#winchester!reader

Despite the parades of cars and bustle of parents coming to and fro, the cobbled plaza in front of the school was still relatively calm. You leaned against the cool stone wall watching. Several of your year mates were being pulled into rib crushing hugs, some resisting, some giving in.

You found Ajax in the crowd, somehow, your watch lingering as his mom’s cradled his cheeks, checking over him like he was a toddler fresh in from playing in the dirt. Your lips ticked up into a soft smirk as he protested, trying to push away from them gently despite the grin on his face. For a second, his eyes found yours as he glanced beyond them, his grin softening a little, looking as if he was about to point you out to them, only to be whisked off into another round of smothering.

The roar of an engine revving pulled your eyes away from the crowds, the unmistakable beat of AC/DC’s Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap blaring from open windows confirming your worst nightmare. They had come after all.

The tyres crunched the gravel onto the cobblestones, the black paint freshly washed and waxed, as always. Several groups parted as Baby pulled up, each one watching uncomfortably, a few of them muttering to one another under their breaths as the engine finally shut off – the music with it – and they climbed out, eyes searching over peoples heads until they spotted you, kicking off the wall.

You didn’t exactly sprint over to them as Sam rounded the car, Dean simply leaning against the closed drivers door, watching you with a slightly raised brow.

Your arms remained crossed over your chest, unimpressed, as you slowed in front of him. “Jerk.”

His grin finally broke, “Loser.”

A smile forced itself into your cheeks as you finally launched yourself at them, arms swinging around both of their necks as they lifted you slightly off the edge of your toes.

“How you doing, squirt?” Sam huffed as he put you down, heavy hand clapping you on the head and ruffling your hair.

You cringed, ducking a little to escape it. “I’m good. School’s good.”

“You sure?” Dean held your gaze intently. “I have a to go bag in the trunk, you can be outta here in under 60 seconds fla–”

“Dean,” you stopped him, lips pursed, unimpressed. “We are not having this conversation again.

He huffed, rolling his head to the side and clenching his jaw. “I really thought you would be through with this whole… outcast thing by now.”

Sam glanced between the two of you for a moment, swallowing thickly. “I think what Dean is trying to say is that we miss you,” he tried, offering you an apologetic smile.

“Hey, you’re the bad influence here,” Dean corrected him, holding up a finger, “You’re the one who said school was a good idea.”

“School is a good idea,” he stressed.

“I didn’t bother, and look at me. Just fine!” Dead held his hands out to the side, you and Sam simply glanced him up and down, nodding slowly.

“Yeah—” you drawled, “The picture of stability.”

He frowned as you started walking off, tucking his hands deep in his jacket pockets as they followed after you. “At least Sam went to a normal school.”

You span on your heels, pacing backwards a few steps. “Will you keep your voice down?”

He held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just sayin’, a Winchester surrounded by outcasts? What would dad say if he found out.”

You stopped dead, nearly tripping both of your brothers up.

“Dean, I’m an outcast. Sammy is too!”

“Yeah, well–” he paused for a moment, trying to find the words, “you two are different.”

“Different how?” Sam joined you in crossing his arms over his chest, turning with raised brows to watch your brother flounder. You had to fight a self-satisfied smirk.

He just looked at you for a moment, lips opening and closing a few times.

“Point proven,” you huffed.

“I just—“ he pressed his lips into a firm line. “I don’t get why you had t’ come here. Why not join the family business?”

You scoffed, “you know exactly why. You—“ you jabbed your finger into his chest “—would smoke this entire school in an instant if I wasn’t here.”

Sam’s hand on your shoulder had you stepping back before Dean could rebut. “Okay, I think that’s enough. Let’s just—“ he swallowed thickly, glancing around before settling back on you “—try to make it through lunch. At least.”

“Fine.” You huffed.

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Fantastic.”

Dean just had to have the last word.

“So, what are your classmates like?” Sam asked with a soft smile as you pulled apart your sandwich. Dean only continued to glance around the quad, chewing a little obnoxiously though his heaped plate, as if surveying for his next move.

“They’re nice – really nice,” you started, relaxing a little when Sam’s smile turned more genuine. “It feels good to be around others who know what it’s like being different, you know.”

Sam nodded as he swallowed the bite of his food. “Are there many others? Like us, I mean?” His voice quietened a little on instinct, as if forgetting that this was the one safe space he could talk about it. Dean finally snapped back to paying attention.

“Yeah,” you breathed a soft laugh, “there are loads of psychics – different types, too. There is one guy thiugh – my friend Xaiver – he has visions like ours. ‘Turns them into art.” Sam’s eyes widened a little with intrigue.

“Art?” Dean scoffed a little, picking up his fourth sandwich.

“It’s impressive. He can bring them to life, too,” you defended, turning back to Sam with a smile, “It’s crazy.”

Dean huffed a laugh, “Yeah, sounds it.”

Sam shot him a disapproving glare on your behalf.

You only rolled your eyes, dropping the rest of your sandwich back to your plate. Your gaze drifted a little, flicking each of your friends as they chatted with their families, most of them happily – Ajax in particular. Your gaze softened as you focused on him, his eyes meeting yours as if by chance between the throngs of people, instantly breaking into a boyish smile.

“Who do you keep looking at?” Dean twisted in his seat with a scowl, eyes trying to follow yours.

“No one!” You rushed, swallowing thickly and going back to moving your food around your plate.

“Oh yeah?” Sam had turned around too by now and you finally glanced up, feeling the blood drain from your cheeks.

“Guys, really, it’s–” Your heart stopped as you watched Ajax stand, excusing himself from his table quickly. You had told him about your brothers – well, mostly. Kind of. He knew they existed, at least. But you were mostly hoping he would be so busy with his moms all day that you could avoid them being any closer than 12 feet at any one time.

“Hey, (y/n), are these your brothers?”

“Ajax!” You offered a tight lipped smile, hoping desperately that he could see the warning in your eyes. “Y-yeah this is Sam and Dean,” you gestured to each respectively, risking a glance at them.

It took a swift two kicks under the table to stop them staring, their eyes fixed firmly above his eyes as his beanie twitched slightly.

“Mind if I join?” Ajax turned to you, the light confused furrow in his brow evening out as his eyes tore away from your brothers. “My mom is putting Xavier through 20 questions and I fear I’m next.”

You are not going to like what’s about to happen here, then, you thought.

It was Sam who spoke first, “of course.” His elbow connecting with Dean’s side propped a forced smile onto his face.

That’s when Ajax made the worst mistake he possibly could have. As he climbed into the bench beside you, he pressed a quick kiss to the side of your head, his hand running down your back.

It was force of habit, you knew that. He did it every meal time when he found you in the cafeteria.

Your whole body tensed, and as he settled and looked back up, you felt him tense too, his eyes widening.

Sam and Dean were the picture of livid. But that quiet, dangerous kind that had their brows down turned, lips pressed tightly. Glaring daggers into Ajax’s skull.

You swallowed thickly, your hand finding Ajax’s under the table.

“Sam, Dean—“ you started nervously, “—this is Ajax. My boyfriend.”

Their glares did not budge.

Then the next worse thing that could of happened, did.

Whether it was because they sensed your heat beside them or what, one of Ajax’s snakes slipped from beneath his beanie, reaching out tentatively towards you.

Your brother’s eyes fell on it immediately.

You cleared your throat.

“He’s a gorgon…”

Barely a beat passed before they finally exclaimed in unison “gorgon?” “Boyfriend?”

Dean’s voice was louder, his eyes flicking between you with a dry laugh. “Nah ah, we ain’t doing boyfriends around here.”

“Really?” You scoffed, almost phasing out the fact Ajax was beside you entirely. “That is your problem?”

“I think I should go-“ Ajax started to rise beside you, your brothers snapping back to him in unison-

“Sit.”

Ajax fell back to the bench with an almost comical gulp, his hand gripping yours again under the table.

Sam leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “You’re a gorgon. You turn people to stone?”

Ajax cleared his throat. “Uh—only if I take my beanie off. And I don’t… you know. Not unless it’s an accident. Which doesn’t really happen anymore.” He gave a sheepish smile, but it fell under the twin glares he was getting.

“Accident?” Dean barked out a laugh that was anything but funny. “That’s comforting.”

You shot him a glare of your own. “Ajax hasn’t hurt anyone. He’s not dangerous.”

“Not dangerous?” Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam. “Didn’t we just see one of his… little head-friends try to cuddle up to her?”

“They like her,” Ajax blurted out, then immediately went scarlet. His snakes wriggled, betraying him.

“Doesn’t matter. The problem here is boyfriend. As in our sister’s boyfriend.” Dean’s tone dripped with disdain like it was the dirtiest word he’d ever had to say.

You threw your hands up. “Seriously? He’s literally the nicest guy I’ve ever dated and that’s your problem?”

Ajax perked up at that, giving you a shy smile. “Nicest guy, huh?”

“Don’t get comfortable,” Dean snapped at him, then jabbed a finger toward you. “Because you are way too young for a boyfriend.”

“Dean!” you protested, heat rising in your cheeks.

Sam finally chimed in, his voice calmer but no less protective. “You’re still our little sister. That doesn’t change.” His arms crossed. “So you think you’re good enough for her?”

Ajax hesitated, swallowed, then looked both brothers dead in the eye. “No. Probably not. But I’m gonna try like hell anyway.”

For a moment, the air in the quad went still, like even the hum of conversation around your table seemed to have faded.

Dean snorted, shaking his head. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.” He jabbed a finger at Ajax. “But if you hurt her—gorgonzola or not—I swear to God I’ll find a way to salt-and-burn your snakes one by one.”

“Gorgon.” Sam corrected quietly, still staring Ajax down.

“Whatever.”

Ajax paled. His snakes froze.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Great. Exactly how I pictured this going.”

The rest of lunch passed in horrifically awkward silence. Only the sound of chewing and Dean’s teeth grinding breaking it.

Ajax had finished off the rest of your food. You were far too irate to swallow another bite.

Miraculously, you had managed to swerve your brothers when Sam had to take a call, you had only rolled your eyes when he had answered as Isaac Angus, pest control and stalked back to the car.

You had followed them, partially driven by curiosity, to the edge of campus, lingering against the wall.

“Hey,” Ajax’s voice made you jump. “I thought I saw you disappear this way.” You were greatful when he stopped beside you, letting you lean some of your weight into his side, his arm sliding around your waist the perfect comfort.

“Yeah, sorry.” You offered him a poor attempt at a smile, your eyes quickly going back to Sam, trying to read his lips and piece things together.

“Your brothers are… nice?” He tried, brows furrowing in confusion as you both watched them from the gates, Dean trying to get info from Sam as he paced around the car, still on the phone.

“They’re impossible.”

Ajax’s shoulders relaxed instantly, his smile turning more genuine. “Yeah, they’re kinda intense.”

You snorted a laugh. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

“Is that why you don’t talk about them much?”

You hesitated for a second, your fingers reaching out to his as you turned and leaned against the wall. You fixated on them as you played with them aimlessly. He simply let you.

“Partly, I suppose. It’s… complicated.”

“And your parents?” He asked even more softly, not an ounce of pressure in his tone.

“Even more complicated,” you huffed, defaulting to humour to push back the burning in your eyes. “Dean basically raised Sam, then they both kinda did their best with me.”

Ajax nodded slowly, wetting his lips. “Well, I’d say they did a pretty good job, all things considered.” He squeezed your hand gently and you finally looked up, finding his eyes already trained on yours.

You failed to fight the edges of your mouth as they pulled up into a lopsided smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But don’t let them hear that, it will go straight to Dean’s head.”

“Are they like you too?” Ajax glanced back at them again. Sam had hung up now, the two of them bickering a little by the car.

“Psychic?” Ajax nodded. “Sam is, but he was never really taught how to use it. It’s…” you paused again.

“Complicated?” Ajax finished for you. You could only chuckle in response.

“They’ll come around eventually,” you offered quietly. Ajax only scoffed.

“I don’t know about that—”

“They will. I’ll show them,” you leaned up, pressing a gently kiss to his cheek, feeling him flush.

“Oi, loser!” You had become so wrapped up in finally finding a bit of peace that you hadn’t noticed that either of your brothers were making their way back over to you.

You pulled your hand from Ajax’s on instinct, but did nothing to step away.

Dean’s eyes flicked between you uncomfortably. “Look, we have to go, there’s a situation at work,” his cover was flawless, as always.

Despite it all, your stomach still twisted. “Anything serious?”

Sam shook his head, burying his hands in his pockets and glancing at Ajax for a moment before turning back to you. “Shouldn’t be too bad. The systems look fine, they’re just not running as usual.”

Potential demon.

Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Probably just need to bleed them.”

Exorcism, then.

“Right,” you smiled tightly, thankful for once that Ajax was sometimes a little slow to catch on.

“Look, before we go—” Dean started, clearing his throat awkwardly and avoiding looking towards Ajax as he hovered behind you, “—we wanted to…” He winced, as if the words were painful. “Apologize. For being… kinda jerks.”

You blinked, surprise flickering across your face before you could hide it. “You don’t have t—”

“We do.” Sam sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “That being said… we still don’t love the whole ‘boyfriend’ thing.”

Dean shot Ajax a pointed look. “No offense, Medusa Jr.”

Ajax’s snakes twitched, but he nodded quickly. “None taken, sir.”

“Sir – I like that,” Dean muttered with a smirk. You could only roll your eyes at his self-satisfied grin.

Sam, ignoring him, leaned forward a little, his expression dead serious as his eyes fixed on you. “What matters is, it’s your choice. If you ever want out — you call us. Anytime. Day, night, doesn’t matter. We’ll come get you.”

Dean nodded firmly, “No questions asked.”

Your chest tightened, warmth and exasperation tangling together. You rolled your eyes with a laugh, shoving lightly at Dean’s arm. “God, you two are impossible.”

But you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

With that, they turned and headed for the car, Dean stopping only to turn back, finger raised towards your boyfriend. “Don’t hurt her.”

Ajax didn’t need to know what your brothers were capable of to stiffen in fear, his fingers brushing your wrist for comfort. You could only scoff a laugh.

You weren’t even sure they heard you as you shouted for them to be careful, the engine starting up with a roar of AC/DC once again.

“See ya later, loser!” Sam called from his window.

“In a bit, bitch!”

Ajax slid his hand back into yours, glancing between the car and you a little confused as it pulled away.

He murmured under his breath once they were gone, “I think that went… okay?”

You laughed again, softer this time, and squeezed his hand. “For them? Yeah. That was basically a blessing.”

Taglist📍

*3rd Person POV*

The motel room smelled like stale coffee, gun oil, and the cheap floral cleaner every roadside inn in America seemed to buy in bulk. Rain tapped softly against the window while the television muttered low in the corner, ignored by everyone inside the room. Sixteen-year-old Y/N Winchester sat cross-legged on one of the beds, carefully wrapping fresh gauze around Dean’s bruised knuckles. 

“You punk walls too much.” She muttered quietly. 

Dean snorted from where he sat shirtless on the edge of the mattress. “Occupational hazard, baby.” 

Her lips twitched faintly. “Dad says it’s because you have anger issues.” 

“Dad says a lot of things.” 

Across the room, Sam huffed a laugh from behind an old lore book. John glanced up briefly from cleaning his handgun at the small table. 

“Watch the attitude.” John warned. 

Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t push further. Y/N immediately glanced between them, the familiar nervous reflex deeply ingrained by years of trying to keep peace between the three men she loved most. 

“It’s done.” She said softly, trying off the bandage around Dean’s hand. 

Dean flexed his fingers experimentally before nudging her shoulder with his own. 

“Thanks, baby girl.” 

She smiled automatically. That smile was the problem. Sam noticed it first years ago. Dean noticed it too, though neither brother ever talked about it aloud. Y/N smiled differently around John. Softer, safer, like she truly believed he hung the moon. And John… God, John treated her differently, too. Not normal Dad differently, John Winchester was incapable of being normal, but softer. Gentler around the edges. She still trained, still hunted, still lived in motel rooms and survived on greasy diner food and fake credit card scams. But Y/N got blankets draped over her when she fell asleep in the backseat. She got forehead kisses before hunts. She got called princess. Sam and Dean got boys. Dean used to pretend it didn’t bother him. Then Y/N turned eight, and John drover three hours out of their way because she mentioned wanting strawberry pancakes from a diner she liked. Three hours. Dean had nearly died from a wendigo bite two weeks ealier, and John barely blinked. But Y/N pouted once, and suddenly the world stopped spinning. Dean hated how much that hurt. Not because of Y/N, she adored them. Absolutely worshipped both of her older brothers. 

When she was little, she cried anytime Dean left for supply runs because she thought monsters would eat him. She used to crawl into Sam’s lap during thunderstorms with stuffed animals tucked under her chin. She never bragged about being Dad’s favorite. Honestly, she barely seemed aware of it. That somehow made it worse. 

“You finish your research?” John asked Sam.

“Almost.” Sam answered without looking up. 

Y/N slid off the bed and wandered over to him, peering down at the lore book. 

“Anything useful?” 

Sam’s expression softened instantly. It always did around her. 

“Maybe.” He said. “Looks like the disappearances line up with demon omens.” 

Her face fell slightly. Demons were bad news. Not ghost bad, not vampire bad, demon bad. 

John stood abruptly, grabbing his jacket. “Then we move tonight.” 

Dean frowned immediately. “Tonight?” 

“Yes, tonight.” 

“It’s pouring outside.” 

John’s eyes flicked toward Y/N briefly before returning to Dean. “Demons won’t stop because of weather.” 

Dean bit back whatever sharp response wanted out. Y/N quietly touched Dean’s arm. Instantly, some of the tension drained from his shoulders. 

“Okay.” He muttered. 

Sam noticed the exchange and looked away. That was the other thing, Y/N had become the glue holding everyone together. She didn’t even realize she was doing it. 

The abandoned cannery stood near the edge of town, rusted metal shrieking beneath the storm winds. Lightning illuminated broken windows and collapsing catwalks. Dean hated this already. 

“You stay between us.” John ordered Y/N as they approached. 

She nodded obediently, shot gun clutched tightly in her small hands. At sixteen, she was good on hunts. Too good. John made sure of that. But tonight she looked nervous. 

Dean bumped her shoulder gently. “Hey.” 

She looked up. 

“We got you.” 

Her smile appeared again, small and trusting. Dean would burn the world down before letting anything happen to her. Which was exactly why the next twenty minutes destroyed him. It happened fast. Too fast. 

One second they were sweeping the lower level of the cannery. The next, light exploded overhead. Black smoke poured form the shadows. Growling voices echoed everywhere at once. Demons. 

“Circle up!” John barked. 

Dean shoved Y/N behind him automatically while Sam risaed his gun. Then screaming metal echoed overhead. Dean looked up just in time to see the catwalk collapse. 

“MOVE!” 

Everyone scattered. The floor trembled violently as rusted steel crashed between them. Dean hit the ground hard. Sam cursed somewhere nearby. John shouted Y/N’s name immediately. Dean’s stomach dropped. 

“Y/N!?” 

The smoke thickened unnaturally. 

Dean scrambled up, coughing hard. “SAM!” 

Then he heard it. A scream. Her scream. Terrified, cut off abruptly. Dean’s bllood ran cold. 

“NO!” 

He vaulted over debris while Sam and John rushed after him, but by the time they reached the far hallway… nothing. Only blood smeared across the concrete. 

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“No no no no-” Dean paced violently across the motel room while Sam worked through lore books at hyperspeed and John barked into burner phones. Three hours. She’s been gone for three hours. Dean felt like his skin was being peeled off inch by inch. 

“She’s smart.” Sam said quietly, though his own voice shook. “She knows how to survive.” 

Dean whirled on him. “She’s sixteen!” 

“She’s been hunting since she was a kid!” 

“That doesn’t make this okay!” 

John slammed his phone onto the table. Silence fell instantly. For one horrible second, Dean saw it. Fear, real fear in John Winchester’s eyes. Not anger. Not obsession. Terror. 

“She’s alive.” John said roughly. 

“How do you know?” Dean demanded. 

John swallowed hard. “They want something.” 

Dean hated that he was probably right. Demons didn’t take hostages for hun. Usually. 

Sam rubbed exhausted hands over his face. “The cult.” 

John nodded once. 

“They know we have it.” 

Dean stopped pacing. 

“So they took her to trade” 

“Or bait.” Sam muttered darkly. 

John’s jaw clenched.

Nobody spoke for several seconds. 

“She’s gonna think we left her.” Dean said quietly. 

John looked like he’d been punched. Because that was the real horror, wasn’t it? Y/N trusted them completely, and now she was alone. 

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Y/N woke slowly. Pain arrived first, sharp throbbing agony across her ribs and face. Then cold. Metal chains dug brutally into her wrists above her head. The room smelled like sulfur and rot. Her breathing hitched immediately. No… No no no… She tried pulling against the restraints and cried out when pain exploded through her shoulder. 

“Well look who’s awake.” A man stepped from the shadows. Exacpt not a man. Black eyes. Demon. Y/N immediately tried for the knife she no longer had. The demon laughed. 

“That’s adorable.” 

Fear clawed violently up her throat, but she forced herself not to cry. Dean always said monsters liked fear. She wouldn’t give them that. 

“Where’s my family?” She demanded shakily. 

The demon grinned wider. “Oh sweetheart, they’re looking everywhere for you.” 

Her heart twisted painfully. 

Dean. 

Sam. 

Dad. 

“They’ll find me.” She whispered. 

The demon stepped closer suddenly and grabbed her jaw hard enough to bruise. 

“You know what your daddy’s problem is?” 

She glared silently. 

“He loves you too much.” His hand tightened. 

“And that makes you useful.” 

Y/N jerked away with a gasp. The demon backhanded her instantly. Pain exploded across her mouth. Blood filled her mouth immediately. 

“Don’t.” She breathed. 

He smiled. “Don’t what?” 

Then the beating stared. 

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Dean didn’t sleep. Neither did Sam. John looked worse than both of them combined. By morning, every lead had collapsed into dead ends. Dean sat at the table cleaning guns with mechanical precision while Sam researched symbols nearby. John stood near the window, unmoving. Then Dean heard it. A tiny sound. John praying. Dean froze. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard his Father pray. 

“Please…” John whispered hoarsely. “Please let her be alive.” 

Dean looked away immediately. Because suddenly the jealousy felt ugly and petty. Yeah, John favored her. Yeah, it hurt. But this? This was still their Father. And Y/N was still his little girl. Sam quietly closed his book. 

“We’ll get her back.” 

John nodded once without turning around, but his shoulders shook. 

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Y/N lost track of time. The demons alternated between questioning her and hurting her. Where was the colt? Where were they staying? Where was John going next? She refused to answer. Even when they hit her. Even when they dragged blades across her skin shallow enough to hurt but not kill. Even when they laughed at her tears. Eventually she stopped crying aloud. That seemed to annoy them more. One demon crouched in front of her several hours later, studying her battered face. 

“You know, your brothers are much more fun to torture.” He mused. 

Y/N’s head lifted weakly. “What?” 

“Oh yeah. We’ve watched them for years.” He grinned cruelly. 

Rage flared through her exhaustion instantly. 

“Don’t talk about them.” 

The demon laughed loudly. “There’s that Winchester rage.” 

She lunged as much as the chains allowed. The demon slammed a fist into her ribs. Something cracked, Y/N screamed. The demon grabbed her hair viciously. 

“You humans break so easy.” 

She gasped painfully, vision swimming. 

“They’re gonna kill you.” She whispered. 

The demon smiled coldly. “Maybe.” 

Then he punched her again. 

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The lead came from a crossroads demon in Nebraska. Three dead hunters. One terrified bartender. An abandoned church outside town. Dean drove like a man possessed. Rain hammered the Impala while Sam loaded weapons in the backseat and John sat rigidly in the passenger seat. No music played. Nobody spoke. 

“She used to sleep on my chest during storms.” 

Dean blinked. 

John stared ahead through the windshield. 

“When she was little. Said thunder scared her.” He continued roughly. 

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“She still hates storms.” Sam said softly. 

John nodded. 

Silence again. 

Then Dean finally said what none of them had dared say aloud. 

“If they hurt her…” 

John’s expression turned murderous. “I’ll kill every last one.” 

Sam and Dean believed him. 

The chruch looked dead. Rotting wood, broken stained glass, darkness swallowing everything inside. But Dean heard it immediately. A scream. Y/N. All three Winchesters moved instantly. Doors brust open. Gunfire exploded. Black smoke screamed through the air. Demons lunged from every direction. Dean barely registered killing two before hearing another cry deeper inside. 

“Y/N!” 

“DEAN!” 

Alive. 

She was alive. 

Dean sprinted through the church like hell itself chased him. Sam and John followed close behind. They found her, and everything stopped. Y/N hung chained against a stone wall. Blood covered her shirt. One eye swollen nearly shut. Wrists raw and bleeding from restraints. Bruises everywhere. Dean physically staggered. 

“Baby…” 

Her head lifed weakly. The second she saw them, she broke. “Dean…” 

God… 

Her voice… 

Tiny and shaking. 

Sam looked seconds from vomiting. John’s face smptied completely of emotions, the kind that came right before true violence. A demon stepped from the shadows beside Y/N, blade pressed lightly against her throat. 

“Well, family reunion.” He drawled. 

Dean raised the colt instantly. “Move the knife.” 

The demon smirked. “You first.” 

John stepped forward slowly. 

“You wanted me, here I am.” He said coldly. 

Y/N shook her head frantically despite her exhaustion. “Dad don’t-” 

The knife pressed harder. She whipered. Dean saw red instantly. The demon grinned knowingly. 

“That protective streak? Definitely inherited.” 

Then Sam moved, fast. A flare of holy water splashed across the demon’s face. Screaming erupted. Dean fired immediately. The demon dropped dead. Everything exploded into motion. John rushed to Y/N while Sam covered the room. Dean grabbed the chains, hands shaking violently. 

“It’s okay, baby gir.” He said breathlessly. “We got you. We got you.” 

She cried openly now, Dean hated seeing it. Hated how terrified she sounded. The chains finally snapped loose. Y/N collapsed instantly, John caught her before she hit the floor. 

“Oh my princess.” He breathed brokenly, pulling her against him. She clung to him desperately despite the pain. 

“Dad…” 

“I’ve got you.” John cradled the back of her carefully, staring at the blood on her face with horrifying fury. Dean knelt beside them, hands hovering helplessly. Y/N crouched nearby too, visibly trying not to lose it. 

“They hurt you.” Sam whispered. 

Y/N looked at him weakly and somehow still tried to comfort him. 

“I’m okay.” 

Dean nearly laughed at the absurdity. She was bleeding everywhere. 

“She’s got at least one broken rib.” Sam said quickly, slipping into practical mode. 

“Possible concussion too.” 

John carefully brushed filthy hair from Y/N’s face. “You’re safe now, princess.” 

She finally looked at Dean. Then Sam. “I knew you’d come.” 

Dean’s throat closed painfully. 

“Always.” He said immediately. 

“Every time.” Sam added. 

Another demon screamed somewhere deeper in the church. John’s expression hardened instantly. 

“Dean, get her out.” 

“What about-” 

“GO!” 

Dean nodded immediately. He carefully slid Y/N into his arms. She cried out softly from the pain. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry-” 

“It’s okay.” She whispered weakly. 

Dean held her tighter. Too thin. Too cold. His baby sister felt too damn small. Sam grabbed weapons while John stalked deeper into the church like death incarnated. More screaming followed. Dean didn’t look back. 

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The motel room became triage chaos. Sam cleaned wounds, Dean hovered anxiously, John barely let Y/N out of his sight. By some miracle, nothing was life-threatening. A broken rib, heavy bruising, cuts, mild concussion, trauma. Lots of trauma. Y/N sat on the bed wrapped in blankets while Dean gently held an ice pack to her swollen cheek. She winced. 

“Sorry.” Dean muttered immediately. 

“It’s okay. 

John paced nearby like a caged animal. Every few minutes he glanced at her like he needed visual confirmation she was still breathing. Sam finally finished wrapping her wrists. 

“All done, sweetheart.” 

“Thanks, Sammy.” 

He smiled faintly at the nickname. Dean tucked another blanket around her shoulders. 

“You hungry?” 

She hesitated. “A little.” 

Dean immediately stood. “I’ll go get food.” 

“I’ll help.” Sam added. 

The brothers exchanged a glance. Silent understanding passed between them. Give John a minute alone with her. Dean squeezed Y/N’s shoulder gently before leaving with Sam. The second the motel door shut, silence filled the room. John sat slowly beside her on the bed. For several moments neither spoke. 

“I’m sorry…” Y/N whispered. 

John looked horrified. “For what?” 

“They took me to get to you.” 

Pain crossed his face instantly. 

“Don’t.” He said roughly. “Don’t you dare blame yourself.” 

She stared down at her bandaged wrists. “They kept asking about the colt.” 

John’s jaw tightened. “I know.” 

“I didn’t tell them anything.” 

His expression broke completely. “Of course you didn’t.” 

Y/N finally looked at him. For the first time since being rescued, her composure cracked entirely. 

“I was scared.” She admitted in a tiny voice. John immediately pulled her carefully against his chest. 

“I know, princess.” 

She stared crying again. Not the panicked sobbing from earlier, this was quieter. Exhausted. Painfully young. John held her like she was still five years old hiding from thunderstorms. 

“I thought…” Her voice shook violently. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t find me…” 

John closed his eyes hard. 

“Never.” He whispered fiercely. “Never, Y/N.” 

She buried her face against him. “I tried to be brave.” 

“You were brave.” 

“They hurt me and I-” 

“I know.” John’s voice cracked and suddenly Y/N realized something she never fully understood before. Her Father was terrified too. Not just angry. Terrified. She reached up carefully and touched his face. 

“I’m okay now.” 

John covered her hand with his own instantly. 

“You scared the hell outta me.” 

A tiny watery smile appeared. “Sorry.” 

He actually laughed softly through the emotions. “That’s my line.” 

The motel door opened quietly. Dean entered carrying food bags while Sam follwoed with extra medical supplies. All three froze slightly seeing Y/N curled against John’s chest. Something complicated flickered across Dean’s face. Not resentment exactly, just old hurt. Old longing. Y/N noticed immediately, because she always noticed. 

“Dean?” 

He snapped out of it instantly. “Yeah, baby?” 

She held one arm out toward him. Without hesitation, Dean crossed the room and sat beside her. She immediately curled against his side too. Sam huffed quietly. 

“Wow, no room left for me?” 

Y/N reached for him blindly without opening her eyes. 

“C’mere, Sammy.” 

Sam smiled helplessly and climbed onto the other side of the bed carefully. It was cramped and awkward. A tangle of long limbs, blankets, and exhaustion. But none of them moved away. 

“You guys are the best family.” Y/N murmured sleepily. 

Dean blinked. Sam looked down. John went very still. Y/N’s eyes were already drifting shut. Dean swallowed hard. Sam rubbed tiredly at his eyes. And for the first time in years, John Winchester looked at all three of his children together and truly saw the damage he’d done without meaning to. 

Dean, the boy forced to grow up too fast. 

Sam, the son who always felt second place. 

Y/N, the child he clung too tightly because she was the last piece of softness left in his life. 

John slowly reached over and squeezed Dean’s shoulder. It startled all three kids. Dean stared at him. 

“You did good.” John said quietly. 

Dean looked genuinely shocked. Then John looked at Sam too. 

“Both of you.” 

Sam’s expression softened carefully. The words were small, but they mattered. Y/N smiled faintly in her sleep, tucked safely between her brothers and Father. And for one rare quiet night, the Winchesters stayed together. No hunting. No fighting. No monsters. Just family. Broken, bruised, imperfect, but alive. 

“Dude what was that for?” you say, glaring at him.

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t close the door, did I?”

You both turn at look at offender, and Dean glares right back, almost challenging.

“Oh, come on, you guys are fine. ‘Bout time you stopped workin’ anyways,” he says gruffly, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto his bed.

“Wh- Dean, this is a case,” Sam says, accentuating the word ‘case’ with a pointed look.

“Yeah Dean, a case. You know, the stuff we do for work,” you join in. You lock eyes with Sam over the table, a mischievous grin spreading on his face. Before you can even say a word, Dean’s already stomping back to the table.

“You’re doin’ that thing again.” He slams Sam’s book closed, tossing it into the duffle by the bed.

“What thing?” you ask innocently.

“You know damn well what thing. The one where you look at each other and then come after me because you two’re on some psychic frequency or somethin’.” Dean’s trying to look annoyed, but he can’t stop a smile from spreading on his face. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” you and Sam say in unison, and you raise your hands in mock surrender. Dean gestures helplessly between the two of you, as if to say see what I mean?

“Pack it up nerds, I got somethin’ better planned for us tonight.” He starts rummaging through a plastic bag you hadn’t noticed him carrying. Sam raises an eyebrow, glancing at you before sighing and starting to clear away the books and notes. Dean’s already so absorbed in his task, setting things out on the counter, that he doesn’t notice you creep up behind him.

“So, whatcha doin’ Dean?” you say, and he jumps.

“Every time! Quit creepin’ up on me like that,” he accuses, brandishing a potato at you like a knife.

“That’s not how you use a yam,” you say accusingly.

“First of all, yes, it is, if you use your imagination. Second of all, it’s not a yam.”

“What happened to your hunter’s instinct huh?” you tease.

Dean mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “Don’t need it when you’re both in the same room as me,” and you give him a soft smile.

“Yeah, Dean, what exactly is it we’re doing?” Sam chimes in. He’s finished cleaning the table off and has now hooked a finger over the edge of the plastic bag, peeking inside cautiously.

“We are takin’ a break.”

“Really? Now?” Sam says, frustration creeping into his tone.

“A break?” you ask at the same time.

“Jeez, is there an echo in here or something? Yes, a break. Now. So, either start helpin’ me out or move your asses outta my kitchen so I can make my mashed potatoes in peace.” He prods a wooden spoon at you, and you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it. Dean Winchester, getting territorial over a kitchen?

“Okay Master Chef, what’s my job?” you ask, giving Dean a mock salute.

He rolls his eyes before gesturing to a slightly lumpy paper bag of small potatoes. He hands you his pocketknife. “Cut ‘em up. And be careful with my knife or I will make you our next case,” he says, turning back to a sad looking package of shredded cheese. He takes a small carton of milk from the bag, pouring some of it into a chipped mug and setting it in the microwave.

“What about me?” Sam says from the corner. You’d almost forgotten he was there he was so quiet.

“You? Uh, let me think,” Dean says. Obviously, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. “There’s a couple of mugs in Baby still. Get those and bring ‘em in.”

“Why don’t I get the important jobs?” he complains.

“Because we don’t have time for you to measure out perfect little squares of potato,” you say from your spot at the counter. Dean snorts a laugh while Sam tosses you a glare over your shoulder, his smile betraying his anger.

“Careful there, or I just might make you use the bad mug.”

You gasp, dramatically placing a hand over your heart. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh yes I would.”

“You can’t. I’m older.”

“And I’m older than both of you. Shut up and get the mugs Sammy,” Dean says in that older-brother tone that means ‘quit arguing’ but also ‘this is home’.

Once Sam’s disappeared, you turn to Dean again. The pile of cut potatoes grows larger on the counter beside you, and the microwave beeps aggressively when it’s done heating the milk.

“Why is this damn thing so loud?” Dean mutters to himself.

“We’re in a motel in the middle of nowhere Dean, be glad it even works,” you reply. “What’s all this about, anyways?”

Dean looks at you for a long moment, clearly deciding whether or not he should tell you. Everything in him is saying don’t tell the kids what’s going on, but he can never say no, not when you ask him like he’s important.

“Just, uh, wanted a break. After that last one I guess I just needed to-.” His breath catches on the inhale. “To remind myself what matters. That you and Sammy are still okay. That I’ll be okay, if I give it time. So, I thought…” he trails off.

“Hey. It’s alright. I’ll be honest, that one kinda got to me too. Seeing those kids just-.” You shiver slightly at the memory. It was a werewolf preying on children. When you’d finally tracked it down, you’d been just a second too late. You and Dean had walked in just in time to see the thing go after a little girl, and her older brother couldn’t do anything but watch. You’d pretended not to notice the way Dean flinched at the sight, and he’d conveniently ignored the way you instinctively reached back for Sam protectively. “We’re here now though, that’s a thing of the past.”

“Yeah. Guess so. But still…if anything happened to my little siblings I swear to God.” Dean’s getting worked up now, and you rest a calming hand on his shoulder, just as Sam bangs the motel door open again, hands full of mugs.

“Am I interrupting something?” he says, smile on his face disappearing once he sees Dean’s expression. “Not a good time?”

“No Sam, you’re fine. Hand me the mugs,” you say.

“We’re good Sammy. Just talkin’.” Something about Dean’s tone makes Sam file it away for later under ‘things we’ll talk about when we’re ready’. He doesn’t miss the way Dean’s eyes linger on him at the door, just to make sure this was all still real.

You elbow Dean’s ribs, drawing his attention back to your cut potatoes. He inspects them carefully, making a show out of it by holding a few up to the light and turning them over in his hands. Seemingly satisfied, he nods and gives you a pat on the shoulder.

“Hey Sammy, wanna come break some stuff?” he shouts over his shoulder. Sam’s sitting on the chair, untying his shoes, but his head pops right up when Dean says ‘break’. His eyes practically light up with joy, and he yanks his shoes off without fully undoing them. You laugh at Sam’s eagerness to destroy some poor potatoes.

“Hell yeah I do. What am I breaking exactly?”

Dean hands Sam a fork.

“Potatoes.”

“Oh, so you’re gonna make me cut ‘em up all nice and perfect and then Sam’s gonna destroy them anyways?” you huff.

“You win some, you lose some. Go find a blanket that isn’t full of holes for me, would ya?” Dean asks, gesturing vaguely at the beds. You think you know where he’s going with this; the microwave mashed potatoes, the packets of popcorn sitting on the counter, requests for a nice blanket. It’s just like in motels when the three of you were kids, sitting huddled together and watching some old movie, pretending the world outside didn’t exist for a few hours.

You search for a suitable blanket while Sam takes his anger out on the potatoes. You pick your head up when you hear them bickering, shaking it with a laugh when you find out it’s over which one of them gets the green mug. Dean claims it because he’s “older and therefore better”, and Sam just sighs before giving in. You both know it’s because it’s Dean’s favourite colour, but you’ll let him have the satisfaction of winning the argument. Sam would have given it to him anyways.

The microwave beeps again, and the mugs of mashed potatoes come out steaming. Dean mixes them around with the milk and some shredded cheese before sticking a spoon in each one and sauntering over with all too much pride for a man who just stuck them in a microwave for a bit. You’re already sitting on the bed with Sam; blanket stretched over your laps and feet tucked under his legs. He’s flipping through the channels on the TV, searching for a movie.

Dean drops heavily into the mattress on your other side, handing you and Sam both a mug. He makes sure to give Sam the bad mug, just because he’d threatened you with it earlier.

“Oh, come on, why do I get the bad one?” Sam whines, taking it with both hands and prodding the potatoes with the spoon.

“Because you threatened it in the first place. Move over,” he says, turning his attention from Sam to poke your leg. You shuffle over awkwardly, leaving just enough room for Dean to stretch out under the blanket.

Later, when the mugs are stacked by the rickety motel sink and the smell of microwaved popcorn fills the air, you sink into the mattress between the brothers. Sam is on your right side, watching the TV with half-lidded eyes. Dean is on your left, slightly more intrigued by the movie, but you don’t miss the way he keeps checking on you and Sam every few minutes.

“Hey. Dean. We’re all here, it’s fine,” you say gently. Sam perks up at that, shifting under the blanket to a more upright position.

“Yeah, I know. Can’t help it, I guess. Gotta keep an eye on my kiddos,” he says with a smile.

You lean a little into his side, and he wraps an arm about your back. His hand rests over where your shoulder touches Sam’s, and even Sam shrugs into the touch a little. Dean tugs the blanket higher on his shoulders, returning his attention to the final minutes of the movie.

When the light from the TV stops flickering across the ceiling, Sam’s trying desperately to pretend he’s not falling asleep where he’s sitting. His head keeps tipping to the side, and he keeps jerking it back upright with a sheepish grin. Even Dean’s eyes have started to close.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam says, sounding half-asleep.

“Yeah?” Dean answers.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“I- Tonight? Everything? I mean seriously, we’re here because of you and I don’t think we tell you that enough.”

“He’s right Dean. You’re always there, and I guess it’s just about time we let you relax too. You don’t need to protect us tonight, okay? Just for once. We’ve got you,” you say softly.

Dean opens his mouth to make a joke, closing it again when he sees the sincerity in both your and Sam’s gazes.

“Yeah. Alright. Just for tonight.”

It’s quiet for a while before you hear Sam laugh gently to himself under his breath. He pokes his head up, a goofy look in his eyes.

“Hey Dean?”

“What now?”

“We are pickin’ up that case again tomorrow, right?”

Dean rolls his eyes, sighing loudly. “C’mon Sammy, already? Just shut up and go to sleep.”