A TEXT POST

Imagine you (reader) are Lucifer’s little sister and flee to Castiel for help once the Apocalypse starts

A/N: Not exactly what she asked for, but the prompt was really open so I just went for it. (I don’t own SPN)

Fanqueen13 asks: “Imagine reader is Lucifer’s sister”

Here goes!!!

The ground flew beneath your feet as you ran, wet dirt kicked up by your heels as you glided past. Your breath was coming quick, pain shooting through your body. Unaccustomed to your new form, you struggled to outrun your pursuers.

FSCH!

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a black shadow dart past. Gasping, you stumbled to a stop, hands pushing off the rough bark of a large tree to propell you in the opposite direction. Howls met your ears, and your eyes filled with tears as you thought of how your brother could do this to you.

You had gone to him humbly after your pleads to Michael fell upon deaf ears. On your knees, you begged him to stop, to leave the Chosen Ones alone and to end what he was starting, what he and Michael were starting together. But your older brother would have none of it. You had started to cry, started to scream. “Lucifer, please!” you had sobbed. “They’re helpless! The humans are supposed to be protected! Father told us to protect them-”

Father was wrong!” Lucifer roared in reply. “And you are wrong, little sister… Leave before I make you leave.”

That was where your mistake laid. You stood, reaching out for your brother.

And now you were being chased by his demon hounds.

Claws lunged out, tagging your calf and making you screech in pain. You threw an arm out to push the hound away, but it merely caught onto your wrist with razor-sharp fangs. “GAH!” you screamed, another hound grabbing at your leg. Flesh tore from bone as you shrieked and pleaded, begging for help. “אחים! אחיות! עזור לי!” flew the words from your lips, your native tongue searching for assistance even so near death.

Just as your vision began to go black, a bright light appeared in front of you. The hounds feasting upon your body howled in pain and scampered off, tails between their legs. A warm, calloused hand touched your cheek, and you looked up into bright and concerned blue eyes. “(Y/N),” came the vaguely familiar voice. “תישאר איתי, אחותי קטנה … להישאר ער, בבקשה…”

You passed into unconsciousness.

“What the hell are we supposed to do with her, Cas?! She’s- what- thirteen? Fourteen?”

The voices that greeted your ears were harsh and gruff, low in tone but high in stress.

“Her vessel is young, but it represents her grace. She’s not fully grown-”

“Oh, so we’ve got a baby angel on our hands. Just frickin’ great.”

“Dean, calm down-”

“You calm down! We don’t have time for this! The frickin’ apocalypse is now! Now, Sam! We can’t be taking time off to babysit-”

You blinked, trying to focus on something. The bright lights were harsh, making you groan, a hand lifting to cover your face. The voices suddenly quieted into whispers, and you felt a dip in the mattress you were sitting on. The lights dimmed, and a hand clasped around your wrist gently.

“It’s alright, (Y/N),” came the same familiar voice from earlier.

You groaned, blinking against what little light was left in the room as your vision came to focus. You ached all over, an unfamiliar sensation, and your head was throbbing. In the room- a small, odd place with two large beds, a kitchen, and a television all in the same space- stood two very large men. One had short hair shaven close on the sides, freckles dotting his face and a stern scowl upon his lips. The other had long, dark hair and a gentle, pitying smile. “The Chosen Ones…” you whispered quietly, turning to the man sitting next to you. “C-Cassiel!” you exclaimed happily upon sensing the familiar grace that enveloped you, lurching forward to hug your brother’s vessel. Cassiel smiled and hugged you gently, stroking your hair.

“אחות קטנה, איך אתה מרגיש?” he asked, pulling you back so he could look into your eyes.

”, אבל הגוף שלי עדיין טובים יותר חלש … “ you replied.

“Uh, Cas?” voiced the larger of the Chosen Ones, the man with the long hair and the tattered soul. “No offense, but could you guys speak English? Or, at least, not Enochian?”

“It’s Hebrew,” you corrected instantly. “Enochian is impossible for human ears to handle, even the ears of vessels. Which is why we speak Hebrew.”

“Why did you call him Cassiel?” the stern-faced Chosen One asked, to which you frowned.

“That is his name. Cassiel of November, Angel of the Lord,” you replied.

Cassiel touched your shoulder, and you looked to him. “I go by Castiel now, (Y/N). It is for… personal reasons.” His expression hardened. “Enough of this, though, (Y/N), why were you in the forest? And why were the Hellhounds trying to kill you?”

You glanced over at the Chosen Ones, shifting closer to your brother to feel his warmth and protection. Sensing your discomfort, Castiel reached an arm around your shoulders and held you close, nodding to the Chosen Ones. “These men are Sam and Dean Winchester.”

“I know…” you said quietly, eyeing each of them. “Their reputation precedes them…”

Sam sat down on the corner of the bed, reaching out to touch your hand. You flinched, but relaxed when you realized his hands were large and warm, very similar to your brother Lucifer’s, long, long before his fall. “Uh, (Y/N), is it?” You nodded. He smiled. “Are you… okay? You were pretty torn up when Cas brought you here… Sure you’re feeling okay? We can talk later about-”

“Or we can talk now,” Dean snapped, whirling a chair around in front of him and straddling it backwards. His glare was fixated on you, and you pulled away from Sam with a gasp, clinging to Castiel. Said angel frowned at Dean and hugged you tightly, kissing your temple and whispering softly to you in Hebrew. Sam and Dean exchanged a few harsh whispers before you faced them again, looking to Sam with wet eyes.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n), but Dean’s right. Cas says whatever happened to you is important, so we need to know what it was.”

Snuggling deeper into your brother’s embrace, you felt his wings surround you and hold you close, just as Lucifer had done for him many a year ago. You knew humans couldn’t see your wings- even the Chosen Ones- but they were still a great comfort to you. Castiel’s wings were much larger than yours, made of a sleek black feather that he had been teased for in Heaven, called the black sheep and said that he would be the first to fall. On the contrary, it was your brother Lucifer, with his three pairs of stark white wings with golden flecks dotting them like stars, who was the first to fall. He had stepped away, past the white clouds of your home, past the bronze streets and golden statues and over the edge of the precipiece, his feathers floating downwards behind him.

“I went to Michael,” you said softly, looking at your lap. You felt Castiel stiffen behind you, and you wrapped your wings around his back, under where his protruded. He gave a low purr in his chest, one that was so quiet only you could hear it. “I- I begged him to stop, begged him not to carry on with the Apocalypse… He refused, so I- I went to Lucifer.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dean chucked mirthlessly, eyes fixed on you. “You know where Lucifer and Michael are? And you didn’t gank their asses?!”

“They’re my brothers!” you objected.

“Sorry, kid,” Sam said with a rising agitation of his own, “but your brothers are trying to end the world.”

“I know!” you shouted at them, tears welling up. “Which is why I went to them! Why I begged, pleaded on my knees for them to stop! They- they wouldn’t listen,” you felt the tears begin to drip down your cheeks, and you breath hitched. Castiel’s wings tightened around you, and you dug your fingers into his shirt. “Lucifer- he- he- he sent hounds after me. Hounds of Hell. He- he was my old teacher, my friend, my brother-” your breathy gasps turned to sobs, and Castiel brought your face to his chest. He said something to the Chosen Ones, which you didn’t hear over your own tears, and you heard the door open and close.

“Ssh, (Y/N),” Castiel whispered, rocking you back and forth. He crooned to you in Hebrew, his hands roaming your wings, stroking them as he tried to consol you the only way he knew how.

The touch to your wings warmed your heart, but your soul was still cracked. Eyes dripping with tears, you looked up when Castiel said your name again gently. You gasped when the soft blue light of his grace met your eyes, its tendrils wrapping around the two of you and offering healing to your soul. Finally, you relaxed into Castiel’s arms, your own grace, a dim orange bulb, dancing around your heads.

“Rest now, sister,” Castiel spoke to you. “Your vessel is weak still…”

Your hold tightened on his shirt, another hand flying out to grasp the feathers closest to you. “No! Don’t leave me, Cassiel,” you hissed, tears beginning anew.

“I won’t leave you, (Y/N),” he replied, lying down with you on his chest. “Relax. We’ll speak more when you are healed… Rest, (Y/N)…”

Closing your eyes, you allowed the warmth of wings and graces to lull your vessel into a deep slumber.

TRANSLATIONS (i used googletranslate so p dont hate me):

“אחים! אחיות! עזור לי!”

“Brothers! Sisters! Help me!”

“תישאר איתי, אחותי קטנה … להישאר ער, בבקשה…”

“Stay with me, my little sister… Stay awake, please…”

“אחות קטנה, איך אתה מרגיש?”

“Little sister, how do you feel?”

“, אבל הגוף שלי עדיין טובים יותר חלש … “

It’s supposed to be “Better, but my vessel is still weak,” but I couldn’t figure out how to get that translation right so f*ck it.

favorite/reblog for a sequel!!!! AND SEND IN REQUESTS!!!

A VIDEO

yelloweyedcrowley:

#SPN10 countdown challenge | day 11 - episode 11, season 3 | (my tag)

crying

A TEXT POST

bisexuwhales:

Somewhere out there right now, someone is struggling to come to terms with their bisexuality. If that person is you, I just want you to know that you’re loved and accepted and you’ve got a whole community here who will back you up. <333

thank you very much i needed this today

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A TEXT POST

You (reader) walk in on your secret boyfriend with another girl… Sam and Dean don’t take to the news well…. Well, Sam takes to it better than Dean.

prompt from fanqueen14!!

PROMPT: "How about a sister Winchester imagine where the reader was dating in secret but the boy just broke her heart so Sam and Dean ask her about it and she spills the beans. They turn into over-protective siblings and go after the boy only to find out that he is actually a demon sent to spy on the Winchesters. Go wild!"

It’s a little different from the prompt, sorry!!!

SUMMARY: You (reader) walk in on your secret boyfriend with another girl… Sam and Dean don’t take to the news well…. Well, Sam takes to it better than Dean.

TRIGGER WARNING(S): slight abuse and self-deprecating thoughts (not too bad)

Your heart was shattered, the pieces gathering into a heavy pile in your otherwise empty gut. Your throat was tight, and your eyes were burning as you fought back tears. What you had just witnessed would be enough to turn anyone into a sickening pile of sorrow…

You had been secretly dating a boy who lived close to the bunker, just a half hour jog away towards the northbound highway. He was a college kid, which was appealing in itself, but he also treated you like a princess. Not to be misunderstood- Dean and Sam had always loved you and taken great care of you- but with your boyfriend… It was just different. He kissed you tenderly and caressed you softly, made love to you gently and whispered words of love as he cuddled you afterwards. He was perfect, and you daydreamed about marrying him when you turned eighteen and moving away, leaving hunting in the dust and seeking out that normal life that had enticed your older brothers countless times.

As you reached his house, panting a little from the jog, you opened the front door with the key he gave you the week before. “Josh?” you called out. “Josh, you here?”

Upon hearing movement from the bedroom, you giggled. Your boyfriend had a habit of surprising you, whether it be by meeting you halfway in your jog to his house or bringing you flowers and pancakes upon your early-morning visits. That was when you came to see him, in the early mornings and late nights, when you told Sam and Dean that you were going for a walk.

“Jooo-sh?” you sang, giggling as you approached the door. You heard rustling and grunting, and your smile faltered. “Josh?” The door creaked as you opened it, and the sight that greeted you made you gasp, hand flying to your mouth.

There was Josh, in the middle of making love to a faceless woman. He looked up when the door opened, his eyes wide and mouth gaping. “(Y/N)!” he exclaimed, pulling off the woman and dragging a blanket around himself as he ran after you, your path to the front door already decided. “(Y/N), wait!”

He grabbed your arm, tugging you towards him. You grunted and pushed at his chest forcefully, tears fogging your vision. “Get off me!” you growled, voice thick.

“(Y/N), baby, she’s nothing to me, alright? It was just a- a spur of the moment kinda thing, I swear-”

“Spur of the moment?!” you snarled, hitting his chest with an open hand. “Spur of the moment?!” You were sobbing now, fruitlessly smacking Josh’s chest as his grip on your tightened to bruising. “Fuck you!” you shrieked, “Fuck you! Fuck you! You lied to me, you told me you loved me, you took my fucking virginity, Joshua!”

Josh’s eyes were sad, but behind them lied a hidden anger unseen to you at the moment, distressed as you were. “Baby, I’m sorry-”

“You’re like all of them! All the guys that ever pretended to love me,” you shouted at him, pulling away. “Don’t call me, Josh. Just don’t.”

You turned towards the door, opening it- only to have it slammed shut. Joshua grabbed your arms, forcefully spinning you and slamming your back against the door. “I said she’s nothing, (Y/N)!” he roared at you, face red and veins popping. “Fucking listen to me! I love you! Me! Nobody else, got it?!”

“Get the fuck off me!” you screamed, kicking his leg with a force wrought on by training and adrenaline. Panic was pumping through your veins along with the heartsickness, and you were greatly regretting coming to see your ‘loving, protective boyfriend’.

Grunting at the pain of your kick, your boyfriend knocked you into the door again, strong enough for you to cry out in pain and feel the forming bruises. “I’m sorry, baby,” his voice was sad again, but you weren’t listening. You were watching, waiting for a chance to break away. “Please, (Y/N)-”

With a shout, you kicked him square where the sun doesn’t shine, packing a heartbroken force that no man could match. Josh doubled over in pain, and you took the opprotunity to dart out the front door, sprinting as hard as you could back to the bunker. You heard him shout your name, but you refused to look back, refused to let him draw you in and make a fool out of you again. Why would a college guy ever want to date an ugly, brutish teenager like you anyways?

As you ran, it began to drizzle lightly. Your breath was coming quick, and the adrenaline from earlier was filtering out through your tears, only to be replaced by hot throbbing in your back, arms, and wrist. Slowing to a limpid walk, the rain began to pour as you furiously wiped away tears. Your thoughts were not even on Sam and Dean anymore as you stumbled upon the door, wretching it open and slamming it behind you.

“(Y/N)?” came the hollar from the kitchen. “Hey, kiddo, I was just about to come after you. The rain’s getting pretty- (Y/N)?” Dean paused in the doorway, robe wrapped around his pajama pants and tee-shirt and a steaming mug in his hand. Upon seeing you, your oldest brother went into instant over-protective mother hen mode. “SAM! Get your ass in here stat!”

Dean dropped his mug on the table before dragging you down the entry steps and sitting you down at the planning table. He crouched in front of you, pushing your soggy hair behind your ear cupping your cheek. “Hey, hey, kiddo,” he whispered gently, calloused thumb rubbing your cheek as he inspected your face for injuries. “Apple-pie, talk to me. Are you hurt?”

It was at that moment that Sam sprinted into the room, stopping only a moment at the doorway to take in the scene. He looked to Dean, then to you, before stating, “I’ve got the first aid kit,” and retrieving it from the kitchen.

Dean spoke to you gently, helping you tug off your soaked jacket as Sam looked at your wrist. The bruises on your arms were easily seen by your short sleeved tee-shirt, and their coloring was outrageous- vivid blues and purples mingling with a sickening black. You could see the tenseness in Sam and Dean’s jaws and shoulders as they attended to you with comforting words and caresses. It was a tenderness you hadn’t seen from your brothers in months, perhaps what brought on your urgency to cling to Josh so much. The two had been so busy with tablets and Metatron and Castiel that you could hardly get their attention. And when you did get their attention, it was only long enough for t hem to give you a pile of books and say “Get to work, kiddo.”

But now, you had your brothers’ undivided attention… And you didn’t like it. “I-I’m fine,” you stuttered, even as Dean pulled your shirt off your frame, leaving you in a sports bra and jeans, to show your black and blue-speckled back. “Dammit!” he swore, gentle fingertips stroking the bruises as if that would heal them.

Sam pulled your face up to where you were looking into each other’s eyes. “(Y/N),” he said softly, voice full of sadness and anger, “who did this to you?”

“I-I’m fine, Sam-”

“Bullshit!” Dean exclaimed, standing and looking ready to throw something across the room. “(Y/N) Winchester, you tell me who did this to your right now, or I swear to God-”

“It’s over, Dean!” you shouted at him, tears clogging your throat. “I broke up with him, okay?! It’s done-”

“A boy did this to you?!” Dean’s rage echoed through the bunker, his arms and shoulders tense, eyes full of a fury that you hadn’t seen since Bobby died. Breathing heavily through flaring nostrils, Dean stalked out of the room, a loud bang echoing behind him.

“(Y/N),” Sam crooned to you, pulling your thoughts away from your destructive oldest brother. “Hey, hey, look at me, munchkin,” he whispered, holding your cheeks gently and wiping away stray tears. As gentle as he was, you could still feel the protective rage that flowed off him in waves. “Munchkin, I need you to talk to me, okay? Please… we just want to help.”

You didn’t know if it was Sam’s puppy dog eyes or the loneliness that was filling you up, perhaps a combination of the two, but the words came flowing from your mouth in broken sobs. Sam listened the entire time, for the next five minutes of Dean’s banging about and your crying about your boyfriend who, now looking back, was abusively jealous and protective. When your story was finished and Sam was done slathering you in bruise cream, he hugged to you his chest with a tender cautiousness.

“I’m so, so sorry, kiddo,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. You could smell his aftershave, the same he had been using for the past eight years, and sank into it with a sense of security at the familiarity. Sam was about to speak again, but was interrupted by Dean stalking into the room.

Anger having dissipated, the man’s eyes now held only a vengeful wrath. He was holding a toothed knife in one hand, pistol in the other. A shotgun was slung around his back.

“Dean-” you started, only to be shot down with a single glance.

“Tell me his name. Now.”

“J-Joshua…” you said quietly. “Dean, he’s not a monster, you can’t just-”

“Not a monster my ass!” Dean hissed back, eyes narrowing. “Anything, anyone who lays a finger on my baby sister is a monster in my book.”

To your surprise, Sam echoed his agreement. “(Y/N),” he consoled you, “we’re not gonna actually kill him-” Dean scoffed “-just scare him. We want to make sure he doesn’t do this to another girl… don’t you?”

Sniffling, you nodded, pulling your shirt on and standing again. “Where do you think you’re going?” Dean asked, eyes hard.

The sadness had left your body, replaced by a fury at the man- the monster- who would hurt a defenseless, seeking girl. Sure, you weren’t exactly defenseless, but you had pulled yourself away from the situation and were viewing it with a hunter’s keen eye. A monster of a man, harming a young girl who was looking for acceptance- he deserved what Dean and Sam were willing to dish out.

“I’m going with you,” you growled.

“(Y/N),” Sam began, “I don’t think-”

Try and stop me.”

Dean smirked. “That’s my girl.”

Having thoroughly frightened Joshua, leaving him perhaps scarred for life, the three of you were driving to a diner to celebrate. Your heart was still hurt, and you knew you would be jaded for a long, long time, but scaring your ex-boyfriend had been theraputic. You were smiling, now, joking around with Sam as Dean rolled his eyes and blasted Led Zepplin in the front seat.

“Hey, munchkin,” Sam started once the laughter had quieted. “Why were you dating that douchebag anyway?”

You blushed, tucking your head and mumbling.

Dean cocked an eyebrow, lowering the music. “Sorry, didn’t hear that.”

“I- I just…” You looked out the window, not wanting to meet your brothers’ eyes. “I was… lonely… And he was nice- at first, I mean… I just…” You fidgeted in your seat, rubbing your bruised arms. “You guys were busy and I needed someone to be there, so when Joshua came into the picture, I… I took it as a blessing…” You snorted self-depricatingly. “Looks like it turned out to be more of a curse…”

The boys were silent for a few moments. Then, Dean sighed. “Kiddo… I-I’m sorry.”

You looked up, shocked. “Wha…?”

“Me, too, (Y/N),” Sam chimed in sadly as he turned around to look at you. “We should have been there for you… You’ve had it rough, too, and I think we forget about that.” He smiled sadly. “I think we just want to assume you’re still our innocent baby sister that no one can hurt.”

“It’s my fault anyway,” you interrupted. “I shouldn’t have assumed a guy would be interested in me-”

“Don’t you dare,” Dean growled, hands tightening around the steering wheel. “Don’t you dare make it sound like that bastard was better than you. He doesn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as you, much less date you.”

You sat there, shocked. You had assumed Sam and Dean would berate you for your stupidity, but here they were, defending you and… praising you?

“You are… amazing, (Y/N),” Sam said with a smile and a chuckle. “You’re supportive and smart and brave- God knows you’re brave- and you’re beautiful and you’re our little sister. Our perfect little sister.”

“So don’t let any other douchebags make you feel like you’re nothing,” Dean snarled, “because you’re worth more than all the dicks in this world combined, you hear me, Apple-pie?”

You coughed into your hand in an attempt to hide the tears. “T-Thanks, guys.”

Sam beamed at you. “No need to thank us, (Y/N). We’re just telling the truth.”

“And the next time you feel lonely, kiddo, just come and kick our asses and tell us to listen to you, mm’kay?”

You giggled wetly. “Mm’kay.”

Dean smirked. “Good. Now who wants pie?”

SEND IN PROMPTS!!!!

I’ll answer them as best and quickly as possible!!!

(Scotty1609 does not own SPN or any of the characters, settings, or other identifiable subjects from the SPN franchise… Sadly.)

A TEXT POST

Reblog if you are insecure about anything below:

twlohasmp:

-weight
-appearance
-intelligence (or lack of)
-skills (or lack of)
-weird hobbies
-friends (or lack of)
-body
-personality
-family
-religion

Who ever reblogs this will get a message in their inbox.

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A TEXT POST

ghostrightsactivist:

cakeandrevolution:

I want to see a reality tv show where straight dudes have to read the shitty messages they send to women to their mothers.

to catch a redditor

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A TEXT POST

fanqueen14 said: I just read your John Winchester Part 1 and 2 Imagine and I have to say that it was absolutely fantastic. I found it scrolling down a page of fics and was instantly captured by it. I've never read anything like it before and it was worth the while! I had to split it into a two-day read because I wanted to pace myself and have it last as long as it could! I am such a fan of this and of yours right now. I love your style! Keep it up you're amazing I can't wait to read more!!

Oh my goodness thank you so much!!! I enjoy writing but I don’t post much. Your encouragement is wonderful and I’ll definitely write more!!! Do you have any requests specifically? I’ll write it up and dedicate it to you!!! :D

A TEXT POST

Imagine John Winchester (your father) hits you… Dean and Sam react badly… PART 2 [FINALE]

 The soothing rumbling of a car woke you up. It wasn’t the Impala, you knew upon instinct, but another car, old and worn down. Prying your eyes opened, you winced and reached towards your bruised face, crust gluing your eyelashes together.

“(Y/N)?”

Groaning and sitting up straight, you craned your neck to see Sam in the driver’s seat, his eyes fixated on you in the rearview mirror. “Hey, kiddo, how you holdin’ up?”

The sun peered over the horizon, and you wondered where Sam was taking you. “M’fine,” you grunted out, although both of you knew that was utter bull. “Where’re we goin’?” Still sleepy, you dragged your body over the consol and into the front passenger seat, looking at your older brother intently. Sam was about to answer, but a low grumble from your stomach silenced him. He smirked sideways at you, reaching into the glove compartment and throwing a Hostess cake at you.

“Bobby’s. I already called ahead. Dean’s meeting us there.”

Your eyes grew wide. “You talked to Dean?”

The atmosphere in the car suddenly grew grave, and Sam fidgeted in his seat. “(Y/N)-”

“What did you tell him?”

Sam licked his lips and looked at you again. “The truth, (Y/N). That you’re hurt and we need to meet up.”

“Why would you tell him that?!”

“Kiddo, we want to help you-”

“NO! No, NO! Now he has to choose, Sam! He can’t- I can’t- It’s my fault, okay?! It’s my fault anyways, so I can’t make you or Dean choose between me and Dad and I-”

The car swirved to the side of the barren highway, and Sam threw open his door. You winced, pulling back into your seat, as your own door was pulled open. A hand reached for your arm, and you began to panic, but when it touched you, the touch was gentle. Kind. And then you were enveloped in Sam’s arms once more, your cheek pressed to his chest as he hugged you and rocked you back and forth.

“Don’t you dare say that,” he whispered in your ear. “It is not your fault. It’s never been your fault. Do you understand, (Y/N)? It’s no one’s fault but his… Please, kiddo, please- I need you to know this. Kiddo…” He kissed your temple, finally pulling you away from him so you could look each other in the eye. “And even if I did have to choose between you two, I would always, always choose you, (Y/N). You’re my baby sister, alright? I will always take care of you… Always.”

You bit back the tears, pulling away from Sam and withdrawing into yourself once more. He frowned pointedly, but went back to the driver’s seat. Sitting for a few moments, he thrummed his fingers against the wheel. “(Y/N), I’m sorry if I- if I scared you-”

I’m not weak!” you hissed at him, instantly regretting it.

Sam swollowed and nodded, starting the car back up and veering back over onto the highway.

N-No! Daddy, p-p-please,” you sobbed, feeling warm blood dripping down your lips from a broken nose. John staggered towards you, an empty bottle of Jack in one hand and a pistol in the other. “Daddy…” The broken cry tumbled from your lips as you clawed at the floor boards, splinters going up beneath your nails and causing blood to bubble forth. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy-”

DON’T CALL ME THAT!” he roared at you, spit flying from his lips. His eyes, a dark charcoal black, peered at you with hatred. “Don’t you dare call me that… I shoulda gotten rid of you when I had the chance… Bastard child… Not nearly as good as Dean or Sam, never gonna be as good as them… You’re nothing to me, (Y/N).”

Da-”

NOTHING TO ME!”

BANG!

“NO!”

You screamed bloody murder, vocal cords shredding against each other as you sat stalk straight, throwing your hands in front of you. “NO! DADDY NO, PLEASE-”

“(Y/N)! (Y/N), kiddo, calm down please!”

The begging slowly brought your vision back, and the taste of blood on your lips made you gasp. Above you leaned Sam, his hands tight on your wrists as your nails clawed into your palms, drawing droplets of red. You had bitten your lip, which was why you tasted blood.

Sam’s eyes were filled with fear and pain, fear for you and pain for seeing you in such distress. “(Y/N), kiddo, please look at me,” he whispered to you, pulling you close. “It was just a nightmare, okay? Just a dream. Just a bad, bad dream…”

It took you a few moments to figure out the simpering whimpers were coming from you, and by then Sam had carried you into the motel room- since when were you guys at a motel?- and deposited you in the bed. He stepped away for a moment to do God knows what when your hand suddenly shot out on its own accord and clutched his hoodie sleeve.

The face he gave you was one of pure sorrow. “Oh, kiddo…”

You cuddled up to your big brother that night, hoping if you held tight enough then the terrible dream wouldn’t return.

By the time you woke up in the morning, you were back in the car and a mere half hour away from Bobby’s house. Yawning and stretching, you rubbed your eyes and winced when you got a sore reminder of the ugly blue marr on your face. Sam said nothing until you two pulled into Singer Salvage, putting the car in park and turning to you. “You ready, kiddo?”

No sooner had the words left his mouth did the front door swing open to reveal a rather tousseled Dean Winchester. It was surprising to see your oldest brother in such a state. His jeans looked days old, covered in muck and blood from his last hunt, and his hair was in such a state of disarray it looked like he had rolled around in a sty. The real kicker, though, was the dark shadows beneath his usual bright green eyes, now dull and cautious with hints of his hidden anger and sadness.

“(Y/N),” came the sigh of relief as he darted over to you, bow legs launching him the full ten yards in under a second. The car door was wretched open and you were pulled into yet another hug as Dean ran his hands up and down your arms, back, and head, looking for injuries. “Where are you hurt, kiddo? Huh? Did Dad gank the bitch?”

You stiffened in his arms, and Sam called something to his brother over your head, but you couldn’t hear it. You were back in that room, black eyes glaring at you and Jack Daniels filling your nose with splinters under your nails and blood in your mouth and-

“Would both you idjits step back and let the girl breathe, f’God sake?”

“Bobby!”

Dean and Sam both pulled away from you, and the bald head of Bobby Singer greeted you like a lighthouse beacon. Wringing his hat in his hands, Bobby smirked at you and put it on your head. “Your hair looks like a rat’s nest, girlie. When’s last time you had a bath?”

You shuffled your feet, thinking back. You and Sam had been on the road for about two days, and the hunt with John had lasted at least four… “Almost a week? I think?”

Bobby’s eyes grew wide, as if he hadn’t really been expecting an answer. “And the last time you ate?”

“…I had a twinkie on the way here…”

Bobby glared at Sam. “You didn’t get her any food?”

“It’s been a rough ride, Bobby,” Sam replied wearily, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “We haven’t really had much time to stop anywhere.”

You turned to look at your brothers, giving a soft smile when you saw Dean embracing Sam. It had been a while, but Dean had been more gung-ho about his little brother going off to college then Sam was! The smile the two shared was sad but happy, a melancholy recognition. “How you doin’, bitch?”

Sam scoffed. “Fine… jerk.”

You giggled despite yourself.

“Go on up and shower, girlie,” Bobby addressed you, patting your head. “Me and your big brother’ve been cookin’ up a storm for you two,” he said, more to Sam than you, “so you two’d better be ready to eat.”

Getting into the shower was painful, your entire body sore from sleeping so long in such close quarters. It was welcomed, though, the hot water almost scalding your skin as you scrubbed away the tears and anger and pain and misery. The scratches the wendigo had left on your side began to bleed again as the scabs were washed off, and you hissed in pain when the water hit them.

WHAT?!”

A crash echoed downstairs, and you gasped, knocking over the towel rack as you stepped out of the shower. “Shit!”

There was a pause, followed by two quick pairs of feet coming up the stairs. “(Y/N)?”

“I-I’m fine, Sam!” you hollared back, feeling the beginnings of a bruise on your right hip. “J-Just knocked over the towel rack… I’ll be out in a second!”

There were muffled voices on the other side of the door, and you could hear Bobby clearing his throat. “Mm’kay, hon, just make your way downstairs when you’re ready, alright? There’s clothes on the bed for ya.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

You waited until you couldn’t hear the men outside the door anymore, then ventured out into the guest room. There on the bed sat a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt of Dean’s. Or at least, you suspected it was Dean’s, seeing as how it was Led Zepplin. After holding the towel to your side, soaking up the blood and letting it clot, you pulled on the clothes and dried your hair, taking baby steps towards the door and peering down the steps. You could hear Sam whispering and Dean not-so-whispering in harsh tones, but you couldn’t make out the words. Creeping down the steps, you leaned in to hear more.

“Did she say Dad actually-”

“No, Dean, but it was obvious-”

How obvious, Sam?!”

“As obvious as the goddamn bruise on her cheek, Dean!”

Tears pricked your eyes, and you rushed a hand to your mouth to keep from crying out protests. That was what had startled you earlier, then. Sam telling Dean that your dad had… had hit you. Hell, you could hardly believe it yourself if it hadn’t happened to you. John Winchester may be a drill seargent and a jerk, but he wasn’t abusive. “He’s not…” you whispered to yourself, eyes screwing shut as you whimpered. “He’s not, he’s not, he’s not! It’s my fault… My fault… All my fault…”

“…(Y/N)?”

You looked up with a sharp gasp, pulling back when a hand touched your bruised wrist. There at the base of the stairs stood Dean, eyes wide and glassy as he took in your appearance. He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again. He looked like a fish out of water, panicking and not knowing what to do. Finally, Dean turned and walked towards the kitchen, back to you as he ran a hand through his hair and crossed his arms, breathing heavily.

“C’mere, girl,” Bobby coaxed you with a gentleness not altogether unknown of the man, but unused for many years. Tentatively, you stepped forward and allowed a blanket to be draped over your shoulders, a mug of something hot and steamy pressed into your hands. “Chicken soup. ‘S good for the soul.”

The elephant in the room was suffocating, pressing down and making all of the oxygen dissipate into thin air. You sat on the couch, side pressed up against Sam’s, and leaned your head against his shoulder, sipping quietly at your soup.

When Dean turned around, he cut straight to the chase. “Kiddo, I know it’s gonna be hard, but… but you need to tell us what happened.” He crouched in front of you, reaching towards your face.

Unbidden, you gasped and flinched backwards, nearly dropping your mug to the floor. Dean’s face fell and your heart cracked. You had never seen him looking so sad or… broken. “Apple-pie…” he whispered, cupping your cheek and pulling you to look him in the eye. His thumb feathered its way across the bruise on your cheek. “We won’t be mad.”

Biting your lip, noting the pain that was there already, you took a deep breath and readied yourself for the monologue.

“We… We went on a hunt- a wendigo… It wasn’t supposed to be that big of a deal, but-” You grew quiet. “I just screw up everything,” you whispered, dropping your chin to your chest. Sam wiped at the tears trailing down your cheeks, nudging you onward. “I- I was supposed to stay hidden, to jump out when Dad got it in the right spot. But I went out too quick and- and it got away…”

“Did it hurt you?” Bobby interrupted, frowning pointedly.

You waited a moment, weighing whether or not you should tell the truth. “Y-Yeah. But just my side! It’s not a big deal-”

But Dean had already pulled up your shirt, his fingers running over the cuts as he scruntinized them. “Sammy, get the first aid kit.”

Without protest, Sam retrieved the kit and Dean began to sanitize the wounds. You didn’t make a noise or a single movement, not wanting to show any more weakness to your brothers than you already had. Dean was wrapping gauze around your torso just as you continued your story.

“Dad was… was furious…” Your blood ran cold at the thought of your furious father. “He- he screamed the whole way home… At first I just took it- I screwed up and I deserved it-” Sam’s face hardened at that. “-so I stayed quiet… But when we got back to the motel-”

You couldn’t finish. The horrors of what had happened was still fresh in your mind, seared into your skin by vivid marks. “(Y/N)…” Dean comforted you, rubbing your knee. “Please… We need to know.”

“… I screamed back at him… He told me- told me I’d never be a hunter like you, or Sam. And I know that! I know I’m not any good and I know I’ll never be as good as you two, but I can’t stand it anymore! Why can’t he- why can’t he just love me for me and not-” You broke off in sniffles, wiping at your nose. “And I yelled at him. I yelled at him and he grabbed me and-…”

“He hit you,” Sam finished, eyes blazing.

“…Yeah…”

Dean’s eyes rolled closed, and you could see the veins in his neck and arms tensing as he tried to remain calm. Sam was pulsating with anger, although he tried to burrow it deep down so you wouldn’t be startled. You trusted your brothers not to harm you, though- then again, you had also trusted your father not to harm you, and look how that had turned out…

Bobby ended up breaking the uncomfortable silence, mumbling something about calling Pastor Jim. You wanted to protest at that, but found yourself suddenly to weary to care much about anything.

Finally, blessed finally, Dean spoke.

“(Y/N), has he… has he hit you before?”

You shook your head no, and the brothers deflated a bit. “This was the only time?”

You nodded.

“And it’ll stay the only time,” Sam affirmed, his voice a deep growl. You expected Dean to say something in defense of your father, but he merely nodded.

“And you’ll be staying with me from now on, girlie.”

Everyone turned to Bobby as he entered the room. “Just got off with Jim. He called me last night after John showed up drunk out of his mind on the footsteps of the church.” You stiffened and Sam rubbed your arms. “Told Jim not to say anything to John, but that you were stayin’ with me for a while.” He smiled. “It’ll do you some good to stay at one school for a while anyways, now won’t it?”

Happiness filled your veins, and you were confused. You should be sad that you couldn’t stay with your father, shouldn’t you? Your mind was buzzing with questions and fears and doubts, uneasiness filling your empty stomach like a pile of rocks.

“Hey.”

You looked at Dean, who was grinning ear-to-ear. “Whaddaya say I take a little vacation, huh? Christmas is just around the corner, anyway. We can hole up here, get a tree…”

Sam smirked. “I’m on winter vacation at college, too. I’ll have to call my roomates, but I think I’ll be good to stay for a while, too.”

A teary smile lit up your face. “Yeah… Thanks, guys.”

There was so much more you wanted to say, but your throat was closing up on itself. So you simply sat there, embraced by your brothers, and watched as snow began to fall outside in little, fluffy clouds. Slowly, slowly, your eyes shut, and you fell asleep…

A TEXT POST

Imagine John Winchester (your father) hits you… Dean and Sam react badly… [REVISED] PART 1

BAM! The motel door slammed behind you as you stormed into the house, depositing your gun and knives on the bed furthest from the wall. BAM! BAM! It slammed open and right back closed again. “(Y/N) Winchester, don’t you dare walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”

“Well I’m done talking to you!” you growled back under your breath as your father rounded the corner of the bed towards you.

“That was stupid, (Y/N)!” John Winchester, your drill seargent of a father, roared at you. His face was red and the veins in his neck were bulging beneath the skin. The hunt had gone wrong that night, as all great nights go, and the wendigo had almost gotten a hold of your dad. You had burst out from your hiding spot too early, taking a blow to the ribs from the beast. John had shot flares at it, but your bloody torso had needed taking care of. The wendigo ran off, lost in the woods once more.

“An ammature mistake!” John roared again, turning his back to you and stalking to the fridge for a beer. He popped the top and took several deep gulps, giving you time to protest.

“Yeah! A mistake! I said I’m sorry a million times! Jeesh, would you let it go?!”

Your father turned and began shouting again. “Let it go? Let it go?! Dean would have never made a mistake like that! Hell, Sam wouldn’t have made a mistake like that!”

“I’m not Dean or Sam!” you shrieked at him, throwing your hands down in front of you.

“Well maybe you should be!”

“I’m not and I’m not ever going to be!! I’m not a frickin’ soldier, Dad! You can’t do this to me! You’ve gotta let it go, let me go-”

That was it for John. With two strides, he was across the room and right in your face. Fear sparked in your belly and you attempted to push him away, but he grabbed your wrist in a death grip, sending chills up your spine and making your mouth dry. “DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I AM YOUR FATHER, YOUNG LADY AND I WILL DO WHAT I SEE FIT!”

By now your anger was completely replaced with fear, its icy tendrils wrapping around your lungs and making it hard to breathe. “D-Daddy, p-please let go-”

“I SAID YOU DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I AM YOUR FATHER AND I WILL GRAB YOU IF I WANT TO!”

“DADDY!” you sobbed as his hold became unbearable, “PLEASE-”

SMACK!

The air left your lungs completely as the back of John’s hand impacted your cheek, making your head swing to the side and sting your skin. Eyes growing wide, you gasped and managed to shove John away, if not just because of his own shock. “(Y-Y/N)…” he stammered, jaw slack and beer bottle dropped to the floor, forgotten. “Oh God, baby, I’m so sorry-” he reached out towards you, and you backed away, clambering over the bed towards the door shrieking, “STAY AWAY FROM ME!”

“(Y/N), baby, I-”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” you screamed at him, opening the door and sliding through it before John could grab you again.

Out on the sidewalk of the motel, you ran. You ran and ran and ran, the fear-fueled adrenaline filling your veins and making your vision blur. You darted across the street, narrowly missed by a car crossing. The driver honked at you and yelled profuse curses, but you couldn’t hear him over the pounding of your heart in your ears.

After running for a solid ten minutes, you came to a panting, shaking stop in front of a sleazy diner. The door chimed as it opened, and you stumbled to sit in a seat in the farthest booth from the door. Your skin was clammy, your heart still racing and the adrenaline replaced by a terrible sting from both your wrist and cheek. The cuts on your side had stopped bleeding, but still hurt like a bitch. You felt ready to collapse into exhausted sobs, but pulled yourself together by the frays when a plump waitress walked over to her.

Her face was concerned, brows furrowed and bright red lips pursed. “Sweetheart, are you alright?” she asked gently, reaching down to touch the table in front of you. Despite yourself, you flinched.

“I-I’m f-f-fine,” you stammered, really not wanting the woman to go away.

The waitress, as if sensing your thoughts, hollared towards the kitchen. “Marty! Gimme a cup of cocoa!” She sat down in front of you and took your shaking hand. “Sweetheart, you’re shakin’ like a leaf!” she exclaimed, her voice taking a motherly tone that reminded you of Missouri. “Is there someone I can call for you, baby?”

When she said that name- baby- you flinched and withdrew your hand, pulling your knees into the seat and hugging them. You only then realized how small you were, even for a young teenager. “C-Can I call my brother?” you asked quietly, sniffling and rubbing at your eye. Your cheek was no longer stinging, but a low, thrumming throb had replaced the earlier sharp pain.

The waitress nodded, giving you a pitying smile that made your stomach churn. “Gimme one second and I’ll get you the phone, doll.”

It really was only a few seconds before the waitress returned, steaming cup of cocoa in one hand and phone in the other. It was a clunky plastic phone that looked archaic, but you could hardly care as you looked at the numbers through a murky vision. You had two options- Sam, or Dean. Sam was at Standford, and the last time you had spoken with him was a few months ago. Dean was off on a hunt with Caleb, probably out of cell range. You called him anyway, and it went straight to voice mail.

I don’t know how you got this number, but unless your last name is Winchester, don’t call again. BEEP.”

“D-Dean,” you stammered into the phone, tears flowing from you now that you were actually speaking. “Dee,” the helpless sob wracked your frame and you dropped your head to your knees. “I-I need you, D-Dee…”

BEEEEEEP.

The dial tone sounded, and you sobbed again, dialing a different number this time. After several rings, a groggy voice answered. It was, to your surprise, a woman.

Hello?” she asked, sounded partially annoyed but partially worried.

“H-Hi,” you mumbled meekly. “I-Is Sam there?”

Yeah, one second,” the woman mumbled. You heard shuffled in the background followed by, “Sam, baby, the phone.”

A groan resounded, and you felt a tiny giggle bubble up desbite yourself. That groan just sounded so much like Sam that you couldn’t help yourself. “’Ello?” came the familiar voice, and your tears returned anew.

“S-Sam,” you sobbed out, unable to help it.

Wha- (Y/N)? (Y/N), kiddo, is that you?”

“Sam,” you managed through the tears, “I- I need- I don’t-”

More rustling came across the line, and you could practically see Sam rolling himself out of bed, training kicking in as he threw on clothes and shoes. “(Y/N), what’s wrong?”

You were unable to answer, throat constricting around itself. The waitress that was hovering around you put a gentle hand on your shoulder, frowning at your flinch, and took the phone from you. “Hello?”

You didn’t hear Sam’s part, but you could barely hear the squat little waitress talking to him in hushed tones as you struggled not to hyperventilate. “Poor thing came in all in a flurry. She’s still shakin’ like a leaf… I dunno what happened, hon, but she’s got a nasty bruise on her cheek… No sir, she’s alone… 1616 Lan- huh? Oh, um, Mound House, Nevada. Where are you again, hon?… Oh, goodness, that’s a drive- No, no! It’s no problem, we’re open 24/7… Okay, honey, I’ll put you back on with her.”

(Y/N)?” came Sam again, and you felt a small warmth just from the sound of your big brother’s voice. “(Y/N), I’m comin’ to get you, kiddo, it’s only a four hour drive so I’ll be there soon- just stay there, alright? Stay with the waitress and I’ll be there really soon, okay kiddo? Just stay there and I’ll be there soon…”

“S-Sam,” you gasped out, tears running down your face freely.

It’s gonna be okay, kiddo, alright? I promise you, it’s gonna be okay.” There was a loud beep, and Sam coughed. “I’ve gotta hang up now and give Jess the phone back, but I’ll be there really soon, okay? I’ve got my cell phone and I’ll call you when I’m close-”

“D-Don’t got my phone,” you told him, and Sam cursed.

Does Dad have his? I’ll call him-”

“NO!” you exclaimed, and the waitress jumped. There was a frightening silence across the line before Sam spoke again.

(Y/N), did Dad… Did he hurt you?”

Having your night finally put into words, the dam finally broke. Sobs wracked your frame and you were unable to answer, snot and tears running down your face as you rubbed furiously, only aggravating the bruise on your cheek. The waitress took the phone back and talked to Sam again, although you couldn’t tell what they were saying. You could hardly even think, for that matter.

After a few minutes- or hours, time seemed to fly when your brain was trying to poud its way out of your skull- the waitress pulled you up to stand and took you to a little room in the back of the diner. And there you sat for the full four hours waiting on Sam. Every couple of minutes a head would poke in and offer you something- food, drink, a jacket- you declined every offer with a dull shake of your head. By now, you sobs had settled into soft hiccups and frail, shallow whimpers.

Hours, minutes, weeks, days. Time had no meaning to you as you sat there in the back room, knees drawn up to your chin, as you lolled back and forth, fighting sleep.

Finally, blessed finally, the door creaked open and a shaggy brown head popped in. Big, hazel eyes looked around the room for a minute before settling on you, and a broken voice muttered, “(Y/N)…”

Before you knew what was happening, your brother was around you, hugging you, kissing your forehead and nose, checking out the bruise on your cheek. He was whispering sweetly to you the whole time, placing his jacket around your shoulders and rubbing your arms warmly. You thought you had cried out all of your tears, but they began anew when Sam lifted you up into his arms, holding you like you weighed nothing. You nestled up close to him despite th pain it caused your scratches, gripping his hoodie tightly and burrowing your face in his shoulder. You heard the waitress- the oh-so-kind waitress- talking softly to him and felt her pat your shoulder.

“You make sure to take good care of her, young man.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It was so like Sam to say that, to be so confident. You knew he couldn’t protect you, though. You would eventually have to go back to John- you were underage, after all- and then Sam would go back to Stanford, and you’d be alone once more.

You were set down in a car, the heat turned up on high and making it cozy despite the chilly sleet outside. “(Y/N)? Kiddo, please look at me, please.”

Sam sounded so broken that you had to look up, look deep into his hazel eyes. It was the first time you had actually sat up straight in nearly five hours, and your back popped painfully. Sam’s face softened even more when he saw the bright blue bruise that stretched from your cheekbone up towards your eye. “Oh, kiddo,” he whispered sadly, hugging you once more. “I’m not gonna let him ever lay a hand on you again, (Y/N),” Sam promised you. He kissed your forehead, resting his lips there as he spoke. “I swear to God, he’s never gonna touch you ever again.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt a warm blanket of safety rest over you. And you fell into a blissful, painless sleep…

A VIDEO

imaginethatsupernatural:

"Dammit, (Y/N), LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO, YOU MADE ME HIT YOU! YOU’RE SO FUCKING STUPID."

Requested by: scotty-1609

Reblogged from Supernatural Imagines