𐔌 . ⋮ bella .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

꒰୨୧◞ 。bella⠀.ᐟ⠀bellaspnn⠀₊ ˚⊹

ɞ⠀.⠀17 ﾉ⠀she.her ﹗ ໒꒱۪

. this is a blog for supernatural oneshots // wincest dni !!!

SUPERNATURAL: supernatural masterlist ⋮ moodboards

TRACY WINCHESTER: tracy masterlist ⋮ character intro ⋮

IMPORTANT: request guidelines ⋮ about me

───── the youngest winchester𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

supernatural oc / she.her ﹗ ໒꒱۪ ───── black sheep of the family, fur coats, vanilla scent, dean blunt on repeat ᯓ‎𝄞 ˎˊ˗ rabbits, winter, glittery eyeshadow. silver blades & whiskey 𑣲⋆

TRACY MARIE WINCHESTER was never supposed to exist in the way she does now, too soft for the life she inherited, too gentle for the world that raised her, and somehow still standing in spite of both. the youngest winchester grew up in motel rooms and back seats and places that never stayed home for very long, raised less by her father and more by two brothers who learned parenthood before they ever got the chance to be kids themselves.

she becomes a hunter the way some people become weathered by the sea, not all at once, but gradually, inevitably.

she learnt to shoot before she knew how to tie her shoes. she learnt how to read danger in a room and swallow fear before it reaches her face. she notices when people are hurting. she forgives too easily, but she still believes in softness in a world that rewards hardness.

summary: when four year old tracy discovers a ladybug outside a motel, she becomes determined to protect her tiny new friend.

pairing: dean winchester x little!sister, sam winchester x little!sister.

tracy winchester masterlist // navigation // requests

warnings: none.

notes: sorry for the inactivity lately, i’ll get to your requests soon ♡ (this was for a request but i think i accidentally deleted the persons message by mistake!)

the morning air outside the motel was cool and soft, carrying the faint smell of wet pavement from the rain the night before.

dew clung to the long grass edging the parking lot, glittering like tiny beads of glass.

sam stood by the impala’s trunk, sorting through duffel bags with quiet, methodical movements, while dean leaned against the driver’s side door, sipping from a paper cup of terrible motel coffee.

inside the open doorway, tracy squatted on the concrete step, still dressed in her oversized pink shirt and socks that were already damp from the ground. her curls were a tangled halo of golden spirals sticking out in every direction, and her little eyebrows were drawn together in concentration as she stared intently at something below her.

dean glanced over.

“whatcha doin’, sweetheart?”

she didn’t look up.

instead, she whispered, “shhh… she’s walking.”

dean exchanged a look with sam, half amused and half curious, before pushing himself away from the car and wandering over with slow, easy steps.

“what’s walking?” he asked, taking another sip of coffee.

tracy pointed, her tiny finger hovering over the concrete.

a bright red ladybug crawled slowly across the cracked step.

tracy’s face immediately lit up with a grin so wide and genuine that dean felt something tug warmly in his chest.

“she’s red,” tracy whispered, as though introducing someone important. “and she has dots. she’s pretty.”

“she is,” sam agreed softly as he joined them, crouching beside her. “very pretty.”

the ladybug paused, its tiny wings lifting slightly.

tracy gasped.

she immediately cupped both hands around it protectively, careful not to touch it.

“careful, bug,” she whispered to the ladybug as though it could understand her. “the ground is cold.”

dean snorted.

“yeah, well, it’s a bug, sweetheart. i think she’s used to it.”

tracy looked up at him with such serious disappointment that dean immediately knew he had somehow offended her brand new friend.

“no,” she said firmly. “she needs help.”

before either brother could respond, she scrambled to her feet and darted back into the motel room, her socks slapping lightly against the floor.

sam blinked after her.

then chuckled.

“oh boy,” dean muttered. “whatever she’s doing, it’s gonna involve a mess.”

a few moments later tracy reappeared carrying one of the motel’s clear plastic cups, still wrapped in thin plastic.

she tore the wrapping off, dumped out the folded napkin inside, then carefully lowered the cup over the ladybug.

when she finished, she looked up at her brothers with all the pride of someone who had just solved a major world crisis.

“now she has a house.”

dean raised an eyebrow, slightly amused by her efforts.

“a house?”

“a ladybug house,” tracy said proudly. “so she can be safe.”

sam smiled.

“well… that’s very thoughtful.”

tracy then carefully slid a piece of paper beneath the cup until the ladybug was completely inside, then lifted the whole thing with both hands as if it were something precious.

“look!” she said excitedly. “she’s movin’.”

dean leaned down to inspect it.

the ladybug was indeed moving.

very slowly.

and probably very confused.

“well,” dean said, “looks like you made a friend.”

tracy’s chest puffed out proudly.

“yes. her name is ruby.”

sam immediately choked on his own spit.

dean whipped around to stare at him before looking back at tracy in horror.

“ruby? kiddo, no. absolutely not. we are not naming things after demons.”

tracy blinked.

confused.

“but ruby is a pretty name.”

“we’ll think of another one,” sam said quickly, patting dean’s arm before he could launch into an entire lecture. “how about… dot?”

tracy considered this with great seriousness.

after a few seconds, she nodded.

“dot.”

“dot the ladybug.”

and just like that, dot the ladybug became her loyal companion for the rest of the day.

she carried the cup everywhere.

into the motel room.

back outside.

she even tried to put it on the impala’s backseat before dean immediately intercepted.

“absolutely not. bugs don’t ride in baby.”

tracy pouted but accepted the rule, settling for keeping dot on the motel nightstand while she colored.

every few minutes she would hold the cup up to sam or dean and excitedly report dot’s latest accomplishments.

“she walked in a circle.”

“she climbed the side.”

“she’s takin’ a nap.”

to tracy, every tiny movement was something extraordinary.

every little thing dot did felt like magic.

sam listened with patient smiles, genuinely interested.

dean pretended not to be charmed.

(he absolutely was.)

every time tracy wandered over with an update, he would lean in to inspect the cup, nod thoughtfully, and offer his expert opinion.

“well look at that. real athletic little bug you got there.”

or—

“yep. very impressive. definitely fbi material.”

as the afternoon slowly gave way to evening, sam crouched beside tracy.

“hey, sweetheart,” he said gently. “ladybugs belong outside, remember? they need fresh air and leaves.”

tracy stared down at the cup.

her expression faltered.

dean knelt beside her.

“we can put dot somewhere safe,” he promised. “i bet she’d like that.”

tracy’s lower lip trembled.

after a long moment, she nodded.

“okay… but we gotta say goodbye.”

together, they walked outside into the warm golden light of sunset.

sam found a patch of tall grass near the edge of the lot, and dean crouched beside tracy while she carefully lifted the cup.

for a moment, nothing happened.

then dot slowly crawled out and disappeared into the grass.

tracy watched until she could no longer see her.

“bye, dot,” she whispered.

dean rested a hand on her small back.

“you took real good care of her, sweetheart.”

tracy leaned sideways until her head rested against his knee.

“yeah,” she murmured. “she was my friend.”

dean smiled.

soft and fond.

“you’re gonna make a lot of friends,” he said quietly. “lucky ones.”

sam glanced at them, warmth spreading across his face.

a few minutes later dean scooped tracy into his arms and carried her back toward the motel.

she was tired, proud, and already growing sleepy.

the rain from the night before had washed everything clean.

but somehow it was tracy’s tiny act of kindness, her gentle little heart, that made the day feel brighter than the sunshine itself, and that night she slept peacefully, dreaming of sunshine, tall grass and a small ladybug named dot.

.　⟢　i’m freaking cold dean!　　˘ ˎˊ˗

summary: tracy learns two things during a hunt in Minnesota: vampires are annoying, and dean winchester somehow functions as a human furnace.

pairing: dean winchester x little!sister, sam winchester x little!sister.

warnings: none x

tracy winchester masterlist // navigation // requests

note: it’s getting so cold where i live!! thank you for the request it’s such a cute idea x

snow had been falling for hours.

not the light, pretty kind either, the wet, relentless kind that soaked through boots, stung your face, and made every street in the small town look equally miserable.

somewhere in northern minnesota, according to sam.

dean’s exact words had been:

“fantastic. another postcard from hell.”

the case had dragged longer than expected, and now the three of them were walking back from interviewing the sheriff, cutting through the town square under strings of christmas lights that would’ve looked nice if none of them were freezing.

well—

two of them.

dean walked ahead like the cold personally offended him but wasn’t actually winning. leather jacket, flannel, no gloves, because apparently hypothermia feared dean winchester.

sam was only slightly more reasonable, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, scarf doing absolutely nothing.

and then there was tracy.

thirteen years old, stubborn, trying very hard not to complain.

her nose was pink, her fingers felt like actual ice, and she’d reached the point where shivering wasn’t even subtle anymore. her whole body gave small involuntary shakes every few steps, shoulders pulled tight as she tried to tuck herself further into her coat.

she thought maybe if she ignored it, it’d go away.

it did not.

dean slowed slightly, glancing over his shoulder.

then again.

his eyes narrowed.

he stopped walking altogether and turned, giving her a once over like she’d personally confused him.

“what the hell is wrong with you?”

tracy blinked at him, teeth almost chattering. “what?”

“you’re vibrating.”

sam made a quiet noise beside them that was definitely him trying not to laugh.

tracy shot him a look before glaring back at dean.

“i’m freaking cold, dean!”

dean frowned like that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard.

“it’s not that cold.”

she stared at him.

actually stared.

snow was actively landing in his hair.

“i don’t have all the insulation you do,” she muttered, gesturing vaguely at… all of him.

broad shoulders. layers. general dean ness.

the second her hand left her pocket and met the freezing air, regret hit immediately.

“bad choice,” she hissed, shoving it back under her arm.

sam laughed outright this time.

dean just looked offended.

“insulation?”

she shrugged, shivering again. “i said what i said.”

dean let out a long, dramatic sigh like raising her had been the greatest burden of his life.

“unbelievable.”

he stepped closer.

for a second, tracy thought he was about to argue more.

instead, he turned to face her fully and just—

opened his jacket.

that was it.

no explanation.

just a silent, deeply annoyed invitation.

tracy blinked once.

then immediately understood.

“oh.”

dean raised an eyebrow. “you gonna stand there and freeze to death dramatically, or?”

she practically launched herself at him.

straight into his chest, cold hands tucked tightly between them as she buried herself against him with a sigh so relieved it was almost pathetic.

“oh my god.”

“yeah, yeah,” dean muttered, wrapping the jacket around her as best he could. his arms folded around her automatically, hands shoved into his jacket pockets so the leather closed around both of them. “you’re welcome.”

she was warm instantly.

or at least warmer.

which, at this point, felt life changing.

“this is the best day of my life,” she mumbled into his flannel.

dean snorted. “your standards are embarrassingly low.”

sam, still standing there in the snow like he was witnessing something sacred, shook his head.

“you two look ridiculous.”

tracy, still firmly attached to dean like a very cold barnacle, lifted her head just enough to look at him.

“you’re just jealous.”

“of what?”

she pointed vaguely from inside dean’s jacket. “this. emotional support body heat.”

dean made a face. “absolutely never call it that again.”

sam smiled despite himself, breath fogging in the cold.

“c’mon,” he said. “before you both fuse together permanently.”

dean started walking again with tracy still tucked against him, moving slower now so she could keep up without losing her human heater privileges.

the christmas lights glowed overhead, reflecting off the fresh snow.

for once, the case could wait another ten minutes.

tracy stayed exactly where she was, warm and safe and listening to dean complain under his breath about winter, minnesota, and probably christmas itself.

she was smiling too much for someone supposedly freezing.

but she figured that was fine.

.　⟢ you know the lyrics too?!　˘ ˎˊ˗

summary: sam just wanted a quiet afternoon researching cases. instead, he ends up witnessing dean spiral after discovering you share his favorite music.

pairings: dean winchester x sister!reader, sam winchester x sister!reader

warnings: none!

supernatural masterlist // navigation // requests

notes: i’ve been so unmotivated lately..but thank you for this request i love it!

the motel room was quiet in the way it only ever got when there wasn’t a case pressing down on all three of you.

no police scanner.

no research books open across the bed.

no arguments about lore.

just the low hum of the motel air conditioner and the soft afternoon light spilling through the thin curtains.

sam sat at the small table with his laptop, scrolling through something that looked suspiciously like law school articles again. dean was sprawled across his bed with one arm behind his head, flipping through the channels on the tv like he’d personally declared war on boredom.

you were on the other bed, cross-legged, digging through a pile of cds dean kept in a scratched black case.

the thing looked ancient.

most of the discs were labeled with messy sharpie.

zepp

ac/dc

metallica

motown mix

you slid one out curiously.

dean wasn’t paying attention.

sam barely glanced up.

you popped the cd into the old portable player sitting on the nightstand.

a few seconds of soft static crackled through the speakers.

then music filled the room.

smooth. slow. layered harmonies.

girl, you know we belong together—

dean froze.

the remote stopped mid-click.

sam looked up from his laptop.

you didn’t think anything of it at first. you just leaned back on your hands, nodding a little to the rhythm.

“this is good,” you said casually.

dean sat up slowly.

very slowly.

“…what?”

you glanced at him. “what?”

he pointed at the speaker like it had personally betrayed him.

“do you know what that is?”

you shrugged. “yeah.”

sam leaned forward slightly, clearly intrigued now.

“okay,” dean said carefully. “what is it.”

you looked between them like the answer was obvious.

“boyz ii men.”

the silence that followed was ridiculous.

dean blinked at you.

sam blinked at you.

dean pointed again. “you— you know boyz ii men?”

“yeah?”

“how.”

you frowned. “what do you mean how?”

sam started smiling already. he could see where this was going.

dean swung his legs off the bed.

“that,” he said dramatically, “is premium early 90s r&b.”

“i’m aware.”

“that is sophisticated heartbreak music.”

“yes, dean.”

“that is not something you just stumble into.”

you stared at him.

“you literally have it in your cd case.”

dean waved that off immediately.

“that’s different.”

sam snorted.

you crossed your arms. “why is it different?”

dean squinted at you like you’d just confessed to a crime.

“because this is my thing.”

“your thing?”

“yeah.”

“dean winchester owns boyz ii men?”

“i discovered them.”

sam laughed out loud at that.

“oh my god,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “dean.”

dean ignored him.

he looked back at you, suspicious now.

“name a song.”

you rolled your eyes.

“i’ll make love to you.”

sam choked.

dean slapped a hand over his mouth, staring at you like you’d just grown a second head.

“nope,” he said immediately. “no. no way.”

“what?”

“you did not just say that with a straight face.”

“it’s literally one of their most famous songs.”

sam was fully laughing now.

“dean, she’s right.”

dean pointed at sam like he’d betrayed the family.

“you stay out of this.”

the song on the speakers shifted into the chorus, the harmonies filling the room.

you leaned over and turned the volume up a little.

dean gasped like you’d committed treason.

“hey! “

“what?” you said, completely unbothered.

sam shook his head, grinning.

“this is the funniest thing that’s happened all week.”

dean stood up and walked over to the cd player like he needed to inspect it personally.

“okay,” he said, pointing again. “name another one.”

you didn’t even hesitate.

“end of the road.”

dean’s jaw dropped.

“sam.”

“yeah?”

“this is unnatural.”

you threw a pillow at him.

“what is wrong with you.”

he caught it, still staring at you in disbelief.

“how long has this been happening.”

“what.”

“this.”

he gestured vaguely between you and the music.

“i don’t know,” you said. “i just like it.”

sam leaned his elbows on the table, watching dean unravel with great interest.

“dean,” he said calmly, “maybe she just has good taste.”

dean whipped around.

“sam, this is my emotional genre.”

“your emotional genre?”

“yes.”

sam rubbed his forehead, trying not to laugh again.

you shook your head and flopped back onto the bed.

“you’re ridiculous.”

dean turned back to you.

“no, listen. you don’t understand.”

“apparently.”

he crossed his arms like he was about to give a lecture.

“this music is important.”

you stared at him.

“dean.”

“yeah.”

“you cry to this in the impala, don’t you.”

sam burst out laughing so hard he had to grab the table.

dean pointed aggressively.

“i do not cry.”

sam could barely breathe.

“oh my god—”

“i don’t!”

you were smiling now, the kind that made dean immediately defensive.

“i’ve heard you,” you said.

his eyes widened.

“when.”

“that time outside omaha.”

“that was a rough night!”

sam wiped tears from his eyes.

“dean winchester. secret r&b enthusiast.”

“shut up.”

the song shifted again.

dean looked back at the speaker, then at you.

his suspicion slowly turned into something else.

pride.

he tried to hide it.

he failed.

“…okay,” he admitted reluctantly.

you raised an eyebrow.

“okay what.”

he shrugged.

“maybe it’s not the worst thing.”

sam smirked.

“high praise.”

dean ignored him and reached over to the cd case again, flipping through it.

“hold on.”

he pulled another disc out.

“if you’re gonna listen to the good stuff,” he said, sliding it into the player, “you gotta hear the real classics.”

you grinned.

sam leaned back in his chair, watching the two of you like he’d just discovered a brand new form of chaos.

the music started again, another smooth r&b track filling the room.

dean nodded along immediately.

you did too.

sam shook his head.

“i leave you two alone for five minutes,” he muttered, “and suddenly we’re in a 90s slow jam convention.”

dean pointed at him.

“don’t act like you’re not feeling it.”

sam paused.

listened for a second.

then sighed.

“…okay, maybe a little.”

dean grinned triumphantly.

“see?”

you laughed.

and for a little while, the motel room didn’t feel like a temporary stop between hunts.

it just felt like music, teasing, and the three of you being siblings.

even if dean still looked mildly offended every time you sang the lyrics before the chorus.

wanted to ask for a story where the character is Dean's twin sister, both the reader and Dean are very overwhelmed with hunting and Sam gives the idea of a day off on their birthday

after Sam insisting a lot they accept and head to a festive city

on the night before their birthday they go out and Dean and reader drink...a lot!

Sam gets crazy trying to take care of them and make sure to keep both in line

a lot of fluff and siblings enjoying each other!!

︵ ⠀✦ㅤִㅤ⠀ BIRTHDAY CHAOS⠀ৎ . ★ ꕀ D.W + S.W

summary: after months of hunting non-stop, sam convinces you and dean to take a rare day off for your shared birthday. but when you and dean let loose in a lively city, the night spirals into chaos!

pairing: dean winchester x sister!reader, sam winchester x sister!reader

warnings: generally none, mentions of alcohol and being intoxicated.

timeline: set during season 3

supernatural masterlist // navigation // requests

note: sorry this took so long! hope u guys like it <3

these past months felt like a clock ticking in a quiet room.

you couldn’t see it.

you couldn’t stop it.

but you heard it in everything.

every hunt. every motel check-in. every time dean got a little too quiet after a kill.

the year hung over all three of you like low cloud cover.

you and dean had always been the same in the ways that mattered, loud when things were easy, reckless when things weren’t. twin symmetry. same sharp edges. same refusal to look too long at anything that hurt.

lately, it felt like you were both running on fumes.

the motel room smelled like old coffee and gun oil. the tv was on but muted, flashing some late-night infomercial no one was watching. you were at the tiny table cleaning a blade that didn’t need cleaning. dean was on the edge of his bed reassembling a gun with more force than necessary.

sam stood by the window, arms crossed, watching both of you like you were about to implode.

it was two days before your birthday.

he cleared his throat.

“so,” he started carefully, like he was diffusing a bomb. “i was thinking.”

dean didn’t look up. “that’s always dangerous.”

you snorted faintly but didn’t lift your head.

sam ignored him. “we’ve been going non-stop. like, actually non-stop.”

“we’re fine,” you and dean

said at the exact same time.

sam pinched the bridge of his nose.

“that,” he said slowly, “is exactly what i mean.”

dean snapped the slide of the gun back into place with a sharp click. “sam, i don’t need a therapy session.”

“it’s not a therapy session. it’s a day off.”

silence.

you finally looked up.

“a what?”

“a day,” sam repeated. “off. for your birthday.”

dean barked a laugh. “oh, yeah. great idea. demons will totally respect that. ‘sorry, hellspawn, can’t exorcise you today, it’s my cake day.’”

but sam didn’t back down.

“it’s one day. we pick a city that’s not currently infested. we stay somewhere decent. no cases. no research. just…breathing.”

you could see the resistance in dean’s shoulders. the idea of stopping was worse than exhaustion. stopping meant thinking.

sam softened a little.

“it’s your birthday,” he said quietly. “both of you. and this year—”

he didn’t finish that sentence.

he didn’t have to.

the clock ticked louder.

dean looked at you.

you shrugged one shoulder, trying to play it off, but your eyes betrayed you. you were tired. bone-deep tired. of pretending this year wasn’t slipping away.

“festive city,” sam added, like he was pitching a vacation package. “lights. music. something that doesn’t smell like sulfur.”

dean rolled his eyes, but the edge was thinner now.

“fine,” he muttered. “one day.”

you blinked at him. “seriously?”

he shot you a look. “don’t make it a thing.”

it was already a thing.

the city sam chose was loud and alive and glowing like it had no idea the world could end at any second.

neon signs reflected in wet pavement. street performers played off-key saxophones. there were strings of lights zigzagging over outdoor patios. music drifted from open bar doors. people laughed without flinching.

it felt unreal.

you and dean both slowed when you stepped out of the impala.

for a second, neither of you said anything.

sam noticed.

“see?” he said gently. “not everything is doom and gloom.”

dean adjusted his jacket like the brightness offended him. “it’s excessive.”

you elbowed him. “you love excessive.”

he smirked. “yeah. when it’s me.”

the motel sam booked wasn’t five-star, but it didn’t have mysterious stains on the carpet. that

alone felt like luxury.

you dropped your bag on the bed and flopped backward, staring at the ceiling.

no emf meter on the nightstand.

no lore books spread across the floor.

no police scanner crackling.

it felt wrong.

dean stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching you.

“you okay?”

the question was casual. too casual.

“yeah,” you said quickly.

he nodded once.

neither of you believed each other.

that night, technically still the night before your birthday. the three of you went out.

sam insisted on dinner first. real food. not gas station garbage. dean made sarcastic comments about overpriced burgers but ate every bite anyway.

you felt lighter with every step away from the motel.

by the time you found a bar with live music and too many colored lights, something in your chest had loosened.

dean ordered the first round.

“to us,” he said, lifting his glass.

“to us,” you echoed.

sam hesitated, then clinked his beer against your drinks.

the first shot burned.

the second didn’t.

by the third, the tension in your spine had dissolved into warmth.

dean’s laugh got louder. yours did too.

you started talking over each other, old stories, stupid memories, impressions of dad, impressions of bobby. at some point you were both half-yelling the words to a classic rock song playing over the speakers.

sam watched the descent in real time.

“okay,” he said cautiously after dean ordered another round. “maybe pace yourselves?”

dean threw an arm around your shoulders. “sammy. it’s our birthday.”

“it’s not technically—”

“midnight’s like, five minutes away,” you slurred confidently, even though it wasn’t.

dean squinted at the clock behind the bar. “time is a construct.”

sam stared at both of you.

“you’re already gone.”

you leaned across the table. “sam. live a little.”

“i am living,” he said. “i’m supervising.”

dean raised his glass again. “to supervisory buzzkills.”

you clinked against him, missing slightly.

midnight crept in unnoticed until the bartender shouted something about last call for the “birthday twins.”

dean froze.

you blinked.

“wait,” you whispered.

the room erupted into half-hearted cheers when dean announced it was official.

he turned to you, grinning wide and reckless and too bright.

“happy birthday, twin.”

something about the way he said it, like it might be the last time. hit too hard.

you swallowed it down with another shot.

bad decision.

from there, things spiraled.

dean decided he needed to prove he could out-drink you.

you absolutely refused to lose.

sam tried cutting you off. dean convinced another table to send drinks over “for the birthday legends.” you attempted to stand on a chair to make a speech and nearly face-planted.

sam caught you mid-wobble.

“okay. that’s it,” he muttered. “we’re done.”

dean was arguing with a jukebox.

“dean,” sam called.

“i’m negotiating!”

“with a machine!”

you were laughing so hard your sides hurt.

by the time sam managed to herd you both out of the bar, you were clinging to dean’s arm and dean was dramatically declaring his love for streetlights.

sam walked between you, one hand ready to catch whichever twin tipped too far.

“you’re both impossible,” he said.

“you love us,” you sang.

“i do,” he admitted, exasperated. “that’s the problem.”

dean stumbled slightly, then leaned his head briefly against yours as you walked.

for a moment, the chaos quieted.

“you okay?” he murmured, softer now. not drunk loud. just honest.

you nodded against him.

“yeah.”

he didn’t look convinced.

neither were you.

back at the motel, sam wrestled dean out of his boots while you attempted to brush your teeth and nearly fell asleep standing up.

“sit,” sam ordered you gently, steering you toward the bed.

you squinted up at him. “you’re bossy.”

“i learned from the best.”

dean, already half horizontal, pointed vaguely. “i am an excellent role model.”

“you’re thirty seconds from passing out,” sam shot back.

dean blinked slowly. “rude.”

you crawled onto your own bed, staring at the ceiling again. but this time it spun slightly.

dean’s voice drifted across the room.

“hey.”

you turned your head.

“yeah?”

he was looking at you like he memorized faces when he was afraid of losing them.

“happy birthday,” he said again. quieter.

your throat tightened.

“happy birthday.”

sam stood between the beds, watching both of you with something complicated in his expression. protective. worried. determined.

he flipped off the lights.

“get some sleep,” he said softly.

outside, the city kept glowing. music drifted faintly through the walls. somewhere, people were celebrating for reasons that didn’t come with expiration dates.

inside the motel room, the clock kept ticking.

but for one night, just one. you and dean weren’t thinking about hellhounds or his deal.

you were just twins.

exhausted. a little reckless. a lot overwhelmed.

and still here.

summary: dean has a habit of noticing, even if it’s small. even if it’s just his sister trying out something new and not wanting to be payed attention to.

pairing: dean winchester x little!sister reader.

warnings: none!

tracy winchester masterlist // navigation // requests

note: sorry im so late with the requests! ive just had some life stuff going on but i promise theyll be written/published soon (i’ve had this in my drafts for like a month so hope you guys like this)

its subtle enough that dean almost misses it.

almost.

tracy comes into the kitchen late that afternoon, hoodie half zipped, hair falling straight down her back. she moves like she is trying not to be seen, eyes down, footsteps quiet. dean is halfway through pouring coffee when something about her face feels… different.

he squints.

not in the critical way. more like the confused, headtilted, something is off way.

she reaches for a mug and that is when he sees it. a faint shadow along her lashes. a little color on her lids. nothing heavy, nothing dramatic. just enough to look like she tried.

dean opens his mouth before his brain catches up.

“you got something on your face?”

the second the words leave him, he regrets them.

tracy freezes.

her hand tightens around the mug like it might shatter. her shoulders go stiff, chin lifting a fraction. she does not look at him.

“…what?”

dean backtracks immediately. “no, i mean. not like something something. just… uh.”

she turns then, eyes wide, scanning his face like she is bracing for a joke or a lecture or worse.

he sees it click.

her cheeks flush red, fast and deep.

“oh my god,” she mutters, horrified. her free hand flies up, rubbing at her eye like she can erase it if she tries hard enough. “i didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“hey, hey,” dean says quickly, setting the coffee pot down like it might explode. “no, don’t do that.”

she stops, fingers hovering uncertainly near her face.

“it looks fine,” he adds, then winces. “not fine like you needed it. just fine like… normal. good. whatever.”

she looks like she wants the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

“i was just trying it,” she says, voice small, rushed. “i didn’t mean to, like, wear it wear it. i was bored and i found some stuff in claire’s bag last time she was here and i just wanted to see if i could do it without looking stupid.”

that last word comes out sharp, defensive.

dean feels something twist in his chest.

“trace,” he says more gently, “you don’t look stupid.”

she huffs out a breath that is half laugh, half mortified groan. “i knew i shouldn’t have.”

she turns toward the sink, clearly intent on washing it off and disappearing into her room for the next six hours.

dean steps closer, careful, keeping his voice low. “you don’t have to take it off if you don’t want to.”

she pauses.

“…seriously?”

“seriously,” he says. “you’re a teenager. you’re allowed to try stuff.”

she peeks at him over her shoulder, still unsure.

he rubs the back of his neck. “i mean, i’m not exactly the expert here, but. you did a better job than i would’ve.”

that gets a tiny snort out of her despite herself.

“you’d poke your eye out,” she says.

“absolutely,” dean agrees. “blood everywhere. very dramatic.”

she finally relaxes a little, shoulders lowering. the embarrassment is still there, but it is softer now. manageable.

“please don’t tell sam,” she says quietly.

dean lifts two fingers. “cross my heart.”

she nods, then hesitates. “do you… think it’s too much?”

he looks at her properly then. really looks. at the careful way she tried. at how young she still is, even while reaching for something grown.

“no,” he says honestly. “i think it looks like you.”

she ducks her head, hiding a shy smile.

“okay,” she murmurs, and for the first time since she walked in, she takes a sip of her drink instead of running away.

dean watches her over the rim of his mug, heart full and a little wrecked, realizing that somewhere along the way, she started figuring herself out.

and he is trying very hard not to notice how fast that is happening.

I had another request, Tracy is like maybe 15 at high school and she gets invited to a party that most the kids in her high school are going to and she has to ask Sam and Dean for permission. I don't knowww do whatever you want 💕

⤷ borrowed normal — .°. ݁₊ ۶•ৎ. ݁ ⁺₊

summary: when tracy gets invited to a high school party, sam and dean are forced to confront how much of her childhood has already slipped by.

pairing: dean winchester x little sister!reader, sam winchester x little sister!reader

warnings: none x

tracy winchester masterlist // navigation // requests

note: thank you for the request, and i’m not upset or annoyed 🤍 i write for both my supernatural oc and sister!reader!! if you ever want to request for either one i do not mind at all <3

the bunker is unusually quiet when tracy finally works up the nerve.

she’s been sitting on her bed for nearly an hour, knees pulled to her chest, fingers worrying at the hem of her shirt. her room is still the same one she’s had for years. soft lights. her art taped to the walls. comfort layered carefully on top of a life that never really allowed it. tonight though, the room feels smaller.

because tonight isn’t about a hunt. or training. or lore.

it’s about a party.

the invitation had come that afternoon at school, slipped to her awkwardly between classes. a girl she shares english with. friendly enough. curious enough. “you should come,” she’d said, like it was no big deal. like everyone did this kind of thing all the time.

tracy had nodded. smiled. said she’d think about it.

now she’s thinking about it way too much.

asking the brothers feels harder than facing down most monsters. there are rules in the bunker. curfews. safety plans. check ins. and tracy knows that even if they trust her skills, they don’t trust the world with her.

she takes a breath. then another.

and finally leaves her room.

sam is in the library, laptop open, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration.

dean is nearby, leaning back in a chair with his boots on the table, cleaning a gun more out of habit than necessity.

they both look up when tracy stops in the doorway.

“everything okay, sweetheart?” dean asks immediately.

that makes her pause. she hadn’t even said anything yet.

“yeah,” she says quietly. then hesitates. “i just… um. can i ask you something?”

sam closes the laptop gently. “of course.”

she steps farther in, hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans. her shoulders are slightly hunched, like she’s bracing for impact.

“there’s this thing,” she says. “at school.”

dean straightens a little. “what kind of thing.”

“a party.” she rushes the word, like if she says it fast enough it’ll hurt less. “a high school one. this friday.”

the silence stretches.

tracy stares at the floor, already preparing herself for the no. for the lecture. for the disappointment she knows too well.

instead, sam glances at dean. dean glances back.

“where’s it at?” dean asks.

she looks up, startled. “um. someone’s house. parents are supposed to be gone but like. people said there’d be older kids there too.”

sam studies her face. “will there be drinking?”

she shrugs. “probably.”

another glance between the brothers. something unspoken passes between them.

“what time does it start?” dean asks.

“seven.”

“and when does it end?”

“i don’t know,” she admits. “i wouldn’t stay late. i swear.”

dean exhales slowly, then nods once. “okay.”

tracy blinks. “okay?”

“okay,” he repeats. “you can go.”

for a second, she genuinely thinks she misheard him.

“wait. really?”

sam smiles softly. “yeah. really. you’ve earned some normal, tracy.”

her chest tightens in a way she doesn’t quite know how to name. relief. disbelief. something close to fear.

“thank you,” she says quietly.

dean nods toward her room. “just keep your phone on you. text us when you get there. and when you’re ready to come home, we’ll pick you up.”

she nods quickly. “i will.”

when friday evening rolls around, the reality of it hits her.

she stands in front of her mirror, surrounded by clothes she suddenly hates. everything feels wrong. too much. not enough. too childish. too serious. her long hair hangs straight down her back, heavy and unfamiliar, refusing to curl no matter what she does to it anymore.

she tries on a henley. takes it off. puts on a fitted jacket over a lace singlet. stares. changes again.

her stomach twists with nerves.

what if she looks stupid. what if she doesn’t belong there. what if everyone can tell she’s different.

there’s a soft knock on her door.

“trace?” dean’s voice. careful. “you okay in there?”

she hesitates, then opens the door a crack. “yeah. just… trying to figure out what to wear.”

dean leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. his eyes flick briefly over the scattered clothes, the nervous energy in her posture.

“you’ve been in here a while,” he says gently.

she shrugs. “i don’t really know what people wear to these things.”

he studies her for a moment longer, something thoughtful settling into his expression.

“you look fine,” he says. “in pretty much anything.”

she lets out a small, humorless huff. “that doesn’t help.”

he smiles. not teasing. just soft. “yeah. i know.”

there’s a pause. then he adds, quieter, “it’s weird, you know.”

she looks up at him.

“seeing you worry about stuff like this,” he continues. “first parties. school things. feels like it snuck up on me.”

her fingers curl into the fabric of her jacket. “i’m still me.”

“i know,” he says immediately. then, after a beat, “you’ve just grown. that’s all.”

the words land heavier than she expects.

he straightens, giving her space again. “take your time. sam and i aren’t going anywhere.”

after he leaves, tracy stands there for a long moment, breathing through the tightness in her chest.

she ends up choosing the lace singlet, a henley layered over it, her favorite flared jeans, converses she’s broken in a hundred times. it feels like her. familiar enough to hold onto.

when she comes out ready, sam looks up and smiles. dean pauses mid sentence.

and for just a second, dean sees it.

not the kid he taught how to hold a gun. not the girl who memorized lore late into the night. but a teenager standing on the edge of something new. nervous. hopeful. still fragile.

“have fun,” sam says.

dean nods. “and call if you need us. for anything.”

she does.

and when the bunker door closes behind her, dean stands there a moment longer than usual, jaw tight, realizing that the world keeps moving forward whether he’s ready or not.

and so does she.

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