#winchester!daughter

[marie-swriting]

I'll Never Leave You - Dean Winchester

Masterlist

Summary : You thought your father, Dean Winchester, would always be by your side.

Warnings : Spoiler last episode of the show!, reader is Dean's daughter, no age mention but reader is a young adult, angst, character death, feeling of hopelessness, loss of a parent, bittersweet ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English isn't my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 4.6k

French version

Song inspiration : Marjorie by Taylor Swift

Laying on your bed, a book in hand and your dog Miracle at your feet, you patiently wait for your dad and your Uncle Sam to come home from the hunt. Since the apocalypses, the wars between Angels, Archangels and God have officially stopped, you took a step back from the hunting life. You still help them with the research but you don’t go on the field as much. You can finally have a normal life - as normal as it can be when your last name is Winchester - and Dean supports your decision, glad to know your future is full of possibilities. 

You��re in the middle of a chapter when you hear the bunker’s door opening. Miracle raises his head while you put your book on the bed. You trot to the entrance where you only find Sam with an emotionless look on his face however you don’t notice it. 

“Was the hunt good? Where’s dad?” you question with a smile.

“Y/N, something happened.”

“What? Did you scratch Baby?” you laugh, yet your smile disappears as soon as you see his serious face.

“No, it’s Dean.”

“What is it? Uncle Sam, what happened? Is dad hurt? Where is he?”

“Y/N, wait,” Sam holds you back as you’re about to leave the room. “You should sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit down, I want to know where my dad is.”

“We found a vampire nest so we went there to kill them but Dean got hurt.”

“Is he okay, though, right?”

Sam stays silent for a long second before speaking again.

“One of the vampires pushed them against a beam and there was a spike. He got severely injured.”

“What do you mean, Sam? Tell me my dad is okay!”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, Dean… he died during the hunt.”

Upon hearing this sentence, the floor crumbles underneath your feet. You can’t believe it. You stay speechless while Sam keeps talking.

“You dad wanted you to know he’s always been proud of you and he loves you. He also told me-”

“No…,” you interrupt him with watery eyes. “Wh-, How-, it can’t be.” you stutter, shaking your head. “He can’t die! He is Dean Winchester. He’s survived so many things. He can’t be dead!”

“Y/N/N, I’m terribly sorry.”

“No!” you scream when Sam is about to hug you. “I… I need…”

You don’t finish your sentence, too stunned to speak. You run to your room, tears rolling down your face, Miracle hot on your heels. You let the dog in the room before locking yourself in. Completely confused, you don’t know what to stare at. Your eyes look everywhere while Sam’s words are echoing in your head: ‘He died during the hunt.’ You choke while big tears stream down your cheeks. You fall to the ground as your heart bleeds. You can’t believe you’ve just lost your dad.

One could think it wouldn’t hurt as much after Dean cheated death so many times, however the pain is still unbearable - if not worse, this time. You grew up with only your dad and your Uncle as your mom died in childbirth. Your family isn’t big but your love for them knows no limit. You had to overcome a lot of loss the past years, whether it was Bobby, Charlie, Castiel or other people, though the pain you felt at their death is nothing compared to what you’re feeling right now. You’re lost, begging in the empty for your dad to come back to you. Miracle has his head on your legs, trying to comfort you; you stare at him and you hurt a bit more.

Dean never wanted a dog, no matter how many times you asked him for one. He always used to say with your way of life, you couldn’t take care of one and above all, he’d say no dog would ever get in the Impala as long as he’s alive. However, the second your life went back to normal, he rescued Miracle. You secretly suspect he’s always wanted a dog and your whim was the perfect excuse to adopt one. When he brought Miracle home, you weren’t surprised to see he was the one he got. Miracle managed to find his way to Dean’s heart since they first met, though he would never admit it… would have never admitted it. 

Dean was finally having the life he’s always wanted, far away from the repeating apocalypses and it was taken from him as quickly as it came. It isn’t fair. You dad doesn’t deserve to die this young and you still need him. You’ll always need him.

You stay with your back against the door and Miracle in your arms for several hours. Actually, you don’t know how long you stayed in this position. You’re numb, time is standing still since your discussion with Sam; maybe only two hours passed or a whole day, you have no idea and you don’t have the strength to check it on your phone. All you want is your dad. You don’t care what time it is or if you need to eat. You just want Dean and his comfort.

You think back to all the times you lost Dean and all the times he came back. There always was a solution. There must be one for this time, too. His time hasn’t come yet. You still can bring back your dad to life, no matter the sacrifice you have to make. You dry your cheeks and stand up. Determined, you leave your room and walk to the library, Miracle following you. You take several lore books you already know and others you’ve never read but could be useful. On the table, you have at least four piles of ten books, yet you’re still motivated. You could read thousands of books, as long as you find a solution, that’s all that matters. You take one and start reading it and taking notes with information that might be helpful.

You’ve just finished a whole stack when Sam’s voice snaps you out of your reading, startling you. Sam stares at you, worried while you don’t pay much attention to him before going back to your research. Sam sits in front of you yet, he stays silent. He watches you for a few minutes before speaking.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Alright. I’m gonna give Dean a Hunter’s funeral tomorrow. If you wanna join me.”

“Don’t burn his body!” you exclaim following his information.

“I have to and you know it.”

“No! If you do it, it’ll be even harder to save him.”

“What exactly are you researching, Y/N?” Sam questions, fearing your answer.

“A way to resuscitate dad.”

“Y/N, we can’t do that.” He firmly says and you look at him sternly.

“Why? That didn’t stop you and dad from doing it numerous times before, why would it be any different now?”

“Because everytime we wanted to cheat death, it caused major issues, you know that damn well.”

“Nothing we can’t handle. Dad can’t be dead, not like this, not now that everything is starting to get better. I’m gonna bring him back, no matter the price.” you affirm, opening a new book.

“Even if you have to die?” Sam interrogated, surprised.

“As long as he’s alive, that’s all that matters.”

“Y/N, your dad wouldn’t want you to sacrifice your life for him. He’d want you to live it.”

“It means nothing if he isn’t there.” you say, your lip quivering. “I need him, Uncle Sam. I have to bring him back.”

“We can’t.”

“We damn well can! We can find a solution.” you argue before having an idea. “I’m even sure if we asked Jack, he’d do it. After all, the current God likes us more than the last one, we’re his family.”

“Y/N, we can’t save him, not this time.” Sam insists, making you angry.

“If you don’t want to save your big brother who sacrificed everything for you, that’s your problem, as for me, I’m gonna save him, so either you help me or you leave me alone.”

“It’s time he rests in peace, especially after everything he went through.”

“Because of everything he went through, he deserves to live without worrying about Lucifer, God or another Archangel.”

You look at Sam, sure of yourself. Sam doesn’t reply right away before weighing pros and cons and admitting to you: 

“Dean specifically asked to not be brought back to life because he knew too well the consequences, so respect his wish.”

“He was dying, he didn’t know what he wanted. Now, leave me, I have lots of research to do.”

Defeated, Sam sighs before leaving the library. He sees how desperate and in denial you are. He just hopes you’ll realise very soon bringing Dean back is dangerous and useless. Though he fears you’ll realise it too late and you’ll suffer even more. Either way, he promised Dean to be there for you and that’s what he’s going to do. Whether you want it or not, Sam will stay by your side to comfort you the instant you’ll accept Dean’s death.

The following day, Sam gives Dean a Hunter’s funeral alone. He tried to convince you to come but you refused, preferring to lose yourself in your research. Sam wished he could have done the funeral later, fearing you might regret it later for missing this last goodbye to Dean, unfortunately, it had to be done as soon as possible. 

Sam worries more and more for you. You’ve completely shut yourself out. You only read books in the library and do more advanced research on the internet without sleeping or eating. He brings you food however you almost never eat and you pull all-nighter after the other, despite his disapproval. He doesn’t know what to do to help you. He knew you’d be devastated when he told you Dean’s death but he didn’t expect this reaction. 

A few weeks later, the situation hasn’t evolved, except that now you’re locked in your room and not in the library as a way to avoid Sam. You’re still mad at him for not wanting to help you save your father. You don’t understand how he can be this passive. Your father would have done everything to bring back Sam if the roles were reversed, you’re sure of it.

You finish reading the last book you took from the library when you have an idea. You think you know where to look, except you didn’t see the book when you rummage through all the shelves or you would have started with this one right away. Just in case, you go through the mess that is your room now before going to the library and checking everywhere four times. You try to remember where it might be when a memory comes into your mind. You saw it last in your dad’s bedroom a few weeks before his death. You haven’t stepped a foot there since Dean’s last hunt. You just can’t. You’d like to, though. Normally, whenever you’re feeling down, you go find your dad in his room so he can comfort you.

However, if you went to his room now, you’d face a loud silence and you can’t face it.

Reluctantly, you end up walking slowly to Dean’s bedroom. You stay in front of the door for some time, pondering if you should go in or not. You don’t know if you’re ready to enter his room but on the other hand, you need this book, it might be the solution. You take a deep breath and open the door. The corridor light penetrates the room and you can see the bed which is made, his music collection and the book you’re looking for on the desk. You turn on the light and take big steps to his desk, wanting to leave the room as soon as possible. However, you don’t do it. On the desk chair, you find one of your dad’s shirts. You get teary eyes as you take it and bring the piece of cloth to your nose. You smell the familiar scent and you burst into tears in one second. You wish Dean would come to his room and tell you not to steal one of his tapes like you usually do. Everytime he’d admonish you, he’d pretend it bothered him when in reality, he loved knowing he passed on his love for classic rock to you. His bedroom is now all that’s left of him and you don’t want to lose this place, even the most insignificant piece of scrap such as the menu from the burger place a few miles away is now of an inestimable value. Your eyes fall on a piece of paper lying in the middle of the desk. Carefully, you read it and find it’s an application to become a firefighter on which you can see his signature with his name on the bottom of the paper. You sob when you think back of the first time your dad confessed to you he would have loved to be one if he hadn’t been a hunter. 

It was a few years ago during a fall morning, Dean had woken you up early. Too early. At 4:00 A.M. to be specific. He had woken you up because he wanted to have a father-daughter day. This was how you found yourself in the Impala this early while you were still mentally sleeping and your dad was happy to spend the day with you.

“You know, a father-daughter day can start at 10:00 A.M.,” you complained, yawning.

“You’re not gonna regret waking up early, trust me. We’re almost there.”

“It better be amazing or during the next roadtrip I pick the music.”

“Hell no! You know the rules.” Dean refused.

“Yeah, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole, whatever. I deserve some compensation!”

“I got you some donuts.” he exclaimed, showing the pink box at your feet.

“It’s a good start.”

A few minutes later, you arrived in front of a lake. Dean told you to get out of the car and to lean on the hood with the donuts in hand. Despite the morning breeze, you started eating while watching the sunrise. The sky was a beautiful amber colour and it was reflecting on the lake, making the scene even more stunning. It was peaceful, save for the birds which were waking up.

“So, wasn’t it worth it?” Dean asked with a smirk. 

“Ok, you were right and besides, the donuts are delicious. I didn’t think of you as a fan of watching the sunrise.”

“I can be interested in nature!”

“Stop it or next thing you know, you’re only gonna eat salad like Uncle Sam.” you answered with a fake fear expression on your face to which Dean rolled his eyes.

“The fact is we’re having a great time as a father and daughter, away from all the supernatural threats.” Dean said, holding you close to him.

“True.”

“And like this, I can make it up a little bit for the father I am.”

“You don’t have to make it up. You’re a great dad.”

“No children should grow up like you did, like I did. I always promised myself I wouldn't make the same mistakes as my father and here you are in the middle of all this crap between two High School periods.” He grumbled, avoiding your gaze.

“Do I have to remind you I started hunting because I followed you, not because you forced me to?”

“I’m still mad at you for that. You shouldn’t have followed us when you didn’t even know what you were fighting, it could have ended badly!”

“The fact is I saved your ass from some werewolves.” you retorted with a proud smile.

“You especially got lucky. I didn’t know what I would have done if you had gotten hurt.”

“I learned from the best, nothing could happen to me.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. With Sam, we always got ourselves out of those messes just on time. I don’t like knowing you’re part of the hunting life.” Dean confessed with sad eyes.

“I chose it. You always give me a way out and I never take it because I like to hunt.”

“Maybe, but I wish you had the opportunity to lead a normal life, you deserve it.”

“I might not hunt my whole life, I don’t know for sure. For now, it’s what I want to do, though. To be honest, I don’t even know what I’d do if I weren’t a hunter. Besides, you deserve a normal life, too, you know.” you affirmed, firmly.

“It’s too late for me. And I’m not made for the apple pie life but it can be different for you.”

Your heart broke in your chest upon hearing your dad saying this. You wish his life had been different, that his dad had given him the choice when he was younger. Dean might have kept everything buried inside yet, you could read him like an open book. No matter what he affirmed you, you knew your dad wished for a calmer life.

“What would you have done, if you hadn’t been a hunter?” you randomly asked.

“What do you mean?”

“If you had the apple pie life, what would be your job?”

“I don’t know.” he replied but you didn’t believe him.

“You’re telling me you never thought about it ? You’re lying. I can totally see you in a job where you help others.”

“I would have loved to be a firefighter.” Dean confessed after marking a pause.

“You would have been a good firefighter, I’m sure of it. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll have your chance?”

“I don’t think so. I made up my mind I’ll always be a hunter and besides without hunting, I would have never met your mother and you wouldn’t be here so I’m grateful for this life.” he affirmed with a genuine smile.

“You’ll always be here, right?”

“Always.” he promised.

You kept watching the sunrise while talking about more random topics, you particularly complained about some teachers and Dean shared his High School experiences - while leaving behind some details as to not be a bad influence. 

The rest of the day, Dean taught you how to drive Baby, something that didn’t happen often. You were so happy to see your dad trusting you this much. You carefully listened to Dean to avoid making any mistakes. Dean, as for him, loved sharing this knowledge with you, despite having some anxiety over Baby potentially being injured at any given moment. After that day, this place by the lake quickly became your father-daughter spot.

In hindsight, you realise to what extent Dean could have lived the life he wanted. He was probably going to go less and less on hunts so he could do the job he always loved and his chance at a normal life has been ripped away from him. After everything he went through, he deserved this chance. 

Furthermore, you become aware you’ll never have a father-daughter day again where Dean wakes you before the sun so you could enjoy every instant. Had you known, you would have made sure to memorise every second of your last day. All of these memories are part of the past and you can’t bear the idea of it. You can’t stay another day away from your dad, you’re desperate and you must save him. You keep the shirt in your hand while you close the door then, you pray to Jack, looking up.

“Please, Jack, if you can hear me, you have to help me. I’ll bother you only this one time, I promise. I won’t ask for anything else. I just need my father, you have to bring him back. Please, help me.”

You keep begging as you close your eyes as if it gave more strength to your prayers. After a few minutes, Jack’s voice saying your name resonates in the room. You open your eyes and throw yourself in his arms. You missed him so much. You quickly considered Jack as your little brother after he was born so the second he took over Chuck, you heart broke. You’re glad to see Jack replied to your call, despite his responsibilities.

“I’m happy to see you, Y/N.”

“Me too, you have no idea.”

“You prayed so we could talk about Dean. Let me tell you, he is in Heaven. He deserves it after everything he’s done.” he informs you with a genuine smile.

“He particularly deserves to live. Jack, I know I’m asking for a lot but he can’t stay in Heaven, he has a life here, he has to live it.”

“I can’t do that and you know it.”

“You’re God now, of course you can!” you exclaim, appalled.

“After everything he’s sacrificed, he can finally rest.”

“No, he can finally live! Jack, you have to save him.” you beg, tears in your eyes.

“I can’t break the new balance we just made and also, he doesn’t want to, Y/N, he knows the price to pay and he doesn’t want you and Sam to pay it, you in particular.” Jack says, calmly.

“You’re lying! My dad would never leave me. Please, Jack, I’m begging you to help me. Whether you do it or not, I’ll find a way but with your help, I’ll cause less damage.”

“My answer stays the same. I’m sorry.” he insists, making you mad.

“Leave. I’ll do it alone. I don’t need you! Leave!”

Disappointed, Jack disappears, leaving you alone in Dean’s room. You can’t understand why no one wants to help you. You’re not asking to bring back a monster, just your father so why is everyone letting you down? Your tears that had stopped rolling down earlier find their way back on your cheeks again in a second. You’re sick of everything. You’re sick of crying. You’re sick of no one helping you. And more specifically, you’re sick of not having your father.

Mentally tired, you end up laying down on Dean’s bed and you hold the shirt close to you, hoping it’ll bring you some sense of comfort. You keep crying until you finally fall asleep for the first time in weeks.

A light breeze going over your body wakes you up. You open your eyes, not understanding where it comes from and you find yourself on the backseat of Dean’s car. You just have the time to look up when you see the car door opened and your dad telling you to get out of the car. Surprised, you need a second before jumping into his arms. Dean hugs you back and strokes your back while you pay attention to his shoulders moving at the rhythm of his breath to make sure he’s alive. After a few minutes, you break the embrace and Dean drags you so you can lean against the hood of the Impala which is parked in front of the lake. Dean puts his arm around your shoulder while you put your head against his.

“Dad, is this a dream or real? I’m confused, I haven’t found a solution yet so how can you be here? And how did I get in the Impala?”

“Jack must have found a way for us to meet again.” Dean answers, giving you hope, in spite of himself. 

“So, is it all good? You’re safe?”

“No, sweetheart. Jack and Sam were right when they said I didn’t want to be brought back to life.”

“Why, though? You finally had everything you wanted!” you anger, taking a step back from Dean.

“I can’t keep on dying and coming back to life, I had to die for good one day.”

“Yeah, when you’d be old, very old, not now!”

“I wish it could have been later, too, but it is what it is, there’s nothing we can’t do. Y/N/N, I don’t want you to spend your life trying to find a way to bring me back, it always ends badly. I promise you, I regret nothing, I’m fine and I can finally rest. You have to keep living without worrying about me.” he tells you, calmly.

“But I need you, dad.” you retort, shaking your head. “There’s so much I don’t know, there are so many questions I should have asked you about the supernatural, what I’m supposed to do, on how to be and even more questions I haven’t thought about yet. It’s too hard without you.” you say, your voice breaking.

“You’ll be okay, I know you will. You’re a fighter, a Winchester. I’m proud of you and the woman you became, I hope you know that.”

“Uncle Sam told me, yeah.”

“Don’t push him away. He tries his best to support you while respecting what I asked him.” Dean tenderly states.

“You told me you’d never leave me. You promised you’d always be here.”

“And I meant it. I’ll always be by your side even if you don’t see me. I’ll never leave you and when the moment comes, we’ll meet again.”

“I want us to meet again now.” you cry and Dean takes you in his arms.

“I wish we could but we can’t. I’m sorry we didn’t have much time together. I love you, sweetheart, never forget it.”

“I love you, too, dad.” you say before breaking the embrace. “I’ll apologise to Uncle Sam, I shouldn’t have yelled at him.”

“He isn’t mad at you, I’m sure of it. It’ll be okay, don’t worry.” he says, kissing your temple. “Come on, let’s enjoy this moment. Donuts?”

A small smile finds its way to your face as soon as he hands you a donut. You take it and eat it, enjoying this precious moment. Mentally, you thank Jack and apologise to him before focusing back on the lake illuminated by the sunrise until you slowly fall back asleep.

The second you wake up, you’re in Dean’s room again, his shirt next to yours. A single tear streams down your face yet, this time, this tear isn’t only for the pain of losing your dad. This tear is full of sadness, yes, but also of joy as you got one last goodbye. This tear rolls down because you know Dean’s death is still affecting you notwithstanding, he’s right, he can’t be brought back to life and you have to accept it. You know that despite everything, he’s still all around you.

You look at the clock on the nightstand and discover it’s still early and the sun is still rising in the sky. You take one of your dad’s jackets in his closet and leave the bunker with Miracle who woke up when he heard you. Outside, you admire the dawn, your heart pinching in your chest a little. No matter how many sunrises you’ll have to live without Dean, you promise yourself to have at least a day during the week where you’ll wake up early and think about your dad. You want to keep him alive in your head and for this, you want to keep the traditions you had when he was still there.

The day officially started, you grab Baby’s keys and drive downtown, more specifically to the Fire Academy. You enter the building and wait for your turn at the reception. As soon as it’s your turn, the woman tells you to come closer and asks what you need.

“I’d like to apply to be a firefighter, please.”

The woman gives you some information and papers to fill and when she’s done, you thank her and go back to the Impala. Sat on the driver seat, you look at the papers with a bittersweet smile. Though you don’t see Dean, you know he’s here, right next to you, happy to see you officially quit the hunting life and realise your dreams and his.

Masterlist

[yourmomxx]

Father of Mine

father of mine masterlist

summary: All Dean Winchester ever wanted was to protect the people he loved. Sometimes, in order to do that, he had to make hard decisions, Lisa and Ben were the prime example. Years after making another one of those hard decisions, he has to come back to the place where he had left a piece of his heart - only to be constantly reminded of what he had to sacrifice in order to keep his family safe.

warnings: canon violence, child abandonment, swear words, angst, daddy issues, character death, throwing up, this is written like an episode of Supernatural

word count: 8,2k

a/n: I’ve been writing this story for … a year now? I think? And I’ve gotta admit, I am so happy that it is finally out. Everything that I write means incredibly much to me, but this story just holds such a special place in my heart and I am very happy to share it now with you guys. I do hope you like it, and, as always, reblogs are very much appreciated because that way the story gets spread to more people! Now, enjoy!

flashbacks are written in italics

pt1 pt2 pt3

Cleveland, Ohio 2002

The bar was crowded with people.

Gruffed men wearing leather jackets and intoxicated women in crop-tops were all sprawled out around an alcohol booth in the middle.

In another corner, currently bathed in purple and orange spotlight, a guy with an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and a bucket-hat was giving a lousy cover of ‘God save the Queen’ by Sex Pistols.

♫ ♪ “Don't be told what you want. Don't be told what you need. There's no future, no future, no future for you!” ♫ ♪

On one of the way too small bar chairs, sipping a burning mix of whiskey and ginger ale, was sitting Dean Winchester, and he was pissed.

Pissed at his stupid father, who was acting like Dean was a 15-year-old with no common sense whatsoever, pissed at the goddamn ghost that had found an incredible pleasure in almost ripping his fingers off his hands, and pissed at stupid Sam for just getting up one day and leaving him - didn’t matter if that had been months ago.

And with every drink that Dean downed, he started feeling more like “Dad can kiss my ass” instead of “Dad has been doing this much longer than you and just knows better”. Meaning, he should probably slow down.

But whatever.

His Dad could kiss his ass.

♫ ♪ “Oh when there's no future, how can there be sin? We're the flowers in the dustbin!” ♫ ♪

“Why, hello,” he suddenly heard a sweet voice next to him say.

Dean turned his head and was met face to face with friendly, glimmering eyes.

Those, just as the voice that had spoken to him, belonged to a young woman who seemed to have just appeared next to him.

He moved his gaze up and down her body.

Apart from her eyes, she had smooth skin, that was covered with glowing sweatpearls, most likely because of the stuffy air around them.

Or maybe, just like Dean, she had had a couple drinks too many.

A few, fine strands of her shoulder-length hair were tousled, likely from combing her hands through it.

He licked his lips. “Well, hello you. With whom do I have the pleasure?”

He was laying on thick and he knew that, but it’s not like he could care about it.

“Gloria. Richards.” She was speaking in a soft, honey voice, and Dean urged himself to focus on her face, and not the way her neck and chest were lightly gleaming from the thin layer of sweat covering them.

“What’s yours?”

Dean Winchester.

But no, that wasn’t his name. Not today at least. If he could just remember what was. And the drinks didn’t exactly make thinking easier.

“Dean Hansley.”

Gloria smiled again.

What a nice smile she had.

"Dean Hansley." She tasted the words, let them burn on her tongue. "That's a nice name."

And then she sat down at the stool next to him, without waiting for him to invite her, and she started talking.

And he talked back with her.

And time went by, and she kept finishing and ordering drinks, that Dean all offered to pay, and she never refused.

By now, the guy in the Hawaiian shirt had been thrown off the karaoke stage, after heavily throwing up into one of the other guest's handbags, halfway through a tedious ballad about life, and love, and its misery.

The only source of music was coming from the colorful jukebox next to the pool board.

A couple drunk-off-their-asses idiots, trying to play billiards, were loudly roaring along to AC/DC’s ‘You shook me all night long’.

♫ ♪ “She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best damn woman that I ever seen!” ♫ ♪

Gloria was still sitting next to him, although a bit closer, and she was sipping at her third drink he had bought her tonight.

And damn, that girl had high tolerance.

Dean thought she was amazing.

“That thing with your family sucks, really.” She scrunched up her nose in slight discomfort.

Dean let out a humorless laugh and took a sip of the whiskey he was still stuck with. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Yes, he had told her about his - family issues. But so what?

It felt nice having someone listening to him for a change. Someone who wasn’t his family, didn’t even know them, and wouldn’t try to disregard his frustration by telling him to ‘put himself in his father’s shoes for once’.

Gloria finished her drink and used the palm of her hand to wipe the sweat off her forehead.

Dean tried his best to not think too much about her knee touching his, her being so close him.

“The air in here is terrible,” she said, heavily emphasizing the last word.

Dean’s attention was turned to her again. He knew she had said something before that, but he hadn’t been able to catch it, too lost in his own mind.

He kind of felt bad for not listening to her.

Dean threw a look around.

“Yeah, it’s getting pretty hot in here,” he agreed, feeling pearls of sweat rolling off the little hairs on his neck.

Gloria looked directly into his eyes, then up his body, down his body, before settling on his eyes again.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Then her lip.

“I mean,” she slowly spoke, “we could continue this conversation somewhere else if you want. Where there’s not so many people and the air doesn’t taste like salt.”

♫ ♪ “You really took me and you shook me all night long! Ooh, you shook me all night long!” ♫ ♪

Hell yeah.

A boyish grin started forming on his face.

“An offer like that - how could I say no?”

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Now

“Read it again for me.”

Dean was staring straight ahead onto the road, his gaze hard and jaw clenched.

Sam sighed and opened the newspaper again, for what had to be the seventh time now since they had first found it.

They were both sitting in the Impala, Castiel in the backseat. The angel could have just flipped his wings and flown to the destination they were headed, but he had insisted to take the drive with them, claiming he had “nothing better to do anyway”.

“St. George, Louisiana,” Sam started to read.

“In the night of Wednesday to Thursday, a young man was found dead in his room in Saint George’s Children’s Home. The 17-year-old Roy Kendall hadn’t come out of his room the first half of the day, and when a woman of the working personnel - whose name has been withheld - came to check on him, she discovered his mutilated body draped out on the bed. According to the police, the young man’s rib cage had been compressed with such force that his ribs were broken and had managed to pierce through the young man’s internal organs, which resulted in him slowly bleeding out internally. Authorities are still in the dark about the exact details of the tragedy and the questions of “Why” and, particularly, “How” something like this could even be possible. The head of the Children’s Care Institution …, blah blah blah.”

Sam purposefully drifted off and ended his reading session therefore. He folded the newspaper back together and stuffed it into the Impala’s globe compartment.

“And that’s it, I am not reading this again. Next thing you know, I’m going to dream about squished organs and ribcages.”

He shuddered.

“I just don’t get it, man,” Dean said, ignoring his brother’s complaints, but he didn’t seem to address anyone in particular.

“I mean, I checked everything, Sammy. No demonic omens, no strategic killings, no recent disappearances. That place was all white picket fences and summer barbecues when we- ”

He was quick to cut himself off.

Sam threw his brother a side glance, but decided to not address his slip-up.

“Well, Dean, sometimes monsters just … turn up, you know.” This time Sam turned his head to get a proper look at his older brother.

“Maybe it’s just passing through, or simply moved there from somewhere else. They aren’t exactly tied to a specific place.”

Dean ran his hand over his face and through his hair in distress. “Out of all places, why there?” He muttered in a low tone.

And again, he was more talking to himself than anyone else.

“I don’t understand.” Cas was suddenly talking from the back seat. “What is in this Children’s Home that is of so much importance to you both?”

Dean was quick to answer a “Nothing,” but Castiel didn’t quite believe him.

Sam turned in his seat to face the angel.

“We were working a case near there a while back,” he simply explained.

Cas frowned, still not quite convinced, but he decided to let the topic rest. For now, at least.

“I understand,” he said. “Then it would probably be of benefit for you to stick with your past aliases. Just in case anyone there should recognize you.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” Dean vaguely answered, but he seemed trapped deep in his own thoughts.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Black Hawk, Colorado 2002

“To listen to this voicemail, call-”

A dial tone sounded. The message was a few months old.

“Hey, Dean, it’s uh … it’s Gloria. You know, Gloria Richards, from a few nights ago?” A humorless chuckle was heard on the other end of the line.

“Though, guys like you don’t usually remember their casual one-night hookups. So I’ll cut straight to the chase.” One heavy inhale.

“I’m pregnant. And I know the chances of you wanting anything to do with me are zero to negative six, but I just wanted to-”

“To delete this voicemail, press 2.”

A tone.

“Voicemail deleted.”

“To listen to this voicema-”

The woman on the other end sounded more outraged this time, even though occasional cracks or hiccups in her voice gave away that she had been heavily crying moments before. Maybe still was.

“Hello Dean, it’s me again. You know, I didn’t expect you to jump up high at the news, but ignoring me?” She scoffed. “That’s a different type of low.”

She sniffled. “I’m just calling to tell you I’ve decided to keep the baby. So you can still change your mind, if you-”

“To delete this voicemail, press-” “Voicemail deleted.”

“To listen to th-”

“Hello, Dean. It’s Gloria. Again.”

This time, she seemed calmer, which could be reasoned with the tiredness her voice was radiating.

“I suppose I’m still kind of hoping that you will call me back. Or even pick up.” She sighed.

“I wanted to tell you that she’s perfectly healthy and growing. That’s right. She. Our baby is going to be a-”

“To delete this-” ”Voicemail deleted.”

John Winchester stared at the small phone in his hand and pressed a button.

“You have no more voicemails.”

That moment, Dean came bursting into the motel room, looking around the empty shelves and patting up and down his jacket- and jeans-pockets.

“Hey Dad, do you know where my phone is? I heard it ringing,” Dean asked.

“Yes, just some spam-callers,” John neatly lied. “I took care of it, but I’m gonna put it out of service, just in case.”

Dean looked at him and for a moment, John thought his son would grow suspicious, but he just nodded. “Alright. Thanks, Dad.”

John nodded and Dean left the room with his bag in hand. When he was certain Dean wouldn’t come back, John took the phone apart and crashed the SIM Card on the nightstand with the lamp.

Then he put the pieces in the bin, took his duffel bag and followed his son to the car.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Now

The St. George’s Children’s Home was somewhat of a small castle, kept in a renaissance style.

Around a large courtyard, archways connected four round-towers, which were slightly higher than the rest of the castle. The walls were painted a pale yellow.

Trees grew in the gardens around the castle, flowers in planted beds, and as far as Dean could remember, there was a hedge maze behind the walls, not visible from the gateway.

They had parked the Impala in one of the parking spaces next to the tall, elegant terrain fence.

Sam and Dean were wearing black suits and their fake badges, Castiel - as always - stuck with the trench coat.

Dean was eyeing the building suspiciously.

In fact, he had been doing so for the last three minutes, in which they had all sat in the Impala in complete silence.

Sam threw a quick, concerned glance at his brother before clearing his throat.

“You really wanna do this?”, he asked quietly.

“No,” Dean answered and opened the car door, “But it’s not like we have a choice, right?”

Sam sighed and did the same, not before exchanging a quick, apprehensive look with Castiel, who still didn’t quite know what was going on.

The castle’s inside was considerably more modern than its outside.

With brightly-colored walls and furniture, and minimalistic decorations all over.

It seemed cozy.

They were headed for the office of the youth center’s director, Maria Whitlock. Dean remembered exactly where that was. Down the hall, left. Past a few closed bedroom doors. Last door at the end of the corridor.

Dean cleared his throat and knocked on the door, Sam right behind him. Castiel had left before they had entered the castle, claiming to look for a suitable Motel nearby, and telling them to contact him if they needed his help.

There was a beat of silence before they heard a woman’s voice reply “Yes?” and entered the office.

Maria Whitlock was an elderly woman, with dark red hair that she kept in a low bun. She was around a head smaller than Dean, and wearing a grey blouse combined with a wine red jacket and a black pencil skirt.

When she heard them enter the room, she looked up from a few papers she was filing, and her face immediately fell.

“Hello, Maria.” Sam greeted her.

“Dean and Sam Winchester,” she breathed out, startled.

“I never thought I would see you two again.”

Dean felt a sting in his chest.

“Yeah, well,” Sam said and tried a clumsy smile. A heavy silence followed, and Dean shifted uncomfortably.

Maria frowned. “Not to seem impolite, but what are the two of you doing here?” She asked.

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly.

“We, uhm, we heard about Roy and we thought that, maybe, we should just check if everything was alright and, of course, speak our condolences. You know, for old time’s sake.”

She nodded and closed the pen. “Yes, right. Roy. I completely forgot that they put that in the paper.”

A look of dark grief fell over her face and her gaze drifted into nothingness. She suddenly looked much older than she was.

Dean cleared his throat. “I gave you my number, Maria,” he spoke. “If you would’ve called, we could’ve been here sooner.”

She blinked rapidly, pulling herself out of her thoughts and looked at him for a second before she replied.

“I know, I know, but to be honest - it slipped my mind, in between all of this … chaos and tragedy.”

While she was talking, she got up from her chair and walked around the table, getting a clearer view at Sam and Dean.

“Of course,” Sam hastily said. “No worries. We are very sorry for your loss.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Dean was glad that it had been Sam who had spoken up. He wasn’t very good at that sort of things. Nor did he aspire to be.

“You said you were here because of Roy’s …. passing,” Maria continued, and the brothers nodded.

“But that would mean that this was some sort of - unnatural incident.”

Sam swallowed hard.

“Well,” he started, trying to find the right words that would not trigger a breakdown for the woman, “we saw the article in the newspaper and thought that we would just have a look at it. The circumstances of Roy’s passing aren’t exactly common for a person his age, after all.”

Or for any person, really.

She nodded lazily. “Yes. I suppose you are right.”

Dean could swear that another minute of awkward silence between them would probably kill him, so he took it upon himself to prevent it before it started.

“I get that this is hard, Maria,” he said, “But if we could maybe ask you some questions? Maybe speak to the person that found him?”

She sniffled.

Oh dear God.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Her voice was a bit higher than before, and her hands grabbed for a handkerchief lying on the table.

“Uhm, the woman who found him was one of my responsible supervisors, Betty Langston. She should be present in the building today, but the last time I spoke to her, she was still pretty shaken up. I mean, who can blame her? I can’t even imagine what it must have been like, seeing that poor boy lying on his bed, just- ”

She broke off and a sob escaped her lips, before she buried her face in the kerchief.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, “I’m sorry, it’s just - he was such a kind boy. He had his whole life ahead of him. And the way that he had to go…”

She raised her head and shook it, eyes reddened and filled with tears.

“I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.”

“We understand, Maria,” Sam spoke in a comforting, low voice.

And Dean added, “And I promise we will find whatever did this and make sure this happens to no one ever again.”

She forced herself to a smile.

“Thank you, boys. May the angels be with you.”

Dean forbid himself a snort.

“Thank you for your time, Maria. We will let you know when we know more,” Sam said and left the office.

He wouldn’t risk making her cry again by bothering her with questions about her dead fosterling.

Dean smiled at Maria and turned to follow his brother, but she stopped him.

“Dean.”

He turned to face her.

“You do know that it won’t be possible for you to investigate here, without … encountering a certain someone.”

Dean straightened his shoulders.

“Yes, I know.”

“Have you thought about it? What you will say to her?”

“Gotta admit, I haven’t.”

She hummed and nodded. Dean noticed that she had resumed her usual upright position, and if he hadn’t just witnessed it, he probably would not know that she had been crying.

“I should warn you,” she said gently, “It probably won’t be easy.”

“I honestly didn’t expect it to be.”

She smiled a gentle smile at him and he returned it, before finally leaving the room and joining his brother in the hallway.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Lewiston, Michigan 2004

The first time he had read it, John Winchester had been drunk. He had spared a quick glance at it after coming home from a bar, before throwing himself onto the motel bed and passing out.

The second time he had read it, he had been sober, but suffering from a skull-splitting headache.

The third time he read it, it was simply to make sure his hungover mind wasn’t making any of this up. But no, the words on the newspaper stayed the same, grinning up at him with a sickening smirk that made his stomach turn.

In the small corner of the left page, where the lesser important news were usually placed, throned the bold-printed, black words:

24-year-old woman dies in tragic car accident, leaves 1-year-old daughter behind

No. God, no.

He read it again. Read the headline, read the article, the name that had been shortened but to him unmistakable: Gloria R.

R. Just like Richards. Gloria Richards.

There was a picture placed right next to the text, held in color, of a young woman that was clearly putting on a smile for the camera.

John slammed the newspaper on the round table.

“Damn it!” He yelled.

And in that moment, John was grateful that Dean had offered to go on a coffee run.

—

He was ‘going on a quick hunt’. That’s what he told Dean.

He was ‘going on a quick hunt and if anyone needed anything, they should contact Dean’. That’s what he told Bobby. And everyone that reached his voicemail.

Cleveland, Ohio. That’s where he was going. He had some business to attend to.

—

Central Nebraska

To say that Ellen Harvelle wasn’t delighted about John Winchester showing up inside the Roadhouse would be quite an understatement.

She was furious.

John paid attention to enter the wooden cabin carefully. He didn’t expect Ellen to be pleased by his sudden presence, especially considering their last encounter with each other.

It was a random Wednesday afternoon, and there wasn’t anyone seated in the Roadhouse, except for Ellen herself, who was busy cleaning the bar with a half-wet kitchen towel.

The brunette woman looked up for a quick second, as a form of formality, before she dedicated her attention back onto the dirty surface.

“I’ll be with you in a secon-” Then she realized. Stopped. Did a double take.

“Winchester.” The word was dripping from her lips with loathing.

“Hello, Ellen,” he started, but she cut him off.

“What do you want?” Her question was blunt and her tone cold and unwelcoming.

John cleared his throat and stepped from one foot to the other. He had to sell his story good, if Ellen wouldn’t get on board with his proposition, he had nobody else to go to.

“Look, Ellen. I get that you’re mad- ”

“Mad?” She let out a short, sour laugh.

“Mad doesn’t even begin to describe what I am feeling towards you, Winchester. Try hatred. Pure disgust.” She scoffed again.

“You must have a death wish, because I couldn’t think of any other possible reason why you would drag your dumbass out here again. ”

John swallowed hard. She was right. Who was he to just show up here again? After what happened?

But there was no turning back now, he had to go through with this.

“You’re right.” He spoke in a low tone to try and seem less intimidating and also attempt to soothe her temper towards him.

“I am sorry about what happened, Ellen. If I could go back and do it any different, then I would.”

A lie. She knew that. He knew that she knew that. Still - she didn’t interrupt, just kept glaring at him, so he decided to continue.

“But unfortunately, I can’t. And I know you have every right and reason to hate me now.”

Agreeing and empathizing with her.

“But there is something extremely important that I need to ask of you.”

Again, he didn’t have much time to talk, before Ellen raised her voice.

“You damned son of a bitch!”, she yelled, tossing the kitchen towel onto the counter with such force, the leftover water splashed around.

“You ain’t got no right walking in here, after what you pulled, and ask a goddamned favor of me!”

Her voice was loud in the silence of the Roadhouse and John lifted his hands up in defense.

“Ellen, please! Listen to me!”, he pleaded. Ellen wasn’t yelling at him anymore, but her jaw was still clenched and her entire body tense.

“I wouldn’t be here if I had any other options. Like you said, I must have a Deathwish to show up here. And I understand that. But you are the only person that I can trust with this. You can toss me out all you want after. You can yell, and scream, and punch me, and shoot at me. Just please, hear me out first. ”

There was silence, where John just stood there, his hands still raised in the air in front of him, and Ellen grinding her teeth as she thought about what to do now.

Because by God, did she hate him. And a part of her wanted to take a rifle and first shoot a bullet into his feet and then his di-

But on the other hand, she could not recall a time that John Winchester had ever gotten himself into a position to beg.

No, he was too proud for that. So whatever he wanted must be goddamn important for him, really.

“Tell me what you need, Winchester,” Ellen said eventually, “And let me decide afterwards.”

Her body language didn’t show one sign of hospitality still, but John interpreted her words as somewhat of a good sign.

Hopefully.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Now

After their talk with Maria, Sam and Dean settled on questioning Betty Langston.

In the middle of the wall in the entrance hall, a big frame with the pictures, names and duties of the working staff was hung up.

Above the name ‘Betty Langston’ was a picture of a friendly looking woman in her mid-twenties, with a pointed nose and blonde strands of hair framing her face.

Underneath, the duties “Social Worker” and “Deputy Manager” were listed.

When they knocked on the door which was labeled “staff”, a young man opened and told them that Betty Langston was currently positioned on the second floor.

Dean wanted to take the elevator, but Sam dragged him up the stairs.

“It will be faster,” he guaranteed, and Dean just rolled his eyes with a groan.

The hallways on the second floor were surprisingly wide, with doors placed across each other in a zig zag pattern.

Here and there were a few paintings on the walls, old and new, and green neon signs pointing toward the emergency exit.

They met Betty after they turned around the first corner. She stood in front of a pinboard and was currently hanging up new posters.

Her hair was different from the picture, slightly longer now ending halfway down her back, and copper colored with only a few blonde highlights.

The brothers made their way over to her and flashed their fake FBI-badges when she let off her work and shifted her attention to them.

“Hello, my name is David Shields, my partner’s name is Jarvis Stark,” introduced Dean. “Are you Betty Langston?”

The young woman gaped at them, slightly caught off guard. “Uhm yes, that’s me,” she eventually got out and lowered her arms. “What can I do for you?”

Dean caught a glimpse of the writing on the poster. It was a few phone numbers, and in dark blue, a text above read: ‘DON’T HESITATE TO ASK FOR HELP!’

“We’re here to ask you about Roy Kendall,” Sam carefully approached, “We understand that you are the one who found him.”

Dean couldn’t help but notice how Betty Langston’s eyes shifted to the floor and she nervously trailed her fingers up and down the paper in her hand.

“Um yes, I … I found him.” Her voice got small and she swallowed hard.

“But what does the FBI want with that? I thought it was a wild animal.”

“Given the unusual occurrence of Roy’s death, we thought it necessary to at least have a look at this case and find out what we can,” Sam said.

“That doesn’t have to mean anything, though,” Dean quickly tried to soothe her when he noticed the tears springing in the woman’s eyes. “Exactly,” Sam hastily agreed. “Only a few questions, just in case.”

Betty nodded and blinked away her tears. “Okay,” she quietly said. Sam reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out his notebook and a pen.

“Did Roy mention something … I don’t know, unusual before he died?” Sam asked, clicking the pen and bringing his notepad in position. The young woman hesitated.

“Well, not that I know of,” she eventually said, “But, you see, kids at that age … they don’t talk to us adults much anymore. If you want to know something about Roy, you better ask his friends.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “His friends?” He repeated. She nodded. “Mhm.”

“And, uh - who are his friends, if I may ask?” Sam tuned in again. Betty thought for a second and then clicked her tongue. “Well, there’s Cassandra, Cassandra Claire,” she said and started counting the listed names on her fingers. “And, uhm, Finnegan Beckett.” Sam repeated the children’s names under his breath as he quickly wrote them down.

“And Y/N Winchester,” Betty finished.

Sam abruptly stopped writing at the ‘n’ and looked up. He felt Dean visibly tense and shift next to him.

The younger brother just put on a smile and folded the small notepad back into the inner pocket of his jacket. But not before completely writing out the last name on the list.

“Thank you so much, Miss Langston, you helped us a lot. We will let you know if there are any more questions. And, our condolences,” he added.

She shyly smiled back at him and slowly continued gathering thumbtacks to hang up her posters, and the brothers left.

Sam waited until they were out of hearing range, then turned to Dean. “So…that was something,” he carefully started.

“What do you mean?”

Sam threw him a look. “You know what I mean. The witness list. Roy’s friends. That last name…”

Dean sighed heavily. Sam waited for him to say something. And when he didn’t, Sam just shook his head but decided to not stress it any further.

“So, where to now?” He asked instead.

Dean took a look at his watch. “The morgue, I’d say. As far as I know they’re closing soon, and a dead body is not exactly the first thing I need to see in the morning, so-”

Sam nodded in agreement. “Yeah, alright. Sounds good.”

They made their way out of the castle.

“You want to take Castiel?” Sam questioned when he rounded the car.

“No,” Dean decided firmly and opened the driver’s door. “Remember what happened last time? Exactly. I don’t need Cas smelling some dead guy again.”

Sam grinned at the memory. With a creak, the Impala gave in to their weight as they sat down, and the gravel gnashed under her tires when they drove off.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Central Nebraska 2006

Roughly, the dark minivan tuckered over the bumpy earth of the pathetic excuse of a road, and Dean’s insides flinched with every squeak the old car made.

When they finally came to a stop, he tossed the keys somewhere and maybe slammed the door with a bit more force than necessary. A lot more.

“This is humiliating,” he grumbled, as he took in the atrocious excuse of a vehicle they just stepped out of. He missed his Baby.

Sam ignored him, and stepped forward, towards the old wooden – house? Shack? – the mysterious phone number on their dad’s cell had led them to.

The huge letters ROADHOUSE flaunted above them, and Dean thought that these were probably made to light up when the sun disappeared.

The rest of the house looked abandoned, frankly, from the outside, and that, in combination with the four-month-old voicemail, made Dean not like his odds very much. The chances that this Ellen chick was still alive, knowing what his father had needed her for, were slim in his mind.

Or hell, maybe she just called from here, got the phone from some rando, and got on her merry way when she realized John wasn’t calling back. It’s probably what he would’ve done.

Safe to say, Dean didn’t like their odds. Even less so when they entered the eerie quiet of the bar, and spotted a man lying unconscious, probably dead, on the pool table.

Dean felt his shoulders stiffen. He didn’t like this one bit, and every second he spent here made the alarm in his head shrill even louder than before.

Dean only just turned to take a closer look at one of the shelves, when he felt something hard dig into his lower back, and heard an all too familiar clicking sound.

Dean closed his eyes. “Please tell me that is a gun.”

“No, I’m just very happy to see you,” came the fast answer from a very snarking - and female? - voice.

In one swift motion, Dean whirled around, grabbed the barrel, ripped it out of his attacker’s hand, and uncocked it. The bullet fell to the ground with an echoing clatter.

Dean almost smirked triumphantly at the blonde girl in front of him, when he felt a sudden, blinding pain in his face.

And if Dean had thought pulling up in a 30-year-old, barely functional van, of all things was humiliating, he didn’t calculate how it would feel to be absolutely sucker punched by a girl, not even as old as him.

Aside from the obvious nosebleed, his ego took a severe bruise.

“Sam! Little help here!” He called, hand still holding his hurting face.

The door swung open, and Sam walked out, hands raised to his head, a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry Dean,” he said, “I’m a little tied up right now.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, as he watched another woman with dark brown hair follow his brother close behind, a revolver held to his head in fair warning.

He would be impressed, if his vision wasn’t swimming right now.

The older woman behind Sam furrowed her brows. “Wait, Sam? Dean?” She asked, exchanging looks with kick-ass Blondie in front of him. “Winchester?”

There was a beat, before the brothers pressed out a unison “Yeah?”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Mom, you know these guys?” Dean’s head hurt with how much he was swinging it around to keep up.

“Yeah, I think these are John Winchester’s boys.” And that made Dean perk up.

The woman let out a laugh as she lowered her weapon.

—

A few minutes later, Dean was served with an iced cloth for his nose, and he and Sam seated themselves on a few of the bystanding bar chairs.

The brunette woman, who had threatened Sam, turned out to be the mysterious Ellen, whose voicemail on their dad’s phone they followed here. Jo, her daughter, and also the kick-ass blonde that had held the rifle to Dean’s back, looked about as unknowing about the whole situation as the brothers did.

Turns out Ellen had contacted John about the demon he was hunting. Said she could help him with it. Why John had never mentioned her, or her daughter, she didn’t say. Told them to ask him themselves. Dean didn’t say anything to that.

“So why exactly do we need your help?”, Dean asked, repositioning the cloth on his face.

Ellen scoffed. “Hey, don’t do me any favors. If you don’t want my help, fine.” There was a snarking edge to her voice, and Dean started to realize why his father would associate with her.

“Don’t let the door smack your ass on the way out,” she continued. “But John wouldn’t have sent you, if–“

There it was.

Ellen stood straighter. A haunted look crossed her eyes. “He didn’t send you.” It wasn’t a question.

Dean looked away.

“He’s alright, isn’t he?” Dean hadn’t known Ellen Harvelle for very long, but even he could sense the way her voice wavered. And know that she was a smart enough woman to not truly believe what she was asking.

“No.” Sam cleared his throat, and the simple word echoed through the deafening silence. “No, he’s not. We think the demon did it. Got to him before he got to it.” The thankful feeling of not being the one to have to tell her what happened felt like a sin in Dean’s gut. Then again, what’s one more on his plate.

“I’m sorry,” Ellen said. It’s what everyone said.

“It’s alright. We’re good.”

Ellen didn’t believe him, he saw it in her eyes. But she didn’t bother him more about it, either.

“So, look, if you can help us,” Sam said, and Dean threw him a look that showed just how much he wanted to smack his little brother across the face, “we’d be real happy about all the help we can get.”

Ellen’s lips twisted. “We can’t help you.”

Is this lady for real-

“But he can.”

And then the dead man stood up from the pool table.

—

Ash was a tech freak, with a haircut like Billy Ray Cyrus and the mouth of a southern cowboy. Jo called him a genius. Dean didn’t know what to think of that.

Still, he had passed him their dad’s journal, told him to go nuts, and Ash had drooled over John Winchester’s handiwork like a child over a lollipop.

Ash had left with the journal and the promise of new information in the time of fifty-one hours.

Dean thought that was long enough time to take a drink.

Jo Harvelle was a pretty woman. When she wasn’t threatening him with a rifle or punching him in the face, that was. Her soft, blonde curls fell long over her shoulders, and those jeans did wonders to her curves.

Dean started conversing with her. While he had moved to one of the tables, Sam had stayed with Ellen at the bar. He found out that her father died, a long time ago. In the back of his mind, a mean voice cackled at the irony. He paid his sympathies.

Then, suddenly, one of the doors to the backrooms flew open, and a small whirlwind of colorful fabric and y/h/c hair came dashing into the room.

“Aunty Ellen, Aunty Ellen! Look what I made!”

Dean’s head whipped around at the sound of the high-pitched voice and he spotted a small girl, not older than five years probably, squeezing herself behind the bar table. When he noticed Ellen bowing her head, he figured that the little girl had probably reached her destined spot next to her.

Dean, though he would never admit it, was an easily curious person, so he followed Jo on her way to the bar and leaned slightly over the tablewood to catch a glimpse at the small intruder.

Little Lady was tugging at Ellen’s pantleg, and expectantly holding up a colored paper for her to look at.

“Look at what I drew, Auntie Ellen!” she repeated, in that same excited tone as before, when she had stormed into the room.

Dean watched as Ellen abandoned her washcloth somewhere behind her and crouched down to meet with the little girl eye-to-eye, as she inspected her drawing.

“That’s so amazing, baby, is that us?” The girl nodded, her pigtails wiggling up and down as she bopped her head enthusiastically.

“Yes, that is you, and that is Jo, and that is me. And look, I made my own fingerprint!” She dashed her finger into a spot on the paper, and then proudly held up the red-colored tip to shove it in Ellen’s face.

The woman had a wide, genuine smile on her face. “I can see that, baby, well done, it looks so nice!” She praised. “How about we hang it up there next to the menu?”

The girl nodded her head again, and let Ellen scoop her up gently. Only then, when Little Lady was at height with them, she seemed to notice the strangers standing in the room.

In the matter of a second, Dean saw her whole demeanor shift from bubbly and open, to a more closed off version, sinking further into Ellen’s embrace and clutching the fabrics of her shirt. Something about it made Dean’s heart sting.

“Auntie Ellen?” The girl tried to whisper, but Dean had learned soon that children were terrible whisperers, “Who is that?”

Ellen looked first to Sam, then Dean, and back at the little girl in her arms. “Those are friends of Jo and me, sweetheart. Their names are Sam-“ Dean’s little brother gave a wave and a smile when Ellen introduced him. “-and Dean.”

Dean grinned and carefully stretched his hand out. “Very nice to meet you, Little Lady. Who am I speaking to, may I ask?” He laid a formal accent on his voice, one that he knew had always made Sam laugh when he was a child. It was an olive branch, but something in him hoped she would grab it.

The small giggle that Little Lady let out made Dean’s heart bloom with a warmth he didn’t know he was able to feel.

“My name’s Y/N,” she said. With a pointed look at Dean’s still outstretched hand, Ellen murmured in her ear, “And what do we do when someone gives us their hand to shake?”

Y/N nuzzled her face into the crook of Ellen’s neck, and Dean almost drew his hand back again, when a small warmth settled into his palm and closed around it.

He smiled at the girl and shook her hand. As they both pulled back, Dean twisted his hand around and huffed. “Ouff, someone has got a firm grip! Your Auntie Ellen teach you that?” Y/N grinned proudly at him and nodded her head. Then she held up her hand and showed him four fingers. “I’m already this old!”

Dean gasped. “Really? Well, that is a great age, no wonder you are so strong!”

Y/N was beaming now.

She didn’t hide in Ellen’s neck again.

“So, what about that picture now?” Ellen bounced the girl on her hip once, and it seemed like she was snapped out of a trance. Determinedly, she pointed at a space next to a hung-up blackboard. Dean figured Ellen usually wrote her daily specials on that.

The woman made a few steps over where Y/N had led her and gestured toward an already hung drawing of blue water and grey – fish? – above it, that was already taped to the wall.

“But we already put a picture there. We would have to remove that one if you want your new drawing to hang here.” The girl shrugged, and already reached for a roll of clean tape on the shelf.

“That’s okay, I don’t like dolphins all that much anymore anyway,” she explained nonchalantly. “I will just put it in my drawing box.”

Dean watched as Ellen carefully picked the old drawing from the wall to make space for the new one. He was so caught up in the scenery, he almost didn’t notice how Sam was scooting closer to him.

“You know who she is?” Sam asked. Dean turned his attention to his brother.

“Well, her name’s Y/N,” Dean answered simply. Sam didn’t roll his eyes at him, but it was a close call.

Dean just shrugged. “Guess she isn’t Ellen’s. Otherwise, she wouldn’t call her Auntie.” He pitched the last word high, to mimic the child’s voice.

Sam furrowed his brows as they watched Ellen and the small girl.

“Makes you wonder,” he said, “What she’s doing here.”

Dean just hummed. He made brief eye contact with Y/N, as she stole a look in his direction, but she averted her eyes quickly, as if she had been caught.

Dean found himself slightly smiling.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sam looking at him. His brother was grinning.

“You love that kid.” It was a statement.

Dean scoffed. “Oh, shut up, I don’t even know her. Also, I love kids, plural.” He added.

Sam nodded, that smile still on his lips. Dean ignored him.

“Come on, ask him. Don’t be shy.” Ellen and Y/N had finished putting up her drawing and were now standing closer to them again. Ellen was still carrying the girl on her hip and had bent down to whisper to her.

Y/N had buried her face in Ellen’s shirt again, clearly shy to say something.

“He ain’t gonna bite you,” Ellen said, nudging her. “Go on.”

Y/N lifted her head, and shyly looked at Dean. Her eyes were flickering all over him, but never exactly to his face.

“Doyouwantodrawwithme?” She spluttered. Dean’s eyebrows shot up.

“Don’t think he understood that. Try a bit slower. You can do this, come on,” Ellen encouraged her.

Y/N clutched her shirt.

“Do you want to draw with me?” She asked, head lowered and looking at her fingers. Her voice was quiet, but to Dean it felt as if she had shouted that sentence.

He felt warm inside. “Of course I want to.”

Y/N’s head shot up, and Dean Winchester had seen many beautiful things in his lifetime, but the gleaming eyes of that small child before him had to be at the top of the list. He never wanted to look at anything else.

Ellen set her down and pointed at a table in the corner of the room.

“Her colors and paper are already set up. Every day, before we officially open,” she explained with a look at Dean, and he nodded. While Sam got comfortable on one of the bar chairs, he made his way over to where Y/N had already set up her coloring tools and begun drawing on a piece of yellow paper.

Her tongue was sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. Dean pulled out a chair and sat down next to her.

“What are you drawing?” He asked, stretching his neck to take a closer look. Y/N leaned back and showed him her creation. Lines of red and yellow. Maybe a tomato? An apple? He turned his head. From that perspective maybe?

“It’s Lighting McQueen!” Y/N told him triumphantly. “I saw cars with Jo.”

Dean nodded. So no apple. He also wasn’t going to point out the girl’s grammar. She was only four after all. And who was he to talk.

“How did you get that?” Y/N suddenly asked, and pointed her small finger at Dean’s forehead, right where a big scar stretched over his skin, consequences of the fatal car accident.

Dean tried his best not to wince. He didn’t need to expose his lingering trauma to this pure soul.

“I was … in an accident,” he said instead. “But I’m okay and it’s almost healed now.”

The girl nodded. Dean was almost astounded at how easy it was with her.

“Whenever I hurt myself, my Auntie Ellen takes me to the Doctor. Or Jo. Or Ash.” Her face scrunches up as she thinks hard. Dean thinks it’s adorable. He finds himself smiling again.

“They always give me colorful plasters! I always get the dinos.” She leans in closer to him when she says the last bit, almost like it’s a secret she only wants him to hear. Dean’s heart warms at the thought, and he doesn’t even know why.

“Really? I’m jealous. I think dinosaurs are amazing.” He used the same hushed tone she had before. Y/N’s eyes widened. “You don’t get dino plasters?” She asked. If Dean hadn’t known better, he would’ve said she was outraged at his confession.

He shook his head. “Nope,” he said, “only boring beige ones.”

Y/N’s eyes widened even more, and her mouth fell open. Then, her lips curved into a beaming smile. “I can give you some of mine! Jo bought me so many the last time she went shopping!”

Before he could even give it a thought, Dean felt her small hand take his, and he was yanked from his seat. Geez, how did a four-year-old kid have so much strength?

His enthusiasm was short-lived, as Sam shouted from the other side of the room.

“Dean, Ellen got us a case!” His little brother was waving around a beige folder, a few newspaper pages hanging out at the sides.

He looked at his brother, then at the girl still clinging her small hand around his fingers.

“Does that mean you have to leave?” Dean’s heart clenched at the quiet, disappointed voice. He crouched down and looked Y/N in the eye.

“Yes,” he said, honestly. “ I have to go to work.”

She tilted her head. “To save people?” She asked. Dean nodded. He didn’t know how she knew, but maybe Ellen told her.

“Yes, exactly. But I will be back soon, and then you can show me your plasters, alright?”

Y/N seemed to think about it, and then nodded her head. Her pigtails were still wiggling up and down. “You promise?” She asked.

Dean nodded. “In fact,” he said, shifted his weight, and held out his pinky finger in front of her. “I pinky promise.”

Y/N grinned up at him. Dean grinned back. She linked her small finger with his.

“Can’t break a pinky promise,” Dean said as he stood up.

She shook her head violently. “Never!”

Dean laughed and waved her Goodbye.

“Let’s go,” he said to Sam as he passed him, and grabbed his jacket.

“Bye, Ellen, Jo.” Sam lowered his voice seriously. “Y/N.”

“Bye, Sam! Bye, Dean!” Y/N waved her hand after them.

“Good luck,” Ellen said. Then they closed the door behind them. The light of the sun was a heavy contrast to the dusky air inside the Roadhouse, and Dean’s eyes needed a while to adjust to the change.

He made his way over to the abomination car, Sam close next to him. His brother bumped his shoulder.

“Plural, huh?” Sam asked, smirking.

And if Dean sped the van up a bit faster, just to give his little brother a good scare now and then, well, that was between him and the Lord above.

[retromotherfuckers]

When the Sun Sets: Prologue

Characters:

morgan winchester (OC), sam winchester, dean winchester

Warnings (for entire story):

SPN typical violence, so so much suppressing of emotions, vague mention of SA, depiction of torture, a very pro-torture main character, vague mention of not eating for a while, slight suicidal ideation, SPN typical alcohol abuse, spoiler warning up to the end of season 10, following canon stops after the end of season 2, but things are definitely going to be mentioned

Word Count:

350 (roughly)

A/N:

hiiiiiii, i started something new instead of finishing what i’ve had in the works for FOREVER. but what else is new? the chapters will be wayyyyy longer than this fyi. this will probably be around 5 parts long (not including this)

Rural, country roads used to bother Mo at night. There was something about the pitch black atmosphere that was suffocating to the young girl. Where flat lands swallow the sky, leaving nothing but an empty unease, and limited streetlights flickered like candles.

If left in solitude for too long, the darkness would send her adrift. Currents taking her further and further from those that kept her grounded, not letting her come back. She'd stay stuck thinking of what is, what should and will never be. Maybe, if she'd allow it, tears would begin to stick to her lashes and stain her cheeks. Maybe, she'd let them fall into her lips to feel the comfort that was the taste of salt, a piece of her childhood.

Maybe, everyday when the sun began to set, she'd lose herself in an endless ocean of grass-covered cow shit.

Just as often, however, the guttural rumble of an immaculately cared for engine would snap her back to shore like an act of God. The hard rock she used to hate playing through the speakers as if its goal was to make it impossible to think.

No one gave a crap about that Chevrolet Impala when it rolled off the line in the plant in Janesville on April 24th. They should have, though. That 1967, pre-owned, under appreciated vehicle would turn out to be the most important hunk of metal in the entire universe.

Or, at least, that’s what it was to Morgan and her family.

Their story began on November 2nd, 1983. The day Mary Winchester burned to death. Or, to be more specific, was murdered. John, her husband, had vowed to hunt down whoever did it and take them down, no matter the cost.

But when the cost became the lives of all three of his children, where’s the point of return?

But this is Morgan's story. And when the pitch-black atmosphere she used to be so scared of becomes the color of her eyes, she has to ask herself a question.

“Why were you so afraid of the dark?”

[virtu4l-di4ry]

from dean’s perspective “i need you’ is bigger than “i love you”. love is complicated but it’s direct, he could love someone without having them in his life. but need? dean “mr. dependent, guarded walls up so high, emotionally unavailable” winchester needing someone? thats huge. to need means to give them control. to need means i cant do this without you. love comes easy to dean but to genuinely need something and be selfish enough to ask for it? that goes against everything he’s been conditioned into believing.

[the-mpreg-guy]

the hill that i will die on is that cas would have never said he loved dean if he had to deal with the consequences of it afterwards, meanwhile dean (who was SUPPOSED to tell cas he loved him in the original crypt scene script) would have eventually worked up to saying it without external pressure

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

The Safest Place

Sam and Dean & little sister!reader, John Winchester & daughter!reader

Synopsis: John has to tell you (4) about monsters, and you don’t take it well

Warnings: none, it’s short and sweet

“And that’s what me and Sammy and Dean do. And that’s why we move around all the time, and why you can’t go to work with me, and…” John swallowed. “Kiddo that’s why you don’t have a mom. Demons took her.”

Dean couldn’t watch. He didn’t even want to listen. He’d wanted to keep you from the truth for so much longer, but you were so much more nosy than Sam had been. You went through John’s journal and asked about all the monster pictures you saw in it, you asked John countless questions about the guns and the newspaper clippings and…and everything. But it was more than that—you were also clingy. Clingy to the point where you’d sneak out and try to follow either John or your brothers when they went out to hunt monsters. After a close call with a vampire where you snuck into the Impala then almost got yourself killed, John decided that enough was enough. You wouldn’t last long in this life unless you had a healthy fear of the supernatural. So that’s what John had to give you.

“What if demons take you?” Your quiet whimper finally had Dean looking up. You were shaking, blinking up at your dad as if waiting for him to say that it was all a joke and monsters weren’t real.

“The demons aren’t gonna take me,” John promised. “That’s why we hunt. So they can’t take anybody else.”

You didn’t respond, so John reached down and picked you up, laying you down on his bed and tucking you in.

“Get some sleep, kiddo.”

…

John fell asleep quickly, but Dean could hear you tossing and turning even as he struggled to settle down himself. He was always the last to fall asleep, and having to share a bed with Sam since there was no pullout couch wasn’t helping.

Because of his insomnia, Dean was the first to hear your feet padding on the motel carpet as you slipped off John’s bed and tiptoed your way over to Dean’s.

“De?” Dean could tell you were crying from just the one syllable. “De, I need help.”

Dean rolled over to see you standing at the edge of his bed, your arms stretched out for him. Dean pulled you up onto the bed without comment, and once his arms were around you you refused to let him go.

“I don’t want the demons to get me, De,” you sniffled.

“Hey—“ Dean tightened his arms around you. “—I’m not gonna let any demons get you, ok?”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Sam whispered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Demons are scary, Sammy,” you whimpered.

“Oh honey…” Sam disentangled you from Dean’s arms and cradled you in his lap.

“How do I fight demons?” You rubbed at your eyes.

“Hey, you don’t have to worry about that,” Dean said. “I don’t ever want you thinking about it. Me and Sammy and Dad are gonna get those demons, ok? Nobody’s ever gonna hurt you.”

“Yeah, and you wanna know what the safest place is?” Sam asked. You nodded firmly. “It’s right about…” Sam laid back down, and Dean followed his lead. “Here.” Sam positioned you in between himself and Dean, tucking you under the covers and keeping one arm over you. You latched onto his arm, your tiny hands wrapping around his fingers.

“Nobody can hurt you here,” Dean promised. “Me and Sammy and Dad won’t let them.”

You reached your hand out for Dean, and he responded by putting his arm over Sam’s, so you had both of your brother’s arms protecting you.

You were asleep in minutes.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz @johannelis2302nely @studiogrimm810

[sammygender]

girlcoded sam readings are like. his arcs are so tied up with control and bodily autonomy and sexual assault and otherness and cleanness and a desire for freedom and rebellion against oppressive masculine forces to the point where an examination of his show-long arcs looks like a thesis on The Female Gothic. he’s never afforded the respect or the power of characters like john and dean and is in fact narratively punished whenever he isn’t subservient to them. both the show itself and the fandom surrounding it treat him like dean’s bitch wife. he is textually compared to female characters multiple times, by the narrative and by dean.

and then meanwhile girlcoded dean readings are like. Eldest daughter core! (his father handed down ultimate control over every aspect of sam’s life once he died like a family heirloom)(he is THE patriarch). Yes he does the cooking yes he does the cleaning (which he doesn’t even…. and even if he solely did all the housework how does that make him Girl Coded unless it’s being delegated exclusively to him like its his role and he’s punished for not conforming to it… which is not happening…).

like girlcoded dean readings rely on stereotypes about women in real life. girlcoded sam readings rely on noticing how much the narrative constructed around sam falls into tropes used in fiction almost always about women. even things like his psychic powers! the way people are always swarming around trying to ‘corrupt’ him! the fixation on his purity and innocence! the two readings are very different things

[dustycathedrals]

A House In Nebraska — 🤍🪵📼

[ellieslittleburrow]

Resuested by @outof-spite : was wondering if you could do a winchester bros & little sister! reader where theyve been arguing constantly lately, and reader is usually combative and always argues back but, this time shes just over the arguing so she just gives up trying to argue with them and kinda goes mute?

Warnings : family fights, yelling

Pairings : Sam/Dean Winchester x sister!reader

A/N : Sorry for the late postt ❤️❤️

-----

Things happen, right? Misunderstandings, judgement, reproaches and blame, all of them, the worst thing that could happen to a family, more importantly-right now-to yours.

Back from a hunt gone bad, you heavily lay in the backseat of the impala, your feet hung over the left window while your head rests over the opposite side of the car.

"Hey-get your feet off my damn leather." A complaint you've heard one too many times, and one you usually fight but- this time, as a sigh leaves your lips, you uncross your legs and bring them down, consequently lifting your upper body to sit up. An avertion from your side that's different from your usual habits, causing the car to fall into heavily loud silence.

And although it is loud with almost audible thoughts and anger, you still enjoy that while it lasts.

And it fucking doesn't last, in fact, just as soon as you entered the motel, another sentence commenced by Sam sent Dean into a fury, and just as things heated up, you found yourself in the middle of it all-again-

"Hey!!-" The shout is directed at you, this you know and choose to disguard. You would answer but- your body is fatigued and so is our mind, answering seems to lead to no vail. You answer, he fights you, you all go to sleep and wake up forcebly normalizing things, as if your throats aren't sore and your brains aren't fried.

"Hey-i'm talking to you-"

The words sound more bitter this time around, and you find yourself reluctantly lifting your gaze up . You look at Dean, slow and undetermined, exhausted.

"I asked you why you did that-You could've waited for us. I know you said there was no time le-" Dean pauses. "And fucking answer me when i talk to you-"

You shrug, causing a choking gasp out of Dean. His eyes widen and he leans forward. "Are you-Is she provok-are you-"

You throw your jacket over the bed, disdain discerned in your every move and you flop on the bed, unaware of the sudden tension that-again- suddenly settles in.

But the thing is--You don't care anymore. You haven't enough energy to get you to fight them once more, neither to explain or defend yourself. Too damn fucking tired is what you are at the moment-Too damn tired of it all.

"Kid?"

You rest your hand over your forehead, closing your eyes in an effort to soothe your aching muscles, and maybe suck in a little more patience.

"Kid."

Your stomach tightens and soon, you'll recess into a bawling mess, so you get off the bed and pick up your jacket.

Please don't lead to another fight, please..You just want it all to be ov-

"What's wrong?"

You shrug once more, shaking your head to motion that all is fine before heading for the door. But Sam comes your way, blocking the door and you blow a long sigh.

"Come here"

Sam grips both of your arms and swiftly-you find yourself glued to his chest. But all happens all too fast-why would he suddenly get all feely- and before you even realize it, you find yourself pushing against him.

"'im sorry-i'm sorry."

A lump builds up in your throat and as flashes of the past few weeks occupy every single space in your brain, your breathing increases-just as it gets harder to breathe. Just the thought of it all_

Your eyes are slowly flooded with warmth, announcing the tears gathering at your eyes. You need to leave. You need to go.

You choke on a sob.

You can't do this anym- "I know, honey. I've been there. I know." And with that, another sob loudly escapes your throat and a whimper follows.

"i've been there with Dad, i didn't realize we were doing that to you-i'm sorry. I see you. I really am sorry."

You shake your head as your cries fill the room, getting increasingly louder the harder Sam rubs your back. But that's not what you need. Not for them to see you-but for them to fucking stop.

"We'll stop. We'll talk. I promise."

You pull away from him, skeptical of a promise you doubt he can hold. And just as you're about to process that, Dean speaks.

"I'm sorry too." His honest tone makes you sigh. This isn't.what.i.want.

"Sam and i are sort've used to it- we lost sight of the fact that it wasn't affecting just us, but you as well. I really am sorry." Sam looks into your eyes and you slightly lean back, averting your gaze.

"It must've been really stresstful for you the past few weeks." Taken aback by his words, you pull your chin away from his hand and turn around, wiping at your tears before resting your hand against your forehead.

"we're sorry, kid."

You shrug, still mistrusftul. Mistrustful but hopeful. Because Sam and Dean are different, fights and bad things might accure but no matter how disconnected from each other they might be, they always come back to each other. And you are no different. You know them well enough.

Your silence is apprehended as anger. "Okay..We understand, we'll leave."

But it's not anger and it's most certainly not hatred. So you envelop Sam again and bury your face in his chest.

Maybe that'll be enough for him to understand?

His surprise manifests through his still figure. "Thank you, honey." That surprise quickly dissipates and he hugs you back. "It..."

"it's going to be okay, honey. We'll make it okay."

------

I hope it isn't too cringe or too cliché because like-who would say sorry in under a minute. But yeah anyway much love sorry byyiii 🍁🍁🍁❤️❤️❤️

[newwavesylviaplath]

[winchestergifs]

STACKEDNATURAL ⇉ 182/327 (part 2)

7.13 The Slice Girls Written by Eugenie Ross-Leming & Brad Buckner Directed by Jerry Wanek Original Air Date: February 3, 2012

[curly-fry-3]

texts for my Dean Winchester x teen! daughter! reader (he would 100% spell TikTok like that)

[snowaftermidnight]

redrew preacher's daughter with sam winchester as a christmas gift for my sister and she said i should post it here too :p

[castiwls]

brother, brother - d.w

Paring; dean & sister!reader

Synopsis; John Winchester was never a great father but where he failed someone else stepped up

Warnings; none

Notes; this has been sitting in my drafts for ages omg

masterlist

You smiled at your brother as he appeared beside you, beers in hand. He passed one to you as he took a seat on the bonnet beside you. “Thanks.” You smiled before taking a sip. Your brother nodded before taking a sip of his own drink. 

“Remember how dad flipped the first time dad caught you drinking? Man, I think I saw fire in his eyes.” Your brother chuckled turning his head to take at you. “Oh yeah. I think that was the first time I ever faced his wrath.” You joked bumping shoulders with him. “I think I was too drunk to truly care to be completely honest.”

“You were a mess. I spent most of that night awake in case you were sick.” He shook his head. “Then you actually were sick.” He rolled his eyes. You grimaced slightly. “Please don’t remind me,” You took another sip. “Being sick on the floor in front of my younger brother was bad enough. I think I traumatised Sam that day.” 

Dean laughed. “Traumatised Sam!? It was me who had to clean it up, missy.” He exclaimed. “And I was very thankful you did.” You joked before looking out into the empty field. 

Your childhood was a touchy subject. Something which all three of you chose not to talk about unless necessary. Growing up you’d always known that your home life was less than normal, that your dad never acted in the way you saw dad’s on the TV act.

As you’d grown up you’d simply come to the conclusion that maybe John Winchester was never meant to be a dad, sure for the first two years of your life he’d played the part but even then you knew it wasn’t perfect. 

“You look like you're thinking quite hard there, you okay?” Dean bumped his shoulder with you drawing you back into the present. “I’m fine, just thinking…” You trailed off looking down at the drink in your hands. You felt your brother wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

You both fell back into a comfortable silence for a moment before you turned your head to face him “You were more of a father to me than he ever was,” You smiled at your brother “Just so you know.”

Dean pressed a kiss to your forehead before resting his head on top of yours.

[wom-womp]

I KNOW conservatives hate to see them and their third dad Sam coming

(I wanted to pick a dif pic for Cas but I think that pathetic photo fits better with the "Religious Trauma Dad" archetype)

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

A Father’s Love?

Sam Winchester & daughter!reader, Dean Winchester & niece!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: You (9-10) are left alone with your dad, who currently is missing his soul, and it doesn’t go well

Update: part 2 is here

“Uncle De, please don’t go.” Your voice was low as you tried to keep your dad—who was in the bathroom—from hearing. “I-I don’t wanna be alone with him.”

Dean felt awful for leaving you like this, but he had no choice. You hadn’t been comfortable with Sam since the moment you’d found out he was back—the same time Dean did. You’d been living with Dean, Lisa, and Ben, and when Sam revealed that he’d been back all along, you instantly didn’t trust him. Dean had been angry, sure, but somehow he just hadn’t seen what you had—that your dad wasn’t really himself.

Of course, eventually the three of you—including Sam, who hadn’t been sure what was wrong with him—discovered the truth: he was soulless. As soon as Dean find out, he felt horrible for not understanding your hesitance before. Now that he knew, he tried to avoid leaving you alone with Sam whenever possible, especially since he didn’t really trust Sam without a soul.

But sometimes it was unavoidable.

“Kiddo, you know I don’t have a choice,” Dean said.

“I don’t like it here with him,” you insisted, refusing to let go of Dean’s sleeve. “He-he’s like daddy’s evil twin or something.”

Dean swallowed. “Sweetheart, he’s not evil, ok? He’s just a little weird right now.”

“Daddy’s weird,” you argued. “This guy is bad.”

Dean ran a hand over his face.

“Baby, please. You know I have to go. He’s gonna be good, I promise, and soon enough he’s gonna be back to regular-old dad, I swear.”

Dean left without another word, and the silence that hung in the motel room was deafening.

“Dean left?” Sam asked as he exited the bathroom. You ignored his question—he didn’t actually care, after all—and you went to sit on your bed. You could feel Sam’s eyes on you as you went. The motel stayed the worst kind of silence as you pretended to read while Sam just stared at you.

“What do you want?” You demanded finally, dropping the book. Your voice was nowhere near as firm as you wanted it to be.

“You hate me.” It wasn’t a question.

“You hated me first.” Unlike Sam, you couldn’t look at him while you accused him. Even without looking at the shell that used to be your dad, you could feel tears pricking at the back of your eyes as you waited for him to speak.

“I don’t hate you,” he huffed. “I mean, I don’t particularly care about you, but I don’t hate you.”

Somehow, apathy was even worse.

“Just leave me alone,” you mumbled. You shouldn’t have been surprised when Sam shrugged and obeyed. You felt your eyes drifting to him as he pulled a beer from the fridge and took it to his bed. His eyes caught yours and he frowned.

“What? You said leave you alone.”

“Dad wouldn’t have listened,” you mumbled, but Sam heard you anyway.

“Well, I’m not your dad,” Sam shrugged. “I’m not Sam, not anymore.”

“Ok.” You turned to face away from him. “Now I mean it. Leave me be.”

But Sam was suddenly intrigued, and he ignored your request.

“You and Dean wanted me to stop pretending to be him. This is just me not pretending.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like you,” you said, your eyes downcast.

“Exactly, and I don’t like you either. I mean, you’re kind of a brat.”

“I told you to leave me alone,” you said, finally looking up.

“You beg Dean to keep you with him all the time like I’m gonna hurt you or something, it’s pathetic.” Sam seemed to be getting a real kick out of finally saying all that he’d been thinking over the past few weeks.

“I said leave me alone!” You yelled at him, but he didn’t listen.

“I mean, I remember caring about you when I was that other guy, I just…I just can’t remember why.”

“Go away! Leave me be!” You were on your feet now, shoving and pushing at Sam, but the giant man didn’t even flinch.

“I mean your just a little pest!”

“Stop it! Just go away!”

Crying, overwhelmed, and so unbelievably hurt, you started to slap at the guy who used to be your dad, smacking his neck, his face, whatever you could reach. Suddenly, Sam wasn’t having so much fun anymore.

“Hey!” Though your slaps had little effect on him, one harsh blow from Sam had you flat on your back, dazed and breathing hard. You could still feel the impact of his palm against your cheek, and you couldn’t scramble away from him fast enough.

“If you’re gonna give it out, you should be prepared to take it,” Sam muttered gruffly.

You were on your feet in an instant, and you were out the door before you’d even made the decision to leave.

“Hey!” You could hear your dad—no, not your dad—following after you, and you barely made it five steps out of the room before his arms were around you and dragging you back in.

“Stop it!” You were crying now, and you couldn’t remember when you’d started. “Let me go!”

“If I lose you, Dean’s never gonna help me,” Sam grunted, shoving you back into the room and closing the door behind him. “So how about we all just calm down here.” It wasn’t a request; it was a command. “You don’t hit me, I won’t hit you.”

That would’ve sounded reasonable enough, if not for one thing—your desperate smacks to his skin had done nothing to him, they hadn’t even hurt, but you could already feel the side of your face swelling where he’d hit you. But you didn’t argue with Sam. You didn’t even speak. You just sat on your bed and turned your back on him, pulling your legs up to your chest and burying your face in your knees so you could cry in peace.

Sam left you alone for several minutes, but his sudden hand on your shoulder had you flinching back violently and scrambling away from him.

“Would you calm down?” Sam huffed as he let go. He was holding out a frozen bag of peas. “Put this on it.”

You took it hesitantly and slowly pressed the cold bag to your face.

“Look…” Sam’s hand was back on your shoulder, only now his giant fingers were right at the junction between your neck and your shoulder, and they were squeezing way too hard. “Dean would kill me if he figured out what happened, ok? And he certainly wouldn’t be helping me anymore. So maybe…maybe you just tell him you fell in the shower or something, ok?” He said it like a question, but the grip on your shoulder and the ice in his eyes told the truth; he expected you to lie to Uncle Dean, and you didn’t know what he’d do if you didn’t.

“Ok,” you whispered, and his hand was gone in an instant.

“Ok,” he said firmly.

Then he turned his back on you and left you alone to cry.

…

The swelling was down by the time Dean returned, but you’d looked in the mirror long enough to see a black and purple bruise forming along almost one whole side of your face.

You resisted the urge to run to your uncle the moment he stepped in the door—if you acted scared, he would figure it out, and Sam would be mad. Instead, you stayed where you were with your head down, your hair covering most of the bruise.

“Hey,” Dean greeted. “You guys ok?”

“We’re fine,” Sam said simply. You’d been hoping that he would lie for you, so you didn’t have to, but he seemed content to leave things quiet.

“You sure?” Dean was watching you now, noticing your uncharacteristic silence.

“I’m ok,” your voice was hoarse from crying, and Dean wasn’t fooled.

“What’s wrong?” Dean was in front of you in an instant, brushing your hair behind your ears. His hand recoiled when he saw the bruise. “What happened?”

“I—“ you looked up to face Dean, and your voice caught in your throat when you saw Sam staring daggers at you from behind your uncle’s shoulder. “I f-fell.”

“Fell?” Dean frowned.

You nodded. “In-in the shower.”

“Sam.” Dean’s voice was dangerously quiet. “Out. Now.”

“Me?” When had Sam become such a good actor? He looked as innocent as ever. “What did I do?”

Despite his acting, Dean wasn’t buying it for a minute.

“Get out! I need to talk to her alone.”

The moment Sam was out the door, Dean was tilting your chin up with a feather-light hand at your chin.

“He hit you, didn’t he.” Dean wasn’t asking.

“I fell,” you lied, the tears in your eyes giving you away.

“Don’t lie for him,” Dean pleaded. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t kick him out,” you pleaded. “We-we have to help him get his soul back. This isn’t him, Uncle Dean.”

“I know it’s not,” Dean sighed. “But I need you to be safe.”

“I’ll be safe when my dad is back.”

…

“You stay away from her.” Dean didn’t give Sam a chance to speak when he let him back into the room.

“Fine.” Sam was done lying—it hadn’t done any good.

“And if you ever touch her again, you’re gone, understand?”

Sam didn’t look happy, but he couldn’t argue.

“I understand.”

…

You slept in Dean’s bed that night—you hadn’t shared a bed with your father since he came back soulless—and Sam went out to do whatever it was that he did while you guys slept. Apparently being soulless meant you didn’t sleep.

“Are you ok?” Dean asked. “And don’t lie to me.”

“It doesn’t hurt so bad anymore,” you mumbled. “I just…I just miss him.”

Dean pulled you into his arms as you started to cry.

“I know, sweetheart. I miss him too. We’re gonna get him back, ok? I promise.”

“Ok Uncle Dean.”

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