#sisterfic

“I mean, only half as fly as me.” Charlie stood up, twirling and displaying the blanket she had wrapped around her pajama-clad self hours ago. 

Harvey chuckled, a fond smile gracing his lips and lighting his eyes. 

“It’s a little like Cinderella before the fairy godmother showed up.” 

Charlie stopped short and scoffed. “Well, my fairy godmother was with you,” she offered. “Speaking of which, how did Donna look? What did she end up wearing? Pink or green?” 

Harvey took a breath, the question involuntarily bringing the image of Donna to the forefront in his mind’s eye. No pictures had been taken of them throughout the course of the evening, but Harvey wasn’t likely to forget the image of Donna in the emerald green strapless dress any time soon. 

“How do you think she looked?” Harvey asked, finally pulling himself from the memory. 

“Amazing,” she answered. “Better than you, probably.” 

Harvey rolled his eyes, but didn’t take the bait. “How was sch—?” 

“Fine. The usual,” she answered, cutting him off. “How was the music? The dancing?”

Harvey raised an eyebrow.

Charlie groaned as Harvey slid into the chair beside her. “You didn’t dance?” 

“It was a work event, Charlie.” 

“So what?” she asked. “Did Donna dance?” 

“It’s d—” 

“It’s actually not any different at all, Harvey.” Charlie could hear Harvey’s argument before he even had a chance to properly get it out. “Did Jessica dance?” 

Charlie withstood another eye roll from her brother. 

“You can’t dress up like that” —Charlie gestured to Harvey’s outfit— “and not dance. It’s against the law or something.” 

“I can assure you it’s not.” 

“Well, it should be,” she answered. “Especially if there’s a live band, which I assume there was, right?” 

Harvey reluctantly nodded. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t ask Donna or Jessica to dance,” she continued. “Or even some random floozy,” she continued, giving Harvey a knowing look at the term. 

“That’s a real nice way to talk to your brother.” 

“I can be meaner if you want.” Charlie smiled. “I could say that you’re an idiot for not taking the opportunity to dance to beautiful music with a beautiful girl like it’s a fancy fairytale ball or something. That’s what I would do, but I’m not an idiot like—” 

“Fine,” Harvey interrupted, standing and holding out a hand. “Do you want to dance?”  

Charlie stared at Harvey’s extended hand before meeting his gaze. “Are you serious?” 

“Would you like to dance?”

Charlie nodded, taking his hand and quickly pulling herself up from the couch with the blankets still wrapped around her. She dropped Harvey’s hand and glided on her slippered feet across the room to sift through her brother’s vinyl collection.

“Track number four,” she said as she handed her brother the selected record.

Charlie waited, restless and bouncing a bit, as Harvey started the music. A wide grin shone on Charlie’s face when Harvey turned to her and took her hand. He spun her once, Charlie’s giggles louder than the song’s introduction. 

“I love this song,” Charlie said as she settled back into Harvey’s hold. 

“It’s a good one,” he said as they started to move. 

From the moment she handed him the record, Harvey knew which track Charlie wanted. He knew it was a favorite of hers, a song they had been dancing to since she was small, standing on the tops of his feet or being lifted into his arms as they twirled around their father’s kitchen in Riverside. 

Charlie had never told him, but somewhere along the years she had decided that if she ever got married, this was the song they would dance to, she and Harvey. Marriage was a few years off at best—she hadn’t thought very much about most of the particulars, but Charlie had a clear image of this in her mind, an image that she didn’t imagine to be all that different from what she was experiencing just now. 

Even though they were dancing in the dim glow from the light above the stove, and even though Charlie was wrapped in a white blanket rather than a white dress, she imagined some things would be the same. 

Harvey would look the same—handsome as ever in his tuxedo, his shiny black shoes leading them around the floor with an expertise that made one think he did this all the time. 

The song so familiar and comforting, the beautiful notes wrapping them in nostalgia that onlookers wouldn’t share, but would recognize all the same just by hearing the lyrics, by watching as they danced.

And Charlie imagined she would feel the same as she felt now, too. She imagined that day, she would feel the same way she always felt when dancing in Harvey’s arms. She imagined she would feel the same way she felt having Harvey in her life—safe and happy and loved.

—

Suits (Lines to Live By) Masterlist

Sam didn't think anything of it at first. Everyone has had a weird dream or two about a family member. Sam was normal. Sam wasn't a freak. He brushed it off the next morning and tried to shut it out of his brain as best as possible. It didn't mean anything, it was just a dream. Sam has never thought of Y/N in that way and he never will. He was her brother after all.

As time passed by, the dreams frequented every other week. He figured the only reason he remembered those dreams so well in the morning was that it was unnatural. It was gross because it wasn't something that he was supposed to be dreaming about. He kept brushing it off.

The dreams grew more explicit and persistent, and there was a new problem that Sam had to deal with. He had woken up hard before, he's no stranger to morning wood, but this was something Sam couldn't shake off anymore. His erection didn't go away after he stretched, or brushed his teeth, or even after he got dressed, so he worked around his problem. He wore baggier clothes, something to hide his guilt behind. Sometimes Sam was lucky enough to have the pleasure of having enough time to fix it before school. He relied on the internet for porn and random scenarios in his head with the hottest girl in school until he had exhausted all of his options.

All of the sudden, nothing worked like it was supposed to. He woke up harder each morning after his recurring dreams about Y/N, so hard that it was painful for Sam. There were times where he didn't even care that he was going to be late for school, he needed some kind of relief. Then Sam feared the worst when he could no longer get off to porn or skin mags. He had never been attracted to a guy before, so why would it start once he was 18 years old? Fortunately and unfortunately for Sam, gay porn didn't solve his issue either.

Then one Saturday morning, Sam had an epiphany. He needed to confront his issue. He couldn't just think the dreams away, he needed to process them- he needed to find a sure way to get rid of them. So, instead of pushing it to the back of his mind, he began to think about his dreams. He thought logically, Y/N was his sister, therefore, she was not a viable option. Society condemns incest for multiple reasons, it just wasn't right. He thought illogically, even if he was into her- she'd never be into him the same way. Problem solved, there were too many obstacles in the way and Sam was a completely normal person anyway, he'd never want to have sex with his own sister. He was determined to not have another dream followed by a painful morning.

Sam was upset when his determination hadn't been enough. He had followed all of the correct steps, so why was he still having these dreams? The problem only worsened after he had allowed himself to think through and relive his dreams- he thought about them all day. He hadn't had the guts or courage to even consider using it to his advantage, that would make him a horrible person. Sam could live through his morning wood and keep his pride, but he couldn't live with the hard on he got when he thought about his dreams. He couldn't live with how different Y/N seemed lately, was she always this beautiful? Was she always this kind and caring towards Sam? Did she look the same naked as she did in Sam's dreams?

This new shame, guilt, and arousal persisted through the following weeks until he couldn't handle himself around her anymore. Sam no longer got hard just thinking about the dreams of his sister, he got hard almost every time he saw her. At the dinner table, he shook his leg awkwardly to try and get some relief, and at night when Y/N wore her sleep shorts he would go to bed painfully hard.

By six months in of constant dreams, Sam had given up. There was a thirty percent success rate when it came to pleasuring himself without thinking of his dreams. There was an alarming one hundred percent success rate when it came to pumping his cock in his hand while he thought of Y/N. He couldn't fight it anymore, no matter how hard he tried. Sam wanted to think about how soft Y/N's hands would be wrapped around his cock, he wanted to think about how well she would use her tongue and how hard she would suck, and mostly he wanted to think about how incredibly tight she'd be wrapped around his cock. He's only known her to have one or two boyfriends, nothing serious, despite her two year seniority to him, and Sam knows she can't be that experienced with a size like him- if at all. He got off most of all thinking of all of the pleasure he could give her.

The more he thought about her, the more often his dreams would happen. Y/N came in all different outfits and scenarios specifically designed by Sam's mind to fulfill his fantasies. He dreamt of a different life where he would make coffee for her and bring it to her in bed, then the rest of their day would be spent in a breathless haze. He dreamt of trying to hide it from Dean and John, fucking whenever they could while they were out or being extremely quiet when they were around. He dreamt of being a massage therapist taking in his last patient of the day only to realize that she had gotten completely naked underneath the red comforter, massaging her higher and higher until he felt her arousal on his fingertips. He wanted Y/N in every shape, form, and situation.

Tonight's dream was no different, but it was completely new to his dream catalogue. He dreamt of Y/N in her room, wearing those same sleep shorts she wore every night. This time they were blue, one of Sam's favorite colors, and they were soft, fitting her perfectly. They hugged her curves and were loose in all of the right places. Above, she wore a small white tank top where her nipples were easily seen behind. Y/N's hair was perfectly messy, how she usually wears it at night, and her skin was glowing and flawless. She laid on her queen sized bed as she listened to her favorite music out loud, loud enough to cover the sound of her moans. They began quietly at first, small whimpers and yes's, then they grew louder and louder.

Sam was almost paranoid watching her touch herself in his dream. Y/N wasn't pornstar loud or faking her moans, she was in pure bliss as she slipped her hand in and out of her sleep shorts. Every time she seemed so close to that cup overflowing, she'd pull back and take a few deep breaths. A few seconds later, she'd begin the process over again. It kept Sam on edge too, his brain didn't want him to cum in his sleep.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Y/N began using a vibrator. It was small and pink, Sam could almost feel the vibrations on himself, and she began moaning louder. He watched as her face twisted and screwed, how she'd clench her legs around her hand, and how she'd arch her back and suddenly pull away from herself. It's like she was teasing Sam in his own dream.

To Sam's surprise, she finally allowed herself to come undone. She took a deep breath and let out little squeaks and fucks, screaming his name over and over again. She begged him to fuck her harder and longer as she forced her vibrator tight against her clit, not relenting until Sam was seeing her cum for a second time.

When Sam woke up, he was harder than he had ever been in his entire life. He squinted his eyes as he rolled on his side to check his alarm clock. 3:05 am. Shit. Knowing himself, he wouldn't be able to sleep for the rest of the night- and that this erection wasn't going away on its own.

Sam sighed to himself as he went back to lying on his back, his right hand dipping into his boxers. He hissed as he felt his cock throb in his hand, going slowly as he grew less sensitive to touch. He pictured Y/N screaming out his name while she came undone as he pumped his cock rhythmically, up and down every few seconds. Sam took it slow, he wanted to savor the image of her arching her back and pressing her legs tight to each other, he wanted to enjoy her.

Sam wasn't reaching an end any time soon. He went faster, he gripped tighter, he thought about her harder- his cock wasn't cooperating like usual, and he was desperate for a fix. His cock was raw after thirty minutes and he was still rock hard with no climax in sight. Sam had tried porn and audios and images and dreams, nothing was working tonight. Now, he was wide awake and hard as hell for another three and a half hours until school. And he had to pee. Sam knew what a pain in the ass peeing was when he had an erection, he wondered to himself why he had denied little Sam so hard at first.

Sam rubbed his eyes as he sat at the edge of his bed, wincing as his dick rubbed the wrong way against his thigh. His boxers did nothing to hide his erection as he pulled them up his thighs for decency and he made his way out of his room and into the hallway. His eyes adjusted to the hallway light and he began to make his way to the restroom. He tried to pee, real hard. He tried to think of gross thoughts and while it didn't fuel his erection, it certainly didn't get rid of it. Sam was near tears of frustration, he needed to cum.

Although Sam didn't feel tired, his brain was foggy as he made his way out of the restroom. He wanted to stop himself from standing outside her door, but he couldn't fight this urge anymore. He needed her. Sam slowly creaked her door open and could barely see in the darkness, but he saw her sleeping soundly in the middle of her bed. Even though Sam could only see her silhouette, she looked incredible. Sam's cock throbbed in his boxers and Sam grabbed at his erection as he neared her bed.

Sam couldn't stop this from happening no matter how wrong he knew it was. At first, he had planned to sneak a few pictures of her unconscious and take them back to his bedroom, but once he had seen her sound asleep- he knew there was no going back. He feared she would wake up and scream, but he could tell her she was sleeping, that she was having a bad dream. Or if she remembered, she was always known to be dramatic- John and Dean would never believe her. And if they did, well, Sam's just a boy. He needs a release, surely they would understand.

Sam quietly undressed as he propped a knee onto her soft bed. He held his cock in his right hand as he softly straddled her, careful not to stir her from sleep. He slowly removed the covers from her lower half and to his surprise saw that she wasn't wearing sleep shorts, only red cotton panties. Sam's cock grew sensitive again as he slowly pumped himself in his hand to the sight of her right in front of him. So peaceful and beautiful, and Sam hated to disturb her but he needed to.

He groped her breasts through her oversized t-shirt, twitching in his hand for even touching her. It was working. Sam pulled her shirt up just so he could see the waistband of her panties, rubbing his hand over her soft and warm center. He looked every now and then up at her peaceful state, but when Sam rubbed his thumb over her cloth-covered clit she groaned and turned on her stomach.

This was an advantage for Sam. He slowly pulled her panties down, watching as her ass slowly jiggled by the small movement, and he carefully rolled them completely off. Sam pawed at her ass, loving the way it fit so perfectly in his hands, and slowly pulled her apart until he could see her core. She was wet and glistening in the moonlight, Sam needed to be inside of her.

With one hand on her ass and the other on his cock, he slowly slipped the tip through her folds. He could barely contain the groan that murmured past his lips, she felt better than he could have ever imagined, and he hadn't even started yet. Sam felt the dip in her core and pushed slowly as to not wake her, but needed a breather as he fit the tip all of the way inside.

He could have stopped and pumped himself until he came inside of her, but he had already come this far. He pushed harder, her warm and wet hole welcoming him inside like she was asking for it. Sam let out a shaky breath as he slid all of the way inside and bottomed out, he checked her face but she was still fast asleep. He began slowly, savoring the feeling of her tight cunt wrapped around his cock and the way that his balls slightly tapped against her clit. Sam knew it would feel amazing, but he never knew it would feel this good with her.

Sam got more confident and began thrusting harder and deeper, watching as her body jolted up and down with each movement. He was so lost in the feeling of her that when she began to whimper it was like music to his ears. There was no discerning whether she was enjoying it or not, she just sounded so heavenly to Sam. He thrusted faster in her, knowing that there was a climax in the near future, moaning her name louder and louder.

There was a particular clench of Y/N's cunt that had alerted Sam that she was awake, but he didn't care, he had never been this satisfied in his life. He quickly covered her mouth with the palm of his hand and felt how her breath was staggered and heavy against his skin.

"Sam?" He could barely recognize as she began to cry out, sobbing and slobbering all over his hand while she tried to push herself up against him.

"Shh, it's okay, Y/N," Sam crushed her with his body weight, feeling his cock twitch as she shrieked. "I've got you, it's just me."

He began to use his position to fuck her rougher and deeper, relishing in the way that she gasped out with each thrust. He knew he could make her feel good, he just had to show her. She kept pushing against the bed with her palms and crying into his hand, but Sam was so close he didn't care if it hurt her. But he wasn't a complete monster, he needed to explain himself.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I know it hurts, but you and I both needed this," Sam explained in between thrusts and shaky breaths.

"No!" She shook her head violently and Sam's hand traveled down to lightly squeeze her neck. She gasped loudly before reaching up and grabbing Sam's wrist with both of her hands.

"This is what it feels like, baby. It hurts so bad you can't even imagine," Sam enlightened her, squeezing just hard enough to scare her. His thrusts were slower and more meaningful, harder and with more intent. "You make me so hard it hurts. No one has ever done that to me."

"Sam, please," Y/N choked out a beg and Sam relieved a little bit of the pressure he had placed on her neck. She began to sob harder and Sam's thrusts became more erratic. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"I dream of you every night. Have for a long time, I couldn't control myself anymore," Sam's breaths faltered, his cock barely slipping in and out of her, he was going to cum soon. "Needed you so bad."

"Why me?" Y/N cried out and Sam lowered his head right beside hers, resting his cheek on the mattress.

"Shh, sweetheart," Sam whispered in her ear as she whimpered in return. "Fuck, Y/N." He felt his body beginning to shake uncontrollably. He delivered a few hard thrusts before bottoming and spilling his white cum inside of her. He moaned her name in her ear, feeling his cock pulse against her tight walls, and relaxed all of his body weight on top of her.

Sam needed time to recuperate and for her to calm down. She went still as he laid on top of her and Sam brushed his long fingers through her hair, reassuring her that everything was going to be okay.

“If we go ahead with this hunt, we can’t guarantee Y/N’s safety! It’s like you want her to get hurt!” Dean yells. You frown and sit up in bed. You know the hunt that he’s referring to. It’s a case in which young females are being targeted by some sort of creature that disembowels them. Definitely not pretty. 

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Dean, we know that Y/N can handle herself!” Sam snaps back.

“Oh, like you thought that you could handle yourself all those times that I had to save your ass?” 

You raise yourself out of bed and walk down the hall of the bunker, realizing that the two are in Dean’s room. You stand outside the door, watching them between the cracks of the door, not sure if you should step in yet.

“I’ve had to save your ass plenty of times too, Dean, in case you don’t remember!”

“Well then why do you bother to keep doing it?! Why not just let me die, you clearly have no issue doing that with Y/N and this damn case!” Dean says, and you feel a pang of guilt that this argument has become so much about you.

“You know that’s not what I want, quit dragging her into this!” Sam seems fed up. 

You agree with that, you don’t wanna be dragged into this anymore. You step into the room just as Sam shoves Dean, who now looks ready to burst, pulling his fist back, ready to hit Sam.

“Guys, stop!” You jump between the brothers, and unfortunately neither seems to be able to react before a fist makes contact with the side of your head, and it all goes black. 

~~~

Your eyes flutter open to find that you’re laying down on your bed. Sam is sitting in the chair by your desk, and Dean is sitting up against the headboard, right next to you. Your eyes are strangely out of focus, and your head is pounding.

You try to sit up, and your brother’s both look up at the movement.

“There she is...” Sam says with a sad smile, walking over and kneeling next to the bed. You blink at him, smiling a bit, but still confused.

“Hey, sweetheart, let’s not sit up just yet,” Dean lowers you back down with a hand on your shoulder. 

“How are you feeling, bean?” Sam asks you, gently brushing some hair away from your face.

“I... I dunno,” You say softly. “Hurts, I guess.”

Dean grimaces a bit. “I’m so sorry, Y/N/N. I didn’t know you jumped between us, I meant to only knock Sam in the shoulder, but you’re more than a head shorter than him...” He trails off at the look that you give him.

“No, De, I’m sorry. That fight was... about me. My fault,” you say, staring at your hands. Both of your brothers immediately protest.

“Y/N, hey, there’s no reason for you to apologize. That fight was silly. None of this should’ve happened, I’m sorry,” Sam says.

“We love you so much, pumpkin. Neither of us want to see you hurt,” Dean adds.

You stare up at both of them, trying hard to wrap your head around their words, but it is rather difficult with the way that your head feels. You simply give both of them a smile and sit up, standing up off of the bed, missing the worried looks on your brothers’ faces as they stand up as well.

“Sweetie, where are you going?” Sam asks you.

You stop in place. Oh, that’s a good question. Where are you going? You feel a gentle hand on your shoulder, which turns out to be Sam turning you around. He raises the light from his phone up. “Follow the light for me, Y/N,” he says.

You try your hardest, but Sam frowns at your delayed response. “I think she has a concussion,” he says to Dean, who runs a hand over his face. “I’ll go call Cas to help heal her,” he says, punctuating his statement with a kiss on your forehead as he leaves the room. 

You turn back to Dean, who gently guides you back to the bed. “Come on, Y/N/N. We’ll wait for Cas together,” he sits next to you on the bed, and you wrap your arms around his waist, resting your head on his chest. Dean smiles down at you before wrapping his arms tightly around you and pressing a kiss into your hair.

“I gotcha, baby girl,” he says, beginning to softly stroke your hair with the same hand that accidentally gave you a concussion in the first place. 

“Love you, De,” you say into his shirt.

“Love you more than anything, Y/N. Sammy does too.”

”Why didn’t you listen to my orders?” John roar, dark brown eyes furiously staring at you, and it almost makes you squirm. Only, you don’t show it.

”Because your orders were stupid! It would have never worked!” You retort, standing as tall as you can, staring back.

Dean’s keeping in the background, absentmindedly clutching his upper arm, as his gaze anxiously and a little annoyedly shift between you and John. It’s like with Sam and Dad all over again.

”Don’t you dare speak to me like that little girl.” Your father threaten you through gritted teeth.

He’s angry. Real angry. Despite the tone and expression, you can tell by the vein popping out on the side of his forehead.

”You are a piss poor excuse of a hunter! Pathetic, really. So don’t you come here and tell me what’s good and not. If you just had done what I told you, Dean wouldn’t have gotten hurt!” John gestures towards Dean as he plays that card.

And it has affect on you as your heart clutches in remorse. Meanwhile, Dean’s eyes widen as John uses him to guilt his little sister. He even tries to chime in.

”Wait, Dad—”

But he’s immediately cut off by John. ”Quiet, Dean. This is between your sister and I.”

You roll your eyes at the irony. It’s not about Dean, but still, your dad is of course allowed to use him to make a point.

You shouldn’t have done that, because John grabs the front of your shirt, pulling you closer, gaze nailing you and boring into your soul.

”You don’t get to use that attitude. You’re a worthless hunter. You can’t track down a monster on your own. You can’t shoot. You definitely proved that today. You ignore my orders like a little brat. Hell, you never freaking listen!” John hisses and you feel a shiver going down your spine as you try not to wince.

You want to talk back, but you struggle with coming up with words, any words at all. So, you open your mouth only to close it again. And now, honestly, you are scared. Scared because you know your dad. And that would make anyone feel nervous right now.

The tension is broken by hands wrapping around John’s shoulders. It’s Dean, you never saw him walking over, since he was hidden behind the towering statue of John, but now he’s here and pulling John away.

”Go easy on her, Dad, she’s doing the best she can.” Your big brother tries, but John shuts him down, forcedly shrugging off his grip.

”Back off, Dean.” He spits and you shiver.

Although Dean would deny it, you and Sam always had been sure that he was the oldest Winchester’s favorite. And for John to go off on him like that, he had to be mad.

”You’re part of the problem too,” Your dad continues, turned towards Dean now. ”You continue to baby her. You know very well that when you were her age, you could hit a target with your eyes closed. You were miles ahead. So, you need to stop going soft on her. She needs to learn in order to become a hunter.”

You feel Dad’s every word, like a blow. ’She needs to learn.’ That doesn’t sound good to you, and internal warning bells go off, and you start feeling anxious with your heartbeat picking up even more. You try your best to push it all away, the feelings and thoughts, and focus. Stay calm, (Y/N).

Before you can think, you open your mouth, because suddenly there’s something — a thought — that wants out, that wants to be said and heard.

”But I never wanted to become a hunter.” You don’t even realize that it’s your voice at first. Immediately, when you do, you realize it was a mistake.

Because your dad starts stalking closer like a panther sneaking up on its prey. Soon he’s only inches away from you. Dean nervously shifts, watching.

”Too bad that’s not your choice to make. You’re my daughter and I call the shots around here.”

His tone is cold. The whole of him is worse than ever. Because, this might be one of his scariest moments, except for that one time he hit Sam, bad.  

That night changed the way you saw your dad, forever. It might seem like an exaggeration, but it was definitely on the list of horrible things you’ve seen and would never forget. A list that’s already too long for your age. When said night occurred, you were only 13. Sam was 16 and Dean 20. Sam and your dad got into a heated argument, one of the worst of its kind, and John ended up connecting a fist to his youngest son’s cheek.

That moment flashes before your eyes right now. This feels all too much like that time. The situation over all is quite alike that one, now that you think of it.

It’s been quiet for a moment now. John — furious with a heaving chest and clenched fists — looks from you to Dean. You, his kids, are both clenching your jaws, your eyes cautiously yet intently glaring at your dad, never once breaking the glance. You’re positioned on opposite sides of John, and you’re keeping quiet, although both of your heads are buzzing with noisy, angry thoughts directed to the man who was supposed to raise you, protect you and make sure you get through life well, safe and sound.  

”Okay, this is how it’s going to be.” The older man breaks the silence. ”Tomorrow, Dean, you’re going to leave. Early in the morning. I’ll find you a hunt, and you’re going to take the Impala, and sort it out. And then you’re not going to come back for a month, and by that I mean a complete month, not a day before. That is orders. Do you hear me?”

Your eyes widen, it feels like the air has been knocked out of you, merely by the message. You almost can’t breath again, you unknowingly hold your breath. Your heart pounds in your chest. You had never, up until now, realized how intimidating the thought of being completely alone with the man who was your biological father but hardly a father figure. Without your brothers there to help you. Without their protection and support.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice speaks. ’Suck it up (Y/N). You can’t need their protection. You don’t get to rely on them all the damn time.’ You can’t tell whose voice it is, if it’s dark or light, if it’s feminine or masculine. If you could though, you weren’t too sure it would be yours, but instead, your dad’s.

Despite the thoughts clouding your senses, you still manage to meet Dean’s eyes. You briefly wondered if you had absentmindedly searched for his gaze, because of the connection you have, or if you simply happened to stare at him. Or maybe he was the one

searching for your eyes.

Dean looks sad. Apologetic. Worried.

An unwanted thought enters your mind. Maybe he doesn’t think you can handle yourself. Maybe he knows that you’re going to be lost without him?

John puts an end to your thinking. ”Do you understand me, son?”

Dean continues to look at you, until he finally draws his eyes away, to glance at John. Maybe he can’t take looking at you. Maybe he doesn’t want to.

”Yes, sir.”

The words are definite. Absolute. And now it’s real, Dean is leaving tomorrow, for sure.

”You, (Y/N).” He spits, whipping around to you, and you almost stagger back, by his sheer movement. ”You’re going to stay here with me. I’m going to train you. Turn you into a real hunter.”

You don’t dare asking what that means. But you probably deserved it. Not that you had done something wrong, you still think defying Dad’s orders tonight was the right call, and has been all the other times. But, you also know that he has been very hard on your brothers, in a way that he actually haven’t been on you. Training-wise. Otherwise, he might have been even harder, but that’s a story for another time.

”Now, do you understand?” Dad presses.

”Yes sir.” You say, quietly. Now, for the first time, you don’t look at him. You don’t want to give him the pleasure.

”One more time, louder. And look at me.”

You clench your jaw even harder, dreading it. But although you’re pissed, you do as he says.

”Yes sir.” You repeat yourself, eyes laid on his larger form.

He smiles ever so slightly, content. And you hate that. Absolutely despise it.

Turning around, you leave the joint kitchen and living room of the cabin you, Dad and Dean are renting, and walk off into the small, bare room you’re currently inhabiting as if it was your own. You close the door behind you — although you don’t slam it because that would only make your dad even angrier and who knows what would happen then. You lean against it, taking a deep breath as you stare up at the wooden ceiling, taking in the detailing in every piece of plank.

You stand there for a moment, feeling tired, defeated and empty. Soon enough you leave the door and air cooled off the area your body heat had warmed up, and you lie down on the bed. You don’t bother changing clothes, you’ve already taken off your jacket and shoes, and other than that, you didn’t get too dirty during this hunt. Besides, you just lied down on top of the covers and not under them. You don’t bother getting ready anymore than that either. You just want to fall asleep, escape from your thoughts. It doesn’t happen though, as you remain awake, looking out the window — situated on the wall opposite to the door as well as to the bed’s right — at the sun setting behind the trees. You succeed to keep your head fairly empty, keeping the difficult, dark thoughts away from your mind.

You lie there for a while, you would guess around an hour, but you can’t know for sure — until a knock tears through the thick silence. You hadn’t expected it, but it don’t startle you, and you don’t move one bit. Instead you continue lying on your side — arm tucked under the pillow and your head, knees slightly bent and drawn closer to your chest — inattentively staring out at the evening sky.

The door opens with a creak.

”Hi.” Dean’s voice reaches your ear.

You slightly lift up your head — that feels heavy — and look over your shoulder at him. As you do, the corners of Dean’s lips slightly curl upwards, but his eyes are round and sad. He almost looks like a puppy, or a young boy, and your stomach twists. He looks lost, tired, with messy hair, no leather jacket but only a black t-shirt on his upper body and a clean bandage wrapped around his upper arm, covering his wound.

Dean closes the door behind him. You lay down your head on your pillow again, but your sensitive ears hear Dean slither closer until the bed shifts as it dips down behind your back, the feathers squealing quietly.

You don’t even have to make room for him to lie down, because you’re already placed on the far edge closest to the window. He places his head on the other pillow — the bed has two, you found a spare one in the small closet of the cabin — and gives out a light groan, probably because of his arm and sore muscles. And then it’s quiet and still again.

He lies there, next to you, for a while. Without saying anything, just being there. For both your sakes, maybe even more for his than your own. But you can’t lie, it feels nice, comforting, reassuring. And soon enough, you roll over to your back, mimicking Dean’s position, staring up at the ceiling again.

Soon enough, you speak, words soft.

”I’ve screwed up.” It’s no whine, cry, or nervous claim. It’s only a statement, and you put no particular emotion behind your words.

It’s almost like it wasn’t you that had screwed up, but someone else. As if your worries only exist in someone else’s life. But that isn’t the truth is it?

Dean turns his face towards you, you can see it in the corner of your left eye. He inspects your face with his green eyes for a moment, until he ultimately turns his face towards the ceiling again and answers.

”Maybe. Judging by our life, our family situation. Our dad.” He pauses. ”But that’s only because it’s like this. If our lives were normal, apple-pie ones, you definitely would’ve done the right thing, standing up for yourself like you did.”

”He’s probably right, you know.” You state.

”What?

”That I need to become a real hunter. That I’m weak.” You explain further.

”Oh, come on, don’t say that.” Dean objects, but with less disagreement and emotion in his voice than you would’ve think. Maybe it’s because he’s subconsciously matching up his tone to fit better with your calm, quieter words.

”But it’s true.”

Although a few hours ago, you had been sure you were right, now you let your dad’s words get to you. You started believing them. Sure, sometimes you thought about yourself as weak and not a good hunter, but never as completely useless like you started to now.

”No, it’s not.” Dean retorts.

”It is.”

Dean’s following silence speaks for itself, but it gives off several possible messages. Maybe he’s just quiet because he knows he can’t win the argument. Maybe he knows it’s true and agrees with Dad.

You shake the last option off, although you know that you brought it up in the first place. It’s your fault.

”Sorry about your shoulder.” You switch topic, and this time you turn your head to look at Dean.

Dean dips his own head down and your eyes meet, though his face is partially hidden behind some of the pillows’ fluffiness. Dean looks up again.

”’Not your fault.”

You nod a little. Not that you agree, it is, but you know he will continue to think it wasn’t whatever you say, so you let it go.

It’s quiet for a while. The room progressively gets darker as the sun disappears completely from the sky, and it goes deep blue. You listen to Dean’s breathing as his chest heaves up and down, and you even close your eyes for a while. By now, the thoughts are almost completely gone and it feels great.

You could’ve fallen asleep right there and then; warm, on a fairly comfortable bed, beside one of the two people just love most in this world, but you don’t. Instead, you open your mouth one more time.

”I don’t want you to leave.” You whisper, because it feel so strange now to break the silence that’s been resting over the two of you for long now.

”I don’t want to leave,” comes the answer. You can’t see more of Dean than his silhouette in this lightening, but you can definitely feel his presence just as much as before.

It’s a sad excuse of a comfort, but it still feels a little bit better knowing that he feels the same way. And, somewhen after that, you do actually drift off to slumber, against all odds, tiredness from the hunt and fight enveloping you like a soft blanket.

You blink and instantly squint your newly awoken eyes against the white, bright light streaming in from the window — that does not have any blinds. Although, it has curtains, you just never pulled them close. You groggily take in the room, remembering that this is where you lived for now. A specific thought enter your mind and you immediately look over to your left, but the bed is empty. The only sign that someone ever lied there, is the slight crinkling of the white covers.

Piercing pain shoots through your body, starting from your heart as fear takes over. You almost cringe, turning into yourself. But then your trained ears catch something outside your closed bedroom door.

”No.” His voice is muffled, but there, and you feel yourself relax ever so slightly.

”You don’t want to?” It was Dad.

”No.”

”You have to, Dean.”

”Why?”

You rise your eyebrows. It’s unusual for your older brother to question John’s orders this much, that’s your job. He usually just accepted them and strode right into action. He must be really passionate about this, staying here. You feel a pull on your heartstrings as you exhaled softly. You may not have a lot in this life, but you have Dean. And that is more than enough.

”It’s orders, son.”

When Dean’s answer doesn’t come, you fly off your bed, heart in your throat. You run to the door, open it, and come to a stop in the doorway. There’s Dean, duffle bag in his hand, standing by the front door across the room from you. And there’s Dad, looking content up until he sees you.

”Go back to your room, (Y/N).”

You completely ignore him. Instead, you walk closer to Dean and Dad, almost reaching Dad who stands in the middle of the room.

”Your room, (Y/N).” He growls threateningly.

”Dean!” You call, trying to get him to look at you, but he just stares at the floor, clutching the handles of the bag harder.

You get sinking feeling in your stomach.

”Dean, please don’t go! Don’t leave me!” You try again, and you can’t seem to keep your voice stable, instead you sound desperate — which, well, you are.

You don’t actually know what Dad ’making you into a hunter’ meant, so you really don’t have a reason to be so scared. But, somehow, your instincts told you differently.

”Stay back!” Dad demands, as he puts out an arm and pushes you back, so hard that you stumble a few steps. ”Dead, you know what you have to do. It’s orders.”

”Dean!” You try calling again, feeling your eyes sting.

You watch how Dean looks at his shoes, nodding slowly as he clenches his jaw. Then, he turns around and grabs the door knob.

You instantly spin around, facing away from Dean and John, staring through the open door into your room. You can’t watch him leave, you can’t do it. Instead, you stare into nothing until you forcedly shut your eyes, mostly in reflex, as you hear the soft sound of the front door closing slowly.

You know Dean trusts Dad. He trusts him in a way you never can, and never have. So, you could only hope that’s the reason he now left you alone, and not the fact that he too thinks you’re weak and wants you to become a real hunter.

You hear shuffling behind you, and you know John turns to look at you.

”It’s just me and you now, princess.”

You hate that word. Princess. It’s deprecate, it’s like just because you’re a girl, you expect to be treated with kid gloves, like some royalty. Like you can’t handle it.

Although maybe you can’t.

”Let’s start right now, shall we?” You can hear your father’s smirk.

You take a deep breath, in and out. And, then you slowly turn around to face him. Because, you know he’s going to make you otherwise, and you’d rather do it with dignity.

So there you stand, tall and chin raised high, looking at him coldly. Tears have pricked in the corners of your eyes, but you ignore them, shoving your feelings around.

”Come here.” He instructs.

At first you don’t move, but when you see his expression, you cautiously make your way over. Your dad places his hand on your shoulder as you reach him, but you angrily shake it off.

Both of you walk outside, to the porch. There, John points at the opening of the forest.

”See that road?”

You ignore the urge to scoff. The gravel by the opening is hardly a road, more like a path. But, you nod anyway.

”I want you to run that track. 15 miles, maybe a bit more.”

You gulp.

You’ve always categorized yourself as more of the brain than the muscle. Sure, you constantly put your body under physical pressure, but, you and your family really didn’t have the best food habits. Burgers and canned food aren’t exactly healthy. What you did for a living compensated for this, since a hunt was surely a workout, but you could be in better shape. So, you are in pretty good shape, yes, but you’re no exceptional superhero who could just run 15 miles in the speed John wanted you to.

”Can I have breakfast?” You quietly ask. Surely you could, but you decide to not anger your dad by taking things for granted.

”No.”

Your eyes widen — I’m going to faint — but you give a single nod. Then, you turn around to walk inside, to your room, again.

John stops you by putting out an arm, blocking the entrance inside.

”Where do you think you’re going?” You look up at him, and see that his eyebrows are high on his forehead, questioning you.

”To switch clothes…” You innocently explain, before looking down at your t-shirt and jeans.

”I don’t think so.” John obeys, and you’re not even surprised. Of course you can’t.

What surprises you slightly is him forcedly grabbing your shoulders, turning your around, and giving you a hard shove across the porch, so that you almost trip and fall down the couple of stairs down to ground level. You stumble down them though, breath stuck in your throat, heart pounding.

While you regain your footing and then balance, John yells after you.

”Now, show me you’re not completely worthless, stupid girl!”

His words hurt, but once again you repress your feelings. Determination settles in on you, and you make a promise to yourself. I’m going to show him.

And then your start running.

A/N (again): And, as I said, there will be more parts to this! I haven’t written them yet but I know what I want to happen, so, yeah. There’s gonna be a bit more action in later parts to make up for this lol. This is kind of a teaser (hysterically long)/an opening for what’s to come.

Tags: @daughters-and-winsisters @evyiione @samanddeanshotsis @darkestgrungeuniverse @fabulouslycassie @delessapeace-blog @mariairwin666 @1amluke @saveprettydays @cookee50 @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @infamati–et–obliterati  @stillcooli0 @sammysbeanie @jamric @deepbreathssammy @extreme-supernatural-lover 

It seemed like Charlie had forgotten these things, too—or that she had simply overlooked them in favor of catering to the Christmas spirit. Minutes after arriving, she’d voiced comments about both the rainy, cold weather and the large, tourist-infested crowd. She’d voiced her dislike, but declined when Harvey suggested they leave. She stubbornly stuck with browsing the little shops for over an hour before relenting and quietly offering that maybe they could consider starting to think about where they might like to have lunch in the near future. 

Harvey wasn’t sure if Charlie’s reddened cheeks were just from the cold or from a bit of contrition—both, he figured—and Harvey was tempted to tell her he wasn’t yet hungry or to point out that she hadn’t yet completed her shopping list. He’d been tempted to give her a bit of stubbornness in kind—same as she had done to him—but Harvey didn’t have it in him. He was too cold and too miserable, and he was too grateful that Charlie had finally decided to give up on their fumbled excursion so they could get warm and get something to eat and get back home where they probably should have stayed to begin with. 

Charlie fit herself against Harvey’s side as soon as he agreed to lunch, the pair making their way toward the restaurant—some posh place just off the park. For once, Charlie didn’t argue about the choice of restaurant. She was unconcerned about the menu or finding something to suite her picky palate. She had told her brother whatever was closest was fine—she’d gladly go anywhere close by that had the heat blasting and a warm drink she could wrap her chilled fingers around. 

The place Harvey suggested was only two blocks away. Charlie fidgeted while they waited for the lights to change so they could cross the street. She pulled away as something caught her eye down the side street—a large van and signage capturing her attention. Charlie shrugged out of Harvey’s hold.

“No, Charlie,” came almost immediately when Harvey spotted what had so quickly garnered his sister’s attention—the mobile unit for an animal rescue advertising on the spot pet adoptions taking place. 

Down the block there were canines everywhere—big ones, small ones—all of them wearing bright red and green bows with ‘adopt me’ flags adorning their leashes.

Harvey caught Charlie’s arm as she tried to move closer. “C’mon, we can cross now.”

“But Harvey—”

“We’re going to lunch. You said you were—”

“But maybe we can just look first,” she suggested. “Maybe for Christmas—”

“No. Absolutely not.” Harvey cut her off before she could even finish making the suggestion, shaking his head. “No, I’m not buying you that.”

“But Harvey—”

“No, Charlotte. It’s again building rules—”

“It is not!” she answered immediately. Charlie knew every dog in the building. She knew their names on sight and always said hello even if she didn’t remember the names of their associated humans—her neighbors. 

“A dog would be good for me, Harvey. They teach responsibility and—”

“You’re responsible enough.” Harvey guided her back on the sidewalk so they weren’t standing in the middle of the pavement, irritating passerby by continuing their conversation where they were attempting to walk.

“Then you should let me get a dog,” she answered, gesturing down the block before grabbing onto his arm. “Please Harvey? I won’t ask you for another thing. I promise. Just get me a dog.” 

“Are you done?” he asked. He knew she liked dogs—she always had—and from time to time, her crazed begging would come up, but in the end, they always agreed it was for the best that they didn’t have one. 

Charlie huffed. “I just think—”

“Neither one of us is home enough to care for a dog,” he answered. Harvey was prepared for her arguments—all the toys and services they could afford to remedy that fact. They could afford dog walkers or doggy daycares, but Harvey didn’t think that was fair to a dog. 

“It’s not fair to adopt a dog when we won’t be home. Someday you’ll live on your own and you’ll be able to decide if you have room in your life for that.”

“So, you’re saying no then?” she asked. “You’re saying no even though it’s Christmas.”

“Have you heard a word I just said, Charlotte?”

Charlie rolled her eyes. She’d heard her brother just fine though she wished she hadn’t. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“I’m sure,” Harvey answered. “C’mon. Let’s go get a table.” 

Charlie obediently came to his side just as the lights changed again. They’d have to wait again for the chance to cross the street. She glanced back towards the dogs again. 

“I just always wanted one, you know?” she said. “Remember Barkley? Mrs. Matherson’s dog?”

Harvey sighed and nodded—the next door neighbor’s golden retriever had been the perfect dog, well-loved by everyone in the neighborhood. He remembered the dog as a puppy long before Charlie had been born. He had been nearly ancient by the time Charlie moved in. Maybe in a different life—one where their father was still alive and she still lived in Riverside, Charlie Specter would have had a dog like Barkley. 

Maybe in that life, she’d be home more. She’d be with their father who would be living out his retirement with nothing but time and energy and love to devote to Charlie and a dog.

Charlie jumped when Harvey handed off the bags and stepped away from his sister. She watched, a bit dumbfounded as Harvey walked over to the woman at the front of the van. He came away in less than a minute with a clipboard and pen. He passed it all to Charlie without a word, a smile coming to her face as she read through the paper affixed to the clipboard—Youth Volunteer Application. 

She fanned through the pages, noticing there were two stapled packets. The second was labelled Adult Volunteer Application. “Why did she give you this?” 

“Because you have to be 16 or older to volunteer on your own,” Harvey said. “And that’s all you’re getting for Christmas, so you better not—”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she answered, wrapping her shopping bag and clipboard filled arms around him.

It wouldn’t really be the only gift Harvey gave his sister. He didn’t have that sort of restraint, or more accurately, he didn’t have it in him to take Christmas shopping for the girl off of Donna’s to-do list. His secretary enjoyed it far too much, and had probably already done most of the shopping anyway...but deep down Harvey knew this gift would make her happier than any of the other things he would be placing under the Christmas tree. Quality time with her brother and a dedicated hour to play with and walk and care for dogs once a week was worth more than any material thing Harvey could ever buy for Charlie. He was sure Charlie would’ve still preferred a dog of their own, but this was a pretty decent Christmas compromise.