Bekkaaaa

Bariss: Well, she is very wise, an excellent teacher. I am very lucky she chose me as her padawan, I couldn’t have anyone better. What about yours?

Ahsoka: Oh Anakin? He’s dumb as hell

Bariss, surprised: So... you are not happy with your selected Master?

Ahsoka: Trains are just sideways elevators

Anakin: Obi-wan sneezed earlier and I accidentally said ‘shut the fuck up’ instead of ‘bless you’

Ahsoka: Anakin.

Obi-Wan:

Dean x Sister!Reader, Sam x Sister!Reader

Synopsis: It’s been a long time since Dean has heard your name out loud. God knows he didn’t want it to be like this

NOTE: Sorry this took so long, gosh! I’ve been very busy with working on an original novel, and I’ve also been working through a Diploma of Business. I hope you like it!

REQUESTED

MASTERLIST 

The phone rang.

Dean stared at it for a moment, tempted to just let it ring and ring and ring until it rang out and then the silence could return. He stared, long and hard, and he waited. And waited. The ringing stopped. He relaxed. The ringing started anew. He tensed again.

Sam cleared his throat and frowned, watching his brother watch the phone. “You gonna answer it?” He asked very quietly, even though he knew Dean wouldn’t. Dean wouldn’t pick up, because it wouldn’t be Cas waiting on the other end.

“I don’t recognise the number.” Dean’s voice, so gruff after days of disuse and misuse and ragged panic attacks that tore his throat to shreds, made Sam wince away. Who knew that the one way to kill Dean Winchester was to kill the angel he’d loved.

The phone rang again. Sam reached across the table, didn’t spare the number a glance, and answered it.

“Sam Winchester,” he greeted politely. “Who is this?”

“Hi Sam,” an unfamiliar female voice answered. “This is Wichita Specialty Hospital calling. I’m looking for your brother, Dean?”

Sam’s frown deepened, and he spared his brother a lost look. Dean just stared back at him with a dead look. “Dean’s unavailable at the moment,” Sam said evenly, looking away again. God, he hated to see his brother like this. “Can I take a message?”

“Actually, if Dean isn’t there at the moment, I’d like to talk to you. You are the brother of Y/N Winchester, correct?”

Sam’s veins froze. His heartbeat got loud. The world faded away. He couldn’t breathe properly. Why did his ribs hurt? “Yes,” he breathed out shakily. “Yeah, she’s my older sister.”

Dean made a wounded noise and stood up. 

“We’re currently caring for her here. She had a bad motorcycle crash, and it recovering in our Neuro/Trauma Recovery wing. You and Dean are of course, listed as next of kin.”

Sam’s tongue was numb and yet not-numb, and really he just wanted to wake up now. “How bad is it?”

The nurses voice went softer, sympathy bleeding into her tone. Sam gritted his teeth. He didn’t want sympathy. “She was in a coma for a week. She’s awake, but her progress is slow. We’re worried that we may lose her at this rate. That’s why we called. We would like you and your brother to stop by, so the correct paperwork and contingency plans may be completed.”

“We’ll be there tomorrow.” Sam hung up, cutting off whatever response the nurse had been giving him. 

Fuck.

You were in hospital. 

That fucking motorbike.

“Where are we going?” Dean already had the car keys in hand, wearing a fresh flannel and his boots. His forest eyes, though still dull, were determined and angry. Sam hurried after him.

“Wichita Specialty Hospital,” he said. He pretended not to notice the way Dean’s hands shook when they gripped the wheel.

It was all falling apart.

.

“Fuck Y/N,” Sam breathed shakily, reaching out and gripping onto your limp hand. Your foggy eyes didn’t shift and you continued to stare vacantly at the wall. 

Dean stood off to the side, jaw clenched hard enough that Sam actually thought he might break some teeth. “I told her,” he said. “I warned against that fucking bike.”

“You also told her that she was the family outcast, so I really don’t think she was going to listen to you.”

Dean looked away. He had a lot of regrets about you, his baby sister. You were the middle child, always the one to fade into the background, seep through the cracks, get left behind in a motel because John didn’t give a fuck about the girl who had Mary’s eyes and Mary’s smile.

Dean had driven away too. 

Dean had done a more damage than John though. He’d never forgiven himself for that.

And now you were here, nothing more than an empty body with head trauma so severe you had seizures every other hour and you had minimal cognitive functions, and-

What else had the nurse said-

You-

Fucking-

He couldn’t think-

He-

“Dean!” Sam’s voice was sharp but not angry, and Dean snapped back to himself harsh enough to prompt a headache to erupt in his head. He winced. Sam didn’t comment, merely motioned with his eyes to your face. “Hey, she’s looking at you.”

Oh. So you were. Vacant eyes stared through Dean, seeing all the way down to his withered and brittle soul. He curled his shoulders inward. “Y/N,” he said, voice splintering and breaking and crumbling to dust. 

It was all he could say. Your name.

There was no response. Dean didn’t really know why he was surprised. 

Paralysed.

The word came to him between one blink and the next, slamming through his veins like a fucking drug - making his legs weak, his arms throb, his chest hurt. The crash had done something to your spine, and you were paralysed and brain dead and-and-and-

John would have said, “Put her down.”

Dean didn’t know how not to say that to Sam. Maybe he was too much like his father. Maybe there really was no saving him. 

“Dean,” Sam said quietly. “I know that look. We’re gonna help her.”

But Dean didn’t want to. It was selfish and horrible and wrong, but they didn’t have Cas anymore and you looked so pathetic and if you weren’t going to get better-

“That fucking bike,” he said again, because if there was one thing he blamed almost as much as he blamed himself, it was that fucking motorcyle. It was always gonna be that fucking motorcyle.

Sam sighed, like he’d expected it. “The doctors say she may recover with help from brain stimulant medication-”

“And then what?” Dean snapped. “She’s paralysed. We don’t have Cas to help her out. She won’t ever be a hunter again, Sam! It’ll kill her to know that when she gets better.”

She won’t ever get better.

Sam’s lips went dangerously thin. “You’re giving up on her?”

“Yes.” Dean suddenly felt very, very tired. “Yes I am.”

“You never gave up on me.”

“I’m finding that I’m giving up on everything lately. Y/N wouldn’t appreciate us confining her to doctors and medicine and hospitals for the rest of her life. Think about Bobby.”

“Dean-”

“Think about us, Sam. What would you do if you woke up in hospital, paralysed, with lasting brain injuries! You’d hate it! I’d probably kill myself!”

“Dean!”

Dean threw his hands up, because he was tired and he was losing everyone he loved, and he really just wanted to go find somewhere quiet and dark and go to sleep and yeah maybe he didn’t want to wake up.

Sam shook his head. “We can’t kill her.”

Dean stared at him hollowly, feeling the last ember of passion wither away and vanish under the dark blanket of depression and hopelessness. “We already have.”

Let the damn world save itself.

Dean was done.

.

Sam wasn’t in the room when the nurses put you to sleep for the final time. Fuck it, he wasn’t even in the state. Dean was.

Dean watched, and Dean signed the paperwork, and Dean burned your body.

.

And Dean was the one who slept with a gun under his fingers, so that when he woke up with your name on his lips, he could stare at it until the sun came up.

Sam didn’t talk about you again.

Sam let his phone ring.

Lance: *holds up reverse UNO card*

Lance: bitch, give me /your/ money

Random mugger: The fuck??

Lance: *runs away*

Later

Lance: and that’s how i avoided getting mugged

Shiro: From the bottom of my heart, what the f uck, Lance?

Allura, to Lance: It’s okay, we all make mistakes.

Keith: I’ve seen the way you look at me.

Lance: Yeah? So could another human being.

Keith:

Lance: So could a dog.

Keith:

Lance: So could a dedicated DUCK.

Keith: Hey Lance, how tall are you?

Lance:

Keith: Somewhere between “fuck you” and “I’d fuck you”.

Lance: I don't write gay fanfi-

Lance: It's always you

Keith: Oh okay.

Lance: ...