Pairing: Winchester brothers x younger sister (Cordelia winchester)
Themes: lots and lots of angst, swearing, violence
Summary: Set around events of season 1-2, when Cordelia makes the wrong choice during a hunt, and ends up paying the price, while her brothers deal with the consequences of her loss. (her faceclaim is below!)
sam 22, dean 26, delia 16
The hunt for what was supposed to be an 'easy-kill' werewolf had taken a heavy turn at the discovery that the she-wolf had a cub they didn't know about. A child-werewolf, more feral than humane, managed to set in motion a chain of catastrophic events that ended bloody and painfully.
"I am coming, Sam, there's no argument against it, I'm as much a hunter as either of you, and I deserve to put that to use," the reality that their baby sister, much like themsleves, was raised into this life, hunting being pretty much all that she knew, wasn't lost on either of the brothers. However, despite that fact, it didn't change their, particularly Sam's, opinion on having her tag along on risky hunts and putting her in the line of danger. It was no secret that Sam had never wanted to stay in the life, which was made clear when he walked out on his family, on his heartbroken 12-year-old sister, to start a new life at Stanford. Leaving her was the hardest thing he'd ever willed himself to do, with the constant promise lingering in the back of his head that once he built steady roots in his life, he'd come back for her, to take her away and give her a normal, steady life. That dream was what kept him going during the nights he'd be kept up by the image of her wrapping herself around his neck, sobbing and begging him to stay. But what was even harder was reviving the trust she once had in him when he rejoined her and Dean on the road to search for their father. She wouldn't be a Winchester without that signature cold stubbornness, but after what felt like decades, he worked his way back into her heart, though he suspects he never really left it. She showed as much once she forgave him.
"I know you're more than capable, Lia, but Bobby needs help with calls here, and you can give him a hand while me and Dean quickly wrap this one up," he lightly argued back, throwing a look to Dean at his side, as if to say 'back me up here'. Cordelia upheld her condescending glare, deciding to turn her attention towards Dean with a raised eyebrow, almost daring him to side with Sam and suffer the consequences. Dean, amidst a crossfire as always, glanced at his feet with a sigh, and decided to take the dangerous road, "Look, kid, you know I rarely keep you away from the action, but it was barely a week ago that we had to give you 4 stitches from that ghost bitch. Just rest up and you can tag along for the next one," he decided it was best for him to leave of the 'maybe' at the end, lest he turn her homicidal on the spot. She was already fuming, having raised a sharp finger towards Dean, "God, I am so sick and tired of being treated like some child or pet you take off the leash whenever it-", but she was hastily cut off when Dean gave her a strict look and pushed out his chin slightly, signalling that he was deadly serious. "You're not some pet, we don't keep you on a leash, and you know all of this. Drop the act, because if Sam or I decide you're not coming with, you know it's only for your own safety. When I agreed to let you hunt, it was when we said so and only under our supervision, Cordelia. I never agreed to put you on a reaper's path, and I will not have your blood on my hands, so when I say stay put, you stay put," She scrunched her face in disbelief, unconvinced and opened her mouth to further argue but was again, cut off, "That's end of Cordelia I won't repeat myself again." She scoffed in total frustration and muttered an insincere 'yes, sir' before turning on her heels and leaving them alone in Bobb's junkyard. He hated that phrase, even more when she directed it at him.
It was true that Dean had taught her almost everything she knew, mostly because John never bothered to. He treated her like some fragile glass they took around with them, which unfortunately meant that, although he cared about his daughter, to John, she was also equivalent to dead weight, who was more a point of weakness than an asset to their little family hunting group. And to top it off, John was never really crazy about the fact that, at times, when Dean's attention was fundamentally supposed to be on the hunt at hand, it was instead left behind with the frail girl in some crappy motel. His siblings were his responsibility; John was the one who taught him that, but Dean's care towards Cordelia was a different matter entirely. It was inexplicable, the fierceness he possessed when it came to protecting his sister and looking after his brother; he was, in all forms and definitions, the older brother, the protector, and the guardian.
He had taught Cordelia every lore he knew, every safety protocol, every possible way to fight, defend, and handle a weapon. And he was more than proud of the strong, smart, fearless fighter she was, despite every landslide they experienced throughout their erratic lives. But underneath the requirements that came with their lifestyle, she was, and he suspected always would be to him, a child he needed to protect. He will always simmer in guilt for the lack of normalcy she had in her life, the lack of friendships, the inability to be a normal teenage girl whose priority was the state of her closet, as opposed to which gun she wanted to shoot a werewolf with. So yeah, he didn't agree completely with Sam about keeping her out of hunting entirely; it was impossible, she was raised a hunter, much to both of their dismay, and neglecting to learn how to defend herself now would only lead to greater risk. But at the same time, he couldn't help but- like Sam- want to keep her away from bloodshed, pain, and danger as much as humanly possible. How long could he protect his baby sister before she was too far out of reach for him to control?
The brothers had packed every essential for hunting down a werewolf, before settling in the impala for a 2-hour drive to their case. The past two weeks, increasing news of dropping bodies, who all conveniently were missing a heart, alerted the Winchesters of a possible case, and upon discussion with Bobby, decided it was time to pick up another hunt. Sam thought it would be good for Dean's spirit; he still wasn't over what happened with their Dad roughly 2 months ago, and neither was Cordelia. Unbeknownst to the boys, Cordelia, ever so stubborn and keen to prove herself to her brothers, had managed to escape Bobby's watchful eyes, and in a snap of a moment, had hardwired the most functioning car in his yard to follow the hunt. She sped the entire way, hoping to make it to the boys around 10 or so at night, just in time to convince them to include her, get some shuteye, and join their hunt the next day, forcefully if needed. Bobby noticed her escape fairly quickly, and so by the time she reached the motel, she knew her brothers would have chosen, they had already been alerted by Bobby. The room door swung open before Cordelia had had the chance to knock, and she was yanked inside by the strap of her duffel bag, only to be met with the Dean's serious eyes, and behind him, Sam's disapproving frown. It’s ought to be a party!
"What the hell are you doing here, Delia?" Her interrogation began almost immediately, and she settled on giving short, unbothered answers to dilute the situation: "Just here to lend a hand," Dean threw his hands in the air, groaning in frustration, "And here I was under the assumption that I told your ass to stay away, your 'help' isn't needed here," She was going to argue back, say all the things she was thinking, let them know how unreasonable they were being, but she decided against it, "Dean i drove for like ever, and I'm dead tired, let me get some sleep, we'll hunt the damn thing, then you can bitch and moan all you want," she dropped her bag by the bed and moved towards the couch to lie down, "Fine by me, sleep all you want, sleep for the rest of the week if it suits you, but no dog fight for you sweetheart, even if i have to tie you to the kitchen," at this rate, it had become more about retaliation and stubborness, than wanting to keep her away another dangerous hunt. He pushed, she pushed, and so on. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Dean, but dawn hits, and I'm gonna have a gun on that bitch, even if I have to knock you out, or you," she directed the last part towards Sam, who knew to stay quiet in situations like these, when they both showed teeth, intending to bite the same bone. He sighed and shook his head, knocking her feet off the couch, “quit the bickering and take the bed, I’ll talk to you in the morning,” she nodded, silently whispering a ‘thanks Sammy’ and climbed under the covers of what was supposed to be Sammy’s bed. Sam settled down onto the less than ideally sized couch for a man his size, and for a moment, kept his stare on the silhouette of his sister breathing evenly, as he came to the realization that his plans to cut hunting out her life bit by bit, were being blown out of the window entirely.
Here they stood, after endless debate and back and forth bickering, all three Winchesters loading silver bullets into their guns, ready for attack. They strode silently into the abandoned warehouse, eyes searching for movement. Cordelia stood between Dean and Sam, gun raised and ready. The only sign of life was the crumpled sleeping bag in the corner of the warehouse, a few scattered plates and cups surrounding it. Who knew cutlery was a requirement for dining on human heart, Delia thought. There was a dusty cover thrown on top of something large and rectangular, and just as Dean was about to remove it, he was thrown across the room by an unsuspected attack. Sam aimed at the werewolf a few feet away, ready to shoot her but wasn’t fast enough as she smacked the gun out of his hand, shoving him into a wall nearby. A loud noise erupted in the room, but Cordelia’s bullet only punctured the werewolf’s arm, burning her, but not enabling her attack. In return, the wolf spun around, abandoning Sam’s throat, and picked up Cordelia but the neck, swinging her into a pile of old wooden chairs.
Delia attempted to push through the ringing white noise in her head, no doubt a sign of a concussion, but couldn’t bring herself to move as much as necessary. She was momentarily paralyzed, and those few seconds were enough time for the werewolf to approach her, now towering above her an arm raised high, claws on display. Just before she could bring her arm down to rip into Cordelia, Dean fired a shot from behind, ripping through the werewolf’s chest and halting its movement. In a matter of a second, out of the corner her eye, Cordelia saw a second person-or a teenage child it seemed, run towards them at perfect speed, and before she could even comprehend what was happening, the child werewolf let out a loud wail at the sight of (presumably) his mother, and swung his claws down with force, cutting deeply into Cordelia’s chest. With a sharp gasp, Delia felt the rip and shred of her flesh, and the boiling sensation of her blood as it began to pour out of her body in rapid succession, and in mere seconds her entire upper body was wet with blood. It all happened in slow motion, the mother werewolf dropped like a sack, but Cordelia remained in her defeated position, swallowing down the growing searing pain. She could have sworn she heard her name being yelled, or felt the vibrations of stomping footsteps around her.
Sam had been caught it a struggle battle with the child, who was much stronger than assumed, more feral than his mother had been. As Sam fought to get rid of the second werewolf, Dean rushed towards Cordelia, skidding on his knees to a stop next to her, a horrified bile building up in his throat at the sight of so much blood pouring out of a small girl. He removed his jacket in an instant, using it as a makeshift blanket to apply pressure to the rips in her chest, hoping to stop the blood. She was struggling to speak, and she had began shivering violently, but severe pain was evident behind her pale eyes, and Dean thought any second now he would wake up in a coat of sweat and this would have just been yet another nightmare. But as he felt her getting colder under his hand, he wasn’t sure if it would be that simple this time around. He pulled her to his chest whispering and pleading, a hand under her head, and the other warmly brushing the hair stuck to her forehead, as she stared up at him in a hazy daze almost. “Cmon Delia, stay with me okay? Keep those eyes open, cmon baby cmon!” But it seemed like the more he begged, the looser her hold got, “Delia look at me, stay awake for me ok? I’m not gonna le-oh god…I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” he was aware of the cracks in his voice, and the wave of nausea that was flushing over him. “De-” her voice was nothing more than a painful wisp of air, “I’m here, I’m here baby, it’s gonna be fine.”
The second werewolf was difficult to put down, Sam was sporting a few scratches, not too deep, and still attempting to hunt the mutt, whilst trying to dodge thoughts of Cordelia, who he couldn’t get a proper look at. With a sudden snap of motion, the werewolf abandoned his grip on Sam, pushing him back, and turning to sprint towards where Dean was cradling Delia, rocking lightly back and forth, an unexplainable look on his face. Sam was quick to climb to his feet, and run at the werewolf from the back, reaching it in a few strides before tackling in to the ground a few feet away from his siblings. In reaction to the near attack, Dean unconsciously huddled Cordelia closer, shuffling back away from the threat, tucking her into his chest, preparing for impact, which didn’t come. He looked up to see Sam pulling the trigger into the werewolf’s chest, and putting it down for good. Seeing as the threat was gone, he loosened his arms around Delia, pulling her face away from his chest gently to get a better look, only to find her eyes frozen, lifeless staring out at nothing. She wasn’t shaking anymore, she was completely still. No.
His tongue tied itself for a moment, and he could do nothing but breathe out a strangled noise. She couldn’t be. He shook her roughly, demanding she wake up and bicker at him, roll her eyes, something! He cupped her face with one hand, shaking her cheek gently with light taps, and then some rougher slaps, but nothing roused her awake. Sam was frozen to a halt a few centimeters away, unconsciously holding his breath, unable to inhale or exhale, move, blink, or fathom the idea that his baby sister is possibly dead. “Co-Delia, Delia baby hey. Cmon it’s okay now, wake up and we’ll go get you fixed. Wa-just wake up cmon…come on!” Tears stained Deans words, and his hand shook violently on her face, but his rocking never stopped. He continued to move her back and forth, an absentminded way to control his raging heart. But it was so broken now. Sam hadn’t dared to move any closer, he didn’t want to see her face, he didn’t want to see her dead. He leaned himself against the wall, his knees closed up infront of his chest like a frightened child, as he forced his head flat against the wall, to look in the opposite direction of where Dean was crying into Delia’s shoulder. Tears racked through Sam, and dripped down his face as his chin shook uncontrollably, a hand pressed against his mouth, to muffle his cries, as he continued to look away from the scene. This can’t be happening.
It was with utter dread, and the weight of a world of pain and suffering and sorrow, that they managed to pick themselves up, and carry her mangled body out of that warehouse. Dean drove in deafening silence, fighting the urge to drive straight off a cliff and never wake up again. Sam sat in the back, holding Delia across his lap, unable to force his eyes off her face. She was so young, he thought, so so young and still so innocent despite everything she’d seen. God she deserves a good life, a safe life and goddamn him for not getting that to her. He promised himself he would one day and what’s that worth now. He flung his head back violently into the seat behind him, clenching his eyes shut in anguish, frustration, and about every other bitter emotion under the sun. His tears hadn’t ceased, some trickled onto her cheek, and he leant down every once in awhile to press a kiss to her forehead, trying to envision that she’s just asleep after a long day of talking their ear off, and exhausting herself.
She laid so still, so weightless on the bed at Bobby’s house. She would have almost looked peaceful, if it wasn’t for the gaping lines in her chest, and the sprays of blood on her face. She had died young and violent. She had died far too early and without goodbye. How were they supposed to say goodbye to their baby sister.
How was Dean supposed to let go of the person he had sworn to protect and look after since the first time his mom had passed her to him, impossibly tiny and wrapped in a light pink blanket. How was he supposed to forget the first time she had opened her eyes, and looked straight into his soul, and that was the moment he was sure he was never letting her out of his sight. How was he ever supposed to forget the first time she started to walk, how she had wobbled straight towards him, arms outstretched, before she tripped and fell face first into his shoulder. She had cried uncontrollably and it took him 30 minutes to calm her down, before she went back to crawling all over Sammy. How was he supposed to forget the way she’d climb into his bed every night when she’d hear a creak, see the curtain move, or have another nightmare, despite John insisting that at age 5 she was required to be a big girl and stay in her own bed. But Dean took pride in knowing that he was the one she looked to for protection, that he was needed. How was he ever supposed to get used to the fact she’ll never come to him about a nightmare again, or give him her signature lob-sided grin, or just come to buttheads with him. God he would have her bite his head every 5 seconds if it meant she would come back.
How could Sammy come to terms with losing his baby sister. How could he get used to the idea of waking up every morning and not having her goofy smile or grumpy frown be the first thing he sees. How was he supposed to go on, knowing he could never hug her again, hold her in his arms, tell her that he’ll always be here for her, no matter when or what. How could he let go of the memories of when she was younger, and during hunts, he would stay with her in the motel rooms, and she’d beg him to tell her stories, of anything and everything. She’d beg and beg, and when he gave in, she would flop herself onto the bed next to him, and lean her head into his side, and listen until she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. Sometimes even now, he would tell her stories, though he knew they didn’t have the same appeal, she knew real from unreal, she knew good was minimal and magic was nonexistent, but she listened intently anyway, drooling on his shoulder. How could he wake up, try to live or move on with the weight of her head still on his shoulder, still asleep beside him. He couldn’t, and that was the truth of it.
annaxmalina
blakekathryn
izzy806
janainaart
origamiaround
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
