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supernaturalscribe67 · 8 months

Text

Just Like Mama Used to Make

Words: 6,178

POV: 1st & 3rd Person

Pairing: John x Son!Reader - Dean/Sam x Brother!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Language, John Winchester, Fluff, Mention of Childhood Trauma, Mention of Death, I think that's it??

Summary: Taking inspiration from his father, the reader starts his very own journal. For his first entry, he recalls some of the memories that shaped him into the hunter that he has become.

Request:

Hello, hope you are having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request John/Dean/Sam Winchester reaction to having a brother who looks like their mother and picked up hunting like breathing?

@xweirdo101x

A/N: My very first request! It kind of got away from me, but I really hope that I was able to do your request justice. Hope you like it!~

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Hello

Hey!

Dear Diary

SEPTEMBER 2014

To be honest, I have no idea how to start something like this. I was never one for writing, nor have I been one who can easily express my emotions. I guess I got that trait from the Winchester side of my family. Still, I have thought a lot about Dad’s journal lately. The things that he wrote down. It’s not detailed. It’s nowhere near what it was like growing up with him, but it still provides Dean, Sammy, and me with some information and nostalgia from time to time.

So, I figured ‘Why the Hell not’, I might as well write down some things in my own journal. I’m going to die someday anyway, and I want people to read this and be able to see what my life was like. From the good times that I spent with my family to the bad times when I lost my family. Hell, maybe this journal will get me into a history book someday when someone else discovers the Men of Letters Bunker. Who knows. Maybe I’ll be famous after I die, or perhaps it’s just wishful thinking.

This journal has already turned into a clusterfuck. I don’t even know what to write about. I can’t even think of things to write about. Should I say things about my life? Should I just write down random things I think of throughout the day? I don’t know how to do it. Even when I look at Dad’s journal for inspiration, there’s nothing to inspire in it. A lot of it is notes on how to kill monsters and other stuff is just a bunch of personal bullshit he was going through.

Well, we were all going through it.

I guess I’ll start by writing down some of the memories I’ve had. If I don’t like it, then I’ll throw this journal away and start another one. I don’t want future historians to think of me as some scatterbrained moron, despite what Sammy and Dean say at times. If you’re reading this now, I’m actually the smartest Winchester brother. Don’t believe a thing Sam and Dean say. I’m the brains of the operations and our day-to-day lives. I’ve saved them more times than I could count.

Then again, they’ve probably saved me just as much.

Alright, I’m getting side-tracked. I guess I’ll just start writing.

Should I introduce myself first before I do so?

My name is (Y/N) Winchester. I’m a hunter.

This is my story (God, that was terrible)

AUGUST 1991

I remember the first time I mentioned to my father that I wanted to be a hunter, just like him. I was six years old. Dad didn’t take it very kindly. He yelled, a lot. Screamed sometimes. I never truly understood why he would always get so upset whenever I would ask him to teach me how to hunt.

It wasn’t until I was a man that I understood why.

I look just like my mother.

I don’t know how I could have been so blind all those years. I have her hair. I have her face. I have her smile. All of these things have been said by my father before. Not necessarily when he was sober. I was always the one person that reminded my Dad of his wife. Of my mother. I think a part of him wanted to keep me safe, just so he could always look at me and remember what she looked like. Even when I was a child, though, I could see the hurt behind his eyes every once in a while when he would look at me. It made me feel guilty.

Still does.

I know that none of it is my fault, that he made himself hurt.

Still…

For months, I would ask my Dad to teach me about hunting. To teach me about the monsters that crept through the darkness. Each time I asked, he would reject my request and I would get scolded for asking such a stupid question.

So, one night, around the age of seven or eight (one of the two, I can’t remember exactly), I decided that school wasn’t very important. There were occasions when I snuck out of classes to go to the library of whatever town we were in at the time to search the limited amount of lore books that they had. There were times when I got caught by Dean before I was able to sneak out. Other times it was by Sammy. Sometimes, my father would get a call from the school because I had been reported missing.

I was a problem child, as you could tell.

It’s not that I hated school.

It just wasn’t my favorite.

And I wanted to hunt.

So, anyway…from town to town, I would skip class, go to the library, and learn everything that I could learn about hunting if there was anything to learn. Sometimes, I would ask Dean questions. Sometimes he would answer, other times he told me to not worry about it and to mind my own business. It used to hurt whenever Dean would reject any of the questions that I would ask, but I know now that it was so he didn’t get in trouble with Dad. I remember giving him a hard time about it, about not answering me. Dean, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry for being a jerk.

Then again, Dean, if you’re reading this, you shouldn’t be reading this and expect some glitter to appear in your body wash.

No one knew about my secret research. No one knew the reason behind my skipping classes. I would constantly make up lies, most of them being about how much I hated moving around and just wanted to rebel against my father. Typical kid stuff.

It wasn’t until August of 1991, when I was ten years old, that I was finally able to put that research to use.

(Y/N) stared down at the paper that rested on a notebook in his lap. His eyes were wide and filled with stress, fingers tangled in his short hair, his back slouched ever so slightly. Dean sat a couple of inches away from him near the end of the bed, his homework in his lap, while Sam leaned against the headboard, a book in his hands that he had gotten from the school library. Dean looked up from his work, noticing the look of despair on his brother’s face before he glanced down at his worksheet. Dean grimaced and let out a hiss.

“Multiplying fractions?” He asked, a hint of sympathy in his tone.

Without looking up, (Y/N) gave a short nod. Dean pressed his lips together in a thin line before he set his pencil down beside him.

“Do you need help?” Dean offered.

(Y/N) lifted his head and looked at his older brother, giving a small, soundless nod. Dean offered a smile as he moved closer to him so that they were sitting next to one another. Dean craned his neck to be able to look at the paper, tilting his head as he studied the equations.

“Which one are you having problems with?” He asked.

“All of them,” (Y/N) answered.

Dean snorted. “Okay, so, it’s easy-”

“Wow, Dean thinks math is easy?” Sam mumbled, a smirk playing on his lips.

Dean lifted his head and glared at Sam. “Shut up, bitch,”

Sam shot a bitch-face towards Dean. “You shut up, jerk,” he retorted.

(Y/N) let out a frustrated grunt. “Will both of you assholes shut up!? I don’t understand this!” His voice was filled with annoyance and desperation.

Dean and Sam shot their brother a look. Sam rolled his eyes as he returned to the book. Dean looked back down at the paper, mumbling an apology under his breath. He then began to help (Y/N) with his homework, walking him through all of the problems that he had. (Y/N) still felt as if Dean was speaking in a foreign language, but he could understand the homework a little easier.

When the paper was halfway finished, the door to the motel room suddenly burst open, causing the three brothers to jump, their eyes wide as they turned and looked at the person who had just entered. John stormed into the room, slamming the door behind him. He stomped over to the couch that sat in front of the small television set and plopped down on it. He ran his hands down his face and let a small growl emit from his throat.

Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) shared a glance, almost as if they were communicating telepathically. After a while, Dean and Sam both turned their attention toward their brother, their eyes locked on his. After looking back and forth between the two, (Y/N) let out a soundless sigh as he set his homework beside him. He moved off of the bed and padded across the aged carpet to the couch. Slowly, he walked around the sofa so that he could see his father.

John looked tired. Dark circles were prominent underneath his eyes. One of his legs was propped up on the couch while the other lay bent in front of him. His elbow rested on the arm of the sofa, his cheek placed against his right hand as he stared at the television in front of him. Nothing played. When (Y/N) came into view, John glanced at him out of the corner of his eye for a brief moment. He said nothing.

“Hey, Dad,” (Y/N) greeted. “Um…how were the, uh, interviews with the victims’ families?”

John shook his head. “Not great, kid,” he grumbled.

“No?”

“No.”

As (Y/N) stared at his father, he timidly moved over to the couch. John hesitantly moved his leg as (Y/N) sat down next to him.

“Did you…learn anything?”

“Why aren’t you boys in bed?” John grunted.

“We’re finishing our homework.”

“Then shouldn’t you be working on it?”

(Y/N)’s shoulders slouched. “I just…wanted to see how it went is all…”

“You want to know how it went?” John’s voice got deeper. “You really want to know how it went? Fucking terrible. That’s how it went,” John straightened himself out on the couch before he stood up. He began to pace around the room, his tone of voice getting more and more irritable. “I thought I had a good fucking lead going. All of the victims went to the same fucking bookstore a couple of days before their deaths and got the same book. Seems like a fucking coincidence, right? Then I go to the goddamn bookstore to see what the book was and all it was was something called Aradia or some shit like that. Some type of foreign book bullshit, I don’t fucking know.”

(Y/N) furrowed his brows as John continued to rant. He looked down and away from his father. He got lost, deep in thought, the words that John was speaking irrelevant to him now. Finally, he turned back to him, kneeling on the couch as he raised his brows.

“Did you say Aradia?” He questioned in the middle of John’s rant.

John stopped pacing around the room as he looked back at (Y/N). Dean and Sam’s attention immediately turned to him, their eyes wide. John’s jaw was clenched, the anger and irritation still emanating from him. “Yeah,” he replied deeply.

“Aradia…” (Y/N) trailed before he shook his head. “That’s not a foreign book, Dad! That’s only the first half of the title. The full title is Aradia or the Gospel of the Witches. It was one of the most influential pieces of literature in the nineteenth century to witches! You’re dealing with a witch!” (Y/N)’s eyes widened as a smile appeared on his face.

John’s expression went from furious to confusion. He narrowed his eyes. “How do you know about that book?” He questioned.

“I read about it in a library a little bit ago.” (Y/N) answered quickly.

John pressed his tongue into his cheek as he slowly nodded his head. He looked at Sam and Dean, who were still staring with wide eyes at their brother, and then back at (Y/N). He ran a hand down his face stressfully.

“You boys finish your homework,” he mumbled as he walked towards the door. “I have to make a call.”

Without allowing anyone to respond, John left the motel room, closing the door behind him a little gentler than when he entered. (Y/N)’s smile faded as he watched his father leave, his shoulders dropping. The three brothers sat in silence for a minute before they looked at one another.

“Come on,” Dean said as he patted the spot on the bed next to him. “Let’s finish these math problems.”

Even though Dad never told me, I knew I was right. I knew it was a witch that he had dealt with. We didn’t even get to go to school the next day. He had found and killed her before I was able to turn in that math homework. What a waste of time.

I would like to think that Dad was proud of me in that situation, but he never said anything. He never brought it up again as far as I can remember. It was something that he had put in the past, along with all of the other hunts that we had been on. However, even if he wasn’t proud of me back then, I was proud of myself. Proud that I was able to help my Dad even if I wasn’t beside him when he took that bitch down.

God, I hate witches.

MAY 1993

I didn’t touch a gun until I was twelve years old. By that point, I had stopped begging Dad to teach me how to hunt, because it seemed that the only answer I was going to be getting was ‘No’. I figured that I would go to the next best person for the job.

I had to ask Dean.

Dean was very protective of Sammy and me when we were younger. He still is super protective of us, even in our ripe old ages. But because of how protective he could get, he was very hesitant about teaching me how to shoot a gun. However, with Dad talking about Dean going on hunts with him more and more by then, I knew that I would be left alone with Sammy. I used the excuse that I needed to learn how to shoot a gun eventually so that I could protect the two of us when we were by ourselves. I couldn’t be expected to be safe when the only two people who knew how to shoot were away.

That reasoning caught Dean’s attention.

After the fifth or sixth time asking him, Dean had finally agreed. A couple of days passed and, when Dad was a couple of towns away gathering information for a hunt, Dean and I skipped school. Shocking, right? I think Dean used the excuse that I hadn’t been feeling well and he had to take care of me. He even wrote out a fake doctor’s note and everything. Back then, you could get away with a handwritten note. I’m not too sure if you could now.

Once Sammy had been dropped off at school that day, Dean and I walked to a creek a couple of miles away from the school. He had set up a couple of cans on a log, some recycled stuff that he had picked up along the way. He had brought one of Dad’s small handguns with him. When he gave it to me, it felt so surreal. So different.

I never really understood what the big fuss was about, though.

Shooting a gun was easy.

“No, you can’t have your hand that low! You have it that low and the gun is going to come out of your hand when you shoot it,” Dean grumbled.

Dean took (Y/N)’s hand in his and adjusted it so that it fits perfectly onto the grip of the handgun. He then took his other hand and placed it on top of the one that was already on the gun. (Y/N) furrowed his brows as he looked at the way his hands nestled against one another.

“This doesn’t feel right.” He said. “Why can’t I just hold it with one hand like the cops do in the movies?”

“Because you’re twelve, dummy. You’re not in your forties and have years of experience under your belt,” Dean rolled his eyes. “And that is exactly how you should hold it if you don’t want to get hit in the face with your weapon after you fire it.”

(Y/N) listened intently to what his brother was saying, giving him a small nod before he straightened his back up.

“Stop.” Dean held up a hand.

(Y/N) shot Dean a confused look. “What?”

“You’re standing wrong.”

“I’m standing wrong…”

“Yeah, here,” Dean walked over, pressing his hand against the top of (Y/N)’s back ever so slightly, leaning him forward. “If you have your back too straight, then you’re more likely to fall backward. You also,” Dean kicked (Y/N)’s feet apart. “Need to have your feet apart. Keeps you more ground.”

(Y/N) looked down at the ground for a moment, taking in the appearance and feel of his stance. The way his back leaned forward and the way his legs were spread. He nodded.

“Okay, now I shoot?”

“Is your safety off?”

“Safety?”

Dean sighed, moving back over to him. He took the gun from (Y/N)’s grasp and flashed the left side of the gun. “You see this little trigger?” When Dean received a nod from his brother, he continued. “If it’s facing side-to-side, that means the safety is on. That means the gun won’t fire. All you have to do is flick this little switch,” Dean turned the safety off. “Once it’s up and down, then that means it’s ready to fire.” He handed the gun back to (Y/N). “Now, get back into position.”

(Y/N) glanced down at the safety mechanism on the gun for a moment before he nodded. He got back into the position that he was in, spreading his legs apart the same length Dean had and slouching his back forward ever so slightly. Once he received a nod of approval from Dean, (Y/N) lifted his arms, cocking his head to the side. He aimed at the can farthest to the left. He closed his left eye and placed his finger on the trigger.

“Stop!” Dean said more abruptly.

(Y/N) jumped and moved his finger off the trigger, standing up straighter to face Dean. “What!?” He asked exasperatedly.

Dean shook his head. “You can’t have one eye closed.”

“Why not? Snipers do it!”

“Because snipers are far enough away from combat. They need to look through a scope to get a good shot. You, on the other hand, are feet away from whatever monster you’re dealing with. What happens when you’re facing more than one monster? You leave yourself open to being taken out on your left.” Dean’s tone was stern, yet calm. His arms were crossed over his chest.

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded as he grasped an understanding of Dean’s thinking. “Both eyes open?”

“Both eyes open.” Dean backed up a bit. “Back into position.”

(Y/N) let out a shaky breath before resuming his position. Legs spread, back bent, arms up, head tilted, both eyes open. His goal was to hit the used can of peaches that sat on the outside of the log. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest from anxiousness and anticipation. He was surprised the gun wasn’t shaking in his grasp.

His eyes were on the cartoon peaches that were etched onto the label of the can. More specifically, the pit that sat in the center of the peach. He wanted to hit the pit. He never moved his eyes from the pit as he took a deep breath, his shoulders rising. Finally, as he exhaled, his shoulders dropping, he pulled the trigger.

The can flew into the air and seemed to dramatically and unceremoniously fall into the creek. A small splash echoed in (Y/N)’s ears, accompanied by the ringing of the gunshot.

One thing that (Y/N) noted was that his hands ached, both from the vice grip he had on the gun and the recoil that he hadn’t expected. Sure, Dean had informed him about it before, but he wasn’t sure how it would feel. His hands would definitely bruise.

(Y/N) lowered the gun, looking over at his brother to see that Dean wore a stunned expression on his face. Dean’s mouth hung open as his eyes were glued to the can that lay in the flowing water. (Y/N) watched in silence as Dean walked over to the can. He reached down and picked it up by the opening, wincing from the heat of the bullet hole before he swapped hands. He studied the can. It seemed like too much time had passed before he turned the can so (Y/N) could see.

(Y/N) had gotten it on his first try.

The bullet hole?

Right in the pit.

(Y/N) raised his brows, a mixture of pride and surprise coursing through him. A wide smile appeared on his face. Similarly, a smirk appeared on Dean’s lips. Dean chuckled before he tossed the can into the water.

“Beginner’s luck,” he said, brushing his hands onto his jeans. “Let’s see if you can hit the other ones.”

I shot through the rest of the cans, the same as I had done for that can of peaches. Not to toot my own horn, but I was a natural when it came to a pistol. I don’t mean to sound egotistic about this, but Dean can back up any statement that I’m making about this story.

I could tell that Dean was proud of me that day. He never said he was, but the way he looked at me and the way he treated me afterward told me things that words couldn’t. It’s hard to describe, but it almost felt like he had gained some respect for me that day. It felt good. Even as I am writing about this story, I can’t keep the smile off my face. I always looked up at Dean, so it feels great to think that I had done something to bring a smile to his stupid face.

My hands hurt like hell after it was all said and done. I had gotten a couple of bruises near the thumb on my right hand that I brushed off to my Dad as something that I had picked up when I got into a fight at school. Dean had backed me up when Dad got on my ass about it. Dad told me that I had to get along with the other kids so I didn’t give the wrong impression at the schools I went to. It wasn’t like they would remember me anyway. Of course, I didn’t tell him that. I knew when to bite my tongue.

Dad never found out about the shooting practice. I get a feeling that he had a sneaking suspicion as soon as he took me to practice himself years later, but I never told him about it. I never told him that Dean had been the one to teach me how to stand correctly, or where to find the safety of a gun. I know that he knew it was Dean. A part of me wonders if Dean ever got in trouble for it, or if it was something that Dad even brought up. I would never ask Dean about it now, though.

Some things are best to be left in the past.

NOVEMBER 1999

By the time I turned eighteen, I had already been on several hunts with Dad and Dean. The majority of the time, though, I would stay back and watch Sammy. Even though he was a teenager and had the capability of taking care of himself, Dad expressed that he was still a kid and needed to be looked after. A part of me thought it was bullshit at the time, but another part of me was glad that I was able to spend time with my younger brother.

Now, I know the real reason behind my staying with Sammy was because some of the hunts that Dad and Dean went on were ‘rough’. A little ‘too hard’ for me.

Dad didn’t want to lose the son that reminded him of his wife.

At least, that was what Dean told me, and I believe him.

It was a blessing and a curse, come to think of it. There were times that I stayed behind and Dad called me up, needing me to do some research for the case that they were working on. He had said it would be faster if someone was working on the research while he and Dean were out taking interviews. In the end, it was more efficient. I would gather the necessary information and hand it off to him and they would be back at the motel a lot quicker than if they had been the ones to look up the information.

That was the system that we worked with for a while. After a couple of months, Dad informed me that he didn’t want me to do the research anymore. He wanted Sammy to be the one to do it. I remember him saying that Sammy needed to focus more on the hunting aspect of his life. That school was just a waste of time at that point. He was old enough to get into it.

Sammy hated the idea when I told him. He loved school. He was always such a nerd. Still is. An even bigger nerd if you can believe it. I knew how much school meant to him, and I didn’t want him to be discouraged from doing his schoolwork. He shouldn’t have been forced to do anything that he didn’t want to. So, I decided that I was going to do the research and just tell Dad that he had been the one to do it. Sammy was thankful.

That was until Dad called.

Dad wasn't as stupid as I took him for most of the time. He knew that Sammy hadn’t done any of the research, that I was the one that did it all. By the time he and Dean got back, he gave Sammy a verbal lashing. I tried to defend him, but nothing worked. In the end, Sammy gave in. He would do the research for the next hunt.

Like clockwork, when the next hunt rolled around, with Sammy and I staying back at the motel, Dad had called. He had given Sammy the information that he needed to research and we headed off to the local library. Once we got the necessary books, we took them back to the motel and he began to work.

I could tell that it wasn’t going well.

Sam sat at the small table near the motel room door, two books placed in front of him. His back was slouched as he looked from one book to another, flipping through pages frantically. He had been going at it for several hours by then, evident by the bags that were present underneath his eyes and the redness around his pupils. (Y/N) sat on the couch, watching some old western show. Now and then he would look at his little brother. He could see how tired and stressed he was about the entire situation. (Y/N) had never seen Sam that stressed out before, even when he was studying for a test in one of his AP classes.

Eventually, Sam pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, lowering his head, as if accepting defeat. (Y/N) studied his movements, and, after he saw that he had not moved in a while, he decided the best thing to do was to help him out. He picked up the remote and turned off the television before tossing it aside. He stood from his spot on the couch and walked over to the table. He grabbed the spare chair, pulled it beside Sam, and sat down.

“Having some trouble?” He questioned.

Sam’s shoulders rose and fell as a sigh escaped his lips. He removed his hands from his face and placed them into his lengthy hair. His eyes were cast down towards the table. He stayed in the same position for some time before he looked up at (Y/N).

“No,” he answered, pulling the books towards him. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I said ‘I’m fine’,” Sam repeated through gritted teeth.

(Y/N) studied him with an expressionless face. Sam kept his eyes down, looking from one book to another. (Y/N) was able to see the stress that was emitted from his brother even better with how close he was sitting. He took one look at the books before he shook his head.

“I’m sorry Dad’s making you do this.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. You shouldn’t be doing this alone the first time…” he trailed. “But if Dad found out I helped you-”

“You’d get in trouble, and so would I. Yeah, I know.”

(Y/N) pursed his lips. “You know, it took me a little over a year to get comfortable with translating Latin. I sometimes screw up from time to time.”

“Still?”

“Yeah, still,” he chuckled. “That’s why I got something that helps me out now and again.”

With that, (Y/N) stood from his spot on the chair and waltzed over to the bed in the far corner of the room. Beside the bed sat his black duffel bag. He picked it up and placed it on the bed. He began to rummage through it, sorting through clothes and weapons that rested at the bottom. Wedged into the corner of his bag sat a book. He picked it up and brought it over to the table. He took a seat next to Sam once more and placed the book in front of him.

Sam furrowed his brows as he studied the cover. It was a Latin-English translation book. It looked rather similar to the one that he had picked up at the library. The only difference was the color of the cover was a little faded and, along the outside of the book, between all of the pages, were multi-colored Post-it notes. Each Post-it note had different letter combinations on it, as well as notes written on some of them. Sam opened the cover and he raised his brows when he saw that the first page was replaced by a notebook-sized piece of paper, taped to the front page. There were multiple words in English on the left side with their corresponding Latin translation on the right.

“What’s this?” Sam asked.

“It’s a translation book I picked up a couple of years back at a bookstore. I figured since there were going to be a lot of things that needed translating, then I was going to have to make it easier for myself to find the words. The only problem is that most of these translation books are so damn compressed that it’s hard to find certain words without getting blurry vision. So, I took the liberty to mark down all of the times when the letters change in the words. For example, when the words that start with ‘AB’ transfer to words that start with ‘AC’. It always made it easier to find. Plus, I made a page at the beginning about common words that I have found in my research so that it would be easier to translate them.”

As (Y/N) explained, he gestured with his hand toward the book. Sam listened intently, taking in all of the information that he was given, nodding his head. Once (Y/N) was done talking, Sam looked down at the book and then back up at him.

“You did all this?”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) chuckled. “Crazy, right?”

Sam snorted. “Yeah. Wish you put that much effort into your homework when you were still in school.”

“Hey,” (Y/N) leaned back in his chair and lifted his hands in mock surrender. “School was fine and all, but this is something I enjoy, and I’m good at it. I’m good at hunting research and you’re good in school.”

“And what’s Dean good at?”

“Being a pain in the ass.”

Sam smiled widely, his dimples more prominent than (Y/N) had seen in a while. After a beat or two of silence, the smile faded as he looked down.

“I wish Dad could see that I’m good at school.”

The corner of (Y/N)’s mouth curved downward. It was his turn to look down at the table. He reached over and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder comfortingly. “I know, kiddo,” he mumbled. “But Dean and I both see how much of a nerd you are. Don’t worry.”

A smile returned to Sam’s face, but it wasn’t as happy as the last one. They sat in silence for a little bit before (Y/N) lowered his hand and Sam moved back to the books.

“You got it from here?” (Y/N) questioned.

“Yeah, I got it,”

“Great,” (Y/N) said as he stood from his seat and patted Sam on the back. “Call me over if you need anything.”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure to call you over when I get to the part about multiplying fractions.”

(Y/N) glared at Sam and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“No, no I’m not.”

Sammy still teases me to this day about not knowing how to multiply fractions. Even though it was decades ago at this point, he still likes to tease me about it. Little shit.

With my help, Sammy was able to get the translations done a lot faster than he expected. I remember seeing the relief on his face when he had finished. Poor kid was so exhausted. Dad was more than pleased when he called and asked about it. Dad never found out that I had helped him out a bit, and neither Sammy nor I were planning on telling him. I just wanted Sammy to have an easier time than I did when I was first learning about research, specifically translations.

In the end, I would have to say that Sammy is better than me when it comes to research. He’s taken the reigns on many different hunts because of how proficient he is with technology. I’m good with old-fashioned ways of research, but Sammy’s the nerd when it comes to computers.

Sammy has told me once or twice, though, that I was the one that helped him the most when it came to his knowledge of research. That, without my help, he wouldn’t have been as good at it as he is now.

I call bullshit. Sammy has always been a smart kid.

He could do anything he put his mind to.

SEPTEMBER 2014

This is all I can write at the moment. Dean called me to the kitchen a couple of minutes ago saying that dinner was ready. I need to wrap this up before he or Sammy comes in here and sees what I’m doing. I know that I would get endlessly teased about keeping a ‘diary’. I need to make sure to hide this in a good enough place where neither of them will find it if they go snooping through my room.

Sam, Dean, if you guys are reading this, I’ll get you back.

But if you’re going to read it, I just want to let you know that I love you guys.

Not that I’m into chick-flick moments or anything.

I’m just glad that I have you guys as my brothers. No one could ask for a better family than you two.

Okay, that was cheesy. I wish I wasn’t writing this in pen so I could erase it.

Dammit.

I’m not too sure how to end this, so I guess I’ll just write again sometime when I can. Perhaps I could do like Dad did in his journal and write about all of the new monsters we have discovered over the years. Or maybe write more memories down. This journal is going to be so cluttered that no one is going to want to read it. There’s no way I’m going to get famous from this.

Dean just called me to the kitchen again.

Until next time.

Happy hunting. (That was stupid, think of something better).

WE LOVE YOU TOO - SAM + DEAN

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marie-swriting · 1 year

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A Part Of The Family - Dean Winchester

Masterlist

Summary : You go on your first hunt with your father John and your half-brother Dean, hoping you'll finally be able to prove you're a true Winchester to your father.

Warnings : half-sister!reader, Y/N is 15, John is a shitty father, angst, feeling like you don't belong in the family, killing vampires, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language so tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 3.1k

French version

Prompt : PL n°1, n°10 "We could have prevented this"

“What are the rules ?” John asks you with a harsh voice.

“Always be on alert and ready to attack, kill first and ask questions later.” you answer, determined.

“Good, don’t forget you have to cut their head or they’ll still be able to attack. As it’s your first time on the field, you stay close to me or Dean, right ?”

“Yes, sir.”

John hands you a machete before closing the trunk of the Impala. You feel a knot in your stomach as you realise you’re only a few minutes away from the most dangerous moment of your life. Your hands start shaking, you tighten your grip on your weapon, hoping it’ll give you more courage. Rapidly, you look up and see Dean’s eyes on you. He puts a hand on your shoulder to reassure you. You give him a quick smile but the fear can still be read on your face. When you’re finally ready, you start entering the vampire nest.

You’ve been on their trails for a few days now and thanks to your personal researches, you found where they’re hiding. Now, you hope you’ll be able to kill these monsters without making a mistake, you want to show John he did a good thing by taking you out of the foster system after Sam left for University. Indeed, when the younger Winchester decided to leave the family business, John didn’t like being one hunter short so he came to get you, knowing he’ll have your custody easily because your mom died at your birth. Until he’d come to your foster family, you didn’t know your father’s identity, let alone that you had two big brothers. When you met them, an immense amount of joy had filed you, you thought you’d finally belong to a real family. John had said to your foster parents he came to have your custody because he just discovered your existence. He made a beautiful speech to them on the importance of having his daughter in his life. When he had pronounced those words, your heart had burst with love, but reality caught you up quickly when he immediately put an emotional distance between you before starting your hunter training. You knew it wouldn’t be easy but you want to prove to him he can count on you during hunts so you make sure to always give your best. However, John is demanding, you feel like you’ll never meet his expectations and because of the pressure you can make some mistakes. Fortunately, Dean knows to be patient with you, he protects you from John's reprimands.

When you’re in the old building, you’re faced with a heavy silence. It doesn’t feel like there’s any threat on the horizon while you’re getting deeper into the nest. You keep walking discreetly and glancing in every corner until you find some kind of cage with a prisoner inside. With a glance, you recognise Jake, a teenager your age who’s been helping you to find the vampires. He had started searching for them before you arrived ; his sister was one of their victims. Together, you had put your skill to good use, you with your supernatural knowledge and him with his knowledge of the city and its residents. When you see him, you lower your machete and run toward the cage.

“Jake ! My God, you’re okay ? Did they do anything to you ?” you question, examining his body quickly with your eyes.

“You know him, Y/N ?” John interrogates.

“He helped me to find the nest.” you inform before turning back to your friend. “You’re okay, Jake ?”

“I’m fine.”

“We’re getting you out of here, don’t worry.” Dean states while starting to force the lock.

“Kid, do you know where the vampires are ?” John questions with a dry tone.

“No, I just regained consciousness, actually. Thanks.” Jake says when Dean finally frees him.

Jake gets out of his small prison stumbling. You catch him when he’s losing his balance. You’re about to ask him if everything is fine when you see pointy teeth coming out of his gum. Surprised, you don’t have the reflex to lift your machete up. Dean and John are about to intervene when other vampires leave their hiding place. You finally push back Jake, scared but he comes back to you again. You try to fight him with your weapon but Jake breaks your arm, forcing you to drop it. Dean hears your cry of pain and turns his head to you. He sees Jake about to bite you in the neck when Dean runs to you and cuts Jake’s head without a second thought. You’re too stunned from what’s just happened to move.

“Everything okay ?” Dean questions, preoccupied.

“Yes, don’t worry.”

John growls angrily, making yours and Dean’s head turn to him. Dean leaves you to help John. You pick your machete up from the ground and try to at least hurt some vampires. Not able to use your dominant hand, you have even less strength to cut heads. By some miracles, probably due to adrenaline, you cut the head of one blood-drinker. In spite of yourself, you stare at the body and their head, not believing you’re the cause of it. Snapping out of it, you look up and see that most of the vampires are dead. John is handling the Alpha vampire while Dean seems to lose his fight with another monster as he’s struggling to get their fangs away from his neck. You run to him and cut the vampire’s head with all the strength you have. When Dean understands he’s not in danger anymore, he sets his gaze on you, proud to see you were able to save him. You can’t help but smile lightly as you realise that, for a first hunt, you did pretty well. With your valid hand, you help him to stand up while John finally kills the Alpha vampire. You look at John, hoping to see he’s happy or at least relieved to know you and Dean are alive and almost not hurt, beside your broken arm, but it’s an angry John who comes your way.

“What the hell was that ? We got ourselves in an ambush because of your stupidity ! How could you not understand Jake was a vampire when he was helping you ? Don’t tell me you didn’t even think about checking him before telling him everything !”

“He… I…” you stutter, making John even more mad.

“Answer !”

“He told me he was looking for the vampires, too but he didn’t know how to attack them.” you explain, feeling ashamed.

“And you didn’t think it was weird he knew that much ?”

“He said he’d been researching for two months so it seemed normal to me.” you defend yourself and John sighs to contain his anger.

“Damn it, Y/N, that’s unbelievable ! We could have prevented this if you had some common sense !”

“Dad, she’s still learning. It’s okay.” Dean intervenes with a calm voice.

“Not when she puts us in danger ! We could have died and she has a broken arm. She should have done better !”

While listening to John’s reproach, you lower down your head. On second thought, the hunt went worse than you thought. You put your loved ones in danger and you disappointed John. it’s going to be even harder for you to find your place in your little family and you hate yourself for that. John is right, you should have done better.

“We’re all alive and they are all dead. It’s a win.” your brother insists.

“I don’t care if we did well ! She should have thought like a hunter.”, John retorts before taking you by your shoulder with strength, forcing you to look at him with a wince, “You better not do that again, next time, use your head.”

“Yes, sir.”

John sighs, letting go of your shoulder. Dean has a quick peek at you to make sure you’re okay, you give him a quick nod to reassure him, but your glistening eyes don’t convince him.

“Come on,” John starts, “we have to go to the hospital for your arm, we can’t fix it. Another waste of time because of your stupidity.”

“I’m sorry.” you breathe, ready to cry in any second.

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t change anything. And get those tears out of your eyes, half Winchester or not, Winchesters don’t cry.”

“Yes, sir.”

Your shoulders drop when you follow John while Dean looks at you with compassion. He knows what it’s like to fight for John’s approval, it’s very rare to gain it, even for him it’s complicated while he does everything John tells him.

In the Impala, John doesn’t say a word, too angry he doesn’t even take a quick glance at you, as for Dean, he wishes he could reassure you, but he doesn’t want to get John more mad. You hold your arm to minimise the pain on the way while you think back to John’s words. Among every thing he reproached you about, his last sentence hurt you the most. Since he came to get you, you know John treats you differently than Dean, he doesn’t see you as a part of the family. Yet, it doesn’t stop you from feeling your heart burst out in pain every time he reminds you of it when he specifies your only Dean’s half-sister or when he refuses you calling him ‘dad’, that one hurts the most.

When you arrive at the hospital, there aren't a lot of people, surprisingly so you just have to wait an hour and a half to be taken in charge of. When your cast is on your arm, you go back to the motel still in silence. You bite your lips, stressed while you’re searching for something to say to rectify your mistakes but you don’t really know John, you ignore what you should say. When you walk through the door of your motel’s bedroom, John points the small kitchen table to you. Reluctant, you walk toward it without a word and sit. Dean starts following you but John orders him to get cleaned up. Knowing it’s not the time to challenge him, Dean obeys. John stays on his feet in front of you, towering you with his height. Instinctively, you look down on your fingers, fidgeting with them until John starts talking.

“I hope you realise what you did was dangerous.”

“Yes, I won’t do it again, promise.”

“You better ! You could have died and so could have your half-brother. At least, you did kill some vampires but apart from that, you ruined this whole hunt ! If you don’t want to go back to your foster family, you better be more useful next time. I don’t need a deadweight but a hunter.” he rumbles.

“I’ll do better next time.” you assure him, determined.

“We’ll see in a few months because with your bullshit, you got yourself a broken arm. You’ll be in charge of the research and when you’ll be able to train again, we’ll get back to it and this time, I’ll be more strict. You need to learn correctly, I can’t have a kid who doesn’t know what she’s doing.” John spats, emphasising on the word ‘kid’, hurting you once more. “Don’t make me regret my decision to get you. And get that sad look out of your face, I can’t waste my time with weak people either.”, he orders and you try to get a grip on yourself, “I’m going to the bar.” he finishes, walking away from you.

Without a glance, John leaves the room. When you hear the door slam shut, you jump. Tears filling your eyes in an instant. You try to hold them back but the more you blink, the harder it is to prevent them from falling. In spite of yourself, a tear rolls down your cheek. You wipe it away quickly, hoping Dean didn’t see anything because he just got out of the bathroom. You take deep breaths, trying to cool down your emotions. Dean delicately puts a hand on your shoulder and kneels down in front of you.

“Hey, kid, you’re okay ?”

Contrary to John, the word ‘kid’ in Dean’s mouth seems affectionate. You see in his eyes he’s genuine, but you refuse to show you’re weak for another second. You clear your throat before looking him in the eyes.

“Yeah, just tired of the day. John went to a bar.”

“Just you and me, then ? What do you say about going to the Burger in front of the motel ?” he proposes with a smile.

“I’m not really hungry and I wouldn’t like John to get even more mad because he won’t find us when he’ll get back.”

“He’ll be in that bar for some time, don’t worry, besides, you need to recharge your battery, you did your first hunt !” he states, hoping it’ll cheer you up.

“What a victory it was !” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“You got through it with only a broken arm and it was a vampire nest, I call that a victory. C’mon.”

Dean helps you to stand up from your chair. He puts back on his jacket and takes his wallet before inviting you to leave the motel.

At the Burger place, you almost don’t eat anything. You swallow only some French fries but don’t touch your hamburger while Dean devours everything in a heartbeat. Dean doesn’t start a conversation, guessing you need some silence after everything John told you. Dean knows he wasn’t kind with you the second time he reprimanded you with the small part he was able to hear through the bathroom walls. Furthermore, Dean and you have been knowing each other only for a few months now, he ignores if in this kind of situation, you’d rather talk or stay on your own. Just to be safe, he prefers to stay close to you without being oppressive so that's what he’s currently doing. When he’s finally done with his meal, he asks for a doggy bag for yours and goes to pay. On the way back, you don’t see the Impala, which reassures you because you know you still have some time off before John’s return. Entering the room, you take your stuff and close yourself in the bathroom. When you’re ready to go to sleep, you lay on your bed, your back facing Dean who’s on his own bed watching TV. You try to sleep but John’s words keep haunting your mind. The more you think back about the hunt, the more you realise how naive you were. Mentally, you’re calling yourself names, telling yourself that because of your mistakes you lost what little esteem John had for you. Feeling your tears again, you try to breathe slowly. You can’t cry, especially with Dean next to you. He can’t see how weak you are or you'll go down in his estimation as well and it’s the last thing you want. Despite your tries to be discreet, you sniff, drawing Dean’s attention to you. At first, he doesn’t think too much about it, but when he hears your heavy breath and your sniffing several times, he gets up from his bed and comes to you. He sits down next to you and puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. Feeling his presence, you don’t dare to move, waiting for him to scold you.

“Wanna talk about it ?” he questions softly.

“There’s nothing to say.” you state.

“Y/N, I know how his words can affect someone.”

“He’s right, I’ve been stupid, I should have been a better hunter.”

“You’re fifteen and you’re still learning.” Dean retorts, “You were naive, it’s true, but a few months ago, you still thought vampires were some kind of legend from Transylvania, not the reality. You can’t be perfect from the start. You were bound to make mistakes on your first hunt, you can’t be mad at yourself for that. Believe me, I made worse mistakes on my first hunts”, he tries to reassure you but you’re still silent, “Y/N, could you look at me ?”

“No, I don’t want you to think I’m weak.” you refuse, ashamed.

“Why would I think that ?”

“Winchesters don’t cry. Even if I’m not a real one.” you say, repeating John's words.

Dean sighs, trying to find something to say. He hates the way John’s words already got into your head. He wishes he could reassure you like a big brother should but he’s still facing your back, not wanting to confront him. He knows he shouldn't take it personally but knowing you think he could act like John tightens his heart.

“I know I’m not well placed to say this,” he starts, hesitating, “but you can cry. Before being hunters, we’re humans.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you like I disappointed John.” you whisper, sniffing.

“You’re not gonna disappoint me and as for John, he’ll get over it, you can trust me. When you’ll be fully trained, he’ll see how excellent of a hunter you are.” Dean affirms.

“If he didn’t send me back to my foster family by then.” you add.

“I won’t let that happen.”, your big brother states, determined, “Now that I know I have a little sister, I can assure you you’re stuck with me as long as you decide otherwise.”

“Half-sister.” you correct, John’s voice still echoing in your head.

“In other words, my sister. You’re a part of the family.” Dean insists and you feel a new tear rolling down your cheek.

“Why are you so nice to me ? You didn’t even know I existed six months ago, you have every right to ignore me.” you question with a trembling voice.

“I just told you, we’re family, I care about you.”

Without responding, you turn around before throwing yourself in his arms. All the tears you’ve been holding back for the past few months finally roll down your cheeks. Feeling your shoulders shaking, Dean holds you closer against him. He strokes your back, inviting you to let all your emotion leave your body. His heart breaks a bit more when he realises how much you’ve been holding back to at least satisfy John a bit. He knows the pain all too well so that night, he makes sure you know he’ll always be there to support you. Your head still hiding in the crook of his neck, you stay in his arms, accepting for the first time the comfort of your big brother.

Masterlist

{This is my side blog so I'll be answering comments under the username @marie-sworld}

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yourmomxx · 1 year

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Those Christmas Lights (light up the street)

Dean Winchester x child!reader

Summary: It’s Jack’s first Christmas, you want to get Dean a special present, and Cas makes terrible eggnog

Warnings: 13+, slight kidnapping, slight throwing up, not edited yet

Word Count: 8,5k

A/N: this is my way of wishing you all a very merry Christmas! whether you’re celebrating today, tomorrow, or in January (or any other day) - merry christmas and also a happy new year!

It was on a Sunday when you decided that you wanted to celebrate Christmas this year. You were looking through some old boxes, when you came across an ornament you made with Ellen and Jo back when you lived at the Roadhouse.

It was a colorful star folded out of red and yellow colored paper. It spun back and forth on a golden thread as you held it up.

When you were still celebrating, before you moved into the bunker with Sam and Dean, and all the holidays kind of faded into the background. You looked at the slightly crumpled star. Maybe it was time to revive some traditions.

As you entered the kitchen, you were greeted by the smell of fried bacon and eggs and the sight of the Winchester brothers, who seemed to have been awake a little longer. Or hadn't slept at all.

The equivalent of blooming life as Dean, seated on the table, stared into his half-filled cup as if the black coffee in it would give him back his lost sleep. Sam was standing by the sink, scrubbing a clean plate in circular motions - and had been for several minutes.

It seemed like yesterday's hunt had demanded a lot from both of them. You cautiously entered the kitchen and waited for them to notice you. But both seemed caught up in their own tired thoughts, which is why you cleared your throat to draw attention to yourself. Sam's head shot up while Dean only slowly turned his in the bare minimum to signal that he knew you were here.

"I was thinking," you began, and Dean snorted into his cup as he lifted it to his lips. "That doesn't sound good."

You ignored him and continued talking undeterred. "I think we should celebrate Christmas this year."

Sam stopped in his bid to wash the plate and eyed you. "Christmas?" he asked and you nodded. "Yes, exactly."

"What makes you think of that now?" Dean's sleepy-sluggish voice came from the kitchen table.

"First of all, I think we need a break," you explained as you sat down across from Dean at the kitchen table. "And second, that would be Jack's first Christmas. He would experience something other than the torment that the world has to bring, but more - joy and warmth. I think we owe him that.”

Dean frowned. "First of all," he said, sort of mocking you, and raising his index finger, "we don't need a break. We're fine.”

You shot him a look. "If Sam keeps scrubbing that plate over there, it's going to have a hole in it eventually."

The dishes rattled as Sam put his plate on the pile next to the sink.

"And second, Jack has it great with us," Dean continued, ignoring your comment.

"Mm-hm, sure," you said in a sarcastic tone. "I'm sure the end of the world and the inheritance of Lucifer was nothing short of a dream from a first year of life."

Dean just shrugged and took another sip from his cup.

"I'm not even talking about a big Christmas," you tried to argue further, "It doesn't have to involve gifts, or Elf on the Shelf, or anything like that. Just some decorations, and a tree, and maybe some nice food. That's it."

You gave both of them pleading looks, but a little more to Sam because he was always a bit easier to convince for such things than your father.

Sam cleared his throat and reached for the next plate to clean it. "I mean, the idea doesn't sound that bad," he said, and a smile spread across your lips.

But Dean's head was spinning so fast you thought he was going to snap his neck.

“That’s coming from you?”, he asked incredulously, "what happened to your whole 'I hate holidays of any kind' attitude?"

Sam shrugged and looked down at his dishes like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "Y/N is right. We could probably use a break. And treat Jack to something that doesn't put him in danger or involve hunting something? Doesn't sound so bad."

Dean looked at his brother like he just told him he fucked an archangel. He narrowed his eyes hard once, then slowly turned back to you and took another sip of his coffee. "Then the verdict was well passed," he murmured dramatically.

You smiled and banged your flat hands on the table in excitement. "Thank you!" you said happily and jumped up. "I'll tell Jack." And with that you were out of the kitchen again.

Dean waited until he was sure you were out of earshot, then turned to Sam. "Not a bad idea? What happened to you?”

Sam ignored his brother and began to put the plates back in the shelves. In the process, he had to move some misplaced cups and bowls out of the way. Apparently Castiel had cleared out the dishwasher again.

"We've got two kids here now, Dean," Sam said. "Although one of them looks more like a twenty-two year-old, but still." He closed the cabinet doors and made his way out of the kitchen.

"Don't ruin the Christmas spirit, Dean!" he called out.

"The Christmas spi- Since when are you interested in Christmas?" Dean was outraged, but Sam couldn't - or didn't want to - hear him anymore.

—

Dean Winchester was a complicated man about a lot of things. Feelings, interpersonal relationships, trust, feelings. But he was definitely simple in one thing: his interests.

In your opinion, Dean Winchester could be described as a nerd, even if you would never tell him that to his face. That was a realization you made to yourself at one point and one that you would keep to yourself.

But this realization made it easy for you to choose a gift for him. Yes, you said no presents this Christmas, but that wasn't a rule, more a persuasion tactic to get Sam and Dean to celebrate it with you.

But secretly you knew exactly what you would get Dean. And you knew where to get it, too, but you'd have to sneak away from the watchful eyes of your family first. Under a good pretext, of course. And you actually already had it.

With a small cloth bag on your shoulder, for money and later the gift you would come back with, you entered the Crows Nest, where Dean and Cas sat bent over a piece of paper - actually, Cas stood - and were discussing something.

Dean looked up when he saw you coming and eyed the bag with suspicion. "Where are you going?"

You stopped just short of the stairs up. "Buy a Christmas tree," you lied, "I figured better late than never."

A few days had passed since you had had the conversation with Sam and Dean in the kitchen, and the subject of Christmas hadn't been explicitly brought up since.

The bunker still had its old, undecorated glory (if you could call it that) and from the looks of it, Dean was already keeping his eyes out for a new hunt.

You could tell from the brief, confused look that flitted across his face when you said the words "Christmas" and "tree" to him, but he skilfully covered it up with a clearing of his throat.

"That's right, there was something," he said and you raised your eyebrows. Just as you were about to go up the stairs, you heard Dean's voice say, "Take Jack with you."

You stopped abruptly and slowly turned in the direction of your father, who was looking up at you together with the angel.

"Jack?" you repeated questioningly. "Why that?"

Not that you had a problem with that, no, no. But the thing is, you wanted to buy a secret gift for Dean, and Jack, well. He wasn't very good with secrets. Not even on purpose. But the ability to distinguish relevant information to be released from information that should be kept private was sometimes difficult for him.

Dean leaned back in his chair. "Well, you said that one of the reasons that you suddenly went all Whoville was because you wanted to show Jack the good side of life. So take him with you. Buy a Christmas tree.”

Cas next to him nodded. "I think that sounds like a very good idea too."

Dean pointed to Cas behind him and made a face that clearly said ‘See?’.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and protest as you reluctantly tramped back down the stairs and set off in search of the Nephilim.

When the heavy door of the bunker closed again a few minutes later behind the two of you, Cas turned a little critically to Dean and asked: "What did you mean when you talked about Christmas?"

"Huh?" Dean only looked up briefly from the spell they had been eyeing before he understood Cas' question and gave his attention back to the piece of paper.

“Ah yes, Y/N got it in their head that we really need to celebrate Christmas this year. Something about we need a break and Jack needs to get to know the good things in life. That whole crap.” He waved it off and read an ingredient out loud. "Lamprocapnos spectabilis. What's that supposed to mean? If witches write stuff like that, then please do it in a way that I don't need a doctor's degree to understand all of it!"

"But if today is Christmas Eve," Cas continued, without paying much attention to Dean's tantrum, "Why do you not see that anywhere here?" He looked around. "Excuse my bluntness, but I think it looks as barren as ever."

Dean put his head in his hands and stifled a groan. "That's because nobody has hung anything up yet, Cas," he growled to the angel.

Ca's frown deepened. "But why? If Y/N wishes-"

"I don't know if you've noticed, Cas, but we've been a little busy kicking the devil's ass back to hell lately, so sorry if I don't put myself in white and red dress-up and hop around shouting Ho-Ho-Ho!”

Castiel rolled his shoulders back and cocked his chin. His eyes sparkled angrily. "Dean,” he said, “Your child has never asked for anything before. Only ever did what you wanted to keep you satisfied. I think you can grant them this one wish.”

Dean wanted to say something, but Cas had already turned away and headed for the library. "Now if you'll excuse me, I will go find Sam and look for something to decorate with him. So we can celebrate Christmas.”

And with that he was gone, leaving Dean alone in the Crows Nest, parchment still on the table and head thrown back in annoyance.

—

While the adults stayed back in the bunker, you and Jack had taken it upon yourselves to pick a fitting Christmas tree. You had taken the Impala to a nearby village, which’s advertisement told you that you would find some here.

Now you were following the written signs, Jack trailing slightly behind you.

“What are we even looking for in a Christmas tree?” Jack suddenly asked and you shrugged.

“Well, nothing specific, really. Just a tall pine tree, which we will put in the bunker and then we’ll decorate it with some ornaments, tinsel, and maybe candy canes.”

“What are those?”

“What are what?”

“Candy canes. What are those?”

You stopped dead in your tracks and turned to Jack with a look of disbelief on your face. “You don’t- you don’t know what candy canes are?” You asked.

Jack frowned. “No,” he said.

“But you know about punch, right?” You asked. “And candied apples? And roasted almonds?”

Jack’s frown deepened and turned into a thinking pout. “No, I don’t.”

You couldn’t believe it. Jack Kline, the nephilim, the most powerful being in this universe, was standing in front of you and telling you he didn’t know the most important elements of a successful Christmas time.

Then again, his multi-dimensional knowledge maybe didn’t apply to the nostalgic beings of life.

Curtly, you took Jack’s hand and began pulling him after you. “Well then it’s about time I introduce you.”

“And what about the Christmas tree?” Jack asked. “I think they’ll survive if it reaches the bunker a few hours later,” you calmed him down. And with that, you took course towards a constellation of small huts, with crowds of people standing around and chattering, an excited Jack Kline in tow.

—

Annoyed and yet willing - as you know him - Dean Winchester stood on a long ladder and tied a few loose fir branches to the banister with some wool, which Sam hung with small bells.

It had taken a few hours, and yet they had made it.

“Wow Sam, the decoration we found in your room was indeed enough,” Castiel praised as he admired a wreath hanging from the archway.

Sam smiled and tied one last bell in a pine branch. Then he handed it to Dean.

"I still think we should hang up mistletoe," Sam said conspiratorially and Dean almost fell off the ladder.

"No," the older one decided firmly when he'd recovered. "Absolutely not."

When he wasn't looking, Sam mocked him with grimaces. "Alright, Grinch," he murmured under his breath and got an "I heard that!" thrown at him by his older brother.

Sam shook his head nonchalantly, preferring to step back to survey the work they'd done. Glittering garlands with bows hung over the individual exits from the crows nest, and small wreaths could be seen here and there on the doors. The dancing branches that Dean was hanging up were made from found branches and some loose decorations that they had found in Sam's box.

All in all it didn't look too bad. Dean himself was surprised what his little brother had hidden in his room.

“So” The older one finally climbed down from the ladder and looked at his work on the banister. "Not too bad," he stated, and Sam also knew that this would be the highest level of enthusiasm for the decoration that Dean would show them.

"When we're done here," Castiel said, a slight smile curling his lips, "then I would retire to the kitchen for a little while. I still have work to do there." Before either brother could react, he was gone again.

"Hate it when he does that," Dean gruntled, but proceeded to quietly put the ladder away.

—

Some time and many market stalls later, Jack and you were standing around a small, round table, steaming cups of punch set on the wooden surface in front of you.

Children's punch, of course - non-alcoholic. After all, 50% of those present here were not even two years old.

You cautiously took a sip from your mug, Jack was still eyeing his drink suspiciously after burning his tongue from the hot liquid just a moment earlier.

Seeing how effortlessly you drank, he finally dared to take a small sip, and noticing that the punch had cooled further, he took a larger one. You smiled at him as he put the cup down again and licked his lips with relish. His had a little angel printed on it - which you personally thought was very fitting.

"So," you asked, "Did you enjoy the little Christmas tour?" Jack grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

"And these are all Christmas traditions?" he asked and you nodded. "Yep. That and Santa Claus putting presents under the tree for the good kids on Christmas Eve.” you sighed. “But that's just a tale parents tell their little kids. And as you get older, you realize that it was the adults all along and a bit of the magic is gone."

Jack frowned. "So you know that Santa Claus doesn't exist?"

You nodded "Yes."

“Then, why do you want to celebrate Christmas so badly?” Jack asked, curious.

You lowered your gaze and ran your finger along the side of the mug. Suddenly the little reindeer drawn on it seemed incredibly interesting.

“I don’t know,” you said. But that was a lie. And Jack wasn’t stupid, he knew that. But he didn’t say anything, he just tilted his head slightly.

There was a moment of silence between you two.

“It’s just,” you said, “when I was still living at the Roadhouse, Dean would always visit somewhere around Christmas.” You smiled at the memory.

“When Jo first taught me how to fold stars out of paper, I did it all the time, for everyone. And a second time. And when Dad came by, I made him the most stars out of all. I knew he was always on the road, so I wanted to give him as many things as possible to remember me by. So he wouldn’t forget about me.”

You did your best to swallow the lump that had formed in your throat. “I made him the stars every year. Even if he stopped to come by at some point."

There was that silence again, only this time Jack clearly noticed your dejection and did what he had always seen Cas do when Dean wasn't feeling well.

He reached forward and gently placed his hand on yours. You gave him a grateful smile and he returned it.

Then suddenly, you sniffled once and brushed some loose hair away from your face. "But whatever. Christmas is just my favorite holiday in general.” You took a deep breath, making your shoulders rise and fall, and closed your eyes. “Just the warmth of a nicely decorated house or a nice punch when it's cold outside. There’s something about it."

Jack simply agreed with you on that. He couldn't confirm it himself, so he just trusted you on that point.

You quickly downed the last of your punch and encouraged Jack to do the same. "Come on, drink up. We still have to go somewhere."

Jack did as ordered and you brought back the two cups and received the deposit.

"Let's get a Christmas tree now?" Jack asked excitedly, but you shook your head. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I have to get something else first."

"What then?" He asked.

"My present for my Dad."

"But you said no gifts?"

"It wasn't a rule, it was a necessary evil. But-” You pulled out your phone to double-check the exact address of the store. "I found something really great for him."

"What is it?" Jack sounded almost as excited as you felt, and that excitement was the reason you told him. "You know how much Dean loves Batman, right? And cars?" Jack nodded.

"Well, I scoured my friend, the good old internet, and found someone selling a miniature Batmobile!" You told him giddily.

Jack looked confused and it only struck you now that he probably didn't even know what the Batmobile was.

"It’s the car Batman drives." You explained. "Aaah," Jack went, and you could practically see the realization forming on his face as his eyes widened and his mouth opened in amazement.

“And why only a mini version?” he asked further. "Is that a toy car?"

Ouch. Would Dean have heard that now. "No Jack, it's not a toy car" you told him clearly. "It's a collector's item."

“Why would you want to collect small cars?”

You sighed loudly. "I don't know Jack, ask any man over thirty-five."

Jack was about to ask something else, but to your rescue, the small alarm sounded on your cell phone, signaling that you had reached your destination. You stopped and eyed the shop.

It was relatively small, and surrounded by other bright shops, decorated all around with Christmas decorations, it also looked a bit deserted. Miller's Antiques was written in large letters on a sign above the front door. You exchanged a look with Jack. He seemed just as skeptical.

"Well, it won't be that bad," you said, not sure if you were trying to encourage Jack or yourself.

A small bell rang as you opened the door inward.

Jack always stayed behind you, as you entered the small building. It was actually a bit gloomy in here, the shelves, some filled to the ceiling with objects, seemed to keep all the sunlight from falling in. The only source of unnatural light was a shadeless lightbulb suspended in the middle of the room.

"Hello?" You asked into the silence, but there was no answer.

That's how every horror movie starts, you thought, and an uneasy feeling crept in. But no, now you had come so far, you would still manage these last few meters. Just give him the money, take the car, done. And then get out of here as soon as possible.

At the other end of the room was a counter. You and Jack approached it and you tentatively rang the little bell that stood there.

A moment passed, then another, until a slightly older man appeared from behind a curtain that apparently led to the warehouse, and stood at the counter.

"Can I help?" he asked, in a high yet raspy voice. Maybe a smoker, you thought. Or a Broadway singer with severely strained vocal cords.

"My name is Winchester, Y/N," you replied. "We emailed?" He seemed to think for a moment. "Ah yes, of course, Winchester," he finally recalled. "About the car, right?"

"Yes, exactly."

The lanky man leaned to the side a little and eyed Jack up and down with suspicion. "And who is this?"

Before you could reply, Jack had taken a step forward and raised his hand in greeting. "Hello," he said, "my name is Jack Kline. It's nice to meet you."

"He's a family friend," you added as the shop owner raised his eyebrow. "I see," he then murmured, turning back to you.

"You have the money with you?" You rummaged in your bag and held the wallet in front of his eyes.

"Good, good," he said, taking the curtain in his hand. "Then come with me. I put that somewhere back here."

Absolutely not. "Actually that's okay, we'll just wait here until you come back."

The man grinned. “Don't worry. I do not bite." You couldn't see Jack smiling behind you, and just as you were about to protest further, the boy squeezed past you with a "You're right" and followed the man behind the curtain.

You clenched your jaw. You really needed to give this guy some kidnapping avoidance tutoring. Nevertheless, especially because you no longer had a choice, you also stepped forward into the darkened room.

"Jack?" you asked. "Mr Miller?"

But no answer came.

Worried, you went to search the room when you felt something hurt terribly on the back of your head, and at the same moment everything went black.

—

In the meantime in the Bunker, there was a festive Christmas smell coming from the kitchen. Dean dismissed the smell somewhat suspiciously, because "After all, it's Cas," he had told Sam. "He doesn’t eat, how is he supposed to cook something?"

Also, the fact that he had been in there for a while made Dean a little uncomfortable. Not that he broke anything. Or would char. Not in his kitchen.

Hopefully he didn't misclassify the knives. As much as Dean loved him, he wouldn't forgive that.

When Cas then finally entered the library, he carried a wooden tray in front of him. On it were several glasses with a yellow-creamy liquid in them.

Sam and Dean raised their gazes and looked surprised first to the drinks, and then to Cas. "What do you have there, Cas?" Sam asked, trying to peer into the glasses.

"Glad you asked," Castiel said. "This is Egg Nog. I've heard it's a Christmas tradition among humans, so I thought I'd up the ante on the Christmas cheer."

He held out the tray to the two of them. "Try it."

The brothers each grabbed a glass from the tray and took a long gulp of the Christmas drink. Dean's eyes clenched and widened again and Sam's eyebrows shot up. As they put the glasses back down, Castiel asked, "How is it?"

"Mm-hm," Dean said, mouth still full, thumbs up. Sam did the same.

Castiel smiled contentedly. "Well then. I'll put the rest aside so we have enough supplies. And also for Y/N and Jack when they come back.” With that, he turned around and disappeared from the library again towards the kitchen with his tray in hand.

The moment he was out of sight, Dean pulled the closest plant to him and spat the contents out of his mouth into the pot, Sam did the same with his glass.

Dean wiped his mouth. "I have the feeling that Cas read a bottle and a half instead of a cup and a half of rum," he said in disgust.

Sam looked over at him. "Isn't that like a normal dose for you?"

Dean looked at the glass as if it had just bitten his finger. "Not all at once, no," he replied. "But we don't have to tell Cas that." With that, he poured the remaining contents of the glass into the plant pot and turned back to his laptop and the show he was watching.

Zoe was about to break up with Wade and Cas' performance had interrupted the dramatic moment. That was also something he wouldn't tell him.

He had just resumed the series, when Sam felt like he had to interrupt him.

"Tell me, did you get Y/N's gift yet?" he asked. Annoyed, Dean pressed the pause button again and pulled his headphones out of his ears.

"What now?"

"Y/N's present," Sam repeated. "You know, wrapped in colored paper, with a bow-"

"I know what a present is," Dean interrupted abruptly. "But why should I have gotten one for Y/N? They specifically said no gifts.”

Sam sighed. "Dean," he began. Sometimes he thought his brother was a lost cause in this area. "Y/N is your child. And regardless of whether they have a no-gift rule or not, it would be right to give them something anyway. Especially after what has happened the last few years.”

"What's happened in the last few years," Dean grumbled lowly. "I don't even know what to get them!" he followed behind, already a little desperate. Sam had made him nervous.

But the younger one just shrugged. "Neither do I. You probably know them best of all of us.”

That ended the conversation for Sam. And he left behind, sitting opposite him, a thinking Dean Winchester, who still had to find a Christmas present from somewhere. And at best, before you came back, which, unfortunately for him, wouldn't be a very long time. After all, how much time would buying a Christmas tree take?

—

When you woke up, at first you thought you were still unconscious. It took your eyes a while to adjust to the darkness around you and to work with what little light came through a dirty little window.

Slowly but surely, individual silhouettes stood out from the darkness and you recognized furniture, walls, pillars. Now that you thought about it, this looked like a basement. The pillars to support a house and all the junk that was just dumped here because it wasn't needed anymore.

With the realization, a throbbing pain in the back of your head set in. You wanted to raise your hand to grab the spot, but you couldn't. With a groan of frustration, you realized that your hands were tied with ropes around one of the pillars, and it felt pretty tight. Great. At least you were tied so you could sit down.

"Jack?" you asked into the silence, having an odd déjà-vu. Then it popped into your head. The antique shop. Your dad's gift. And the shady man that Jack had so willingly followed behind the curtain.

"Y/N?" came a hesitant voice, and your heart lifted. "Thank the gods you're fine," you sighed.

You still didn't know who this man was or what he wanted exactly. But if he tied you and Jack here together, then maybe he didn't even know he was a Nephilim.

Was it your last name? Did he have a grudge against the Winchesters? Or thought he could lure Sam and Dean out by capturing you? Or Cas with Jack?

Wouldn't be the first time.

The pounding in the back of your head slowly diminished. The blow didn't seem to have been too hard. Which meant you probably hadn't been unconscious for very long either. And yet you thought about it.

"Well, hello!" suddenly sounded a voice. A high, yet scratchy one. Either a smoker or a former Broadway star. The voice of the man who locked you in here.

"Miller," you spat. He stopped in front of you and grinned down at you. Only now did you notice that he held a pistol in his right hand. Swell.

"Good morning sunshine!" he chirped. "Sleep well?" He didn't wait for an answer from you, just kept talking. "I apologize for the inconvenience, please understand, we are not a star hotel here, but I made the best of it."

You clenched your jaw and gave him murderous looks.

"Who are you? Why are you doing all this?” Jack called from behind you and you tried to put your hand on his to signal 'shut up'. But it was too late. Miller's attention shifted to Jack until he was standing in front of him as well.

"Why am I doing this?" he repeated, still grinning. "Why, for the money of course!" That's when he licked his lips and looked back at you angrily.

“And most people are so totally fine with getting their pieces delivered. By post. You tell them you have something that they want, one of Britney Spears’ gel nails, the scarf that Niki Lauda wore at his first race …” He trailed off. You made a face. “And the bottom line is: I get the money, but these people never get their product. That's the way it works."

He lazily pointed his gun towards you.

"But no, not you," he continued scornfully. "You wanted to come by personally. Get a Batmobile collectible.” He cracked a dirty laugh. “So I had to improvise! That is why, both of you, are sitting here, tied up." He shrugged his shoulders. "It wasn't my first option, but I had to think fast."

You were confused. What the guy said made some sense, but only if one piece of the puzzle in your story was wrong.

"The money? internet fraud? What-" you cut yourself off as you came to a realization. “Wait, are you- human?”

Now it was Miller's turn to be confused. "Uh yeah? And newsflash, you are too?”

"So, you're no demon?" You continued to ask. "Shapeshifter, vampire, anything?"

"No, I- what the hell are you even talking about?" He looked at Jack as if he had all the answers ready for him.

"Ugh," you groaned, banging your head against the pillar behind you. Which in hindsight probably wasn't such a smart idea, because now it was hurting again.

"You're telling me we got overrun by some common white guy?" Embarrassing. If your dad found out! Holy hell.

But Miller seemed duly indignant at your report. "Well, I beg you pardon," he said. "I think I did pretty well for a beginner." He shrugged.

"Now that I think about it, it's actually kind of a shame. I've grown fond of you two. Especially you, cowboy.” He pointed the pistol at Jack.

"You seem so easy."

"And now?" Jack asked, with as much contempt in his voice as he could muster. "Are you going to kill us?"

Miller's eyes widened in mock horror. "Kill you?" he asked. "Oh no, no, no. I'm not a murderer. And it's Christmas.” He smiled, and you didn't like it at all.

"No, you just stay here. For a while. A couple of days. Nobody ever comes down into this cellar. And if you starve to death, well.” He sighed in faked wistfulness. "Then I call that a very tragic end to two young lives."

"That's a lot worse than just shooting us," you pointed out and the man rolled his eyes. "Teens and their smartasses," he murmured.

"Well then," he said, stamping his foot briefly. "I'm getting back to work. You two, have a good time down here. And don't even try yelling, the doors are pretty thick.” He waved goodbye before turning and heading up the stairs. "Until then!"

You wriggled indignantly in your bonds. "Good, then leave us here!" You yelled after him. "But if the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future come to take you, I will not save you, Mr Scrooge!"

The thunder of the heavy steel door signaled his absence and you slumped back into your still position.

"Mr Scrooge?" You grimaced. "That was the best I could do?"

"Y/N," Jack's voice came from across the pillar. "How do we get out of here?"

You thought.The adults didn't have a clue where you were, and due to the defensive sigils on your ribs and Jack's powers, Castiel couldn't track you.

Jack's Powers!

"Jack, you have to break these bonds!" you begged him.

It was quiet for a moment. "I- I don't know how." Jack's voice sounded small and scared from the other side, and you felt almost bad for pressuring him like that.

"I know it scares you, Jack," you coaxed him. “But we won't get out of here otherwise. I didn't take any of my knives, I wasn't prepared for that. Our dads don't know where we are. You're the only one who can save us and get us home, Jack. Please."

He still hesitated. "I believe in you," you continued to encourage him. “You can do this. Call it a Christmas miracle. It will work and you won't hurt me."

You felt your hands getting warmer. But it wasn't warmth, like from a flame or a fireplace, no, it was pure energy. Pure and pulsating, it emanated from Jack's hands and in the next instant, the bonds were loose.

You jumped up to help Jack up too, only to feel the consequences as your head started pounding again.

"See?" you smiled at him. "Christmas Miracle." A small, proud smile played on Jack's lips as well as he looked at his hands.

A loud bang sounded moments later as the heavy door was thrown off its hinges. You clambered over it, and followed a few more spiraling stairs up to the back room where Miller knocked you down earlier.

Carefully, you and Jack crept between the stuffed shelves until you reached the black curtain again and slowly pushed it a bit aside.

Almost immediately in front of you, Miller was standing, with his back to you, engrossed in his laptop. Jack took a quick step forward and placed his palm on the back of the man's head, and the next moment he fell unconscious to the ground.

"He's just-" "Unconscious," Jack assured you, taking your hand. "Come on, we have to get out of here."

"One moment." You bent down and grabbed Miller's ankles. "We have to do something first. Help me."

Jack grabbed the man under his arms and you both carried him out of the small shop. The bell jingled as the door opened and closed again.

—

In the meantime. several hours had passed. Which was more hours than Dean would have liked. The sun was already low in the sky, and even if they couldn't see it from the bunker, Dean could guess it. He was about a vanishing ray of sunshine away from jerking open the door and personally looking for Jack and Y/N.

"They’ve been gone too long," he said, for what must have been the thirteenth time, as he paced around the Crows Nest. Sam looked up from his book and to his brother.

"Dean, they're both almost adults. And Jack is the most powerful entity in this universe. I think they’ll manage.”

"Mm-hm," Dean went, and Sam knew he hadn't convinced him. Just like the other twelve times.

Then, as if called upon, they heard the squeak of the heavy front door and a slightly disheveled Jack Kline entered, with an exhausted Y/N Winchester in tow.

Dean was already waiting for you both at the foot of the stairs. "What the hell took you so long? And why didn't either of you answer your phone? We didn't know where you were, something could have happened to you!"

You and Jack ducked your heads and Jack was about to say something when you cut him off. "I'm sorry, Dad," you apologized. "Will not happen again."

Dean's anger seemed to subside a little because his voice sounded calmer and softer when he said it. "I hope so. I was worried."

And even if it was probably a little inappropriate in this situation, you felt a bit warm at his words.

"Uhm guys", Sam asked. "Where is the Christmas tree?"

You and Jack looked at each other in alarm and then back at the adults. Now Dean's eyebrows were raised expectantly, too.

“The Christmas tree?”, you asked, slowly. Sam nodded.

"We got kidnapped," Jack blurted out.

"Excuse me what now?" Dean's eyebrows shot up.

"Yes, Jack," you slowly dragged, turning to the Nephilim. "What?"

"But we took care of it," he added and in his eyes shone pride. “I used my powers. Without hurting anyone."

Cas nodded in appreciation. “That is a very success. I'm proud of you."

Jack's smile almost went in circles if his ears weren't between them, he smiled so hard.

Dean, however, still seemed a little worried. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” He reached for your head, but you dodged him. "It's fine, Dad, I promise. Like Jack said. We took care of it."

—

One by one, the lights went out in the sheriff's department. Sheriff Dowers, a slightly stocky woman, was turning off the last of the lights as she prepared to leave her office.

Christmas Eve with the whole family, well that would be something - again. With her mother-in-law, who always complained about how seldom she was at home, or her great-aunt, who had something to criticize about her appearance every time they saw each other.

She shuddered just at the thought. It would take her nerves of steel again to get through this. And lots of mulled wine.

Dowers rubbed her eyes tiredly and was about to lock the door, when she suddenly saw a crouched figure in the darkness. As she got closer, she realized it was a man, probably in his forties, hands tied behind his back on the lantern that stood in front of the police station.

Through the dim light she saw a folded Christmas card tied to the man's bonds. It featured a decorated Christmas tree with gifts and the words "Merry Christmas to you!".

The sheriff opened the card in surprise and hesitated, as she read it: My name is Aaron Miller, owner of Miller's Antiques. I have scammed countless people out of their money online. You can find all of this on my laptop. Best wishes and a Merry Christmas! was written in it.

Sheriff Dowers looked at the man tied up. She had never experienced such a strange arrest. But that was just fine with her. Maybe her Christmas Eve wasn't going to be as torturous as expected after all.

—

After another lecture on safety and self-defense from Dean, you'd retreated to the warmth of your room to get out of your wet, cold, dirty clothes.

You were now dressed in an oversized hoodie and red plaid pajama bottoms. While you were stuffing the dirty things into the laundry basket, there was a soft knock on the door. "Yes?" you answered, and your Dad walked in through the open door.

"Hey," he said. "Hey," you said back.

For a moment neither of you said anything, you just stood there and looked at each other. Then Dean broke the silence.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked. Again.

"Yes I'm fine," you assured him. Again. "I fight monsters on a weekly basis, I think I'll be able to deal with a human kidnapping."

Dean's facial expression changed. "Wait. Are you saying - that was no monster?” he asked.

You shook your head. "Nope."

"You got jumped by a regular guy?"

You threw your arms in the air and Dean chuckled.

"Oh, now all of a sudden you're not worried anymore?"

He put an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him. "I know there's nothing to worry about because I know you kicked ass."

You grinned up at him. "Indeed we did."

Dean cleared his throat and let go of you. Then he sat on the edge of your bed and patted the seat next to him.

"So," he began when you sat down next to him, "I know you said we don't need any presents this Christmas. But, I figured, after all you've accomplished since you've been with us-' He pulled out a small package, wrapped in brown parchment paper and sealed neatly, and for a moment it occurred to you that probably Sam was the one who had wrapped it.

"Well, I figured you deserved it," Dean finished, handing you the present.

Incredulous, you opened the taped ends to avoid tearing the paper and pulled out what was in it.

"Stockings?" You gave your dad a questioning look.

Dean shrugged. "Yes, so you can hang them over the fireplace next year," he explained. "You know, how you do it at Christmas. I think."

"Next year?" you asked hopefully.

Now he avoided your gaze. "Well, I mean yeah, Christmas is stressful and pretty much unnecessary when you think about it, and we don't have time for-" He stopped himself and took a deep breath. "But maybe if we prepare a little better next time, it could be quite nice. And maybe then with official gifts.”

He smiled at you. You couldn't believe it. and without further ado you threw the stockings on the bed and pulled your dad into a tight hug.

"Thank you," you mumbled in his ear.

“You earned it, kiddo,” he said back. “I’m proud of you.”

You smiled into his flannel shirt. "Your heart has tripled in size. Like the Grinch.”

"Okay, thanks, Merry Christmas to you too," Dean replied in a sarcastic tone and broke the hug.

You were looking at the stockings next to you when you suddenly remembered what had become of your gift, and felt slightly depressed.

"I, um-" You lowered your gaze and fumbled with your fingers. “I actually had the plan to give you something, too. But then there was this thing with-"

At that moment the door was yanked open and both Dean's and your head shot in that direction. But only Jack stood in the doorway, hand raised in greeting. "Hello," he said, taking a step further into your room. The door that had opened so loud rested quietly against the wall. He must have used his powers to open it.

"Y/N, I am bringing you the gift for Dean," he continued, and only now did you register the small package in his hands.

"Wh-" You gaped at Jack in confusion.

He just smiled his innocent smile at you and nodded his head.

"Yes, you almost forgot it in the kitchen."

He placed the object in your hands. 'Thank you', you mouthed in his direction. Jack simply smiled and then courtly left the room again, but not before raising his hand to say goodbye, of course.

You turned to Dean again and, a little awkwardly, put the present in his hands.

You wondered what it could be. It definitely wasn't the car, the package wasn't the right shape for that. It was circular, yet a little flat. It was wrapped with colorful Christmas wrapping paper, and sealed with much, much tape. You smiled to yourself at the thought of Jack, highly focused, doing his best to cover up whatever was in there.

On top of it was a white bow, that Dean sort of brutally ripped off, just as he did the rest of the paper – a total opposite to your careful hand.

As he pulled the item out of the paper, you could almost see his eyes light up as he read the label.

"Howard Coleman's limited-edition Christmas pie—with cinnamon and apples straight from the North Pole!" And now you got it, too. It was the pie that Dean had been eyeing in stores for the past few days, whenever they passed it. All you knew about it was that it seemed to only come out once a year — around Christmas time — and it was supposed to taste like Santa baked it himself with his elves.

You smiled to yourself. How pure Jack was that he remembered it and allowed you to pass it off as your gift.

Dean was still grinning from ear to ear. "Ha-ha! I gotta show this to Sam, we gotta cut him straight!”

With that, he jumped up and planted a loving kiss on your hairline. "Thank you," he said and then he was already out the door.

—

Everyone was gathered in the crows nest. The garlands glittered and the whole building was filled with the smell of cinnamon. Little conversations ensued and everyone held a mug full of hot chocolate that Sam had specially conjured up.

A better option than Cas' failed egg-nog.

When the angel had gone around, offering you and Jack one of the glasses, all you could see was Sam hastily making a ‘Don’t do it’-gesture, and that was enough for you to politely say No.

"Have a good Christmas," you said, sprinkling sprinkles onto the whipped cream in your cocoa.

But Jack just looked at the empty space under the stairs.

"Now we don't even have a Christmas tree," he remarked, disappointment evident in his voice. Sam and you gave the young boy pitying looks.

Suddenly the signature woosh of Cas' wings could be heard and the angel was gone. Dean looked puzzled next to himself, where he had just been standing, and whirled around when he heard the wings again - accompanied by a rustling and clanking.

There, under the stairs, stood Castiel, with a huge green fir tree beside him, adorned with blue, white, and silver decorations. Jack's eyes almost popped out of his head and your mouth dropped open.

"Cas, where- where did you get that tree?" Sam asked incredulously. Cas looked at him with an almost reproachful look. "I'm an angel, remember?" he said, and that settled the matter.

Then Dean re-entered the room, having only recently left it unnoticed by anyone, holding an old CD-player in his hand.

He placed it on the big table and pushed a few buttons, and a slow Christmas carol started playing out of the speakers.

Everyone raised their mugs of hot chocolate and Dean poured some cherry liqueur into everyone's cups. You pressed yours close to Sam's, but Dean, always the psychic, noticed and pushed it away with his pinky finger.

You gave him a grim look, but he ignored you.

"Merry Christmas," Cas wished, and the rest joined in the chorus. "Merry Christmas!"

Mugs were clattering against each other, and Jack could be heard silently humming along to the music’s tune.

While everyone was busy chatting and laughing with one another, nobody noticed how Dean and Cas stole away. Together they stood a little apart, under the archway that led to the library. Dean leaned casually against the stonewall and looked at the scene that was playing out in front of them.

A slight smile graced his lips, and he didn't notice how Cas looked at him from the side, wearing just the same fond smile on his face.

"Considering that a few years ago I wouldn't have even dreamed of this happening - Christmas, hot chocolate, decorations-" Dean stopped himself. "A child. That doesn't come from murderous female warriors and wants to kill me.” He laughed lightly and took a sip of the hot chocolate.

"It's fascinating to see how despite all the suffering we've been through, good moments like this can still happen," Castiel agreed.

Dean turned his attention back to his angel and pushed himself slightly off the wall. "It's even better when everyone you care about is there."

Cas avoided Dean's look in flushed embarrassment. Suddenly the angel felt something trickling down onto his shoulder. It was an oblong shaped, small leaf with smooth edges.

He looked up in surprise. There by the archway above them, hung a bush full of those leaves, and round white berries within.

Dean groaned softly as he followed Cas' gaze and also discovered the plant. "I told Sam not to," he murmured.

Castiel looked at him questioningly. "What is it?"

Dean suddenly got very flustered and started stuttering. "It's, um- it's mistletoe. A Christmas tradition where you—”

"I do, in fact, know this tradition," Cas interrupted him in a low voice.

Dean only now noticed how close the angel actually was to him. And unperturbed, his heart began to beat faster until it pounded in his throat.

He was afraid that Cas could hear it.

But like the conversations around them, this fear faded into the background when Dean leaned forward the last centimeter to Castiel and put his own lips on those of the black-haired angel.

It wasn't a long kiss if measured in time, minutes, seconds. But for Dean it felt infinite. And not the infinity that stretches forever, no. The infinity in which you let yourself fall into a sky full of happiness and love. He let himself fall into the feel of Cas' warm lips on his, which still tasted a little of the hot chocolate and cherry liqueur.

When they broke apart, Dean felt the need to kiss him again at the same moment.

Cas' blue eyes looked deep into his green ones.

"Merry Christmas, Dean," he whispered.

"Merry Christmas, Cas."

And for that one moment, everything was perfect. And everything was warm.

Maybe Y/N was right. Maybe his heart had tripled in size.

Then, Sam's voice rang from the the table. “Cas, is that the Walmart Logo on our Christmas tree?”

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notanettelmao · 1 year

Text

The Tell pt. 1

Also on AO3

(A Teen Wolf Rewrite)

Fandoms: Teen Wolf, Supernatural Warnings: usual TW and SPN stuff Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x reader Words: 1,8k

Tags: @venomsvl @celestair

If you wanna be tagged let me know!

Y/N was with Derek when he heard about the attack at the video store. He took off in the direction of the store, leaving her behind. She swore, looked around, and started running after him.

When she finally got there, he and Scott were climbing the rusty ladder on the side of the building. Y/N rolled her eyes and climbed after them. Scott said hi to her while Derek stared at her as if he wasn't expecting her to follow him. He then turned to Scott.

"Starting to get it?" He asked, leaning over the edge to look down in a way that didn't make him visible to the people on the ground under them. Scott did the same.

"I get that he is killing people. I don't get why." Scott mumbled. Y/N walked a few steps toward the edge to take a look at the scene.

"I mean, we don't go out in the middle of the night murdering everyone, do we?" Y/N turned to look at Scott.

"Werewolves are predators. Not killers." She said. Derek agreed, not looking away from the people on the street.

"Then why is he a killer?" Scott asked looking at his friend and then at the older werewolf.

"That's what we are going to find out. Y/N, how does this look like from the perspective of a hunter?" Derek turned towards her. The youngest Winchester took a deep breath and stepped away from the edge of the roof.

"It must have been a rogue omega. He killed Laura to get the alpha power, which we already knew. We know that he wants to build a pack, and that's why he bit Scott. But something isn't right here. Why didn't he bite anyone else? I'll need to do some research on my own, maybe I will take Stiles with me because he can get us the police reports. I need to know if there were organs missing or if he is just killing for the fun of it." Y/N looked at her phone, texting Stiles to meet her a few blocks away from the video store.

"You do that. I'm gonna take Scott to the house for a bit. I'll see you later," Derek waved a hand her way and then ran off the roof, Scott following him. Y/N groaned when she realized she will have to climb the ladder down

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

The youngest Winchester got to the meeting point at the same time as Stiles parked his jeep on the side of the road. She quickly jumped into the passenger seat and told him to drive to his house. She needed his whiteboard for this.

"So, what are we going to do now?" Stiles asked as they got into his room. He sat on his bed and watched Y/N pace around the room picking different stuff up and then wiping his whiteboard so she had a clean space to work with. She ignored his question and wrote 'THE ALPHA' in capital letters in the middle of it, then drew lines around it and started writing everything they knew already.

"I need you to look in your dad's files to see if there were any bodies found dead with their heart missing in the towns around Beacon Hills." Y/N turned to look at Stiles who was reading the words on the board, looking really interested.

"You think it could be the bad kind? The one you told me about?" He was suddenly up, looking worried. Y/N swallowed and nodded.

"I have a bad feeling. And I need another wolf to talk to about it. Not Derek. And not Scott, Scott hasn't been a werewolf for long." She ran her fingers through her hair.

"I guess we have one more Hale we can visit." He said quietly. Y/N nodded.

"I'll go see him. I need you to go look through the folders. Look for the missing hearts and anything that could be a clue." She quickly dropped the parker on Stiles' table and turned to walk out, but stopped in between the door.

"I don't have a car." She turned back to look at Stiles. He let out a laugh and then motioned for her to follow him.

"Come on, I'll take you there."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Peter lived on the side of Beacon Hills where Lydia did. The rich part of town. He moved into his house right when he was let out of the hospital after his miraculous recovery. Y/N actually helped him and Derek to pick the place and get him used to being around people again. No one really recognized Peter in town, which saved them a lot of explaining about how the hell he was walking and talking after spending six years in a coma.

Y/N thanked Stiles for the ride and closed the car door. She watched him drive away and then let herself in through the gate. She walked up the stone steps towards the front door and knocked. She didn't have to wait long before Peter opened it, frowning. When he saw her he smirked.

"Ah, Winchester. What can I do for you?" He asked, moving to the side so she could walk in.

"Hi, Peter. Nice to see you too. Are you doing better?" She lifted an eyebrow at him and took off her shoes. She put them on the shoe rack in the huge hallway.

"Did you come over only to ask me how I was doing or do you actually need something?" He led her towards the kitchen.

"Oh, I just wanted to talk." She sat on one of the chairs at the kitchen island and put her phone in front of her.

"Talk? About what? And where is my nephew? Does he still refuse to buy a normal living space and tortures himself by sleeping in the burned-down house?" He pulled out two cups and started the coffee maker.

"Derek is currently at the old house with Scott. And yes, he still lives there. He is way too stubborn to listen to us. Even though it would be safer for him to move somewhere else now that Kate is in town. That woman is a whole new level of crazy. But that's not why I'm here. I need to talk to you about werewolves. And about how they go rogue." Peter turned to look at her.

"Why don't you ask your uncle about it?" He asked and placed one of the full coffee cups in front of her.

"My uncle was in an accident a few days back. I don't really want to bother him now, as I am sure he and my brothers have a lot of stuff to do because the Leviathans are getting all around the USA."

"Yes, I remember you telling me about him being shot. What do you need to know?" Peter sat down on one of the chairs on the other side of the island.

"How does a wolf go rogue?" Y/N asked.

"Depend on the situation. You can be kicked out of the pack, and then if no other pack wants you in, you lose it. You start going more and more feral. That's how omegas are made, but omegas are usually born wolves that go feral. The bitten omegas are more..." Peter stopped talking, thinking about how to say it correctly.

"They're the worst kind, right? The ones that feed on the hearts of humans?" Y/N asked quietly. Peter nodded.

"Yes, they are the worst. I don't know how, but they actually became weak to silver. Us born wolves aren't."

"I know. It is a myth connected to the Argents as they are the oldest line of hunters ever." Y/N agreed. She then pulled her father's journal from the bag she had brought with her.

"Can you look over this to see if there are correct facts?" She pushed the journal towards Peter, who took it in his hands carefully.

"It was my father's and my brothers left it with me just in case I needed it. And I know you know a lot of stuff about the supernatural as you yourself are supernatural. Also, Derek told me you used to have a lot of different bestiaries and other books before..." Y/N didn't finish the sentence when she noticed the pained look on his face.

"Why are you asking me all this? You think the alpha is a bitten wolf?" Peter asked. The girl nodded.

"If it was a born wolf someone would know something. There are not that many of you anymore and my brothers keep tabs on all of the packs with born wolves. They would know if one of them went rogue." Y/N explained.

"Did you tell any of this to Derek?"

"No, are you crazy? You know him. He would go right after the guy and get himself killed in the process." She took a sip of her coffee and watched Peter as he agreed.

"If you are right, and you probably are... We are going to need all the help we can get. Derek is not as strong by himself, your friend Scott still doesn't really know how to have control over his shift, and the sheriff's kid is a skinny human who talks too much. Even with the help of your angel friend, my wolf is not healed fully yet. You are probably the strongest of us right now with your hunter training." Y/N knew what Peter wanted her to do.

"I can't call them here Peter. They have a lot of stuff going on, I told you the Leviathans are everywhere-"

"Y/N, you are creating a pack around yourself. The alpha is going to see you as a threat." Peter said as if it was nothing. Y/N froze in her seat.

"I'm creating a pack around myself? How is that possible? I'm not an alpha, not even a werewolf." The youngest Winchester looked so confused Peter had to laugh.

"It is possible. You have to have the right amount of Spark to pull it off. You are a Winchester. You and your brothers stopped multiple apocalypses. The angels watched over you. You went against multiple gods and came out alive. There is no one else that could do all that."

"So what, I'm an alpha, but not really?" Y/N cringed as she said that. It sounded ridiculous.

"Something like that." Peter shrugged and got up from his chair with her journal in his hands.

"If you'll need me I'll be in the library." With that, he walked away.

"Okay, hold up. You can't just drop that and walk away! Peter!" Y/N yelled as she watched his back disappear up the stairs.

"You son of a bitch." She let out a sigh and put her empty cup in the sink. Her phone buzzed at the same time. She quickly picked it up and looked at the new text. 'There are at least 4 cases where bodies were missing hearts' was all it said.

"Shit." She let out as she grabbed all of her stuff and ran out of the door.

#teen wolf x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #derek hale #stiles stilinski #scott mccall #y/n winchester #winchester!reader #superantural x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #teen wolf rewrite #peter hale #kind of au?#might be different from spn canon #why are there no gifs of the rooftop scene

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a-writer-on-elm-street · 2 years

Text

Apocalypse

PART 1

Pairings: Winchester!Reader x Sam x Dean

Request: Could you do one about Winchester!reader getting sent to walking dead universe from supernatural universe during all the universe jumping drama and how that would go with Negan?

Warning: Some strong language.

A/N: I actually really enjoyed writing this. Hope you like it! :)

"What the hell do we do?!" You yelled, slowly backing away from the creature staggering towards you.

It looked like a zombie, but not the kind you were used to. You didn't even know where you were. It was like one minute you were in the bunker, and the next, you were here, in this foreign place.

"Just...go for the head!" You heard Dean call.

You pulled your gun on the creature, and sent a bullet straight into its forehead, causing blood and rotted flesh to splatter into the air. The creature then dropped to the ground like a rock in water.

"Jesus Christ." You breathed out, trying to catch your breath as you stared down at the creature on the floor. "What the hell is going on?"

You turned around to see how Sam and Dean were getting on but you ended up being knocked to the ground by another of the zombies.

"Son of a bitch." You groaned, pushing your hands against the loose flesh of its chest to keep it off you. The creature was wildly snapping its teeth at you, like it was desperate to get a bite. It was freakin' crazy. "Sam! Dean!"

Before either of them could get to you, something smacked the creature straight in the side of the head, sending it flying into the dirt beside you.

You scrambled away and when you looked up, there was a man in a leather jacket, seemingly enjoying himself as he smashed the creature's skull to pieces with a barbed wire bat.

Sam and Dean were standing across the clearing, watching as this random guy continued beating at the pulverised flesh on the floor. But when he turned around to face you all, your heart dropped.

"You one of Rick's merry men?" He snickered, pointing his bat in your direction.

It wasn't long before Sam and Dean had returned to your side. They were clearly seeing what you saw as they stood there, eyes wide.

When nobody answered him, he carried on, a little annoyed now. "Well? Ain't one of you gonna say somethin'? Or are you just gonna stand there like a bunch of pussies?"

"Dad?" You choked out, eliciting a mocking laugh from him.

"Dad?! Are you fuckin' serious? I ain't your dad sweetheart."

"Then who the hell are you?" Dean growled, stepping forward slightly.

The man smirked. "I'm Negan. And you better be real careful how you talk to me. Just ask Rick...he knows what happens when you disrespect me."

"Who the hell is Rick?" Sam asked him. You noticed his hands were shaking as he looked at the man who resembled your father.

"Shit, you don't know Rick?" He chuckled. "I'd have thought you were one of those pricks from Alexandria or somethin'."

"Alexandria?" You asked, confused. "Where even are we?"

"Jesus...have you all been hit on the fuckin' head or something?"

You all just stood there in silence whilst Negan watched you, confusion evident on his face.

"You really don't know where you are." He carried on, realisation finally beginning to hit him. "You gotta be shittin' me? Come on, this is bullshit. You gotta know where you are."

You shook your head at him, your heart pounding inside your chest.

"Well I'll be damned." He said. "You wanna know where you are?"

You all just stood there, waiting for him to continue.

He smirked. "You're in the middle of a damn apocalypse. And from the looks of it, you're screwed."

[SERIES MASTERLIST]

#dean winchester #sam winchester #negan #supernatural #the walking dead #spn x twd #winchester!reader #dean x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #negan x reader #supernatural imagines #spn imagines #twd imagines #the walking dead imagines #crossover #jeffrey dean morgan #jensen ackles #jared padalecki

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platonicfanfiction · 1 year

Text

Supernatural

Your Mistake [Winchester!Reader] (F)

Hustler [Winchester!Reader] (F)

Breakfast Time

Shirts Worn [Trans Male!Reader]

Lucifer's First Son (M)

Of Cats and Angels [Winchester!Reader]

Long Lost Sister Masterlist

#platonic fanfiction #winchester!reader #winchester!sister #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #castiel x reader #destiel x reader #platonic x reader #male reader #trans male reader #non binary reader #x reader #supernatural x reader #spn fanfiction #spn x reader

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juno-pixie · 10 months

Text

I desperately want fanfics of Sam and Jessica having a daughter so bad 😭

#supernatural imagine #sam winchester #jessica moore #dean winchester #daughter!reader #winchester!reader #x child!reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural #supernatural headcanon

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superlunar-eclipse · 3 months

Note

Girl! I need more FBI Winchester!Sister reader stories! I hope that becomes a series 😩😩

🌑 ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━ COMFORT IN SOLITUDE

SUMMARY: After a tough case, Y/N and Dean retreat to separate motel rooms. Sensing Dean's distress, Y/N finds him at her door, visibly upset. She comforts him, calming him down. Despite their tough lifestyle, Dean finds peace in his big sister, Y/N.

WARNINGS: angst? blood and mentions of alcohol. (lmk if i missed any)

RELATIONSHIPS: dean winchester x Y/N winchester and mentions of sam winchester x Y/N winchester.

WORD COUNT: 878 words

AUTHORS NOTE: thank you for being my first request, i am will now be considering of making this into a series! Y/N is mentioned to had studied human behavior and emotions in college.

MASTERLIST 💫

The case they had worked on tonight had been mentally and physically taxing. A devastating amount of innocent lives had been prematurely extinguished due to the reckless choices of theirs. The weight of responsibility hung heavy upon their shoulders, and the somber mood permeated the car ride back to the motel.

A silent consensus was reached between them; they were simply too drained to embark on the journey back to the bunker. Their bodies were smeared in a morbid mix of their own blood and that of those they had been unable to save. They could hardly muster the energy to clean themselves up before collapsing into the worn leather seats of the Impala.

Upon arrival at the motel, they opted for separate rooms. Normally, if only two beds were available, Y/N would willingly relinquish hers to sleep on the couch while Sam and Dean took the beds. However, this time, Sam had stayed behind to delve into research, and both Dean and Y/N felt a strong desire for solitude.

Y/N dropped her heavy bag onto the threadbare motel carpet and rummaged through it for her night clothes. She trudged to the bathroom, her head hanging low, burdened by the night's events.

She shed her blood-soaked clothes and stepped into the shower. She stood motionless, watching as the scarlet stains swirled away down the drain. After changing into fresh clothes, she sank onto the couch, her body heavy with exhaustion. She heaved a sigh and closed her eyes, endeavoring to banish the haunting memories of the case from her mind.

In the silence of her room, Y/N became acutely aware that she should go and check on Dean. She knew the case had struck a particularly painful chord with him.

Both Dean and Y/N were alike in their habitual reluctance to open up about their feelings, but their coping mechanisms differed greatly. Dean often sought solace in alcohol, sometimes to the point of passing out, despite Y/N's repeated warnings that it was an unhealthy way to deal with his emotions.

Y/N, on the other hand, preferred to avoid sleep, choosing instead to distract herself with research. She poured over texts about demons, vampires, ghouls, ghosts, shapeshifters and other creatures they might need to hunt in the future.

Having studied human behavior and emotions extensively in college, Y/N was adept at masking her feelings. However, tonight, she decided to reach out to Dean. She opened her motel room door, only to be taken aback by the sight of Dean standing there.

He looked vulnerable, his hands fidgeting nervously and his head hung low. Y/N could tell that he had been crying. She silently ushered him into her room.

They sat on the couch in silence for a few heartbeats before Y/N began to speak. But before she could get a word out, Dean cut her off. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her shoulder, his body wracked with sobs.

Y/N offered Dean the comfort he needed, setting aside her own feelings for now, holding him close and murmuring soothing words until his breathing slowly returned to normal. She tenderly kissed his forehead and wiped away his tears.

"Goodnight, Dean," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. No matter what horrors they had to face, he could always find solace in his big sister.

As the quiet of the night deepened, Y/N found herself unable to leave the couch. Dean's head rested heavily on her lap, his steady breathing a testament to the exhaustion that had finally claimed him. His slumber was a stark contrast to the turmoil they had endured earlier, and Y/N took solace in the peace that sleep had granted him.

Her hand remained on his back, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath her fingers a reassurance that he was still with her, still alive. The comforting warmth of his body seeped through the fabric of her clothes, anchoring her to the present moment. She found an inexplicable comfort in their shared silence, a reprieve from the chaos of their lives.

Her thoughts inevitably drifted towards the case they had just closed. The faces of the innocent lives lost emerged in her mind, their haunting eyes reflecting the horrors they had been subjected to.

The guilt of not being able to save them all gnawed at her insides. But she knew, as did Dean, that they couldn't save everyone. It was a harsh truth they had learned early in their line of work, yet it hit them anew with each case.

Y/N shook her head, dispelling the morbid thoughts. She needed to focus on the present, on Dean. She allowed herself a soft smile, appreciating the rare moment of tranquility they were granted. Despite the horrors they faced, these quiet moments, where it was just them, were the ones she treasured the most.

As sleep began to creep up on her, Y/N adjusted her position carefully, ensuring not to disturb Dean. She let her eyes close, the comforting rhythm of Dean's breathing lulling her into sleep. With the weight of the day finally catching up to them, they found solace in each other's company, their bond a beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounded them.

thank you for reading !

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #winchester reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #winchester!reader #y/n winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x older sister reader #dean winchester x platonic reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 1 year

Text

Y/N: Are you really planning to shoot the demon?

Dean: Don't worry, it's a holy gun.

Y/N: How so?

Dean: It makes holes.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #spn incorrect quotes #incorrect spn quotes #incorrect supernatural #dean x reader #incorrect dean winchester #the winchesters #supernatural x reader #dean x y/n #winchester!reader #dean x sister!reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #dean x brother!reader #dean winchester x brother!reader #dean x winchester!reader

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supernaturalscribe67 · 5 months

Text

In Plain Sight

Words: 6,968

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Sam/Dean Winchester x Male!Winchester!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Language, fear of rejection, brothers keeping secrets, Dean being a teasing asshole as always, Supportive family, The Reader's boyfriend is a total himbo

Summary: The reader has been keeping a secret from his brothers his entire life. The reader is gay, and it was something that he had always kept from Sam and Dean in fear of their reaction. What happens when Sam and Dean stumble upon a moment between the reader and his boyfriend? How will they react?

Request:

Hi! Don’t know if your doing requests or not, BUT if you are can you do one where Dean and Sam have an Older brother who is gay and has a boyfriend but hides it because he doesn’t think that Sam and Dean would approve that he like guys and has a boyfriend, and one night where Sam and Dean go out on a hunt and their supposed to be gone for a week but come back early and find their older brother with his boyfriend passed out on the couch with a movie playing

@hpxmcusworld

A/N: Words cannot even begin to describe how sorry I am for taking over a month to get this out. So much has been going on in my life, specifically at work. I could write a twelve-book series about all the drama that has been going on at work. You guys can't even BEGIN to imagine, especially everything that has been happening in the last week. I mean, it's baffling. Regardless, here's the story, finally! I hope you enjoy! I had a lot of fun writing this!

~ Much love!

(Y/N) laid on the couch in the Men of Letters bunker. A blanket was draped over his body loosely, and the corner of the fabric lay limply on the floor. A box of Kleenex sat on the floor next to the sofa, crumpled-up tissues tossed here and there in a small waste bin placed next to (Y/N)’s head. There was some cheesy medical drama show playing in the background on the television that he was barely paying attention to.

As the show went to commercial break, the sound of a pair of footsteps echoed down the hallway, approaching the open door. (Y/N) glanced up as Sam and Dean appeared in the doorway, their duffel bags slung over their shoulders. Dean peered in and eyed him.

“Hey, man, how’re you feeling?” He asked.

(Y/N) cleared his throat and brought the blanket further up his body, placing it directly under his chin. “Still feel kinda shitty,” he replied, his voice low and scratchy.

“That sucks,” Dean shook his head. “I’m surprised Sammy and I haven’t got anything from you, yet,”

“Honestly, me too,”

“Are you sure you’re okay with staying here while we go on the hunt?” Sam questioned.

“Yeah, it’s a simple salt ‘n burn. At least that’s what Garth says. You guys will be alright.”

They both nodded. “Well, we’ll call you when we get there.” Dean gave a brief wave.

(Y/N) smiled softly. “Alright, see you guys later,” he waved at them.

“See ya’.” They spoke in unison as they walked out of the room.

(Y/N) turned his head back to the television, but didn’t listen to the line delivery. Rather, he listened to their steps. He listened as they slowly faded in the distance, followed by the heavy sound of the bunker door opening and closing. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest from anxiety and anticipation. Even with how far he was from the garage, he could still hear the roar of the Impala’s engine. He waited as it gradually softened before disappearing from the vicinity.

When all he could hear was the sound from the medical drama, he broke out into a smile and threw the blanket off of his body, sitting up quicker than he ever had before. He rapidly took out his phone from his pocket and went to his contact list. He dialed the number marked Quinn (Hunter/Cincinnati) and called.

Quinn was a fellow hunter that he, Sam, and Dean had met when they were on the road a little over two years ago after they got wind of a Wendigo in Ohio. What started as a typical hunting partnership turned into a celebration at the bar, which later turned into a night of (Y/N) and Quinn sharing the same bed. Since then, the two of them would text and call each other, asking each other for advice on hunts, getting to know one another, and, on occasion, scheduling a time and place for them to meet up if they were close enough. It was evident months after the two of them began communicating that they started to develop feelings. It wasn’t just casual sex to let out pent-up frustration, there were emotions behind the act, and both of them knew it. Quinn was the one who spoke up first. When prompted with the idea of making their relationship official, (Y/N) was hesitant, but he couldn’t deny the feeling that welled deep inside of him and accepted. Under one condition;

Sam and Dean couldn’t know.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his brothers, or feared they wouldn’t like Quinn. Quite the contrary, he knew they would like him. Quinn’s personality was the perfect mixture of Sam and Dean. A badass flirt with the heart of a big nerd. He would fit right into their group. But there was one big secret that he had been keeping from his brothers his entire life, and he wasn’t yet prepared to make it public.

Sam and Dean didn’t know he was gay.

True, he never outwardly told them he was straight, but he also never attempted to flirt with anyone at the bar in front of them. Whenever they would question him about it (more specifically Dean), he would always brush him off and tell him how tired he was after the hunt. He never lied to them. He was always tired after hunts. Yet he knew, deep down, that wasn’t the only reason why. He would trick himself into thinking he didn’t know the reason behind his hesitancy, but he knew.

He couldn’t blame it on any event in particular, but he understood that his upbringing had a lot to do with his reluctance. With the lack of acceptance he saw from his father on a variety of topics and how influential their father was on Sam and Dean’s views - despite what Sam would say - he was anxious about the way his brothers would react if he came out to them. The worst-case scenario always popped into mind when he considered coming out to them. The idea that they wouldn’t accept him, that they would turn their backs on him, and that was the last thing he wanted. He would rather keep himself closeted for the rest of his life than risk it.

That was why he decided to feign his illness to spend quality time with his boyfriend. He planned to have Quinn spend a couple of days with him, going out with him on different dates, and doing various activities together, and, the day before Sam and Dean would get back, Quinn would head out and be back on the road while (Y/N) would go back to pretending he was in recovery. It was a foolproof plan.

He was sure of it.

*~*

Quinn arrived three hours after Sam and Dean had left. (Y/N) was quick to open the bunker door as soon as the knocking echoed throughout the halls. Quinn had a bright smile on his face. Clad in a loose-fitting plaid shirt, jeans, and combat boots, Quinn stood a couple of inches taller than (Y/N). His black hair was slicked back neatly, just like it was on their first official date, and his beard appeared to have been trimmed recently.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Quinn greeted in his heavy Midwestern accent.

“Hey, glad you made it,” (Y/N) reached a hand up and cupped his cheek gently.

Quinn pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders. “Had to drive around once or twice because I couldn’t find that little makeshift driveway y’all made, but other than that…” Quinn wrapped his arms around his waist.

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s supposed to be hidden.”

Quinn smirked. “And you did a damn good job hiding it,” He mumbled before he leaned down, connecting their lips.

(Y/N) chuckled into the kiss, his eyes closing. His heart never failed to flutter every time Quinn kissed him. In a sense, (Y/N) felt the same as he did when he was in high school and had a crush on a boy in his class. Whenever Quinn was near him, holding his hand, and kissing him, he could feel the swarm of butterflies flying around in his gut. It was refreshing to his aging mind to feel as young as he did when he was around his boyfriend.

Quinn was the first to pull away, the smile never leaving his lips as he stared lovingly into (Y/N)’s eyes. He pressed their foreheads together. “So, it’s just gonna be us?”

“Just us for the whole week.”

Quinn hummed and kissed his cheek before he stood up straight. “Why don’t you show me around then? I’ve heard some stories about the Men of Letters here and there, but nothing much. I’m kind of excited to see what they have hidden down here.” Quinn stepped past the threshold and into the bunker.

“God, you sound just like my brother.” (Y/N) mumbled as he shut the door. “Always excited to research everything you find interesting.”

“Sounds like someone I’d get along with then. I’d love to meet him again someday.” Quinn hinted with a raised brow.

“Yeah…some day.”

(Y/N) gestured toward the stairs and began to walk down, Quinn a couple of steps behind him.

“So, you haven’t told them yet.” It was phrased more like a statement than a question. “I thought you would have told them by now.”

(Y/N) sighed as he got to the bottom of the stairs and turned back toward Quinn. “I was going to tell them…at some point. It just…never came up.”

“And, what, this wasn’t a time when it could have been brought up?”

“You know how I feel about telling them, Quinn.”

“I know, darlin’, I know. But we’ve been together for almost two years now. It was fun sneaking around in the beginning, but…” Quinn trailed. “(Y/N), I love you, and I see myself wanting to spend the rest of my life with you, no matter how short it will be, but I don’t want it to be in secret.” Quinn slowly took a couple of steps towards (Y/N) and grasped his hands in his. “I want you to be proud of our relationship,”

“I am proud of us,”

“Proud enough to tell your brothers?”

(Y/N) opened his mouth to reply, but he found it nearly impossible to lie to him. He wanted to say that he was confident enough to tell Sam and Dean. Confident enough to finally tell them what he had been hiding from them for years. Yet there was still that voice in the back of his head convincing him otherwise.

Quinn sighed after (Y/N) failed to answer. “Tell you what? We can talk about it before I leave, okay? How about we use this time to enjoy ourselves?”

(Y/N) glanced down at their hands for a moment. “You won’t be upset if we don’t talk about it right now?”

“No, sweetheart, I won’t. I promise,” he smiled. “I love you too much to stay mad at you for long.”

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled.

Quinn chuckled. “Now, why don’t you show me around?”

*~*

After giving a brief tour of the bunker, accompanied by some oohs and awes from Quinn, (Y/N) helped him get set up in their shared bedroom. It was exciting. Even though Quinn was only staying for a couple of days, it would be the longest that the two of them had spent together consecutively, and that meant the world to (Y/N). He considered it his first taste of normalcy. A view of the ‘apple pie life’ as his brother called it.

Some would argue that the discovery of the bunker should be considered his first experience with a normal life. He permanently had a roof over his head, a place to call home. But it’s difficult to consider the bunker a ‘home’ in terms of ‘normal’ when his job was hunting. He was surrounded by his job, day in and day out, haunted by the spirits of the men who hunted before him. No, home to him was a two-story colonial, painted blue, with a white picket fence surrounding the front and back yards. Sure, the bunker was safe, and kept the dangers away while they had a chance to relax, but it wasn’t a home. It never felt like a home, not truly. At least, (Y/N) didn’t think that’s what a home should feel like.

Regardless, he had a feeling that, with Quinn by his side for the week, he would get a small glimpse into the reality he could have. A reality where hunting wasn’t a part of his life, where he wasn’t put in harm's way on a day-to-day basis with minimal pay - if you considered credit card fraud and hustling a paycheck. And the mere idea of experiencing such a life, even for a brief moment, sent a level of excitement through him and made him more anxious about the days to come.

For most of the day, Quinn explored the bunker, asking questions about various artifacts placed on display and getting less-than-satisfactory answers from his partner. His main level of interest was focused on the library, and the variety of research material scattered around the aged shelves. (Y/N) thought it was cute how excited he was, and he didn’t mind that his boyfriend’s attention was mainly attached to the bunker and not him. He had Quinn with him for a whole week, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself just by being in the same room as him.

They cooked dinner together that night, a basic pasta recipe one of them found online. Something was satisfying and romantic about the entire experience. In a way, they felt like newlyweds, having their first dinner in the very first house they bought together. It truly was as if they were staring through a lens at a reality they could have, and it was peaceful.

After dinner, the two of them sat in the living room - Dean’s ‘Man Cave’ as he likes to call it - with a movie cued up on the television, blankets covering their bodies, and pillows behind their backs for support. Quinn leaned back against the couch, one leg elevated on the rest of the couch, and one arm wrapped around (Y/N)’s shoulders. (Y/N)’s head rested on Quinn’s shoulder, an arm wrapped around his back, as they watched the movie. A bowl of popcorn sat on Quinn’s lap and the two of them snacked on it occasionally.

Well, more than occasionally.

Quinn reached his hand into the bowl but stopped when his fingertips scraped along the buttery plastic bottom. He looked down and noticed the bowl was empty. The movie was only a quarter of the way over, and he knew that the two of them would need more snacks if they were going to make it the rest of the way.

“Hey, go ahead and pause it. I’m going to go get us some more popcorn.” Quinn gestured towards the TV.

(Y/N) sat up, grabbed the remote, and paused the movie. Quinn grunted as he stood up and stretched his back. A faint pop could be heard. Quinn let out a satisfied sigh as he looked down at his boyfriend.

“Do you want anything? Snacks or a drink?”

(Y/N) hummed. “I put some M&Ms on the top shelf in the glass cabinet. If you wouldn’t mind getting those, that would be great.”

Quinn furrowed his brows. “The glass cabinet? Why the hell did you put them there?”

“Trust me, if you know Dean Winchester, that man can snack,” (Y/N) rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I tried hiding my snacks everywhere in my room, but he always managed to find them. I’m waiting for him to find this stash.”

Quinn chuckled. “Okay, now I know I’ll get along with your brothers.” He turned and began to walk out of the room.

(Y/N) narrowed his eyes and pointed at him. “If you tell Dean about my stash, I’ll kill you.”

Quinn pushed his bottom lip out, held up his free hand in surrender, and wordlessly walked out of the room.

When Quinn left, (Y/N) let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Even when he wasn’t in the room, knowing his boyfriend was in the same building as him made his heart flutter. A smile spread across his lips as he lowered himself onto the couch, lying on his side where Quinn had been sitting. He pulled the blanket closer to his body and let out a surprising giggle. A part of him felt pathetic for acting as such, but the other part adored it. Loved the way that Quinn made him feel. It only made the connection between them stronger, and that made (Y/N) look forward to their time together even more.

It didn’t take long for Quinn to return, the scent of fresh popcorn wafting into the living room. Quinn stopped as he passed through the door. He stared at (Y/N) for a moment before he walked in front of the couch. He held the bowl of popcorn in one hand and (Y/N)’s M&Ms in the other. He gestured down at him.

“I was sitting there,” he smirked.

(Y/N) raised a brow and glanced down at the couch. “Oh, were you?” He questioned, his smirk placed on his face as he snuggled deeper into the cushion.

Quinn deadpanned, head tilted to the side. After hesitating for a couple of seconds, he silently nodded, set the bowl of popcorn and package of M&Ms on the ground next to the couch, and began to climb on top of (Y/N).

“What are you doing!?” (Y/N) exclaimed with an amused, yet startled tone.

“Laying down,” Quinn couldn’t stop the smile from appearing on his face.

Quinn laid down on (Y/N), blanketing his body with his. (Y/N) groaned.

“You’re so heavy!” He whined.

Quinn laughed. He nuzzled his nose into the crook of (Y/N)’s neck and adjusted himself on top of him. “But you’re so comfy,”

(Y/N) let out a sigh and looked down at Quinn with raised brows. Quinn glanced up at him and gave him a bright, white smile. (Y/N) smirked.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he said as he reached his hand up and began to rake his fingers through Quinn’s soft hair.

“I know,”

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Well, here,” he mumbled as he shifted under Quinn’s weight. He adjusted himself so his legs were placed on either side of Quinn’s body, and Quinn was lying comfortably across (Y/N)’s chest and stomach. (Y/N) let out a breath of relief. “There, better. Now you’re not so heavy,” he teased.

Quinn glared at him and stuck his tongue out. He then laid his head on his chest gently, eyes cast towards the television. (Y/N) chuckled, his chest rumbling. He reached down, grabbed the remote, and, before he pressed ‘play’, pressed a kiss to Quinn’s temple.

“I love you,” he spoke softly.

Quinn glanced up at him, as if studying him, for a brief moment before a smile crept across his lips. “I love you, too, baby,”

*~*

The hunt was a bust. What started as a potential salt and burn turned out to be some ghost-hunting TV personality wannabe who wanted her fifteen minutes of fame. The whole thing was a hoax. A waste of time, and a waste of gas. Dean wasn’t too happy about it, but a part of him was glad that he was able to get back to his bed sooner, rather than have his back stabbed by some cheap boxspring. His memory foam mattress sure had him spoiled. Sam, on the other hand, was excited to get back to the bunker to check in on their brother. They hadn’t called him since they left, and he was anxious to see if he was feeling any better. Granted, he didn’t know how well someone could feel in less than twenty-four hours, but he hoped that he would feel even slightly like his normal self.

He had been sick for over a week, after all.

They pulled into the bunker around four in the morning, no doubt thinking the rumbling of the Impala’s engine would wake their brother. Even in the deepest parts of the bunker, it was nearly impossible to miss the sound of the Impala approaching, and Dean thought it was one of the most beautiful sounds in the world.

“I’m going to have Garth pay me back for all that gas I just wasted,” Dean grumbled as he climbed out of the Impala.

“Don’t,” Sam mumbled. “He didn’t know the hunt was going to be bogus.”

“The article was a week old, Sam, you said so yourself. You would think that he would do a bit more digging before sending us on a wild goose chase,” Dean opened up the trunk and grabbed his duffel bag.

“Dean,”

“And another thing! Do you know how many times I had to stop and get gas?”

Sam sighed, his movements sluggish, showing his evident exhaustion. “Yes, Dean, I know, I was there. Remember?”

“Twice! Garth owes me a hundred and twenty bucks for having to fill up that much because he didn’t give a shit enough to look more into the hunt.”

Sam reached a hand up and ran his thumb and forefinger against his heavy eyelids. “Dean, we’re home, okay? Let’s just go in, check on (Y/N), and go to bed.”

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but closed it, instead, letting his shoulders slump. He found he was too tired to argue. “Fine,” he grumbled, tossed his duffel bag over his shoulder, and wrapped his thumb around the strap.

The two ventured into the bunker, the familiarity, safety, and comfort of it all causing the exhaustion to double down on them. Sam let out a deep yawn as they stumbled down the stairs with heavy steps.

“Where do you think (Y/N) is?” Dean asked, the corner of his mouth opening as he yawned as well.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Probably his room. Probably asleep for the night,”

“Alright, I’ll check in on him. Make sure he’s not dying.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “He’ll be fine,” he grumbled.

They walked down the hallway to their respective rooms. Sam wandered into his room, leaving the door open as Dean walked down to his. Sam turned on the lamp from his nightstand and winced slightly at the harsh yellow light. He placed his bag at the corner of his bed and made his way over to the dresser. He was at least thankful for the fact he didn’t use any of the clothes he had packed. Less laundry he would have to do. He kicked off his boots and moved them over to the side of his dresser before he unzipped his duffel bag and began to place all of the clothes he had packed back into their designated spots.

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice echoed through the hall. “He’s not in his room!”

Sam furrowed his brows and glanced towards the open door. “Did you check the bathroom?”

It was silent for a couple of seconds as Sam finished organizing his dresser. Soon, footsteps approached, which caused him to turn back to the door. Dean stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He gestured with his thumb down the hallway.

“He’s not in the bathroom either.” He said.

Sam furrowed his brows and hummed. He ran his hand tiredly through his hair. “He was on the couch when we left. Maybe he’s there.”

“Right, right, I’ll go check.”

Dean pushed himself off of the doorframe and walked away. Sam could practically feel the exhaustion starting to overwhelm him. He was used to staying up for hours on end, especially when it came to necessary research for a hunt. However, with all the driving they did that day, Dean’s constant bickering, and the endless classic rock songs, the day took a lot out of him. It didn’t help that he hadn’t had any caffeine either. He hoped that Dean would be able to find their brother so he could crawl into bed and sleep for an eternity.

As soon as Dean left, Sam took his empty duffel bag and placed it on the floor next to his shoes. He then walked over to his door, closed it gently, and wandered back over to his dresser, where he proceeded to change into his nightwear. Once the jeans and flannel were off his body, he felt a sense of relaxation, and even more tired than he had been before.

Just as he pulled on his sweats, his door swung open. He jumped and turned around, eyes wide. Dean stood in the doorway, a massive grin spread across his lips.

“Dude!” Sam exclaimed. “I was changing.”

“Sorry,” Dean waved him off and shook his head. “Sammy…you gotta come see this.”

Sam walked over to him. “What’s up? Is (Y/N) okay?”

Dean snorted. “Oh, he is more than okay. Now, come on,” he gestured towards himself. “But you gotta be quiet.”

Sam looked at Dean for a moment, brows furrowed, before Dean turned and began to head back down the hallway. Sam followed, the two of them walking silently. Now and then, Dean would glance back at his brother, a child-like glimmer in his eye, the look only causing further confusion.

“Stop looking at me like that, you’re creeping me out,” Sam said with an unsteady tone.

Dean shushed him, placing his index finger against his lips, as they stopped in front of the open living room door. Carefully, Dean took a step into the room and pointed to the couch.

“Look,” he whispered.

Sam stared at Dean before he, too, stepped into the room, peering inside. His eyes landed on the sofa. At the sight before him, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped.

When he first saw the look of giddiness in his brother’s eyes, he didn’t know what he was expecting to find. He was too tired to come up with any type of logical explanation at that point. The last thing he would have predicted, though, something that wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, was the image placed directly in front of him. He would have never guessed he would find his oldest brother with a man lying on his chest, peacefully asleep on the couch.

It took Sam a bit to realize his shocked expression was still on his face. He corrected it and crossed his arms as he slowly edged his way into the room, his footsteps light and quiet. Dean followed after him, his grin never wavering.

“So, I guess he wasn’t sick,” Sam whispered, leaning his body closer to Dean.

“Nope,” Dean whispered a little louder right back. “And you owe me twenty bucks,”

“For what?”

“Remember that bet we made?”

“Which one?”

“The one when we were at the bar in Illinois.”

“What? Six years ago?”

“Yeah! I told you that I bet he was gay.”

“This doesn’t mean he’s gay. He could be bisexual for all we know.” Sam shrugged.

Dean deadpanned. “Sammy, have you ever seen him pick up chicks?”

“Well, no, but-”

“The entire time we’ve known him, have you ever heard about him having a girlfriend?”

“No, but he could just be a private person.”

Dean rolled his eyes and let out a huff. “Well, I know I’m right.”

“How’re you so sure?”

“I’m his brother, I know him.”

“I’m his brother, too, dumbass.”

“Yeah, but you’re the baby. I’ve known him longer.”

Sam scoffed and shook his head. Dean threw his hands up dramatically.

“Why don’t we just ask him?” Dean asked as he walked closer to the couch.

“Dude, he’s sleeping,” Sam hissed between clenched teeth.

“And? It’s almost five o’clock. He needs to wake his ass up and introduce us to his boyfriend,”

Sam opened his mouth to say something else but found it difficult in his drained state. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head as he watched Dean move to the end of the couch where (Y/N)’s head rested. Dean went to say something but stopped himself. He quickly reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and took a picture of (Y/N) and his mystery man. Dean chuckled deeply, chest rumbling.

“Real mature,” Sam mumbled.

“Oh, come on, I need it for blackmail later,” Dean replied, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Dean leaned back down, placing his hands on his knees, as he got closer to (Y/N)’s face. “(Y/N),” Dean said in a quiet singsong voice. “(Y/N),” he sang a little louder.

(Y/N) hummed.

“Time to get up, buddy,” Dean couldn’t resist the smirk that appeared.

“Five more minutes,” (Y/N) grumbled and turned his head away from his brother.

“(Y/N)!” Dean exclaimed, loud enough for his voice to reverberate off the walls.

(Y/N) jumped, eyes wide open, staring directly at Dean and Sam, filled with weariness and confusion. Dean stood up and backed away from him. He gave a small wave while Sam shot him a sympathetic look. (Y/N)’s gaze quickly shifted between his brothers as he blinked rapidly to wake himself up. He tried to sit up but remembered the heavy weight on his chest. He looked down at Quinn’s sleeping form. For a hunter, (Y/N) had to admit, Quinn was a heavy sleeper. He slapped Quinn on the shoulder.

“Quinn,” he said.

Quinn whined.

“Quinn,” he hissed.

“Couple more minutes, babe,”

(Y/N) closed his eyes and pressed his lips together tightly, trying to will away the red tinge that fought its way onto his cheeks. He slapped Quinn’s shoulder again, a little harder that time.

“Get up!”

Quinn groaned and opened his eyes. “What?” He looked up at (Y/N).

(Y/N) looked at him and gestured towards his brothers. Quinn turned his head and, immediately, his brows shot up, and he appeared more alert than ever. He sat up from his position on top of his boyfriend and scrambled to sit on the couch next to him.

“Oh, um,” Quinn cleared his throat as he situated himself on the couch, forearms resting on his knees, hands folded together.

(Y/N) sat up slowly, his body still riddled with sleep but progressively gaining a new feeling of anxiety. Of fear. He felt like a child that was caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Despite the looks on his brothers’ faces, which preached the opposite of how he was feeling, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the worst-case scenario. He was convinced, at that moment with his brain fogged with interrupted slumber, that he had just spent his last night in the bunker.

“So…” Dean trailed before he gestured to Quinn. “Who’s this?”

(Y/N) looked over at Quinn before he cast his eyes down to the ground. “Um…” he paused, his mind racing, trying to think of an excuse. Trying to think of a lie that would sound convincing. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, nothing he thought of would work. His brothers would see right through it.

Quinn watched (Y/N) and noticed how much he struggled with getting the words out. He licked his lips and sat up. “I’m Quinn, I’m his-”

“He’s my boyfriend.”

“I mean, I would hope he’s your boyfriend. I think the way you guys were practically sleeping inside each other was a bit too much for just friends,” Dean replied and chuckled.

Sam sighed. “Dean, don’t be an ass.”

“I’m just saying,” Dean shrugged.

(Y/N) huffed before he slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. “You know what, it’s too early for this. If you’re going to yell, go ahead and yell. Just get it out of your system. I’ll just go ahead and start packing,” (Y/N) turned to leave the room. Quinn was quick to stand.

The smile vanished from Dean’s face for the first time since he discovered the two. “Hey, hey, hey, woah, woah,” Dean rushed over and gently grasped his brother’s arm to stop him. “Packing? Why?”

(Y/N) halted and turned to his brother. “I just…I figured-”

“What? That we would kick you out?”

(Y/N) pressed his lips together and looked down. Dean’s frown deepened as Sam padded closer to them.

“(Y/N),” Sam began. “We would never kick you out because of that. All because you have a boyfriend?”

“Wait, so…” (Y/N) furrowed his brows as he fully turned his body so he was facing Sam and Dean. “You guys don’t care that I’m gay?”

Dean immediately smacked Sam’s shoulder. “See? Told you! You owe me!”

“Okay, okay, hold on,” (Y/N) ran his hands down his face and shook his head. He suddenly felt a strong, warm arm wrap across his shoulders. He glanced up to see Quinn standing by his side, holding onto him. A comforting smile was on his face. (Y/N) then looked back at his brothers. “You bet on me being gay?”

“I said that you were gay. Sammy over here didn’t believe it for a minute.” Dean said smugly.

“It’s not that I didn’t believe it. We just didn’t have anything to go off of.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“I knew from the moment he turned that hot blonde down at the first bar we went to,” Dean nodded.

“Yeah, right,”

“I did! She was hot! He would have been stupid to turn him down if he was straight, which he isn’t.”

“He could have also had a type Dean.”

“Type my ass, that girl was everyone’s type,”

While his brothers bickered in front of him, (Y/N) watched them, mouth agape. Next to him, Quinn chuckled. He pressed a soft kiss to (Y/N)’s temple.

“How’re you feeling?” He whispered in his ear.

(Y/N) looked at him for a second before he stared back at his brothers, mouth still open, words seemingly unable to form. He was too in shock to think of anything to say. He was so busy convincing himself that his brothers would negatively view him after he came out to them that he never took into consideration the possibility of them being supportive. It was then he began to think of all the things they had supported him in through the years. They were always with him, always had his back, and he always had theirs. Sure, they had their fights, they had their moments, but they always came back together. They always talked it through.

In the end, he felt like a fool for thinking they would kick him out.

“Look, I need to ask something,” Sam chimed up, his attention now turned towards his eldest brother.

(Y/N)’s eyes flickered up at him. He closed his mouth, feeling that it had gone dry.

“(Y/N), what did we do to ever make you think we would kick you out? And, whatever it is, I’m sorry that we came across that way.” Sam continued.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, we never meant to do anything that made you think you couldn’t tell us.”

(Y/N) hesitated. “No, no, you guys, you guys didn’t do anything, um…it’s just…I…” Again, he was struggling to find the words to describe his thought process.

“He was projecting his own insecurity onto the situation,” Quinn said, nodding.

(Y/N) ran his tongue over his teeth and pursed his lips. He looked up at Quinn and gave him a tight smile. “You know, Quinn, that couch was pretty comfy, right?”

Quinn furrowed his brows at the statement. “Uh, yeah, I guess it was?”

“Would you like to sleep on it for the rest of your visit?”

Dean snorted and Sam pressed his lips into a thin line to hide the grin he was holding back.

“Uh, nope, no, I’m okay,”

“That’s what I thought,” (Y/N) shook his head and turned to his brothers. “No, guys, you didn’t do anything wrong. I guess…I don’t know, with the way that Dad was with us growing up, a part of me was afraid that that part of him would have rubbed off on you guys. I was severely overthinking it and I let the fear of what Dad would think overshadow how you guys truly are.” (Y/N) then looked back up at Quinn. “Was that a good way to describe it? Since it seems like you’re my shrink now?”

“That was wonderfully put, babe,” Quinn grinned widely.

(Y/N) rolled his eyes.

Sam chuckled. “Hey, I get it, okay?” Sam smiled comfortingly. “I wish that you would have told us sooner, but I’m glad we know now. Just know that we still love you, (Y/N), no matter who you date.”

“Unless you were dating a demon,” Dean interjected. “Or Crowley. Crowley is off limits.”

“Crowley isn’t my type anyway, so you don’t have to worry about that,” (Y/N) chuckled. “My type is more of a Midwest-Country hunter.” (Y/N) wrapped an arm around Quinn’s middle.

Quinn looked down at him with a small smile on his face. A couple of seconds ticked by before a look of realization crossed his face. “Oh! You mean me!”

(Y/N) deadpanned. “A Midwest-Country hunter who’s also an idiot at times.”

“But I’m your idiot.”

“Unfortunately,”

“Hey!”

“You guys are so cute,” Dean paused. “Makes me want to throw up.” He grimaced.

“So, wait, you’re a hunter?” Sam asked.

“Yeah! We met two years ago. I joined you guys on a hunt in Ohio. Columbus?”

Sam and Dean looked at each other before they both shook their heads.

“Sorry, man,” Dean said. “We see a lot of hunters while we’re out, and two years is a long time.”

Quinn waved him off. “I get it, don’t worry.”

“Only gives us more of a reason to get to know you,” Sam mumbled before a yawn erupted from his mouth. “But not tonight. How long are you staying for?”

“About a week,” Quinn shrugged. “If that’s alright, of course.”

“Yeah, yeah, no worries man. As long as you stay the Hell out of my room,” Dean fought back his yawn.

“Noted.” Quinn chuckled.

“Alright, well, it was nice meeting you, again, but we’re hitting the hay. The drive back was brutal.”

“Why are you guys back so early anyway? You never said anything.” (Y/N) asked.

“Well, you see, Garth-” Dean began.

Sam placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, pushing him towards the door. “We’ll explain when we get up. We need to get to bed and I don’t need to hear him complain anymore tonight. He’s been doing it all night.”

“Hey, I have not complained all night.”

“All night he has done nothing but complain.”

“I have not!”

Sam and Dean squabbled as they shuffled out of the room, their voices echoing down the hall. (Y/N) couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his face as he listened.

“Goodnight!” He hollered once their voices started to soften.

There was a pause before both brothers simultaneously shouted, “Goodnight!” back.

(Y/N) snorted and shook his head. Suddenly, he felt Quinn wrap an arm around his waist, pulling his body close. (Y/N) turned and tilted his head to look up at him. Quinn rested his forehead against (Y/N)’s, their noses brushing against one another.

“Is it too late to say ‘I told you so’?” Quinn asked in a quiet, low voice.

(Y/N) pursed his lips in thought. “Well, it’s not too late for you to still sleep on the couch.”

Quinn snorted, his chest rumbling with his chuckle. “You love me too much to do that.”

“I guess,”

“You guess?” Quinn asked, his hands moving from (Y/N)’s back to his stomach. “You guess?”

(Y/N) tried to jerk away, but found that Quinn had a strong grasp on him. “Quinn,” he warned.

“You guess?” Quinn repeated before his fingers began to dance over (Y/N)’s stomach.

(Y/N) tried to stifle the laughter that was bubbling up inside his throat, but it was all to no avail. His attempts to move away from Quinn were futile as the laughs echoed in the room. Quinn had a goofy grin on his face.

“Quinn, stop!”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes!”

“Say it!”

“Dammit! I love you, you idiot!”

As soon as (Y/N) spoke, the tickling seized. The laughter died down and Quinn wrapped his arms around (Y/N), pulling him into a tight embrace. He began to litter (Y/N)’s face with kisses.

(Y/N) grimaced. “Stop it!” He whined, smiling.

Quinn let out a content sigh, pressing a final kiss to his temple. “I’m proud of you, you know that?”

“What?”

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?”

Quinn pulled back so that he was able to look his boyfriend in his eyes. “For telling your brothers. For letting yourself be vulnerable like that. Now that’s the man I want to be with. The strong, badass, sometimes vulnerable hunter that is confident in himself. I can already see a change in you as soon as they told you they accepted you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

(Y/N) tilted his head to the side and looked up deep into Quinn’s eyes with much love and adoration. He leaned up and gently pressed a kiss against his lips. Quinn closed his eyes and kissed him back immediately. For the first time in a while, (Y/N) felt sparks as they kissed, as if they were kissing for the first time all over again. It made his chest flutter and his stomach stir with butterflies. It reinforced the idea that Quinn loved him, and he loved Quinn. They were with each other through thick and thin. Quinn was, indeed, the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

As they parted, they stared longingly into each other’s eyes, the passion never waning as Quinn reached a hand up to caress (Y/N)’s cheek.

“What do you say we go back to your room and cuddle? It’s still pretty early,” Quinn suggested.

“I like that idea. But no more sleeping on top of me.”

“Aw, come on, but you’re so comfy. How about we take turns? Now you can sleep on top of me.”

(Y/N) smirked. “It’s a deal.”

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