam asks in a rush, already standing and searching for a medical kit. there’s one on the coffee table.

“lower left side,” dean answers, voice a bit more sure when he can actually give a solid, factual answer. then it falters. “just– bad. real bad. they’re barely awake.”

“dammit,” sam mutters. he wants to ask what happened, but dean sounds like he’s driving recklessly through the panic of your injury. he doesn’t want to add anything else for him to think about. “you sure you shouldn’t be headed to the hospital?”

dean shakes his head, then glances at you and your heavy lidded eyes. “nearest one’s too far. you’re closer.”

“okay. alright. just– just drive safe and keep them talking,” sam says at the risk of angering dean in his precarious mental state. asking him to drive safe is a bit silly, and he already knows to keep you talking. 

but dean doesn’t retort, he just spares you another glance. “keep those eyes open for me,” he urges, leaving it up to sam to hang up the phone. he only does so in order to focus on gathering the right supplies for you. and when the impala pulls up into the parking space right in front of tonight’s motel room, sam’s waiting outside by the pale yellow door with a janky metal ‘17’ on the front. he’s at the passenger’s side before dean’s even turned the car off.

you’re leaning against the car door, so he’s precise and careful when he opens it, reaching in with one hand first and cupping the side of your neck to keep you steady while he slips in closer to you. 

“hey,” he says gently, hiding his fear. he’s not sure he can deal with all this shit without you. you’ve always been such a steadying presence. dean’s jacket that you keep clutched to your wound with shaky hands is all bloodied, and the only thing sam knows is that dean said it’s real bad.

dean’s there, opening the door the rest of the way so that sam can bend down and pull you into his arms. first goes your head to his chest, then his arms wrapping around your shoulders and tucking under your knees.

“there we go,” sam murmurs, wincing softly when the movement pulls a groan of pain from your lips. “can you talk to me?” he’s swift and gentle in his movements, getting you through the door and to the bed with the least amount of discomfort for you that he can.

“it’s okay, sammy,” you mumble in response to his request. of course that’s what you’d say. dean frowns, barely able to hear your words despite how close behind sam he hovers.

“yeah,” sam agrees, laying you out on the bed, pulling the ruined jacket away from your wound and gently moving your own clothing out of the way. it’s not a pretty sight, but the bleeding’s slowed enough for him to see that maybe it’s not as bad as they thought. stitches should do the trick, you’re just all messed up from the blood loss. “it is okay,” he confirms, “you’ll be okay.” 

as he soaks a clean rag with alcohol, sam wonders when the last time he’s stitched you up was. it must’ve been a while ago. he even can’t easily think of the last time he helped you deal with any injury. right now, it’s his job to stay calm and patch you up, but the way you said it’s okay, sammy, made him want to act a bit like the baby of the family. he wants to hug you. it doesn’t make him feel small, though, just extra responsible for making sure you’ll be alright. you’re always taking care of him and dean, even if it’s just in the smaller ways, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t fix this for you.

dean’s hands are far more tender than usual as he holds yours. sam cleans your wound, and you don’t react much. it worries them both, but sam assures that it’s not as bad as it seemed before.

the cast over sam’s wrist and forearm doesn’t make giving you stitches all that easy, but he manages. his big hands are somehow always much nimbler than dean’s, the stitches he produces less crude. but no matter how used to the feeling of a few stitches you are, once he gets to the sixth, you’re not sure you can stay awake any longer. you hate the feeling of the needle and thread going through your skin.

you give dean’s hand a weak squeeze. “’m gonna pass out,” you slur in warning. his eyes widen in worry. sam tries to stay focused, but his frown deepens. he’d much rather you didn’t, but he thinks you’ll be alright.

“hey, hey, hey, no. stay with us,” dean urges, brushing his fingers over your forehead. “you’re fine now, just stay awake, bud. look at me.” you meet his gaze with drooping eyelids and a weak frown. you feel bad for making him worry like this. 

“’m sorry,” you mumble, “so tired.” you close your eyes against his wishes, and your hand goes limp in his. 

“dammit,” sam whispers, noticing the way your muscles all go slack. dean’s not so quiet when he curses, standing up angrily. as sam finishes the stitches, dean paces, hands in fists.

“it’s my damn fault, sammy,” he growls. if sam looked up, the tears in dean’s otherwise angry eyes would betray his blatant concern for you. “i wasn’t paying attention.” sam worries now that dean’ll start throwing things. he doesn’t deal well with his little siblings getting hurt.

“they’re okay. seriously,” sam insists. really though, he’s worried out of his mind. freaking out won’t help him give you effective stitches, so he just focuses on the silent promise he’s made to take care of you. “they’ll heal. the stitches will be enough,” he says, instead of asking what happened to avoid upsetting dean further. dean returns to your side just as sam finishes the last stitch. he dresses the wound with a bit of help from dean, but mostly, the oldest just combs through loose strands of your hair, picking out dried leaves and twigs. dean cleans the little cut on your face too, wiping away the dirt from when you fell.

he holds you gently upright as sam trades your bloodstained jacket and top for a simple long sleeve crewneck shirt to keep you comfortable and warm as you rest. he monitors your pulse and constantly checks your breathing, and his nervous behavior doesn’t go unnoticed by dean. but your heartbeat remains steady and the soft sound of your breathing is the only thing that can be heard at times. it’s comforting to them both, taking turns by your side, though they’re most certainly overly concerned now that your body is set to start mending.

you sleep a long while, long enough that dean starts pacing again when he tires of sitting on the edge of the other bed with his head in his hands. sam sits in a chair by your side. he dozes lightly for a bit, until the sun rises and brightens the room through half opened curtains. dean’s asleep on the couch when sam comes back around, despite the completely free bed. when he wakes, dean makes coffee for him and sam, brooding the whole while. he still looks like he’s holding back the urge to throw a rickety motel chair into the wall, but he’s a bit more blatantly anxious than angry by now. he holds your hand for a little while before you wake up.

you start to stir at 9:37 in the morning, which means you’ve been sleeping for almost ten hours. sam had checked the time when you passed out, in the midst of all his worry as he stitched you up. but no one catches the time. you, of course, are not checking the time. you’re barely awake. dean doesn’t think to check the time, he’s much more concerned about the light rustle of the bed sheets that he hears coming from your direction. and sam is drying his hands in the bathroom. he probably wouldn’t care to check the time either even if he were standing right by the clock. he hears dean say your name through the thin bathroom door, quiet and nervous. the hand towel slips off the rack in his rush to get to you.

dean’s sitting by your side, both of his hands wrapping around yours. “hey,” he murmurs, soft and glad to see your eyelids fluttering. you see the water stained ceiling of the motel room and feel the end of the bed dipping by your feet, then a big, soft hand on your shin. that’s sam. dean’s the one holding your hand.

you try to say hey back, but it comes out as a hoarse groan. your throat is very dry. so you just squeeze dean’s hand back as best as you can. one of his hands leaves yours to rest on your tired head. you look over and offer him a little smile. he feels a rush of affection as you meet his gaze like that, and a little bit of guilt for always letting you be the best of them. the quietest and the easiest. he doesn’t know what to do with those feelings, so he asks a sweet, almost teary looking sam to go grab you some water. he does so without a qualm, tries to help you take a sip, and relents with a subtle pout when you refuse the help. you’re insistent about holding that cup for yourself.

“let me help you,” he murmurs, voice all soft. he sounds extra young right now, as his hands try to hold the cup and your head up for you. you grab the cup, shaking your head despite being plagued by a pounding ache at your temples.

“mm-mm,” you hum a no, as if it bothers you that he’s trying to use his hand in a cast to help. you’re truly just that stubborn that it makes you strong enough to hold the cup with your own shaky hands. sam’s hand hovers nearby anyway. when you’ve taken a good drink, and the water starts to slosh a bit because you’re having a hard time holding it steady, dean takes it from you and sets it on the bedside table. 

“you gave us a good little scare there,” he murmurs, voice gentler than usual. he doesn’t even pretend to sound annoyed. sam thinks his demeanor is a bit funny now, considering how much of a mess dean was last night and before you woke. but he easily lets it slide for right now. without a doubt, you’re his main concern.

“sorry,” you mumble, still sort of smiling.

“don’t,” sam scolds softly. “don’t be sorry.” it seems to him like you’re always willing to take the fall, fix the problem, ease the tension. right now, he’d rather you just let him and dean take care of everything for you. you look like you want to protest, keep apologizing for making them worry, but he grabs your free hand as a means to stop you. dean gives your hand a little squeeze to punctuate the same sentiment. 

you have nothing to be sorry for. and they are very grateful for you. losing you scares them more than anything, and for a moment, they will both be a bit vulnerable and ask for you to do the same by holding your hands tight for just a little while.

“okay,” you murmur. you won’t be sorry. i love you, too, you’re saying.

[musubi05]

╰┈➤ I'm Sorry Part 2

Sam Winchester x sister!reader

Dean Winchester x sister!reader

Summary: A hunt went wrong because you made a mistake and someone accidentally got hurt. You're 14-15.

Warnings: Yelling, mentions of blood, angsty

Authors note: Hopefully it's as good as the first one 😭 I was spacing out so much trying to write it so my brain was not braining.

The minutes stretched endlessly after Dean left, each second pressing down on your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake. The motel room was too quiet, yet your mind was screaming. You could still hear the gunshot, still see Sam’s body jerking from the impact, still feel the warmth of his blood against your hands.

Dean was right. You had almost lost Sam. And it was your fault.

Your hands were still trembling slightly as you sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the cracked wallpaper. The cheap floral print blurred as your eyes stung with unshed tears. Your fingers were stiff with dried blood—Sam’s blood—sticking in the creases of your knuckles, clinging to your skin like it was never going to come off.

You felt numb, but somehow still sick to your stomach. You forced yourself up to get into the shower, hoping it would help make you feel clean but it didn't. You had tried scrubbing the blood off, but no matter how raw you made your hands, the stain wouldn’t fade. Even though you saw a tint of red water go down the drain.

The faint sound of the clock ticking on the wall was maddening when you laid back down on the bed. Each second that passed felt heavier, heavier, and heavier. You wished Dean would just come back, even if it was to yell at you more. At least then you wouldn’t be stuck with your own thoughts.

The thoughts that were reminding you it was your fault. The thoughts that were telling you Sam was dead.

"The doctors couldn't save Sam," Dean would say. "It should be you not him." Which would lead you to listen to him and go sell your soul for Sam to be brought back.

Your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails biting into your palms, desperate for something—anything—to ground you. But nothing could distract you from the image of Sam collapsing. The dull look in his eyes. The blood pooling around him.

Your chest tightened, and before you could stop yourself, a broken sob slipped out. You clapped a hand over your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut, shoulders shaking as you struggled to contain it. You didn’t deserve to cry. Not when Sam was the one who got hurt. Not when Dean could barely look at you.

The door creaked open softly. You stiffened, expecting to see Dean storming in again, still angry, still ready to rip you apart with his words. You turned over to your other side to face him.

But it was Sam.

He was pale and unsteady on his feet, leaning against the doorframe for support. His face was still gaunt from the blood loss, and his bandaged torso was hidden beneath a loose flannel that was slightly too big for him. You realized with a twist in your chest that he must’ve signed himself out of the hospital early. Typical Winchester.

“Sam?” You shot up from the bed, rushing toward him, but he held up a weak hand to stop you.

“Hey,” he rasped softly, offering a tired smile. “I’m okay.”

You stared at him, stunned by stupid statement. He was shot. He was barely standing. He was not okay.

Without another word, you rushed to his side and slipped under his arm, helping him to the bed despite his half-hearted protests. You sat beside him, bracing his weight until he was lying back against the headboard with a heavy sigh.

“Did you seriously check yourself out?” you muttered, shaking your head.

Sam chuckled lightly, wincing as he shifted. “You know me.”

You swallowed, guilt twisting sharply in your gut again. He was trying to make light of it, to put you at ease. Of course he was. That was Sam. Always more worried about everyone else than himself.

For a long moment, you just stared at your hands, fingers still smeared faintly with his blood. The room was quiet, except for the sound of Sam’s slightly labored breathing.

“You should hate me,” you finally whispered.

Sam blinked, frowning slightly. “What?”

You glanced at him, barely able to meet his eyes. “You should hate me for what I did. For being so reckless. For getting you hurt,” your voice wavered, and you looked away quickly. “Dean does.”

Sam’s expression softened immediately. “Hey.” He reached over, grasping your hand weakly, his palm warm despite his shaky grip. “Dean doesn’t hate you. He’s just—”

“Mad. I know,” you cut in. “And he should be. You almost died because of me, Sam.” Your voice cracked, and you pulled your hand from his, not able to bear the gentleness in his touch.

Sam exhaled softly, watching you carefully. “I’m not dead,” he said quietly. “And I’m not gonna hate you, Y/N.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You should.”

“Stop,” Sam insisted, his voice firmer this time. He reached for your hand again, his grip a little stronger now. “I’ve made mistakes, too. We all have. Hell, Dean’s made plenty of reckless calls that could’ve gotten me killed. And you know what I did?” He arched a tired eyebrow. “I forgave him. Just like I forgive you. That’s how this family works.”

You swallowed hard, unable to speak. Your eyes burned, and you quickly wiped at them with the sleeve of your hoodie. You didn’t deserve his forgiveness. Not this easily. Not after nearly losing him.

Sam squeezed your hand once before leaning back against the headboard, his eyes starting to droop with exhaustion. “You’re not a screw-up,” he muttered softly, voice thick with fatigue. “You saved our asses back there. Even if it wasn’t pretty.”

You stared at him, speechless, as he let out a slow, heavy breath and drifted into a light sleep. His chest rose and fell steadily, but the soft winces that flashed across his face with every breath made your stomach clench.

And then, as if on cue, the door creaked open again.

Dean walked in, still tense, his eyes immediately flickering toward Sam. His gaze softened slightly when he saw his brother sleeping peacefully, but when he turned his attention to you, the hardness in his eyes returned.

You met his gaze for only a second before quickly looking down at your hands again. You waited for him to say something—anything—but he just stood there, lingering near the door. The silence was suffocating.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Dean let out a long breath and slowly made his way over. His boots were heavy against the creaky floorboards. You felt him sit down beside you on the edge of the bed, but you still couldn’t look at him.

For a long moment, he said nothing. The tension hung in the air, thick and heavy.

Then, finally, his voice came—low and hoarse. “You scared the hell outta me.”

Your throat tightened. “I know,” you whispered.

Dean let out a shaky breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “I told you to stay in the car for a reason, Y/N.”

“I was trying to help—”

“I don’t care!” His voice cracked slightly, louder than he intended, and Sam stirred slightly.

"I don't care what you wanted!" Your dads voice echoed through your mind.

Dean immediately fell silent, waiting until Sam settled before speaking again. His voice was lower this time but still strained. “You could’ve died.”

You clenched your fists in your lap, your fingernails going back into your palms. “So could you.”

Dean’s eyes snapped to you. You turned to face him, blinking back the tears threatening to fall.

“I’m not gonna just sit back and watch you and Sam die,” you said quietly, your voice trembling slightly. “I can’t.”

Dean’s eyes softened slightly, but his expression was still pained. He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair, and for the first time that night, you saw the fear behind his anger—the sheer terror that had been boiling beneath the surface.

“If something had happened to you…” He shook his head, voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t lose you, too.”

Your throat closed up, and without thinking, you reached out and grabbed his hand. His fingers curled around yours, warm and rough and calloused, but familiar. Safe.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. You just sat there in the heavy silence, hands clasped together.

Finally, Dean’s voice came out quieter. Hoarse. “Just… don’t do that again, okay?”

You nodded slowly, gripping his hand a little tighter.

“I mean it,” he added, giving you a pointed look.

“I know.”

He let out a slow, shaky breath, then finally—finally—he squeezed your hand back. It wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet. But it was a start.

⛧

The room was dark and quiet, save for the sound of Sam’s slow, steady breathing. His chest rose and fell softly, the strain of pain still subtly etched in his face even in sleep.

After the talk with Dean, you both agreed to head to get some rest. Only problem is that you couldn't go to bed that easily. Dean was passed out on his bed while you were staring at the ceiling on the motel couch. Just... thinking.

You looked over at Sam and should’ve felt some relief that he was okay. That the bullet hadn’t hit anything vital. That he was still here, breathing, healing. But the weight in your chest hadn’t lifted. If anything, it had only grown heavier.

You looked back up at the ceiling but before you knew it, your eyes drifted out of focus, the edges of the room blurring into the shadows of the past.

~6 Years Ago~

The dingy motel room smelled like old cigarette smoke and mildew. The wallpaper was peeling at the corners, and the single flickering lamp barely cast enough light to chase away the shadows stretching across the walls.

You sat curled up on the bed, clutching your knees to your chest, your tiny fingers digging into the fabric of your jeans. Your heart pounded in your chest as you listened to the argument unfolding between John and Dean.

“I told you to watch her, Dean!” John’s voice was sharp, edged with frustration and exhaustion.

“I was watching her!” Dean stood his ground, jaw tight, shoulders squared even though his voice wavered slightly. “She was fine! I just went to grab the salt from the car, and—”

“She could’ve gotten killed,” John cut him off, voice like gravel. His eyes flicked toward you, pinning you to the bed like a spotlight. “And you—what were you thinking, running after that damn spirit?”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I-I thought I could help,” you stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

John let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Help? You thought running in there, getting in the way, was helping?” He shook his head, pacing in front of you like he couldn’t even look at you. “You wanna be useful? Then learn your damn place.”

Your stomach twisted.

“You don’t fight, you don’t hunt, you don’t go running into danger,” John continued, his voice firm, unwavering. “You do what you’re told. You keep your head down. You help us—but you never get in the way.”

You swallowed hard, gripping the blanket beneath you with trembling fingers. “I just wanted to—”

“I don’t care what you wanted,” John snapped. “You listen. You wait. You help the way you’re supposed to.” He crouched down slightly, lowering his voice, but somehow that made it worse. “You wanna be part of this family? Then act like it.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you nodded quickly, desperate to make him stop looking at you like that.

John exhaled sharply and stood up, rubbing a hand over his face. He didn’t say anything else—just grabbed his duffel, muttered something to Dean about locking the doors, and walked out.

For a moment, the room was silent. The weight of his words still hung heavy in the air, pressing down on your chest.

Then, Dean sat down beside you on the bed.

“Hey,” he said softly, nudging your shoulder. His voice was tired, but not angry. Not like John’s. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly, blinking back the tears.

Dean was quiet for a long moment before he sighed, running a hand through his short hair. “Look… Dad’s just—he’s just stressed, alright? He doesn’t mean half the crap he says.”

But you both knew that wasn’t true.

Still, Dean shot you a small, lopsided smile. “You wanna help? You can help. Just… next time, maybe don’t go charging after a ghost with a damn broomstick, alright?”

Despite yourself, you let out a tiny, shaky laugh.

“Tell you what,” Dean continued, nudging you again. “Next hunt? You can be on water duty. Sam’s always forgetting to drink, anyway.”

You nodded, a small bit of warmth replacing the cold pit in your stomach. It wasn’t much—but it was something. A purpose. A way to help without getting in the way.

And that’s what you did. Every hunt. Every time. You made sure you were useful. You made sure you helped.

Because if you weren’t helping, what were you even doing here?

“Sweetheart?”

Dean’s voice pulled you out of the memory, bringing you crashing back to the dim motel room. Sam was still sleeping soundly. Dean was staring at you, brows furrowed, eyes scanning your face like he could see the ghosts haunting you. When did he get up?

You blinked quickly, clearing your throat. “Sorry. Just… thinking.”

Dean studied you for a second longer before exhaling. With no warning he scooped your body into his arms, lifting you up from your previous spot.

"Dean, what are you doing?" You asked immediately gripping his shirt do he didn't drop you—not like he ever would.

"Helping you sleep," he said, his voice was coated with exhaustion. Maybe helping you sleep will help him sleep better.

You didn't want to argue with him and say you're fine so you let him bring you over to his bed. He put you on the bed first before laying next to you.

Dean sighed, he put his arm around you to keep you close to his side. Your head was resting on his chest with your arm draped around his torso. “I'm sorry I keep yelling at you—” He stopped, jaw tightening, like he wasn’t sure how to say what he wanted to say. “I don’t want you to think that helping means running headfirst into danger, alright? You don’t have to prove anything to me. Or to Sam.”

Your breath hitched slightly. “I know.”

“Do you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Do you really?

You hesitated, but after a long moment, you finally nodded. “I’m working on it.”

Dean didn’t look fully convinced, but he didn’t push. He just sighed again and nudged your arm lightly. “Good.”

For a long while, you both just laid there, the weight of the night still thick in the air—but for the first time, it didn’t feel like it was crushing you.

Dean wasn’t angry anymore. Sam was safe. And maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to prove your worth by risking your life.

Maybe just being here was enough.

Tag list:

@marvelfanfn2187a113 @samlou

[prentissluvr]

sorry won't cut it (rewrite) — sam and dean winchester

cw : gn!winchester!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, barely different from the original but slightly adjusted to fix some canon details i got wrong and adjust to my changed perspective of the whole purgatory situation, sam and dean did reader wrong, swearing, arguments, crying, nicknames (kid, kiddo, honey, sweetheart), 4.1K words.

summary : since dean disappeared, sam has been distant. when he calls you and you find out dean's back, you also find out that both of your older brother's have been lying to you.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

when sam answers your call, it comes as a relief. a surprise, but more than anything, a relief. it’s been two and a half months, almost on the dot, since he’s answered a call. usually it’s just one month. he has a single burner phone just for you, but it’s off half the time, and the other half he never answers.

you’ve grown used to his distance, to an extent. it still stings when your phone rings till voicemail sometimes, but you’ve just been too tired to argue with him, to ask him to comfort you, make him keep hashing through the pain of looking for dean and finding nothing but trouble. 

you want him to have the normalcy, the girl who loves him and makes him feel alright. you want to have faith that he’ll figure out how to factor you into it all eventually, but you still miss him, and you’re still lonely, so you keep calling, never getting angry or upset when he occasionally picks up. you just act like it’s normal, and you can tell he appreciates it, so you keep it up. in return, he asks you over sometimes, tells you each time how much amelia raves about you after you leave, and hugs you tight before you go.

it’s been several months since he’s invited you over, and he doesn’t really talk about her anymore. you figure something must have happened, but you never push anything anymore with him.

this call is different. one, because he finally picks up. two, because he tells you to meet up with him, no explanation or normal talk about what you should bring for dinner. three, he asks you to meet at a random address in kansas.

he sighs deep, “just… get here as soon as you can. i’ll send you the location.” then he hangs up and it feels like the hunting life all over again.

⟢

it’s a seven hour drive, and you’re tired out of your mind, high-strung and worn out from leaving right after your shift at a diner full of sleezes who don’t tip enough. even though this whole thing is strange for the new, hunting-free sam, there’s relief coursing through you at the thought of seeing him, hoping he’ll let your tired feet carry you right into his arms. you pull into a driveway of sorts, no obvious entrance to the unremarkable building in front of you, but your years of hunting and meeting up with your brothers at strange places during strange hours after strange calls help you find the door. it's a bunker, one you've never seen before.

you were always a little bit more like sam, disillusioned to the hunter life and the way your father raised you. you weren’t a fighter like him, but you slipped away at eighteen to go to college and found somewhere near stanford so you’d be able to visit sam often. he loved that, always so glad that you got out too. but you were barely gone a year before dean came back to collect you and sam to look for your dad. you came easier than sam, less attached to your new place and always finding yourself missing dean.

that’s what you’d been doing this past year. missing dean, and painfully. so when you knock on the door, calling out, “it’s me, sammy,” you freeze when it opens several beats later.

because the person behind the door isn’t sam. but it is your older brother. just the one who’s been who knows where and presumed dead, for the last year or so. the one you’ve endlessly searched for to no avail.

“dean?” your voice is small as his name slips from your mouth.

his eyes go soft, the way they rarely get, and the slight smile on his lips is half pained, half pure relief to see you after so long. “hey, kid.”

you launch yourself into his arms, and he catches you easily, right there in the doorway, and you have to fend off tears that you know wouldn’t put up so much of a fight if you weren’t so exhausted. but you were raised tough, and winchesters don’t cry all that often, at least not where someone else can see. so you swallow hard and tough it out, letting dean pull away from you and lead you inside. he moves through the house with a sort of ease he’d only have if he felt comfortable and safe there. this raises questions, along with the fact that he's here at all.

you’re speechless, but not for a lack of anything to say. endless questions stream through your mind, each one pushing to be asked, even more desperate to be answered.

but the only thing you can figure out how to say is “hi” to sam when he greets you in the living room. he pulls you into a hug, letting you linger for a moment before you know you have to ask all of the hard questions. something in his face is unreadable to you, which is rare when it comes to your brothers. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was a hint of guilt. that rings alarms in your mind, but you brush your nerves aside when dean takes a seat on the couch.

you relax a bit when you sink down next to him, curling into his side a little. it makes you feel a bit childish, but you need it after everything this past year. he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you a little closer. sam sits down across from the two of you and you heave a sigh, wondering where to start.

opening your mouth and forcing words out is like a crack in a dam. everything comes out slow at first, but that lasts mere seconds before the flood.

“where… dean, where were you? i mean, i tried– i tried everything, i looked everywhere,” your voice breaks at that word, the weight of it meaning something only you understand. you look at him, brows taught and you’re confused by the surprise on his face, as if he didn’t expect you to say such a thing.

“what do you mean, you tried everything?” he asks, voice suddenly gruff and severe. you recoil from his side to get a better look at him. you don’t miss the look he shoots sam. this is already departing from what you expected, which is probably exactly what you should have expected, given your brothers. it’s just that, when dean hugged you back and he was solid and real and alive, when he sat on the couch instead of a chair so you could sit next to him, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to stay tucked safe into his side as they told you what happened, as they asked you to stay with them. 

“what do you mean?” you shoot back. “what, did you think i’d just kick back and call it someone else’s problem?”

“that’s what sam did. that’s what sam said you did.” his voice is accusatory and when you whirl to look at sam, utter bewilderment evident on your face, you can see him physically grimace. which means dean’s telling the truth.

“sam did what?” the question sounds like it’s targeted for dean, but you’re staring the younger down.

“listen, i– i’ll explain it to you later. what do you mean you did everything, you said you were going to school?” sam looks irked and defeated all at once.

“that is completely beside the point, sam, you lied to me?” you ask, voice tired and bordering on distressed, “but you’re not going to explain to me why? why you lied to me or why you apparently didn’t look for dean, i mean what– what’s up with that?” dean’s hand on your shoulder prevents you from standing as your voice grows strained.

“listen, kid, sam and i, we’ve already hashed this out, okay? it’s uh– it’s fine, alright?” with the way he says the word “fine”, you know that it still bothers dean, so you can’t understand why he’d say so. “we’ve got things to discuss here,” dean tries to reason with you before sam can respond. he’s no peace maker, but a full blown fight between the two of you could have an ugly ending.

“things to discuss?” you repeat, in disbelief of the audacity. knowing them, that means they need something from you, which begs the question of why sam asked you over in the first place. you don’t even want to think about them having ulterior motives outside ofjust wanting to see you, so you brush it off angrily. 

“well, i’m glad to hear that you two have hashed it out, but i haven’t yet, so we can discuss whatever that is later.” you shrug off dean’s hand, trying to focus on the things you’re already angry about instead of asking the even bigger question nagging at you now. when the hell did dean get back that those two had time to hash out something that major? you turn your anger back to sam, thinking about what it was like when dean first disappeared. “you told me you looked. you told me you did all that you could, that you tried everything in your power. now dean’s telling me that you did nothing?”

sam sighs heavily. “yes. okay, listen, i’m sorry i lied to you. but i just wanted you to try and live your life for once. i figured if i told you i did everything i could, that, i don’t know, maybe you’d give up and try to move on? go to school, do something you love, have real friends, maybe find someone?” he throws his hands up in the air, a defeated gesture because he knows you don’t agree, while he still thinks he did the right thing.

you scoff, because, god, he really has no idea. arms crossed and face the kind of calm that says run to anyone on the other end of your anger, you nod in false understanding. “yeah, what good that did,” you say, your tone so sarcastic and dry that sam just clenches his jaw and dean’s face turns from concerned to full-blown worried. he wonders if he should ask what that means, because whatever it does, it’s certainly not “good.” 

but you pick up again after a moment of thick, dripping silence. “you know, sam, you have absolutely no idea how this past year really was for me. i’m not saying it was easy for you, because i know it wasn’t. though now i know you also skipped the trouble of looking for dean and really, actually lived that hunting-free life you wanted. and–” you pause a moment, purposefully not looking at dean. “and it’s not– not bad that you got that, sam, all i’m saying is that just about nothing has been all, i don’t know, rainbows and butterflies more like you think,” your voice takes a scathing edge, a tone so rare to both of your brothers that neither knows what to say, “and you know what, sam? it’s looking to me like i’d be a lot better off if you’d just decided to tell me the goddamn truth.”

sam says your name, tentative like he’s testing hot waters, “i thought you said things were going well. you said you liked school, that you were making friends there? just explain to me what you mean so we can figure this out.”

“figure it out,” you repeat under your breath, sticking your tongue against the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something too harsh. “sam, things were going well! they were!” now you’re feeling desperate to make him understand, “but that night you told me there was nothing else we could do, nothing else to try and that i should just do my best to move on? i couldn’t, sam, i couldn’t do that. there had to be something more we could do, so i gave up on the things you said you did and i went further. i let you think i was fine, that i was doing what you wanted for me because you always sounded so tired. you always sounded like one more thing on your plate would make the sweet little life you built come crashing down, so i made sure you wouldn’t have to worry about me.”

dean’s does his best to make his interruption gentle, though he’s not the best at hiding his frustrations sometimes. he doesn’t want to upset you more, but you can hear the tension in his voice when he asks, “kiddo? what do you mean by you ‘went further?’”

suddenly you shrink in on yourself, your lower lip caught between your teeth and your eyes shining with fresh tears. “dean–,” your voice breaks before you can even say anything else. his hand is on your back, meant to be comforting, but it only makes you feel worse about it all. you know how much dean would hate the lengths you went to to try and get him back. “i can’t–” you shake your head, ignoring your oldest brother, “i can’t right now, but maybe… maybe if you’d told me the truth, sam, if i’d just started by reading through all of bobby’s books like you said you did, things would have worked out differently.”

“well, maybe if you told me you were going to keep trying, i could have helped you!” sam fires back.

you let out a strangled, frustrated noise as you stand, unable to keep sitting down. “would you? really? because i really don’t think you would’ve! you were so focused on moving on from losing dean that you distanced yourself from me, too! you barely picked up, never called, only talked about dean in three word sentences to tell me a lie about how you tried and failed to find anything to help! maybe if you paid any attention to me, gave any indication that you wanted to help or see me or be a major part of life like i wanted of you, i would have opened up to you!” it makes you even more angry when your voice turns teary, “and for once, i wanted to try to be the one to take care of you two. i kept my secrets, i never let on how fucking lonely i was, just so you wouldn’t worry about me!” 

a stunned silence falls over you brothers, sam’s guilt beginning to overrun his natural response of anger, and dean making up for that fading anger with his own. your chest heaves with laboured breath as you stare sam down.

dean’s tone is icy as he breaks the silence, “sam, is that really how you treated them while i was gone?”

sam exhales hard, ignoring dean in favor of looking at you, “i was just doing what i thought was the best for both of us. i didn’t know, okay, i’m sorry. i really am.” he looks sorry, and sad, like this is the opposite of what he wanted. under your anger, you know it’s true that he never wanted this. you know that sam thinks people are better off distant from him. but it hurts that he let you be one of those people.

“are you kidding me?” you exclaim, voice turning shrill as your composure slips further and further. “people got hurt, on my account,” you have to force that part out through gritted teeth, “i got kicked out of school, and i spent three months running from hunters!” both sam and dean want to interrupt at that. but you keep going, your voice quieter now, harsh and trembling, “but you were doing what you thought was best for both of us? try what was best for you. dean was gone, and i needed you, sammy, i needed you and the second you said you needed to get away, alone, i knew i didn’t have you.”

that shuts him up, has him deflating and his guilt taking over, and you can see it and you hate it. you almost wish he’d get angry instead because that means you can keep shouting at him to try and make him understand. but all you get are his clenched jaw, his sad eyes, and his guilty silence that tell you he knows he fucked up but he can’t figure out a way to make it better since sorry sure as hell won’t cut it.

it’s dean who cuts into the heavy silence again. “sam.” his name hangs in the air, weighed down with unspoken words. we’ll talk about this later, you guess is the message. you can feel how angry dean is without even looking at him. you know all he ever asked of sam if he was gone was to take care of you, and now dean knows he didn’t. he tried, the way he thought was right, but he didn’t. then his attention is back on you. he says your name, clear and careful. “i’m gonna need you to tell me what you did.”

you wipe at your face angrily as you whirl to face dean. trying to keep the ever present tears at bay, you tap right back into your anger. but it's more tired this time, less convincing with your voice taut from unshed tears begging to be released.

“all that, and that’s what you take away from this? really, dean? you’re gonna need to know what i did? i don’t need you to tell me to know that– that it was wrong and i don’t need you to make me feel any more shitty than i already do right now, okay?”

it’s his turn to wear a look of guilt on his face, but it only sits there for a flash before he keeps going. “kid, that’s not what i’m tryna’ do here, alright? i just wanna understand so i can keep us safe, yeah?” he puts his hands out in a peaceful motion, but something else unresolved floats back up into your focus.

“no. dean, no! because there’s something else here, something both of you have been avoiding this entire time!” there’s a sudden change in the air, like both of them are holding their breath, silently begging you won’t ask the question. “dean, how long have you been back?”

his hesitancy to answer tells you everything. “kid, listen, that’s not imp–”

“don’t you dare say it’s not important! did you hear anything i just said, dean? anything about how shit my life has been since you’ve been gone, how lonely i’ve been?”

“you’re right,” sam relents, forging on before dean can stop him, “he’s been back for three months now. it’s my fault we didn’t tell you. it’s all my fault, and believe me, i am so sorry.” you collapse into a chair with your head in your hands as he continues, “i know that does nothing to fix things, but i am sorry, and i swear i’m gonna spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, kiddo. i’m all in now, and i did it all so this wouldn’t have to be your life, but you’re here now and we want more than anything to have you around, okay?” 

you lift your head up to stare at him. “three months.” your voice is dangerously quiet. “you two…” your tired mind can’t think of words strong enough, “drive me insane, you know that? dean, you just– you just went along with that and decided, let me guess, that it was best for me? because i was at school, living a normal life and away from the danger of this one? is that it? it’s best for me not to know my brother’s alive? because, you know, that reminds me of something. hm, maybe the time sam hid from us that he was alive for a year because he didn’t have his fucking soul? oh, yeah, it must be that.” you let out a short bark of laughter, but it and your voice are completely devoid of any humor. dean visibly recoils when you mention that. he’s thought of it, and still decided to keep you in the dark. “come on, dean, you know how that feels and you go and do it to me again? really? you gonna tell me you came back from wherever the hell you were without a soul next? where– where even were you?” you ask shrilly.

you’ve beat him too. “sweetheart,” he sighs, “i’m sorry. we were wrong to do that to you, okay? i– i was in purgatory. i can explain the rest later.”

finally, you think you might be out of things to say, to be hurt about. your voice is quiet and fragile now, and the dam holding back your tears is fractured in a million places, more than ready to break. “i missed you so much. both of you,” you whisper. you meant to make a scathing comment about how “sorry” and “we were wrong” don’t even begin to cover it, but you find that you’re not in complete control of the things coming out of your mouth. you’re just too goddamn tired. dean is crouching in front of you in an instant.

“i missed you, too, sweetheart. so much. i’m sorry.” he takes it as a good sign that you let him place his hand on your knee. you want to flick it away, maybe shove him away too.

“and i was so, so lonely. i was so scared,” you cry out, wishing you didn’t have to cry when you got angry. “and i’m so mad that you two did this to me. three months…”

“i know, kiddo, i know. i’m sorry.” gently, slowly, he tugs you towards him and into his arms and you slide onto the floor and cry into his chest, shaking and unable to say a thing. you want to tell him this doesn’t make it right, but dean hushes you gently when you try. “shhh, it’s okay. i’m here now,” he comforts. it’s true that this doesn’t make it right, but it’s almost all you need in that moment.

“sammy,” you choke out, still so angry with him, but wanting him near anyways, knowing that he’s too scared to come close to you after coming face to face with all of the ways you were hurt. his hand is on your back a moment later, hesitant at first, then strong and soothing moments later when you blindly grab for the fabric of his flannel to keep him close.

“okay. okay, i’m here. i’m sorry. i’ve got you, i promise,” he whispers, silently letting a few of his own guilty tears fall.

utterly exhausted, you stay slumped on the floor in dean's arms when your tears dry up. you can barely keep your eyes open and your breathing is soft and slow. 

“let’s get you to bed,” dean whispers, hoisting you all the way up as he stands. “sam’ll grab you a glass of water.” you sigh an imperceptible sigh because you know that dean is still pissed at sam. rightfully so, you’re more than just pissed at both of them, but you’re too tired to care in this moment, and the last thing you want is for them to be angry at each other. that’s your job for when you wake up hours from now. 

dean leads you to a foreign room and foreign bed, and you sink down onto the edge of it. sam is back moments later with the promised glass of water and tissues for your face. you cave to your exhaustion, climbing all the way into the bed. you curl up and tug at the covers slightly, eager to fall asleep.

“see you in the morning,” you mumble, effectively dismissing them with your voice hoarse from crying. you close your eyes before either of them can say a thing, not wanting to look them or your remaining problems and anger in the face.but your words are also a whisper of the beginning of forgiveness. 

“goodnight, kiddo,” dean says, his voice full of a familiar affection that he only uses for his little siblings as he presses a kiss to your hairline. he lingers at the doorway before

you drowsily register the sound of sam setting the glass of water on the night stand by your head. “i’m right across the hallway if you need anything.” a moment, then, “goodnight,” and a gentle hand on the side of your head before a kiss to your temple.

you fall asleep coming up with a list of petty ways you’ll have them make things up to you. neither sam nor dean will be pleased to hear that you’re calling shotgun in the impala for the next three months, minimum. sam for obvious reasons, and dean because he’ll know that means you’ll be taking your job as youngest sibling to annoy the living hell out of him very seriously.