Maya || She/They pronouns || I used to be "just_another_spn_fic_writer" but the account's now deleted. Supernatural Sister oneshots and imagines are my thing. Requests are open âĄ
"Winchester brothers x sister reader where the reader is depressed harms themselves and feels like she not good enough and is a drug addict like does weed and other drugs drinks to relieve her pain..."
Euphoria inspired
Dean!BrotherxReader, Sam!Brother x Reader, Castiel!Friend x Reader
Request
Is that Smut?
No TW
âImagine where the reader writes Harry Potter fanfiction, Sam finds it and teases her about itâ
Sam!Brother x Reader
Request
Not Requested
Something Bad
TW: (Rape, SA)
"Through the fault of her golden heart, the reader gets brutally raped. Leaving marks not only on her body but also in her mind"
Dean!Brother x Reader, Sam!Brother x Reader
Beautiful Thin(g)
TW: (Eating disorder)
"Every day was much worse than the previous one. Your days were a blend of counting burned calories, steps, food, and daily weighing. You measured time in lost pounds and skipped meals. Food, even more, the lack of it was the only thing you thought about."
Dean!Father x Reader, Sam!Uncle x Reader
Red painter
TW: (Self-harm)
"When the night terrors stop being just like any other dream, desperation can drive to unthinkable things"
Summary: "Through the fault of her golden heart, the reader gets brutally raped. Leaving scars not only on her body but also in her mind"
Pairings: Dean!Brother x Sister!Reader, Sam!Brother x Sister!Reader
Warnings: Sexual assault, Rape, Blood, Swearing, Mentions of nudity
A/N: "This story is also very personal to me as a victim of SA. If any of the warnings trigger you I'd advise you not to continue reading. I have written this story as a way to cope with what I've been through. I hope it will also help those of you who struggled with similar things or will help you understand the victim's perspective better."
"I've posted this fic on my previous account but it got deleted, I've also rewritten it so I hope you all enjoy"
Word count: 1100ish
It was already past midnight. You and your brothers were going to the local bar. They wanted to talk to the bartender, who witnessed a ghoul attack. You went there at night to get information from him that you wouldn't collect during a typical interrogation.
Sam and Dean were going to talk to him. Even though you could easily use a fake ID to enter a place like this. Your overprotective brothers didn't see it the same way. They still saw you as their baby sister.
âWe don't want you to get hurt by drunk men.â
You couldnât understand why they were so concerned.
You were seventeen! You were soon to be an adult huntress, so you had to be capable of taking care of yourself.
âY/Nâ Sam's voice shook you out of your spiraling train of thoughts. âY/N, are you listening to me?â Sam looked at you from the front seat.
âWhat? Sorry, I wasnât listening,â you mumbled, looking away from the window.
âI said...â His voice cracked a little, so he cleared his throat. âI said, when we get to the place, just stay in the car and wait for us politely. If anything, you call us right away.â You rolled your eyes in response. Sam gave you a serious look, waiting for your answer.
âY/Nâ Dean warned you, looking at you through the rearview mirror.
âOf course, Iâll do it, Samuel.â You countered with a typical British accent and gave him a playful smile. He just smirked and turned towards your brother. Next thing you knew, you were parked in front of the bar. Dean turned to you with a concerned look one last time.
âY/N, weâll be back soon. Stay in the car, and donât be stupid.â He ordered in his fatherly tone. You just nodded and watched as they both left.
You waited five minutes after your brothers entered the bar. You wanted to make sure they weren't coming back any time soon.
As you realized you were good to go, you left the car and closed it behind you. You just wanted to steal some money from oblivious drunk locals. You wanted to have enough cash to get out with your friends next week.
You were right in front of the entrance to the bar when you heard a silent call for help. It came from the back.
You scanned the empty parking lot as you heard it again. The gun was already in your hands as you rushed behind the building. Someone might've been hurt.
With a pounding heart, you looked at the back of the first garbage dump. To your surprise, it was empty.
Suddenly everything turned black, feeling a sharp pain on the back of your head.
***
The first thing you remembered was pain.
Laying on the ground, you struggled to catch your breath. It was hollow and unsteady.
Tears were running down your face as you tried to lift yourself. The icy wind stung your wet skin.
Your head was pulsating and felt empty.
Where am I?
You sat there, wearing only a shirt, shoes, and ripped jeans, trembling at the sight of your body.
What happened?
Shreds of your pants were thrown around as you sat on the blood-stained concrete.
The realization of what happened hit you like a slap in the face. Tears were stinging your bruised cheeks as you looked at your wounds.
"Aren't you a pretty thing?"
You felt sick.
You've never wanted to turn back time so much as you did right then. You wept, trembling as you saw your grazed hands and broken nails.
"Why are you so feisty? I know you want this"
Seeing your body made you gag.
Your stomach became empty as you struggled to move away from the pool of blood and vomit you sat in. The bruises on your wrists didnât help as you tried to crawl aside, groaning in pain.
The ace was the only thing that made that moment feel real.
A big cut on your thigh made you lose even more blood as you dragged yourself towards a gap between trashcans. Gathering your last bits of will, you pressed your leg, struggling to stop the bleeding.
You didnât know how long you were laying there, trying to muffle your helpless cries.
You cursed through clenched teeth, realizing your gun and phone were gone. Not being able to alarm your brothers made you even more horrified.
You sobbed while working to cover yourself. Frightened by all that happened, you curled up, causing a sharp wave of pain in your legs.
Being weak and unable to move, you had to hide and stay silent. You had to face the terrifying fact.
He might come back.
He will come back.
It will happen again.
It will happen again.
It will happen again.
Panic made you freeze again.
You couldnât believe how all of this happened. Your head was spinning as you tried to recall your attacker. His face or anything about him.
Nothing.
A blank face stared back at you, grinning as he inched closer and closer to your limp body.
As you gathered your thoughts, you remembered that at all times, you had a small knife hidden in your boots.
As if it was your last hope, you squeezed it in your hand after pulling it out of your shoe.
If he was going to come back for you, werenât going to give up without a fight.
You sat in silence, trying to calm your unsteady breathing as you held the knife in one hand and tried to stop the bleeding with the other. To your horror, you picked quiet footsteps.
Someone was coming towards you.
You clenched your fingers on the dagger until your knuckles whitened.
âY/N?!â
It was Sam.
He was looking for you.
You dropped your blade and wept with relief.
âOh my God, Y/N!â He ran towards you with horror written out on his face.
âDonât look at me, please!â You gasped through tears, covering yourself.
It felt ridiculous, but you didnât want him to see you in that state.
Ignoring your pleading, he kept his eyes open. He quickly took off his jacket and helped you put it on.
âY/NâŠâ Samâs voice broke down. Even though the tears blurred most of your vision, you could tell that he knew.
"No one will come for you."
The guilt in his eyes hurt you even more than bruises on your thighs.
With trembling hands, you zipped the jacket up and struggled to stand. His clothes were too big, so they covered you to the middle of your thigh. You lost balance, but Sam immediately caught you and supported you.
âSon of a bitch! Y/N!â You wept as you heard Deanâs screams. He was already running towards you both. âY/N, what the hell happened?!â
You didn't respond.
You couldnât.
A lump in your throat grew bigger and bigger as you approached the car.
âY/N!â Dean cried, trying to catch your attention.
âSomething... bad.â you managed to say through gathering tears. Your voice cracked with every syllable.
The oldest brother opened the Impala and helped you get into it. Both your brothers quickly sat in the front seats, turning back to you.
âTell me what happened!â Dean yelled out impatiently.
You could bearly breathe, your lips trembling with every attempt to say it.
Dean furrowed his eyebrows as he realized. Sam tried to calm him down, but it was already too late.
âThi-this man...â you mumbled. You couldn't control your shaky voice.
The whole thing seemed unreal to you. It felt like you were watching yourself through someone else's eyes.
âHe raped me...â you whispered before you broke down.
Summary: "When the night terrors stop being just like any other dream, desperation can drive to unthinkable things"
Pairings: Sam!Dad x Daughter!Reader, Dean!Uncle x Niece!Reader
Warnings: Self Harm, Blood, Swearing, Nightmares, Mentions of death
A/N: "Commissions are open, some requested one-shots coming soon!"
"If you want to be added to the tag list message me or comment!"
Word count: 4k-ish
Masterlist on my profile
You saw the fear in their eyes.
The terror that paralyzed their bodies.
The woman and the man clutched each otherâs hands, begging for mercy. You observed how innocent their bodies looked when they hit the floor.
Raising your arms, you noticed their blood on your hands.
You watched as their last bit of hope faded away with each breath.
As you approached the mirror, you looked at your reflection, massacred, covered in someoneâs insides, looking at you with a smile.
Black eyes staring back at you.
âHey, hey... calm down, Y/N...â You heard your uncleâs voice, and you immediately got up in bed.
A dream⊠itâs just a dream⊠You realized while inhaling deeply.
Youâve been having these kinds of nightmares for weeks. Since you got possessed by a demon during a hunt. He took control of your body for several days until your father and Dean exorcised him out of you.
Although the demon possessed you for less than a week, he murdered over a dozen people. He derived on their deaths, making sure each time you went through his victimâs every broken bone and heard every muffled scream.
You could still feel their blood on your hands even after weeks had gone. Their lifeless faces followed you with every blink.
You blamed yourself for the demonâs every victim, but you were incapable of admitting it to your father or uncle.
âAre you ok? I heard you scream...â You looked at Deanâs tired face. You scanned the room for the other pair of worried eyes. When you didnât spot your father, you looked back at the older Winchester.
âIâm fine, ok, really. Just I... I think, just...â You hesitated, âNightmares, I guess.â You gave him an apologetic look.
You didnât need to wake him up. He already had bags under his eyes and had trouble sleeping. You hoped not to be a burden during this challenging time. âDad didnât wake up?â You questioned your fatherâs absence.
The Winchester brothers were known for many reasons. Besides their hunting talent and strong head, they were also known for one more thing. Very shallow sleep.
If Dean got up, Sam shouldâve as well.
Winchester grinned and moved closer to you. The tiredness left his face altogether, and his fake smile made you shiver.
âHe woke up...â He nodded at the unconscious man lying next to your bed. âNot for too long,â not knowing if it was because of the lack of sleep or a sudden wake-up call. You didnât notice your father lying two feet away from you.
Terrified, you looked at your uncle, who smiled as wide as he could.
âSo Y/N ...â He sighed as his eyes turned black. âWhere were we?â
You woke up in a completely dark room, desperately grabbing your throat. Nobody woke you, no one came, and you havenât screamed.
Your heart was still pounding. You could barely see the faint outline of the bunker bed in your room.
Were you still dreaming?
Was it a dream at all?
You didnât know. That terrified you the most.
Sitting at the edge of the bed, you turned on the table lamp. You tried to calm your unsteady breath while the heart rumble rang through your head.
You wanted to tell yourself that you were awake, that you were safe. Trying to feel the floor with your bare feet, you felt its texture and temperature. You couldnât calm down. It felt like Deanâs black eyes were drilling through you every time you closed yours.
âYou were sleeping. You need to calm down.â
You were mumbling to yourself repeatedly.
âAre you sure?â This time, you heard your fatherâs voice from behind you. Seeing a man covered in blood, standing on the other side of the room as you turned.
He looked like your dad, but you knew it wasnât him. You watched him as he crept over to your bed, smiling, playing with a dagger in his blood-covered hands.
You tried to run away, to move and, to scream⊠but you couldnât. You were stuck in one place as if tied to it, watching your father, standing by the edge of your bed.
âYou know, Y/N, your mom and I had many, many shared memories and dreams. I loved her so much,â you could have sworn that for a moment, he showed sorrow, which quickly turned back into a lifeless expression.
âYou know which memory is my favorite?â The corner of your mouth twitched. It hurt you listening to his breaking voice. Although you knew he was playing games with you.
âYou know how your mother died?â He moved closer to you, making the distance between your faces smaller than a few inches.
âDO YOU?!â He screamed, and you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. You closely followed the dagger, waving barely an inch from your neck.
âShe diedâŠâ He hissed with such disgust you have heard no one express. Despite it not being your father, the sound of his trembling voice broke your heart. âBecause she gave birth to you...â
You could feel pure anger gushing out of every word from behind his clenched teeth. With each passing second, you saw the knife in his hand inch closer to your neck.
âNo...â all that came out of you was a mumbled, hoarse sound.
âAnd you know what?! YOU WERENâT WORTH IT!â He screamed, staring maniacally into your scared eyes.
âYou weren't worth her bleeding to death!â He growled, putting a dagger to your throat,
âIt wasnât worth her dying in agony so you could breathe!â He pressed the knife down as he hissed at you with contempt.
âNo, stop...â you said louder this time, choking on salty tears. âPlease...â you pleaded while shaking your head.
âYouâre not worth her.â You felt warm blood trickling down your neck.
You jumped out of bed, and you grabbed your throat, trying to find any trace, wound, or anything that would confirm the visit of a demon in your room.
It couldnât be a dream.
Everything felt so real.
You thought you could still feel his dagger against your throat.
You put your hand under the pillow on which you were sleeping. You tried to feel the cold material of the cushion to calm yourself down.
You stopped moving it when you suddenly felt the sharpness of your dagger. You always kept it with you, just in case.
Is this happening?
You touched the blade and hesitantly removed it from under the pillow.
You had to be sure.
Is what I feel real?
You pressed the dagger to your wrist, exhaling quickly and cutting the skin on your forearm.
A sharp wave of pain woke you up.
After a second thought, you moved the blade again, this time slashing deeper. Blood began to weep from the wound. You let out a sigh of relief.
Itâs happening.
Iâm safe.
Ironically, the sight of blood helped you relax. After a while, you wiped the cut and put the dagger away. Forcing yourself to close your eyes and turn off the light, you laid down and fell asleep.
That night you dreamed nothing more.
***
The next day, you followed the scent of burnt pancakes that, as you guessed, were supposed to be your breakfast. As you entered the kitchen, the odor struck you unpleasantly, filling your nostrils.
âHoly shit...â the curse slipped out of your mouth as you saw your uncle scoop the burnt cake out of the pan. He squinted at you.
âLanguage,â he grunted, scraping the burns off the pan. âTurned around for a second to watch Dr. Sexy and Boom. Canât trust anything these days ...â
You giggled as you walked over to him and took the utensils, trying to save his unsuccessful attempts to clean the dish.
âWhat is that?â He asked, pointing to a long fresh slash on your forearm. You froze with a spatula in your hand, looking at him with a slight concern.
âNothinâ...â you preferred not to talk to your uncle about the aftermath of the hunt. Youâve already heard enough, âI told you soâ recently. The hunt was a soft spot between you two, and you werenât going to add another argument in his favor.
âMhm, and Iâm Queen Elizabeth. Let me see,â He grabbed your wrist and turned your forearm to get a better look. He looked up and scanned your face with a serious expression.
âSam! Come here quick,â Dean yelled, calling your father. Great.
âI said itâs nothing.â you tried to free your hand as your father entered the kitchen.
âWhatâs upâ Sam sent his brother a questioning look as he continued to chew on the sandwich he was holding. Dean lifted your forearm with a telling look. Your father put the sandwich on the counter and took your hand, confused. âY/N, did you do that?â
You shook your head and sighed as they released your hand. Both brothers looked at you with concern, waiting for your answer.
âIf Dean wouldâve let me explain...â you grunted, âHe wouldâve known that I cut myself with a coat hanger last nightâ the smooth lie made your uncle roll his eyes
âCoat hanger, my ass...â He huffed while looking at your hand. Sam seemed to sigh with relief.
âWhy would I do this to myself, then...â You questioned Dean. He just looked away in embarrassment before shaking his head
âTeenagersâŠâ he cleared his throat and returned to bustling about the kitchen
âNow, if youâll excuse me, Iâll go change.â You took a couple of ready pancakes from one of the plates and shoved one of them into your mouth, smiling playfully, "and Iâll try not to get involved with a rack this time,â you said with your mouth full and winked jauntily.
Your dad chuckled as you left the kitchen, and Dean just mumbled something about how awful kids are these days.
***
The following nights were like the latter. Waking up from a nightmare, panic attacks, calming down using a blade. Sometimes two cuts were enough, sometimes 10 or more.
The texture of blood on your fingers was like air to you. When the entire world spun around you, it helped you breathe and think.
Some days you would cut after arguing with your father, and other times after a bad day at school. When you felt overwhelmed, it sobered up your thoughts.
You werenât doing anything wrong, right?
After all, minor cuts were better than what your family used as coping mechanisms. Drinking their thoughts away and losing themselves in the shooting range.
You chose the better alternative.
It was your way of taking care of yourself, of them.
***
âOh, fuck you⊠Youâre just a sad and lonely old man who has an issue with someone being honest!â You yelled as you ran out of the main room, trying to escape your fight with Dean. Again.
They were more frequent over the weeks. You pushed yourself away from your family, trying to hide the panic attacks and reoccurring nightmares from which you had suffered. Secrets that had been getting bigger and bigger disconnected you from the ones you cared about.
You were becoming less comfortable in the bunker every day. You didnât know if it was still your home.
âY/N M/N Winchester, get back in here!â You could tell he was furious. This time, you hit the spot. Your fight started caused by some minor thing about the case and quickly turned into a confrontation. It always gets heated between you two. You were just sick of him. Of everything.
âFuck you!â You slammed your room door and kicked it. You werenât sad. Oh no, you were pissed off, furious. So frustrated that you could take it out on anyone.
You knew your uncle wouldnât come trying to ease things out for some time. Heâd want to cool down first. Both of you tended to say awful things that you would regret later. You two had a silent agreement to stop the fights early on, not letting things escalate even more.
Frustration took over your body, throwing books, pillows, and everything laying in your way.
Maybe it was a family thing, having awful anger management issues.
The spinning feeling in your head didnât help soothe you as you laid down.
You found yourself holding your dagger, pressing it hard onto your right forearm.
One
Two
Three
Breathe
You exhaled deeply as you felt the hotness spread over the cuts.
Breathe Y/N, breathe.
Realization hit you as you opened your eyes in horror. Looking at the growing red stain on the white sheets.
Fuck.
Dean was supposed to come here. You didnât know when he couldâve been on his way to your room or opening another beer.
You had to clean it up. The sheets, yourself, your clothes. You had to be quick and stop the goddamn bleeding.
Without hesitation, you wiped the blade on the edge of your shirt and hid the dagger under your bed. You just had to go to the bathroom quickly, right? Just wash your clothes, change the sheets with no one noticing, and somehow wash them before Dean sees it.
You were in deep shit.
In no time, you were in the bathroom washing your wounds and changing into a sweater.
Faster, please faster.
You begged in your head while bandaging the cuts. You couldnât let Dean see them. Anyone but him.
âY/N?!â You heard your uncle calling your name.
Fuck.
âY/N, why is there blood on your bed?!â
You couldnât lock the door because you realized heâd break it down without hesitation. Coming up with a Plan B was your only option.
You took off your pants and sat on the toilet, taking one pad from the cabinet. You bent over your stomach as Dean burst into the bathroom.
He froze seeing you on the toilet. You threw the pad onto his chest as he realized what it meant.
âThank you for telling everyone Iâm on my fucking period,â you grunted as the embarrassed man slammed the door shut and mumbled an apology.
You hated lying to him, but you told yourself it was better for all of you. You knew he was just worried, that he didn't mean to hurt you.
But you convinced yourself that if you handled this on your own, it would be better for all of you.
You knew the truth would hurt them. Not knowing you were doing it yourself.
***
During the last month of spring, you easily managed to wear long-sleeved flannels, sweatshirts, and sweaters without arousing any suspicions. Covering your hands this season was normal, right?
You were drenched, wearing a sweatshirt and a T-shirt. The first hot day of the year turned out to be your undoing.
You knew that in summer, you had to find other spots on your body to presume your habit. You just didn't expect that the heat waves would come so quickly.
You and Dean have been giving each other the silent treatment for two days now. You havenât spoken a word to him and it seemed like he wouldnât bother to do so either.
Sam already gave you a lecture on how you shouldn't talk like that to either of them. But you weren't going to apologize to older Winchester, not in a million years. He was too stubborn too, so you were just ignoring each other. The game of who will break first. It definitely wasnât gonna be you.
You were already sitting in the library reading Volume III of some series about Demonology when the brothers entered the main room. You smiled at your father, completely ignoring your uncle. Sam looked at you in surprise and gesticulated at your clothes.
"Arenât you too hot in that?" You shrugged as you scanned Winchesterâs clothes, both of them were wearing only T-shirts, which is the least you have seen them wear, probably ever. And yet they were still visibly hot
"Nah..." You replied casually.
You. Were. So. Fucking. Hot.
You felt your T-shirt being completely soaked and drops of sweat forming on your forehead.
âYou look sick...â your father replied, touching your forehead with his hand and checking your temperature. âYouâre awfully hot and soaked. Take the hoodie off. Youâre gonna get overheated.â You just nodded at his request, expecting them both to go back to their conversation.
Hearing the still-present silence, you looked up, confused.
Your father stood over you, waiting. Deanâs gaze was drilling right through you. You canât take your sweatshirt off. You have to think of something. Now.
âIâll pass. I donât know about you guys, but extra layers are just fine.â You smiled faintly, wanting them both to drop the subject.
âY/N...â You heard your uncleâs voice for the first time in two days. You looked at him in surprise. You didnât feel the satisfaction you thought you would when he broke the silence between you two.
âI said Iâm fine,â you said through gritted teeth. Maybe if youâd fight again, theyâll let it go. Dean walked over to Sam and leaned on the table in front of you. You wanted to bury yourself in the chair, surrounded by Winchesters scanning you with their eyes.
âY/N, take it off,â your dad ordered
âNo.â You said stubbornly, looking into his eyes, because what are they going to do, force you?
âTake it off, or weâll take it off of you,â Dean said firmly, eyeing you up and down. Fuck. You had no choice. Maybe you can manage out of this somehow. Think, think...
Your dad took your wrist. You raised your other hand in a sign of defeat.
âOk, just because you asked so nicelyâ You tried to lighten up the mood but they both kept their expressions serious.
You picked up the sweatshirt from the bottom, putting it over your head. You took it down to your elbows, shrugging casually.
âTake it all off,â Sam ordered crossing his arms over his chest.
You didnât know what he expected, but definitely not what he saw as you removed your hoodie.
Before that day, you didnât wonder what this part of your body looks like to others. You hadnât thought about how they would react when they saw your wounds because you assumed it would never happen.
Dozens, if not hundreds, of cuts, scrapes, and burns covered your forearms. Showing it made you realize how it actually looks.
âOh God...â Sam whispered emptily. You knew you let him down. He wasnât supposed to worry. Everything going on in your head was supposed to stay there without tormenting your family. Pain and shame paralyzed you. You felt tears run down your face.
Your father fell to his knees in front of you and gently embraced your hands.
âIâm sorry...â was all you managed to say as you gasped for air between the sobs.
You failed him.
You failed them.
âY/N babyâŠâ He said, then kissed your wounds. The new ones from yesterday, the minor scratches from pens or fingernails, the already healed wounds, and the recently made ones. He kissed them as if they would vanish after it as if he could heal all wounds by holding you.
You felt Dean hugging you from behind, stroking your hair gently. You rested your head against his belly, sobbing harder and harder. Sam hugged your hands, stroking them gently while Dean rocked you, letting you let everything out.
They stayed like that until your breathing stabilized, and you sniffed loudly.
âI still see themâŠâ you mumbled, looking into your fatherâs sad eyes. âEveryone Iâve killed, sometimes I canât tell the difference between what he showed me and whatâs really happening,â You breathed shakily as you turned to Dean. âIt makes it go away,â you shuddered, remembering the black eyes from nightmares.
âIâm sorry I yelled at you, bug,â sighed the older Winchester, stroking your shoulders. âIâm sorry for being so harsh.â
âNo, Iâm sorry I- âyou gasped. âIâve let you down. You shouldnât have seen it. None of this is your problemâ You rubbed your eyes as you let go of your fatherâs hands, and he sighed deeply.
âY/N, look at me,â He said, moving loose strands of hair from your face, putting one hand on your shoulder. âI have nightmares too. Pretty nasty ones and visions of everything that happened. âYou looked at him with glazed eyes, âAnd I know it hurts more than words could ever describe itâ He stroked your cheek. âBut I also know that I wouldnât manage. I wouldnât be here if I was going through it alone.â
You exhaled shakily, taking Deanâs hand, feeling their warmth. And for the first time in weeks, truly experiencing their presence. âAnd it gets easier, it really does. I know, I have you, I have Dean. And that helps me get through it. â
The older Winchester squeezed your hand as he felt another teardrop fall on it. âNone of this is your fault. You hear me? And donât say that what you feel is a problem. Itâs our job to be here and take everything with you. Because weâre family. â
Sam wiped another tear from your cheek as your lips twitched. You saw Dean kneel next to you, looking gently into your teary eyes. âAnd itâs gonna be hard. Hell, probably even worse. But you donât have to take it all on yourself. You donât have to hurt yourself to live through it. Weâll be here walking with you every step of the way. âHe hugged you as your eyes began to tear up again.
Being embraced by your family, the weight on your chest and shoulders slowly getting lighter. You felt safe and genuinely happy for the first time in a while.
And you finally felt like you could get used to it.
GIANT TW which will be valid for each episode for suicidal thoughts, self-harm, violence, cursing, relatives dying, mentions of sex, s*xual assault
MASTERLIST
Summary:
Emilyâs life used to be normal. Until one day, her family died, leaving behind just one letter.
âAfter reading this whole letter, call John Winchester. [âŠ] Heâs your real father."Â
idontwannabeyouanymore
donât be that way
fall apart twice a day
i just wish you could feel what you sayShe woke up in a gas station, lights so low she could barely see the pump, the car door slamming and Dean coming back inside.Â
âAlright little bitch, I got you your favorite,â he said, handing her a paper cup. âCoffee, extra hot, extra bitter, just like lifeâ he mocked. Sam, who was still sitting in the front, ignored them and just reminded Dean that he had to be home by monday. âYeah, law school and such.â answered the oldest of the two, annoyed. âYou got it.âÂ
Soon began the journey back to California: Sam was supposed to be back home in about 10 hours and Dean wasnât even trying to hide how pissed he was about it. Emily didnât really have the chance to get to know Sam, but he gave her a terrible first impression. Everything he did seemed forced: even talking to her, she felt like he was doing it out of pity and social conventions. Because he had to. He didnât really care who she was nor where their father was. He just couldnât say no to Dean.Â
After dropping Sam off in front of the same apartment complex they picked him up from, Dean didnât seem too keen on starting traveling again.Â
âWhere we headed?â Emily asked, climbing in the front seat and earning a scowl from her brother from stepping on the leather.Â
âI donât know, man, something doesnât feel right. Iâll just wait here for a sec, okay?â Emilyâs eyes turned to the top of the car. Dean had this annoying habit of calling her âdudeâ or âmanâ when he was distracted by something. Just as she was about to answer, a terribly familiar color reached the corner of her eye. She looked out the window and saw it: there was a fire.
It was just like last time.Â
Just like when her mom died.Â
Dean sprinted out of the car, but she froze in place. She knew she had to go with him, but she could not move⊠All those months being trained by Bobby were good to nothing in that scenario. That wasnât an actual monster. It was just her monster. Panic coursing its way through her body, she somehow managed to get out of the car and stand in front of the still open door. Her body was trembling so much it was hard to keep standing. She leaned on the vehicle. When she blinked, it was like reliving that night again. She felt her breath go short and her face, legs and hands go numb, a tingling sensation slowly pervading them.She saw Alexâs crib on fire again. She looked down at her hands, most of which were marked by the fire forever, and reflet the burning sensation, the stinging smell of her flesh bruning, alongside the sound of her little brother, desperately crying. His little body, irremediably inhaling more and more smoke as she could do nothing but hold him as the firefighters dragged her out. Then she saw herself in the hospital again, crying next to Alexâs crib, her hands loosely wrapped by bandages she had already tried to get rid of several times that day, as Alex slowly stopped breathing and the doctors could do nothing for him. His lungs are too damaged, they said. He would not be able to ever breathe by himself, they said. We suggest you let him go. All she could do was hold his tiny hand as he slowly died.
Next thing Emily knew was darkness and from the sounds around her she immediately recognized being in a hospital. She fought the heaviness of her eyelids to see Dean sitting next to her, bored and distracted by Sam, who paced restlessly just outside her room. Emily let out a groan and touched her head, in pain.
âLook whoâs awake.â said Dean with a stern look. âHow are you feeling?âÂ
âWell, good, I guess?â Emily gave him her default response and then paused for a second to look at Samâs pace. âI am guessing Sam is not that worried because of me, right?âÂ
âNah.â Dean replied, cold.
âYeah, I figured. Did you hear from dad?â
âNope.âÂ
She sighed and sunk deeper into the pillow.
âSo youâre good?â He repeated.
âYeah Dean, really, I just had a panic att-â
âCool, because I am about to get real mad at you and I want to make sure you canât get out of it by passing out or something like that.â He turned and shut the blinds of the room. The monitor next to Emily got quicker in its beeps. Dean usually never had much to say to her, unless it was for tactical purposes or to start a fight. It was weird enough, even if justifiable, that he asked how she was doing, let alone the tone he was using: very weird. He was not about to pick up a fight, he actually sounded worried. Like some sort of weird, unexpert parent after their child scratches a knee.Â
He slowly walked next to her bed, put both of his hands on the mattress and let his head dangle for a second before turning around. âYou know-â he stopped talking, accusingly pointing to her. He let his words trail off and then started over. âWhen were you planning to tell me or dad about this?âÂ
âDean wh-âÂ
âShut up.â He said, cutting her off. âI knew you were not the happiest person on the planet, that much I can figure out about you, but this? This is on another level.âÂ
âDean, what are you talking about?â She asked, legitimately confused.
âThis tops the time I found you drunk in the back of the car after spending the whole night looking for you!â Emily raised an eyebrow and just waited for an explanation. âOh, so you wanna play dumb?â He said. âThis is what I am talking about.â He aggressively pulled up her sleeve, almost ripping away her IV line and revealing a long series of self-inflicted cuts, what Emily had been doing to deal with stress, pain and the continuous state of anger she was put in by her life, when hunting didnât really do the trick. She tried to open her mouth to answer, but he immediately interrupted her: âYouâre lucky dad doesnât know about it, he would not be this nice about it.â. Silence fell into the room. âEmily, do you care to explain?â He was almost screaming.Â
She shrugged, staring at the clock on the opposite side of the room. Dean kept staring at her, in complete silence, waiting for an answer. âSince when do you care?â Emily asked, bitter.
âAre you really about to give me the nobody loves me act?â
âThatâs right.â She said. âJohnâs not here, Dean, you can stop pretending you care about me.âÂ
Dean looked at her with a hint of disgust on his lips. âOkay, you know what?â He said, walking back from the back. âYou want to play tough? Be my guest. But Iâm not letting suicidal people hunt. Get your shit together or Iâll leave you to rot in Sioux Falls.âÂ
He left the room, slamming the door behind him.Â
A week had gone by. Neither Dean or Emily brought up what had happened in the hospital again. Not that they had the chance to: Sam was frantic, barely even capable of putting a logical sentence together: everything was too slow, they never put enough effort in looking for dad and let alone enough effort into avenging Jessica. That seemed to be the only thing he cared about.
He was growing more and more unlikable to Emily, who could barely stand the sound of his voice anymore, just after one week.Â
When Dean announced to Emily she was going to stay in the motel for their next hunt, she didnât complain. It was a long overdue break. She did some research and watched TV.
When they arrived in Winscosin, all she was allowed to do was sit with Lucas, a traumatized 6 years old.Â
And thatâs where she was. Sitting on the ground, drawing a mermaid next to him, who refused to talk to her or anybody else.Â
âYou know Lucas, I know how you feel.â She said, passing him a red crayon. âMy mom died some time ago, and I still feel bad about it. So bad, in fact, that my brother is mad at me.â The kid didnât even look at her. He just kept drawing. No reaction whatsoever. She looked over to Dean, who was flirting with the mother of the poor child. She could see it from the distance: the smug face, the smiling, his entire body gravitating towards the woman as if there was a magnet. A bit away, Sam stood, uncomfortable as always, nervously looking around like he was being followed.
After sitting with Lucas for what felt like hours, Dean finally signaled Emily to come back and so she stopped drawing, said goodbye to Lucas ruffling his hair, and walked back.Â
âAre you done flirting with the traumatized mother?â She asked, frustrated. He completely ignored the joke and asked if she got anything from the kid. âNo luck.âÂ
âYeah, I didnât think so.â He said, bitter, walking away from her.Â
âWhat is that supposed to mean?â She raised her voice, grabbing Samâs and a couple of other peopleâs attention. Not Deanâs however. The man kept walking towards the car. She ran after him, overtook him and then pushed him back, already cursing at him. ââŠyou fucking asshole, Iâm talking to you!âÂ
âIâm not doing this right here.â Said Dean, not a drop of emotions or reactions in him, checking behind his shoulder that they did not get too much attention. âGet in the car.â He walked past her. Sam had also caught up. He quickly gave her a sympathetic look but then went past her and sat in the car.Â
Emily aggressively walked towards the car and sat in the back, making sure she slammed the door as hard as possible and that Dean saw her rolling her eyes.
âThe kid is not talking to his own mother, how was I supposed to get anything out of him?â She scoffed, not willing to let the fight die.Â
âWhat, you think I didnât see you? You just sat there drawing like a 4 year old.âÂ
âI was trying to- You know what? Fine, have it your way.â She said, angry, crossing her feet on the seat without even bothering to take her shoes off. âI am absolutely useless.âÂ
Dean looked at her for a second in the rearview mirror and then started the engine. âEmily, stop putting your feet on the seat!â She ignored him. Emily stayed quiet for the rest of the journey, knowing full well it was not over yet. When it took too much time for her to get out of the car, he immediately pounded on the door, signaling her to hurry up.Â
She reluctantly got out of the car and started walking towards the motel. She was just one step away from the door when she heard Dean mumble something among the lines of âgiving me the attitudeâ.Â
âWhat is wrong with you today?â Emily said, turning back towards Dean. She started walking aggressively towards him and taking off her backpack, ready to throw it at him. âOh no-â she mocked. âMy sister is sad because her world collapsed around her,â said Emily in a childish tone. âThatâs so not Winchester-like, we only get drunk and punch things!â She finally dropped the mocking tone, and threw the backpack at him. He caught it midfly. âIs that the problem?â She pushed him. She saw him clenching his jaw, but that was not the reaction she was expecting, which made her even more angry.
âEmily.â Dean warned, sternly. âStop.â
âGive me a reason to.â She asked, aggressively, scowling at him.Â
âBecause I said so.âÂ
She looked at him for one more second, waiting for him to say something more. But he didnât.Â
âWhat a compelling argument you make.â She said, sarcastic. âI think you might want to see a therapist, maybe you can figure out what sort of issues led you to behave like this.â She turned her back, pretending to leave. She stopped and raised a finger. âAh, right, mommy issues.â Emily finally hissed with a sarcastic smile. Dean stepped towards her, but Sam stopped him. Emily and Dean stared at each other angrily for a couple of seconds before he spoke: âEmily, get out of my face. Iâm not in the mood.â He turned back towards his roomâs door.
âYeah, ignore me. Thatâs what you do best, isnât it?âÂ
âOkay, Emily, enough now.â Intervened Sam.
âYeah right, we got Jess to avenge.â She mocked, before shoving him out of her way and marching towards the street.Â
Sam and Dean went back to their room, but she walked to the closest bar. She wasnât in the mood for over-drinking, but she didnât want to be around her brothers.Â
Truth was, she knew that the Winchester family and her were completely incompatible. She liked the life she had before, she was forced into this new one. Dean, instead, never saw anything different. This was his normal and to him, Emily was just someone who had fallen into his life and made it a little more difficult.
And Sam, well, Emily could not even tell if he was still there. He behaved like nothing mattered anymore. All he wanted was to find whatever killed Jessica and to do it fast. She sat at the table with no intention of getting drunk, but when she returned to the motel it was almost dawn and she could barely walk.
GIANT TW which will be valid for each episode for suicidal thoughts, self-h*rm, violence, cursing, relatives dying, mentions of s*x, s*xual assault
All chapter titles are song titles, some of them translated from Italian songs. We start from the first season and make out way through the series. I will break canon (mostly from the S2 finale) but will try to get back into it for the sake of âš lore âš .
Summary: Emilyâs life used to be normal. Until one day, her family died, leaving behind just one letter.
âAfter reading this whole letter, call John Winchester. [âŠ] Heâs your real father.â
MASTERLIST
We donât talk about Bruno Sam
Give the truth and the whole truth, Bruno.
23rd of October 2002:Â
When Emily was a kid, her mother sometimes called her âher miracleâ. She had always thought it was warm, comforting.Â
Emily always planned on getting it tattooed once she graduated college. She imagined herself, in her doctor vest, talking with her patients about how cute the story behind her tattoo was. And as she grew up, she realized it was a bit of a silly image. You donât usually talk about your private tattoos with your patients, she knew that, but she held the tattoo idea in her heart.
Someone knocked on her door. Emily lifted her eyes off her computer. She was drafting an acceptance letter to Stanford. âHey mom!â She smiled as her mother opened the door.Â
âAre you busy honey? I made pizza for dinner.â The woman smiled.Â
Emily closed her book and stretched her arms out. âIâm starving actually!â She stood up.Â
When she arrived downstairs, Alex was in his crib, kicking and fisting the little toys that were dangling over his head. As Emily sat down, her mother served her some pizza.Â
All was well. It had always been.
Until it wasnât.
Halloween, 2005.
Dean parked in front of the apartment complex. For the standard Emily had gotten used to in the previous two years, it was almost a decent place. At least it didnât have any weird men waiting on the hooker they had booked. âAlright, wait me here, okay little bitch?â Said Dean. Emily scoffed. She would have never ever dreamt of helping Dean convince their prodigal brother to come hunting with them. She had met enough Winchesters as it was. There was no need for a third one.Â
In fact, she had been reluctant on the idea of even traveling to Stanford.Â
John and Dean had told her the story of Sam a couple of times through the years. Emily understood why he had chosen to leave: living with the Winchester was a pain in the ass. That was enough of a reason.
However, she felt a hint of jealousy. He had a choice. He was able to get out. Her only alternative to living with Dean and John was to go live in foster families or under a bridge.Â
When she first met him, John was incredibly upset about Samâs departure. He barely spoke about him.
Dean, instead, would speak about him. Possibly too much, but never getting into any emotional details.Â
âSam would have know how to do that.â
âDonât touch that, itâs Samâs.â
âMy god, you sound like Sam, stop it!â
Dean didnât like chick flicks, he made it very clear from the very beginning.Â
So, who was Sam Winchester, based on how John and Dean had described him?Â
Sam Winchester was Dean Winchesterâs brother. Three years prior, he decided to leave his family and the hunting life behind, to study law. He was two years older than Emily and lived in Stanford.Â
Emily looked at the building they were parked in front of and scoffed internally: she was supposed to leave there. She was supposed to be in Stanford medical school.Â
And instead, she was stuck in the back of John Winchesterâs crap car.Â
Dean stared at the building for what felt like hours. Emily, annoyed, eventually stood out of the car to smoke a cigarette and started nervously clicking the hair tie she had on her wrist.
When Dean came back, a tall figure was next to him. Emily could only assume it was Sam: He had short, dark hair and was a few inches taller than Dean. He was not at all like she had imagined him. John didnât have any recent pictures of him, which wasnât surprising. The Winchesters sure werenât the âmake memories togetherâ kind of family.Â
Sam had a different light in his eyes, compared to Dean. He didnât look as cocky. He did, however, look pissed. Very much so.Â
When Sam opened the car door, he almost jumped back out of it, startled, alarmed by Emilyâs presence.Â
âGet in the back.â Ordered Dean from behind his brother, cold. Emily looked at him, raising her eyebrows.Â
âReally?âÂ
âReally.âÂ
âBut I was here first!â She complained. âCanât he sit in the back?!â
âWrong, he was here first.â He pointed to Sam. âYou just fell into my lap and refused to leave.âÂ
âI didnât- You know what? Nevermind, Iâll just move in the back.â She climbed out of the car and almost bumped into Sam. âIâm sorry-â She said, sarcastically showing him the fakest smile possible before pulling the lever on the side of the car seat and folding it, hitting Deanâs back and promptly ignoring his complaints. âStupid piece of crap car- Couldnât get a normal, modern, five door, could you?âÂ
Dean scowled at her as she settled in the back seat and ignored the taunt. Sam finally sat down.Â
âDean, want to introduce me to your friend?â He asked, putting a weird emphasis on the last word.Â
Dean tried to answer, but Emily was quicker. âI know what youâre thinking, but no, I am not Deanâs last hookup.â She rolled her eyes and started rummaging through her bag.Â
âIâm your sister.â She exhaled. âUnfortunately, youâre stuck with me.â
âWait.â Said Sam, taken aback. âDid you just say-âÂ
âSister? Yeah, you heard me right. Dadâs a slut.âÂ
âEmily, come on.â Scolded Dean, starting the car. Then, he explained how she ended up with the Winchesters.
The same year Sam had left for college, Emilyâs life had also changed irreparably. One night, while she was sleeping, a fire started in Alexâs room. Alex was her six month old brother. When she went to try and help him, she burned both her hands, which were permanently scarred. She was, however, able to bring her baby brother out of her nursery and into the street, just as the house began collapsing, eaten away by fire. She never saw her mother again.Â
Emily spent several weeks alone in the hospital, even after she was well herself, to stay with her brother, but he was soon gone too.
Too young to get a job, she crashed on peopleâs couches for a while, and just as she was about to run out of options, the police finally gave her access to her house back. Not that there was much left, but she was able to retrieve some clothes from her room and some money that had survived the fire by being in the family safe. Together with the money, Emily found a weird envelope with her name on it.
Emily, if you read this, I am very sorry about how things went down. You might think my death was an accident, but I want you to know it is not.Â
Just know that I have loved you and Alex my whole life, but I have made some bad decisions long before you were born and that has led us here.Â
I know life might be hard right now, but you have someone you can turn to.Â
After reading this whole letter, call John Winchester. You will find his number in the back, alongside the name of other people you can call if you canât get a hold of him immediately.Â
Heâs your real father.Â
Youâve always wondered about him, now itâs time to meet him and for you to know the truth about what I used to do before you were born. He will explain that way better than I can by letter.Â
Heâs very dear to my heart and we shared a kind of bond I never found in anybody else.Â
He will take you and Alex with him. He promised long ago.
About Alex, please take care of him. He deserves better than the life that expects you, but he does not deserve to be bounced around families and structures all his life. Keep him safe.
Love,Â
mom.
Just for a brief moment, as she read John WInchesterâs name, she thought she had another chance.Â
College, a normal life, everything back to how it was.Â
Sure, it was going to be hard, but she had never been the giving up type.
However, she soon realized her life was never going to be the same. That her hopes and dreams were long gone.
Her plan of becoming a surgeon, the career she had studied all her life for, became just a distant memory. She had little money, no more couches to crash on, just a name, John Winchester.
She reluctantly called him, asking herself what good could a stranger do.Â
John agreed on taking her in. However, he was far from being a dad. He more like a sergeant. John never talked about Emilyâs mother or how they met, how it happened that they had a baby. Usually, whenever Emily brought it up, John would silence her.Â
That was how she ended up traveling with the Winchesters, who were supposed to be her family but behaved more like she was one of the monsters they were hunting.Â
Monsters.Â
That was a big thing her mother forgot to mention in the letter. Or ever, really.
What she did before Emily was born was hunt monsters. That was how she died. While she did not know precisely what and how, she was soon acquainted with the fact that whatever killed her mother, also killed Deanâs mother, and that that something was a supernatural being.That, John Winchester was sure of.Â
She found out about the âfamily businessâ pretty much immediately after meeting John and Dean. It was hard to miss, it was all they talked about.
Sergeant John Winchester, as Emily called him between her and herself, had made sure she was safe for the first few weeks, and then announced she had to start training if she wanted to live with them. That was it. Not many alternatives.
Saying that he was having trouble adjusting was an euphemism: she was used to her mother hugging her on a daily basis, asking how school was. But with the Winchesters, she had found herself in a pit of distance and emotional unavailability. She found out that the description her mother had always given Emily when she asked about her real dad was exaggerated to say the least.Â
Emilyâs mother had talked about a stern man that actually hid a lot of good.Â
If the good was still there, Emily was struggling to find it.
Emily saw clearly how neither Dean or John werenât on board with having a third person around and that her father had let her stay just to honor the pact he made with her mom. The terms of this pact were not ever mentioned. It was one of the many things John Winchester did not speak about.
Despite all that, Emilyâs relationship with John was overall peaceful. He let her be as long as she didnât mess up or put them in danger, and she didnât complain about how he spoke to her or how he ordered her around during hunts. After all, she thought, he was her father, even if he showed that in very uncommon manners.
Dean and Emily, on the other hand, were unable to keep from going at each otherâs throat for more than a day at times.Â
He had always treated her distantly, barely speaking to her and not really giving her any chances of bonding. Emily tried. She tried several times. But it never really worked. He would dismiss her with a ânone of your business.â or a joke about how it was âgrown up stuffâ. With time, most of the occasions they spoke, it was to fight. Whether they were real problems or small problems didnât really matter. Regrettable words would be said and tv remotes would be thrown.Â
And John never bothered to calm them down.Â
He said they had to âlearn to like each otherâ. So, it didnât matter if it was a hunt gone wrong or if they forgot something from the dinner order, the chances of them yelling at each other was very high.
Naturally, since John had left with no notice the previous week, their days were mostly silent. He had actually left the same night Emily and Dean had a fight which involved Dean calling his sister a âchildish, bitter bitchâ after she dared to remind him it did not matter how long they took to fight whatever killed their mothers, because they would both still be dead by then.Â
She was actually very grateful John had not heard that line.Â
Deanâs version of her story, however, was pretty much boiled down to âThe thing that killed mom also killed her familyâ. Just as usual, Dean Winchester showed no regards towards her. Her story wasnât worth telling to Sam.
âImagine where the reader writes Harry Potter fanfiction, Sam finds it and teases her about itâ
Pairings: Sam!Brother x Reader
Request
Less than Zero
"Winchester brothers x sister reader where the reader is depressed harms themselves and feels like she not good enough and is a drug addict like does weed and other drugs drinks to relieve her pain..."
Euphoria inspired
(Won't show here the whole request because it spoils the end but it's on my profile if you're interested)
Pairings: Dean!BrotherxReader, Sam!Brother x Reader, Castiel!Friend x Reader
Summary: "Through the fault of her golden heart, the reader gets brutally raped. Leaving scars not only on her body but also in her mind"
Pairings: Dean!Brother x Sister!Reader, Sam!Brother x Sister!Reader
Warnings: Sexual assault, Rape, Blood, Swearing, Mentions of nudity
A/N: "This story is also very personal to me as a victim of SA. If any of the warnings trigger you I'd advise you not to continue reading. I have written this story as a way to cope with what I've been through. I hope it will also help those of you who struggled with similar things or will help you understand the victim's perspective better."
"I've posted this fic on my previous account but it got deleted, I've also rewritten it so I hope you all enjoy"
Word count: 1100ish
It was already past midnight. You and your brothers were going to the local bar. They wanted to talk to the bartender, who witnessed a ghoul attack. You went there at night because you wanted to get information from him, that you wouldn't collect during a typical interrogation.
Sam and Dean were going to talk to him. Even though you could easily use a fake ID to enter a place like this. Your overprotective brothers didn't see it that way though. They still saw you as their baby sister.
âWe don't want you to get hurt by drunk men.â
You couldnât understand why they were so concerned.
You were seventeen! You were going to be an adult huntress soon, so you had to be capable of taking care of yourself.
âY/Nâ Sam's voice shook you out of your spiraling train of thoughts. âY/N, are you listening to me?â Sam looked at you from the front seat.
âWhat? Sorry, I wasnât listening,â you mumbled, looking away from the window.
âI said...â His voice cracked a little, so he cleared his throat. âI said when we get to the place, you have to stay in the car and wait for us politely, if anything, you call us right away.â You rolled your eyes in response. Sam gave you a serious look, waiting for your answer.
âY/Nâ Dean warned you, looking at you through the rearview mirror.
âOf course, Iâll do it, Samuelâ You countered with a typical British accent and gave him a playful smile. He just smirked and turned towards your brother. Next thing you knew, you were parked in front of the bar. Dean turned to you with a concerned look one lat time.
âY/N, weâll be back soon, stay in the car, and donât be stupid.â He ordered in his fatherly tone. You just nodded and watched as they both left.
You waited five minutes after your brothers entered the bar. You wanted to make sure that they weren't coming back any time soon.
As you realized you were good to go, you got out of the car and closed it behind you. You just wanted to steal some money from oblivious drunk locals so you could have some cash to get out with your friends next week.
You were right in front of the entranceto the bar when you heard a silent call for help. It came from the back.
You scanned the empty parking lot as you heard it again. The gun was already in your hands as you rushed behind the building. Someone might've been hurt.
With a pounding heart, you looked at the back of the first garbage dump. To your surprise it was empty.
Suddenly everything turned black, because of a sharp pain on the back of your head.
***
The first thing you remembered was pain.
Laying on the ground you struggled to catch your breath. It was hollow and unsteady.
Tears run down your face as you tried to lift yourself. The icy wind stung your wet skin.
Your head was pulsating and felt empty.
Where am I?
You sat there, wearing only a shirt, shoes, and ripped jeans, trembling at the sight of your body.
What happened?
Shreds of your pants laid around as you sat on the blood-stained concrete.
The realization of what happened hit you like a slap in the face. Tears were stinging your bruised cheeks as you looked your wounds.
"Aren't you a pretty thing?"
You felt sick.
You've never wanted to turn back time so much as you did right then. You wept trembling as you saw your grazed hands and broken nails.
"Why are you so feisty? I know you want this"
Seeing your body made you gag.
Your stomach became more and more empty as you struggled to move away from the pool of blood and vomit that you sat in. The bruises on your wrists didnât help as you tried to crawl aside, groaning in pain.
The ace was the only thing that made that moment feel real.
A big cut on your thigh made you lose even more blood as you dragged yourself towards a gap between trashcans. Gathering your last bits of will, you pressed your leg, struggling to stop the bleeding.
You didnât know how long you were laying there, trying to muffle your helpless cries.
You cursed through clenched teeth, realizing your gun and phone were gone. Not being able to alarm your brothers made you even more horrified.
You sobbed while working to cover yourself. Frightened by all that happened, you curled up, causing a sharp wave of pain in your legs.
Being weak and unable to move, you had to hide and stay silent. You had to face the terrifying fact.
He might come back.
He will come back.
It will happen again.
It will happen again.
It will happen again.
Panic made you freeze again.
You couldnât believe how all of this happened. Your head was spinning as you tried to recall your attacker. His face or anything about him.
Nothing.
A blank face was staring back at you, grinning as he inched closer and closer your limp body.
As you gathered your thoughts you remembered that at all times, you had a small knife hidden in your boots.
As if it was your last hope, you squeezed it in your hand after pulling it out of your shoe.
If he was going to come back for you werenât going to give up without a fight.
You sat in silence, trying to calm your unsteady breathing as you held the knife in one hand and tried to stop the bleeding with the other. To your horror, you picked quiet footsteps.
Someone was coming towards you.
You clenched your fingers on the dagger until your knuckles whitened.
âY/N?!â
It was Sam.
âOh my God, Y/N!â He ran towards you with horror written out on his face.
He was looking for you.
You dropped your blade and wept with relief.
âDonât look at me, please!â You gasped through tears, covering yourself.
It felt ridiculous but despite everything you didnât want him to see you in that state.
Ignoring your pleading, he kept his eyes open and quickly took off his jacket and helped you put it on.
With trembling hands, you zipped the jacket up and struggled to stand up. The coat was too big, so it covered you to the middle of your thigh. You waved for a moment, but Sam immediately caught you and supported you.
âY/NâŠâ Samâs voice broke down. Even though the tears blurred most of your vision you could tell that he knew.
"No one will come for you"
The guilt in his eyes hurt you even more than bruises on your thighs.
âSon of a bitch! Y/N!â You wept as you heard Deanâs screams. He was already running towards you both. âY/N what the hell happened?!â
âY/N!â Dean cried, trying to catch your attention.
You didn't respond.
You couldnât.
A lump in your throat grew bigger and bigger as you approached the car.
âSomething... badâ you managed to say through gathering tears. Your voice cracking with every syllable.
The oldest brother opened the Impala and helped you get into it. Both your brothers quickly sat in the front seats, turning back to you.
âTell me what happened!â Dean yelled out impatiently.
You could bearly breathe, your lips trembling with every attempt to say it.
Dean furrowed his eyebrows as he realized. Sam tried to calm him down, but it was already too late.
âHe raped me...â you whispered before you broke down.
âThi-this man...â you mumbled, not being able to control your shaky voice.
The whole thing seemed unreal to you. It felt like you were watching yourself through someone else's eyes.
