DisneyGirl

I love all things Disney, Marvel, Star Wars, Harry Potter, and books, I do a little fan fiction (all strictly SFW), and I’m a sucker for Loki. If you post NSFW content do NOT interact with this blog! You will be blocked.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Main Masterlist

All fics SFW

Request Guidelines

Marvel Masterlist

Disney Masterlist

BBC Sherlock Masterlist

Supernatural Masterlist

Supernatural Masterlist 2

The Vampire Diaries Masterlist

Big Sky Masterlist

Tracker Masterlist

The Boys Masterlist

[opheliasdreamden]

Hey there! I was wondering if you could write something where they were on a hunt and Mel saved her brothers. Whole car ride she got layed into by both of them she didn’t argue back. When they got to the motel, they noticed she was quiet because she had a huge slash or injury from the hunt and they panic and stitched her up!!

Never again

The drive back from the warehouse was suffocating.

The moment Dean slammed the Impala into drive and tore out onto the pitch-black highway, the silence didn't last ten seconds.

“I mean, seriously, Nelli!” Dean roared, striking the steering wheel with the heel of his palm so hard the dash rattled.

Poor Baby.

“What goes through your head?! Do you just completely turn your brain off the second we pull up to a hunt? Is that what happens?!”

From the passenger seat, Sam twisted around, his tall frame taking up half the cabin as he glared into the backseat. “We gave you one job, Nels. One! Stay in the car! I don’t think it was that hard to do it,”

Sam sounded genuinely disappointed, which wasn’t something usual.

Fourteen-year-old Nelli was curled into a small ball against the rear door, her knees pulled up toward her chest. Her right arm remained clamped over her side, her hand hooked tight into the band of her jeans under her oversized flannel, Sam’s flannel to be exact. She kept her face turned toward the rain-streaked glass, watching the dark fence posts fly past in the night.

She didn't say a single word, which was already unnatural for her. Nelli, who almost always had a witty comeback ready to throw at one of her brothers, was now completely silent.

“Answer us!” Dean snapped, his eyes flashing green in the rearview mirror. “Don't you dare give me the silent treatment right now! You think because you landed a lucky hit with a flare that makes you Rambo? You could’ve ended up dead, Nelli! Broken neck, torn open, do you have any idea what that creature would’ve done to you if you missed?!”

“She's not listening, Dean,” Sam said, rubbing his face with both hands, his tone thick with sheer frustration. “I don’t even know what went on through your head, Nelli! You can’t possibly do stuff like that…”

She didn’t say anything to try and justify herself, like she usually does. In fact, Nelli didn’t even look away from the window. She was genuinely upset that she didn’t take her headphones with her, because those would have been a blessing at that moment.

“You’re not invincible, Nels…you have to realize that hunts aren’t fun, and neither are they made for you to show off your skills. You have to understand that”

The teenager would have genuinely laughed at that if it wasn’t for the current situation. Not once did either of her brothers say that she was actually skilled. Almost always they told her that she’s too young for this job or that she shouldn’t even try to tag along on hunts.

“Well, she's gonna learn!” Dean yelled, stepping harder on the gas. “That was enough reckless crap! Next hunt, you're staying with Bobby until you turn twenty-one!”

Empty threats, like always.

Nelli just closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the freezing cold windowpane. A tiny, involuntary shudder ran through her shoulders, but she swallowed down the sound, keeping her jaw clamped shut so tight her teeth ached. In her head, all she could see was the monster pinned over Sam and then its claws inches from Dean's throat. She had panicked. She couldn't just stand by the car and watch them get torn apart, was it that hard for them to understand?

She was sure they had similar experiences when they were her age, yet neither of her brothers seemed to even try and put themselves in her place.

“Unbelievable,” Dean growled, shaking his head as he stared back at the road, his knuckles bone-white on the leather-wrapped wheel. “Dead silence. She gets caught completely out of line and she just tunes us out. Driving me absolutely insane.”

“Just leave it, Dean,” Sam muttered, leaning back into his seat with a heavy, disappointed sigh. At least he remained the calmer brother, which Nelli was thankful for. She could not deal with two brothers who had Dean’s. “We'll deal with it when we get to the motel.”

For the rest of the drive, neither Sam nor Dean said another word, letting the heavy silence fill the car, entirely unaware of the dark, warm stain slowly spreading across the fabric beneath Nelli's tightly folded arms.

The second Dean threw the Impala into park outside their motel room, Nelli moved. She opened the door, slid out onto her feet, and forced herself to stand completely straight.

Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall

Every muscle in her body screamed, a sharp, white-hot fire tearing right through her right side, but she pressed her elbow hard against her ribs and kept her pace steady.

Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall

She made it inside, thankfully, pulling out a rickety wooden chair at the laminate table and sinking into it before her legs completely gave out. It was the more reasonable choice, choosing the chair over one of the beds, since that last thing she wished was for one of her brothers to notice the state she was in.

Dean slammed the door shut behind them, tossing his keys onto the dresser with a loud clatter. “Oh no, you don't get to just sit there like you're pristine and innocent, Nelli!” he shouted, turning on his heel to face her. “I am talking to you! You pull a stunt like that again and so help me God, you're never leaving the room on a hunt again!”

It’s not like they take her often anyway, why would she care about it. It’s always what Dean chooses that actually happens. And of course, Sam’s opinion which plays a very important part in it.

Sam dropped his heavy duffel bag on the floor with a thud, frowning deeply. “Seriously, Nels. You completely disregarded safety protocols. You could've gotten killed, or gotten one of us killed trying to cover for you!”

Nelli sat stiff as a board, her hands hidden under the table, her face chalk-white. She just stared blankly at the salt shaker in the middle of the table, her teeth gritted hard.

“Look at me when I'm talking to you!” Dean barked, stepping into her space and reaching out to grab her shoulder to twist her around. “Get your head out of the sand and—“

The moment Dean’s hand caught her right arm, Nelli let out a sharp, breathless gasp of pure agony. Her body jolted, her balance giving out as she slid sideways off the chair, collapsing onto the thin carpet.

Her oversized flannel shirt bunched up, revealing her entire right side…and both brothers stopped dead in their tracks.

Her shirt was utterly drenched in dark, slick blood. A deep, jagged tear stretched across her ribs, wide open and bleeding freely, the fabric around it soaked straight through.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean shrieked, his furious glare instantly shattering into absolute panic. He dropped to his knees beside her so fast his jeans slapped against the floor. “Nelli! What the hell—SAM! Grab the medical kit!”

“I didn't... I’m okay, I promise,” Nelli choked out, tears finally spilling over her pale cheeks. Her voice was trembling as she tried to shrink away from her side, her phobia of medical stuff kicking in full force. “I'm sorry, De... I didn't mean to.” she hurried to say, clearly more concerned about what her brother had to say than the state of her wound.

Dean felt like the air had been kicked out of him. All the fury that had been burning inside him completely vanished, replaced by a sickening mix of raw panic and guilt.

He asked himself at that moment how he always manages to not notice when she’s hurt. How does he never learn that arguing always ends up screwing them over…

“Hey, hey, look at me, rugrat,” Dean rasped, his voice dropping from a roar to a tight, desperate whisper. He cupped her jaw with a shaking hand, forcing her to look up at him.

“I’m not mad at you for getting hurt, okay? I’m not.” His hand found her head and with his thumb he stroked her temple, trying to calm both of them down. He could feel her tears falling freely, which he tried his best to wipe away as softly as he could.

God, if it didn’t break his heart.

Sam slammed the heavy leather medical kit onto the floor beside them, his face just as pale as Nelli's. He unzipped it with frantic speed, pulling out gauze, antiseptic, needle, and thread. “Dean, we gotta get this cleaned and closed right now. It's pretty deep.”

The moment Nelli caught sight of the shiny silver needle and the bottle of iodine in Sam's hands, her breath hitched into a sharp, hyperventilating gasp. “No! No, no, no, Dean, please! Sammy,” she whimpered, her hands frantically clutching at the lapels of Dean's jacket as she tried to pull back. “Don't! I don’t want it, please!”

“I know, baby, I know,” Dean whispered, pulling her upper body tight into his lap, wrapping his arms around her so she couldn't squirm. It never got easier for them, situations like this one.

He tucked her head under his chin, letting her hide her face right against his neck. “I got you. Sammy’s gonna take care of it. You don't have to look at it."

He shot a sharp look up at Sam. “Sammy, come on.”

“I'm working as fast as I can!” Sam said, his hands moving quickly as he prepped the gauze. “Nels, I'm so sorry, bug. This is gonna sting for a second, okay? Just squeeze my hand.”

Just like Sam said, her hand immediately found his arm and squeezed as tight as she could considering her injuries.

“De, please!” Nelli sobbed, her entire body shaking violently as Sam pressed the cold, iodine-soaked gauze against the slash. She buried her face deeper into Dean's shoulder, her hand still tightly gripping Sam’s

“I got you, rugrat, I got you,” Dean choked out, pressing his cheek hard against the top of her head. He was still rattled that she had hidden something this severe, but right now, all he cared about was keeping her steady so that Sam could actually work on that injury. “You're okay. You saved our asses back there, you hear me? You were brave as hell. Just hold onto Sammy.”

Sam worked as fast as he could, tying off the last black thread with precise hands and taping a thick, sterile pad over her ribs. “All set,” Sam breathed out, letting out a massive breath. “She's good. Stitches are clean.”

The second Sam finished, Dean carefully scooped Nelli up into his arms, supporting her legs and keeping her bandaged side completely clear of pressure. He stood up on shaky legs and carried her straight over to the bed, laying her down gently and pulling the heavy comforter up to her chin.

Nelli’s eyelids fluttered, heavy and glassy, her green eyes searching Dean's face.

“De...?” she whispered softly.

"Yeah, kiddo?" Dean asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress and smoothing her hair back from her forehead.

“I saw it on Sam…” she mumbled, her voice trailing off. “I was scared you guys were gonna…”

Dean felt a heavy ache in his chest. He reached down and once again gently wiped a tear away from her cheek with his thumb.

“Listen to me, Nelli,” Dean said, quiet and serious, completely ignoring what she’d just said. Sure, he knew she was scared, but his mind was still set on how she hid that injury from him and Sam. “You never, ever hide an injury from us to keep us from being mad. If you're hurt, you tell us instantly. Got it? Nothing matters more than keeping you safe. Not my mouth, not the hunt, nothing.”

Nelli let out a small, tired breath, her eyes slipping shut under the weight of sheer exhaustion. “Okay... got it.”

“That’s my girl,” Dean murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Sam stepped over, placing a hand gently over her ankle with a small, relieved smile. “Get some sleep, bug.”

The room was quiet now, save for the hum of the old refrigerator and the steady, shallow breaths of Nelli sleeping against Dean’s chest. He hadn't moved an inch from his spot on the bed, except for when he randomly got fixated on getting the other pillow from the bed next to hers, and even then, Sam immediately took his place, stroking her hair gently.

The whole experience was just as harsh on him as it has been on Nelli and Dean. It’s been years since he had to stitch her up and then she was way smaller, so she didn’t really understand what was going on. Now she definitely did, and that only made Sam’s job even harder.

He could stitch himself up perfectly, Hell, he could even stitch others perfectly, but when it came to his family it was a whole other story. With Dean it was easier, because he always masks his emotions, and even then it wasn’t pleasant for Sam.

But with Nelli…just seeing her face like that screwed with his head.

It didn’t take a lot for Dean to switch the pillows and he was soon propped against the headboard, his arms securely wrapped around her, keeping her side completely protected so she wouldn't roll onto the fresh stitches.

Sam pulled up a chair from the laminate table, sitting down beside the bed and resting his elbows on his knees, his face pale and worn.

“Man,” Sam breathed out, rubbing a heavy hand over his face. “We blew it. We completely blew it.”

“Yeah, don’t even tell me,” Dean muttered, staring down at the top of Nelli's messy hair. His voice was rough with a mix of exhaustion and lingering guilt. “We were so busy laying into her for stepping outside the lines, we didn't even notice she was practically bleeding out right in front of us.”

“She was terrified,” Sam said quietly, looking at her small, pale hand tucked into Dean's jacket. “She thought she was saving us, and then the second she gets in the car, we just rip into her for twenty miles straight. No wonder she kept her mouth shut.”

“It's on me, Sammy,” Dean growled softly, his green eyes darkening. “I'm the one who's supposed to be paying attention. I pulled her arm back at the table. If I had just looked at her face for two seconds instead of screaming…”

Suddenly, Nelli stirred in his lap, her brow furrowing in her sleep as a sharp twitch ran through her body. A soft, tiny whine escaped her lips, and her hand clawed weakly at Dean’s shirt as she tried to shift away from the dull, throb in her ribs.

“Shh, easy, kiddo, easy,” Dean whispered instantly, his voice dropping into a gentle, soothing rhythm. He adjusted his grip, supporting her back without putting any pressure near the bandage. He rocked her slightly, pressing his cheek against the top of her head. “I gotcha. You're okay, short stack. Go back to sleep.”

Nelli let out a soft, shuddering sigh, her body relaxing back against his chest as the tension faded from her face.

Sam watched them, a small, sad smile touching his lips. “She really does think you're invincible, you know. That's why she jumped in. Kid just wanted to help you, she never considered that if she’s in danger we wouldn’t give a damn about what happens to us and just go and help her instead. But in her mind it’s like nothing can happen to us…”

“I don't care if she thinks I'm Batman,” Dean murmured, gently smoothing a stray lock of hair off her forehead. “I should’ve made things clear from the start. I should’ve done so many things differently, now that I think about it” he laughed ironically at himself when he said the last part.

“I’m sure, Dean, but with the way we were raised, it’s not an easy thing to do,” Sam said, sighing.

Sam would’ve known about doing things differently. That’s what he has been about his whole life, yet it got him nowhere.

Nelli shifted again, letting out a quiet sigh in her sleep, her hand curling tightly into the front of Dean's shirt. Dean just tightened his hold around her, keeping her warm, safe, and right where she belonged.

A sudden gasp echoed through the quiet motel room as Nelli snapped awake, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

In her dream the creature’s claws were striking down on Sam, and Dean was lying motionless on the dark warehouse floor while her brothers' harsh, angry voices from the car ride echoed endlessly in her head.

“What goes through your head? You could’ve ended up dead!”

Nelli jolted upright, but the sudden movement pulled violently on the fresh stitches along her side. A sharp, white-hot spike of pain shot through her torso, forcing a small, strangled cry out of her throat as she collapsed back against the pillows, clutching her ribs.

“Hey, hey, whoa! Easy, kid, I got you,”

Dean was instantly right there. In a heartbeat, his arms were around her, gently pulling her up into his chest while being ridiculously careful not to touch her bandaged side.

“Breathe, Nels, just breathe,” Dean murmured, his voice soft and steady as he rocked her slightly. “You're at the motel. You're safe. Sammy's right over there, I'm right here. It was just a dream.”

Nelli buried her face into the crook of Dean's neck, her small shoulders trembling violently as tears hot and fast spilled over her cheeks. The physical throbbing in her side was bad enough, tight, itchy, and pulling painfully with every breath, but the raw fear and guilt were so so much worse.

“De…” she sobbed, her voice tiny and broken. “I'm sorry... I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be stupid... I couldn't stop hearing you guys yelling…”

Dean felt a knot tighten in his gut. He wrapped his arm a little tighter around her back, resting his chin against the top of her head.

“Shh, no, stop that right now,” Dean said, dropping all his usual gruffness as he began outright pampering her. He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a glass of water with a straw and holding it up for her. “Take a sip of this first. Come on, squirt.”

Nelli took a few shaky sips through the straw, her hands still clutching Dean's shirt sleeve like a lifeline.

Sam couldn’t not notice how she didn’t react to the nickname, even though she usually does. She always tells Dean to not call her ‘squirt’, and he does it to annoy her, mostly. Not now, though.

“Listen to me, Nelli,” Dean murmured, setting the glass down and gently brushing the hair off her sweaty forehead with his thumb. “Forget everything we said in the car. We were angry, we were scared out of our minds, and we were total idiots for laying into you. You hear me? Total idiots.”

Sam, who had woken up the second Nelli gasped, moved softly over to the side of the bed, handing Dean a warm, damp washcloth and a small bottle of pain meds.

“He's right, Nels,” Sam said softly, crouching down next to the bed so he was at eye level with her. He reached out, gently patting her leg over the blanket. “You saved our lives back there. We were just panicked because we love you and we hate seeing you in danger. We're not mad at you.”

Dean took the warm cloth and tenderly wiped the tears and sweat from Nelli's face, his green eyes full of quiet affection. He popped open the pain medicine, coaxing her to take it to dull the sharp sting pulling at her skin.

“Stitches suck, I know,” Dean whispered gently, helping her lie back down against a tower of extra pillows he’d propped up behind her. “They pull, they itch, and they hurt like a son of a bitch. I’ve got my own fair share of this, trust me, I’d know.”

Nelli let out a long, shaky breath, the tight knot of fear in her chest finally starting to loosen under Dean's warm, solid presence. She looked between Sam's apologetic smile and Dean's steady gaze, resting her head back against the soft pillows.

“Can we watch cartoons?” she asked quietly, her voice still raspy.

“You got it, kiddo,” Dean smiled, grabbing the remote and kicking his boots off to stretch out on the bed right beside her, keeping a protective arm draped lightly over her shoulders. Sam was quick to sit on her other side, handing her a bag of popcorn that he bought yesterday while dean was out to get pie.

“Anything you want.” answered the eldest brother.

A/N: spending my free days working on the requests I got, and I have to say it’s so fun!!! I’ve got a few done, now I just edit those one last time before I post them.

I’ll post those that are done over the next 3 or so days, and I’m so excited cause I loved writing them!! Everyone had very cool ideas, can’t wait to share them with you

Really hope you like this one!

Taglist: @goddess-of-spring @moosewithabackstory @lexipaige0 @ontheboundmp4

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Mal 🤝 Max

Descendants characters (whose names start with Ma) that make me wanna die my hair purple

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Okay update: I did it! (Just temporary highlights and they didn’t turn out crazy bright because I don’t want to bleach my hair, but I’m still freaking out about how much I love it)

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

I wonder if you're going to make a new post?

I have a handful of drafts right now, it’s just about finishing them 😅. I don’t have a posting schedule or anything, I just post when I finish things

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Mal 🤝 Max

Descendants characters (whose names start with Ma) that make me wanna die my hair purple

[hitchell-mope]

I will never understand how mutilating himself so that Neal did not grow up without a father makes him a coward.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

I could literally write an essay about how Rumplestiltskin was not in the wrong for this, starting with

1) he was making sure his son had a dad

2) everyone going out to fight the ogres was literally just cannon fodder

And most importantly 3) the day after Rumplestiltskin became the dark one, the ogres war ended. Since the previous dark one was under control of the king, that means the king purposefully kept the war going (probably to collect more taxes if I had to guess)

[notonlymice]

12 favourite rumbelle quotes from 1x12 [part 4/12]

[wastingstarsss]

Some funny character chart alignments with my fave different ‘parts’ of Rumple. Featuring: pre-spinner knight rumple, spinner rumple, new dark one rumple, insane impy rumple, mr gold, goldstiltskin, trapped zelena tortured mr gold, weaver, and heaven/afterlife rumple. I love to see how his character changes and evolves, which is why I included so many versions of him!

Additional: I have my reasonings for each position on each alignment so if anyone wants to hear my thoughts, lmk!!! I will ramble!!!

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

I’m back on my ouat obsession, and I found these funnier than I should have. No notes, these are perfect

[musubi05]

10 people I'd like to get to know ✍️ thank you for the tag @officallyunstable

Last song: Headed North by Noah Kahan

Currently watching: Love Island, SPN again with friends (so proud of myself for getting them hooked), whatever anime I can get my hands on

Current obsessions: Video games

Currently reading: I swap between books A LOT since I can't focus on one, but right now it's The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Currently working on: A half-sister fic that was requested, but Sam and Dean don't know about her

Currently wearing: 1967 Ford Bronco car shirt and some sweatpants (i just woke up)

Last Google search: Baby Bratz movies (I was going down the rabbit hole of past childhood movies)

Flower: Hibiscus

Taglist: @samlou @amentiaewrites @ambiguous-avery @captonite @studiogrimm810 @winchesters-favorite-girl @redbird-tf @jasmines-library @marvelfanfn2187a113 @k-winchester

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Oooh I love this!

Last song: probably something by Taylor swift? I was listening to Castles Crumbling because I’m making a music video with it, so let’s go with that. (Oh but PS, if any of my SPN followers want song recs that remind me of Sam and Dean, try out Let it Die, My Demons, Die for You, and Monster by STARSET)

Currently watching: Superman & Lois and Switched at Birth

Current obsessions: I’m trying to get better at my ASL, and I’ve also been obsessively painting lately

Currently reading: The Maze Runner (audiobook) and The School for Good and Evil (book 3)

Currently working on: honestly I think I have like 4 half finished fics right now. One is the next chapter in Uncaged, 1 is a Russel Shaw fic, one is a Soldier Boy fic, and I think there’s a couple more honestly 😅. I’m also kinda trying to write a book on the side.

Currently wearing: a Disney villains t shirt that I got from goodwill and a pair of shorts.

Last google search: Princess diaries 3 (still waiting for that one)

Flower: uugggghhh don’t make me pick (lilies? Tulips? Peonies? Honestly depends on the day, if someone’s gonna give me flowers I honestly like those bouquets with like 5 different kinds. I also just kinda prefer to see flowers out in the wild, they always die so fast in my house)

Taglist:

@navs-bhat @casmustdiee @redbird-tf @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @inlovewhithafairytale @tell-elle @deadlymistletoe @nyotamalfoy @s0urw00lf @studiogrimm810

[fanfics4all]

Broken, Bruised, Alive

Request: Yes / No 

Requests are open, but for anything I write for but Riverdale, I’m not feeling much inspo for that right now! <3 Have a nice day/night

Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader

Sam Winchester x Sister!Reader

John Winchester x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 3006  

Warnings: Kidnapped, blood, torture, supernatural stuff 

Y/N: Your Name 

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 

Masterlist 

If you enjoy my work, you could also show support by buying me a coffee! 

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

*3rd Person POV*

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

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

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

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

“Dad says a lot of things.” 

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

“Watch the attitude.” John warned. 

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

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

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

“Thanks, baby girl.” 

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

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

“You finish your research?” John asked Sam.

“Almost.” Sam answered without looking up. 

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

“Anything useful?” 

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

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

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

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

Dean frowned immediately. “Tonight?” 

“Yes, tonight.” 

“It’s pouring outside.” 

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

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

“Okay.” He muttered. 

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

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

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

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

Dean bumped her shoulder gently. “Hey.” 

She looked up. 

“We got you.” 

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

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

“Circle up!” John barked. 

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

“MOVE!” 

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

“Y/N!?” 

The smoke thickened unnaturally. 

Dean scrambled up, coughing hard. “SAM!” 

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

“NO!” 

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

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

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

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

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

“That doesn’t make this okay!” 

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

“She’s alive.” John said roughly. 

“How do you know?” Dean demanded. 

John swallowed hard. “They want something.” 

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

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

John nodded once. 

“They know we have it.” 

Dean stopped pacing. 

“So they took her to trade” 

“Or bait.” Sam muttered darkly. 

John’s jaw clenched.

Nobody spoke for several seconds. 

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

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

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

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

“That’s adorable.” 

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

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

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

Her heart twisted painfully. 

Dean. 

Sam. 

Dad. 

“They’ll find me.” She whispered. 

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

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

She glared silently. 

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

“And that makes you useful.” 

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

“Don’t.” She breathed. 

He smiled. “Don’t what?” 

Then the beating stared. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

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

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

“We’ll get her back.” 

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

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

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

Y/N’s head lifted weakly. “What?” 

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

Rage flared through her exhaustion instantly. 

“Don’t talk about them.” 

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

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

“You humans break so easy.” 

She gasped painfully, vision swimming. 

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

The demon smiled coldly. “Maybe.” 

Then he punched her again. 

------------------------------------------------------------

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

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

Dean blinked. 

John stared ahead through the windshield. 

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

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“She still hates storms.” Sam said softly. 

John nodded. 

Silence again. 

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

“If they hurt her…” 

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

Sam and Dean believed him. 

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

“Y/N!” 

“DEAN!” 

Alive. 

She was alive. 

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

“Baby…” 

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

God… 

Her voice… 

Tiny and shaking. 

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

“Well, family reunion.” He drawled. 

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

The demon smirked. “You first.” 

John stepped forward slowly. 

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

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

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

“That protective streak? Definitely inherited.” 

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

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

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

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

“Dad…” 

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

“They hurt you.” Sam whispered. 

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

“I’m okay.” 

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

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

“Possible concussion too.” 

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

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

Dean’s throat closed painfully. 

“Always.” He said immediately. 

“Every time.” Sam added. 

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

“Dean, get her out.” 

“What about-” 

“GO!” 

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

“Sorry, sorry, sorry-” 

“It’s okay.” She whispered weakly. 

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

--------------------------------------------------------------------

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

“Sorry.” Dean muttered immediately. 

“It’s okay. 

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

“All done, sweetheart.” 

“Thanks, Sammy.” 

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

“You hungry?” 

She hesitated. “A little.” 

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

“I’ll help.” Sam added. 

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

“I’m sorry…” Y/N whispered. 

John looked horrified. “For what?” 

“They took me to get to you.” 

Pain crossed his face instantly. 

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

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

John’s jaw tightened. “I know.” 

“I didn’t tell them anything.” 

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

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

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

“I know, princess.” 

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

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

John closed his eyes hard. 

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

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

“You were brave.” 

“They hurt me and I-” 

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

“I’m okay now.” 

John covered her hand with his own instantly. 

“You scared the hell outta me.” 

A tiny watery smile appeared. “Sorry.” 

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

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

“Dean?” 

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

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

“Wow, no room left for me?” 

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

“C’mere, Sammy.” 

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

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

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

Dean, the boy forced to grow up too fast. 

Sam, the son who always felt second place. 

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

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

“You did good.” John said quietly. 

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

“Both of you.” 

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

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @princessjayll @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

I’m rewatching season 1 of supernatural again (as one does) and I had this thought that I decided to torture you guys with.

How long do you think it took for Sam to stop saying

“I’m Sam, and this is my broth—“

Every time he introduced himself after season 15.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

The Boys Masterlist

Billy Butcher & daughter!reader

Monster

Soldier Boy & reader (platonic)

TBD

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

omg i saw your post about the boys!!!

i have an idea:

idk how far you are so ill keep it vague but maybe one where he’s genuinely doing something monstrous and going far off the reservation, and she has to reign him back in!!

I actually binged a ton today and I’m totally caught up! (I’ll still probably avoid season 5 stuff on here for now, I don’t want to spoil it for anyone else)

Thanks for the ask! This is my first time writing Billy Butcher, and it was fun!

Post by @marvelfanfn2187a113 · 1 image

💬 0  🔁 0  ❤️ 0 · Monster · Billy Butcher & daughter!reader Description: Billy Butcher is blinded by revenge. It’s gonna take his daughter t

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Monster

Billy Butcher & daughter!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Description: Billy Butcher is blinded by revenge. It’s gonna take his daughter to bring him back.

Warnings: Billy’s going dark side, nothing from season 5, maybe a little ooc because this fic is PG and the boys is…well, you know)

There was one person on earth who could reign Butcher in during the years he thought Becca was dead. Just one.

It had started when you were five. He’d left you with a neighbor, just for a few weeks, while he went to deal with a little trouble overseas.

He came back to find out that the old lady had been buying you Homelander crap and basically brainwashing you.

He only stopped yelling when he noticed that you’d disappeared. It took him about ten minutes to find you, nearly 30 feet up in the air sitting in a tree.

“Oi!” Butcher yelled. “What’re you doin’ up there? D’you think you’re a bird or something?”

You didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge him.

“You fall out that tree, you’re dead!” Butcher yelled. “Come down, now!”

You moved just enough to shake your head.

“Kids,” Butcher grumbled.

But then the branch broke. Butcher’s breath caught in his throat as he lurched forward, knowing he couldn’t make it in time.

Your little hands stuck out in front of you, and your descent came to a halt as you gripped onto another branch. By the time Butcher was under the tree, you were swinging yourself up to sit on the branch that had saved your life. It was an impressive feat.

You climbed down slowly, hand-under-hand. Once you were within reach, Butcher offered up his hands to catch you.

“I can do it,” you sniffled. Butcher didn’t put down his hands.

“I know you can.” The respect in Butcher’s eyes was genuine. “Don’t mean you gotta.”

Your eyes met Butcher’s for a split second before you let go of the branch, dropping right into Butcher’s waiting arms.

“I reckon you are a lit’l bird after all, eh?” Butcher kept his voice light, but his arms were tight around you as his mind whirled through what could’ve happened.

“Are you done being mad now?” Your voice was muffled as you ducked your head against Butcher’s shoulder. He could feel your little heart beating against his chest at a mile a minute.

“Yeh.” Butcher swallowed. “Yeah, I’m done bein’ mad now. If you’re done climbing trees and givin’ your old man a heart attack. Sound like a deal, lit’ bird?”

You stuck your little pinkie out at Butcher, and he shook it with his own.

“Deal.”

…

You were never supposed to see.

Everything in Butcher’s life was compartmentalized—Lenny was the part of his past he didn’t think about, Becca was the part of his mind he let in when he was trying to do something good, and the boys were the part of his life that got to see Butcher at his worst. But not you.

It was never supposed to be you. Butcher kept you in a carefully controlled box—metaphorically, of course, although sometimes he thought about making it literal when he was being particularly paranoid. You were the part of him that never got to see the darkness. Considering there was a whole lot of darkness, that meant sometimes Butcher had to hide you away from him.

You resented him for it, but never for long. You were too good to stay mad at him for long, too soft. It only stood to strengthen Butcher’s resolve that he had to keep you away. He couldn’t be the one to harden that softness, or to get you hurt. If he did, then he really would be the irredeemable monster he already thought he might be.

As long as you kept that sparkle in your eyes, then Butcher would have left this world with something good in it. But things were never that simple.

He was dying. And the V he had taken to try and stop it had only managed to make it happen faster. He was deeply afraid that it had also given him some kind of uncontrollable power—he had killed a man without even being conscious—but he couldn’t let that fear show. Ever. There was too much work to do.

So he worked. And for you and Becca, he tried to do it the right way. He tried to ignore the surprisingly potent voice in his head that told him to go dark side, to do whatever it took.

But then his last chance—Ryan—killed Mallory and walked away. Butcher was out of options. The right way wasn’t working, and he couldn’t die while Homelander was still alive.

He told himself it was to protect you, and maybe it was. But he couldn’t deny that revenge would be sweet. He couldn’t deny how tempting the darkness was.

You weren’t supposed to be there when it happened. He’d left you in a dingy little apartment that he rented just so he had a place to hide you. You weren’t supposed to be in the warehouse that the boys were using as a makeshift supe-killer-virus-making lab.

So when Butcher finally let loose the power that had been growing in him, he didn’t hold back. Not even when tentacles tore from his chest and latched onto his prey. Not even when Hughie begged him to stop. Not even when he had to knock a kid away so he could kill her mom.

This had to be done. For you. For him.

For a long moment, the only sound that could be heard was Victoria Neuman’s blood dripping from the ceiling. Butcher felt a smirk creep its way onto his face.

“What did you do?” M.M. snapped, stepping forward to challenge Butcher. Butcher let one of his tentacles reach out, about to wrap around M.M.’s neck…

It felt good to let go.

“Dad?”

It was the ghost of a sound. A voice that sounded more whimper than whisper.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

The smirk vanished from Butcher’s face. His heart started pounding before he even saw you, because he knew that voice better than any sound in the world, and it had never sounded so scared before.

He found you as soon as he turned his head. You looked wrong here. You looked out of place, like a butterfly in a dark cemetery. You must’ve been far across the room, because even surrounded by blood and guts, you were untouched. Except for your eyes, which held a fragile sort of terror, like what had happened was so unbelievably violent that you weren’t sure if it had really happened.

The tentacles started to disappear back into Butcher’s chest, but they couldn’t retreat fast enough. Butcher watched your eyes travel down to the monstrous weapon before you snapped your attention back to Butcher’s face. You were shaking now, your arms and legs trembling and your eyes shining.

Butcher staggered back, suddenly hyper aware of the blood on his face and the murder in his eyes. He had done it—the thing he had sworn to himself and to Becca’s grave that he would never do—he had hurt you.

…

You weren’t stupid. You knew what your dad did, knew what it meant when he came home to you with stained hands and the weight of the world in his eyes.

But you didn’t think it would look like this. He went too far sometimes. He was cranky and overprotective and sometimes he slammed things when he got mad. If you were deeply honest with yourself—which you never were—then you would admit that it scared you. Instead, you pretended not to see it, and when you hid in your room sometimes just to avoid being in a room stuffed with anger, you told yourself you were just giving him space.

He didn’t hurt you. He would never hurt you, you knew that. But your dad came from a broken world, and lived in a broken world. His own dad used to drink too much and beat his kids, and even though Butcher made it his life goal to be different, sometimes the anger took over.

He never hit you, but you’d watched him fix the same cabinet three different times after he sobered up from drunken rages. He never killed in front of you, but you’d learned at a young age how to get blood out of clothes. He never wanted to hurt you, but he locked you up in that awful apartment any time he was scared of his enemies.

You loved your dad more than anything in the world, but you weren’t stupid. You knew what he was.

But you’d never expected to see it. And you’d never expected it to go this far.

“Dad?” You’d planned on your voice being clear and demanding, but it came out weak. Still, it had the effect you wanted. The tentacles that had blasted out of your father’s chest were retreating, and the murderous lust in his eyes was going with it.

Your eyes wandered to the tentacles, but you couldn’t look at them, so you looked back into your father’s face. But it was too late—the sight had shaken you, and the blood splattered across Butcher’s face didn’t help. You tried to take a step, and you realized your knees were shaking so hard that you could hardly stand.

“Ey lit’l bird,” Butcher croaked. The nickname had never sounded so fragile before. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You don’t have to do this.” With two steps, you were between Butcher and M.M. You could almost see him out of the corner of your eye, you knew he wanted to attack your dad, but you hoped stepping between them would stop him. M.M. may have been willing to risk his own life to go after Butcher, but you didn’t think he’d risk yours.

“You don’t gotta clue what’s going on here,” Butcher said. “You don’t understand what it’ll take to stop Homelander.”

“This isn’t about Homelander.” You took another step closer to your dad. “This is about you not becoming a monster.”

…

Butcher finally let the smirk return to his face at your words, but it was wavering and painful.

“It’s too late for that.”

“No it’s not.” Your voice was getting stronger, and your legs had stopped shaking. “Not if you don’t hurt your friends.”

“I won’t hurt ‘em if they stay outta my way.”

“You shouldn’t hurt them even if they don’t.” You were close to Butcher now, closer than he thought you would get.

“You gotta stay out of this kid,” Butcher pleaded.

“I can’t.” Your hand reached out and latched onto Butcher’s arm.

“And why’s that?” Butcher tried to stare you down, but you wouldn’t look away. Why weren’t you scared of him?

“Because I love you. And I don’t want you to go this way—you can be better than this, I know you can. Please Daddy—“ you hadn’t called him that in years. “Please stand down.”

Butcher’s once-tense shoulders were drooping, his resolve slipping.

“You’re gonna let that little girl stop you from killing Homelander?” Joe—or rather, the voice in Butcher’s head that looked like Joe—snapped. “She doesn’t understand what it’ll take. She’s too soft. You let her grow up soft, and now you’re letting her make you soft.”

Butcher’s eyes started to drift toward the voice.

“Dad?”

His attention snapped back to you.

“Please. If not for you, then for me. Stand down.”

“Don’t let her do this to you,” Joe raged. “Don’t let—“

But Butcher wasn’t listening anymore.

“It’s not too late for you, Dad. You can still do the right thing, and—and I’ll help you.” Your voice was strong, but tears were starting to drip down your face. “You don’t have to be a monster.”

“And what do you call these tentacles, eh?” Butcher challenged, but his tone was soft.

“I don’t care about those. It doesn’t matter what power you have, it only matters what you do with it.”

“You sound like Becca.” Butcher’s voice caught on the last word.

“One of us has to.”

Butcher lifted his hand and touched it to your face, only now noticing that his hands were shaking.

“I never—“ Butcher choked, but kept going. “I never meant for you to see all that. I wanted to keep you safe.”

“You have.” The quaver was back in your voice, and Butcher could see your focus slipping as your eyes drifted to the carnage around you. “I’m—I’m okay.” But you were shaking again. “But I—Dad, I wanna go home. Can we go home now?” Your eyes met Butcher’s as tears dripped down your quivering chin.

“I—“ Butcher’s eyes lifted over the top of your head to look at his boys.

“Homelander’s not going anywhere yet,” Hughie said. “I think we could all use a day to…regroup.” Butcher knew Hughie was holding it together for you, and he was grateful for it.

“Dad?”

“Yeah.” Butcher wiped a tear off your cheek. “Course we can go home lit’l bird.”

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and guided you to the door. Once he had you safely away from the gore, he risked a glance at you. You were looking at him with a strange tenseness, but when he offered you a smile, you returned it weakly.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Butcher promised.

And when your eyes twinkled at his words, Butcher found that he suddenly believed what he was saying.

Because if you could see all that and still have that glow in your eyes…

Then maybe he’d leave this world with something good in it after all.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

oh em geez have you thought of writing hold me but sam vers?

Okay so I’m like pretty sure this fic past the statute of limitations or whatever, but…

Better late than never?? I guess?

Anyway this was super fun to write, I love my boy Sammy.

Post by @marvelfanfn2187a113 · 1 image

💬 0  🔁 0  ❤️ 0 · Find Me (Hold Me: Sam’s version) · Sam Winchester & little sister!reader Requested by @outof-spite Synopsis: times Sam co

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Find Me (Hold Me: Sam’s version)

Sam Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @outof-spite

Synopsis: times Sam comforts you because of John

A/N: Sound off if you’re still alive! The semester is kicking my butt, but I’m graduating in a couple weeks! In the meantime enjoy a fic

For as long as you could remember, it had been you and Sam against the world.

Of course, John and Dean would say it was the Winchesters against the world. They had a point—the four of you had faced some of the nastiest evils of the world together.

But still, there was something special about your connection with Sam, starting all the way back to when an old acquaintance of John’s dropped you off at the motel doorstep. It had been back during the times when Sam wasn’t old enough to hunt, so he got left alone in the motel all the time. He was having a particularly lonely weekend when he decided to step out of the motel room for some air. That was strictly against the rules, but he was so sick of John and Dean ditching him that he didn’t care about John’s rules. It was a good thing he didn’t, because that’s when he found you, in a tiny basket and all bundled up in a green blanket.

What followed was two days of trial-and-error in Baby Care 101 for Sam. It was a good thing that whoever dropped you off left some formula and a binky, or Sam might not have made it.

The first day went as well as could be expected with a ten-year-old boy watching an infant. But during the first night, Sam really started to feel like he might lose his mind.

At around 3 in the morning, Sam was getting sick of making shushing and cooing sounds—they weren’t helping anyway, because you wouldn’t stop crying. Finally, he gave up on the baby voice entirely and just started talking to you. He was barely halfway through a rant about how much he hated being left alone, when he realized you’d stopped crying.

“Guess I just needed to talk to you, huh?” Sam asked gently. His arms tightened subconsciously around you when you started to squirm, and the warmth of his arms settled you. “You know,” he said, lowering his voice when he saw your eyes start to droop. “I never thought I’d want a little sister. But I think you and me are gonna be friends.”

…

John was angry again. Sam could hardly blame his father this time—Sam had been bating him into a fight for days now. He wasn’t even sure why, other than he was frustrated, and it was coming out in snippy comments and angry glares at his dad. And John had had enough.

Sam was used to being yelled at. He never got along with his dad, and he was so stubborn that he never backed down from a fight, not since the sixth grade. He knew how to yell right back, and he almost always did.

But when John stormed out of the motel room for some air and all Sam could hear was your stifled crying, he suddenly regretted angering his dad.

It took Sam a while to find you. You had gotten good at hiding when you were scared. Sam wasn’t sure if you’d developed the habit to get away from the anger of the men around you, or because you’d snooped in John’s journal and seen all the monster drawings, but either way the fact that you thought you needed to hide left a painful feeling in Sam’s gut.

He finally found you wedged in a corner between a large cabinet and the wall. He would’ve thought the space was too small for you, but you were full of surprises.

Sam didn’t try to pull you out. Instead, he sat down on the floor a few feet away from your hiding spot and did what he did best.

“Hey there,” Sam greeted, his voice much more gentle than it had been a few minutes ago. “You wanna come out?”

Your hair fluttered around your face as you shook your head.

“C’mon kid.” Dean reached a hand down and touched your shoulder. Sam had forgotten he was still in the room. “It’s all good out here, come on out.”

You flinched away from Dean’s touch, burrowing further into your hiding space.

“Hey Dean, why don’t you give us a minute?” Sam suggested. Dean looked from his little brother to you—at 19, he considered himself an adult, and responsible for his young and immature little siblings—and seemed to dislike Sam’s suggestion.

“She can’t stay wedged in there all night,” Dean argued.

“She won’t,” Sam promised. “Just give us a minute, ok? Go find Dad or something.” At 15, Sam was sick of Dean trying to tell him what to do just because he was older.

“Fine,” Dean grumbled, grabbing the keys to his recently gifted-from-John Impala and heading for the door. “But I’ll be back in twenty minutes tops, and she better not still be stuck in there.”

Sam rolled his eyes right as the door was closing, before turning his attention back on you.

“You don’t have to come out if you don’t want to,” he said gently. “I know you get scared when we fight. But we’re done, I promise.”

You didn’t come out, but you lifted your head enough to look at Sam.

“Why do you guys have to get so mad all the time?” You mumbled.

Sam sighed. “Me and dad…we just don’t understand each other. But you don’t have to be scared. We’ll be okay, we always are.”

“But you’re gonna leave.” Sam watched tears build up behind your eyes before you turned your head into your shoulder and scooted further into your hiding place. “You always wanna leave after a fight. I don’t want you to leave, I don’t wanna be here alone! I—“ You couldn’t continue after this, because the tears were coming in full force.

Sam watched, his heart sinking, as you sobbed into your knees. He started to realize just how often he ranted to you about wanting to set out on his own—and what those rants meant to you. He wanted so badly to turn 18 and go away to college, to get away from the hunting life, that he hadn’t stopped to think what that meant for you; sitting alone in a hotel room, waiting for Dean and Dad to get home from a hunt.

Just like Sam used to do. Just like Sam hated.

“Hey,” Sam said gently, scooting closer to you until he was leaning against the cabinet you were hiding behind. “Hey, it’s ok. Listen—I’m not going away. Not—not right now, anyway. Not for a long time.”

You didn’t answer, but your sobs had somewhat faded.

“I’m not gonna walk out just because of a fight. You don’t have to worry about that.”

You wiped your sleeve over your face.

“But you are—gonna leave,” you hiccuped.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Sam repeated. “You’re stuck with me for a while, okay?”

Your head bobbed in an almost-unnoticeable nod. Sam relaxed somewhat against the cabinet he was leaning on, and he let silence reign for several seconds. When it seemed that you still weren’t ready to come out from behind the cabinet, he started speaking again.

“You know, just because we fight all the time, doesn’t mean we’re not family. I still love Dad…and I know you do too.”

You mulled his words over for a few seconds before answering.

“I do. But it’s not the same as with you. Daddy and Dean go away all the time, but you don’t.”

Sam grimaced. “That’s just because Dad doesn’t want me to…” he swallowed. Sam knew you snooped a lot, but he still wasn’t sure just how much you knew about hunting. “To work with him yet. When he does, I’ll have to go on the trips with them.”

Sam started to pick at his hands. Would you still be this close to him if you thought he was abandoning you like Dean and Dad?

“I know,” you mumbled. “But…it’s not just that.” You scooted closer to Sam, almost out of your corner. “You talk to me, and you listen. Dad and Dean don’t talk to me like you do.”

Sam knew what you meant. They talked to you like they thought you were too young to understand. And when you talked about your problems, they never seemed to get it, because your problems were that of a five-year-old, and hunters had enough to worry about.

Sam didn’t understand that. Telling you everything was the most natural thing in the world to him, and helping you solve your problems was a welcomed distraction from his own mountainous struggles.

The part of his life where he sat alone in motel rooms for days on end was a past he didn’t have to think about anymore, and the coming certainty of being forced to join in on hunts was a future he didn’t want to consider. For now, it was just you and him, and that was all he wanted.

“I’m always gonna listen to you,” Sam said. “I promise.”

At this, you emerged fully from your hiding place. You scooted over to where Sam was sitting and wrapped your arms around him.

“I know.”

When John and Dean returned later that night, they found the two of you sitting cross-legged on the couch, facing each other and whispering like every word you spoke was a sacred promise that no one else was allowed to hear.

Because it was.

…

Sam had a bag slung over his shoulder, a college flyer crumpled in his fist, and a problem. He couldn’t find you.

You weren’t in the rented cabin that Sam wasn’t allowed back in. You’d ran out when Dad had started shouting. Sam had been too preoccupied with packing a bag to stop you.

It was finally the day. Freedom was right in Sam’s grasp, he should feel light as a feather, but all he could think about was that he couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to you. No matter how much he wanted to get away from hunting, to get away from John, you didn’t deserve that.

“If you walk out that door, don’t you come back!”

John’s words echoed in Sam’s head. Sam shuddered, not entirely from the cold. He rubbed the goosebumps on his arms, trying to ignore the urge to run that was bubbling up inside him. He couldn’t go until he found you.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Sam’s attention. The Impala was parked on the side of the road, and he couldn’t swear he saw something move inside it.

Sam strode to the car, trying to think of something to say to you, which was a new problem for him—he always knew what to say to you.

He found you where he knew he would, curled up in the passenger seat of the Impala—Sam’s spot, which felt significant to him for some reason.

“Are you done fighting?” Your forehead was pressed against your knees, and you didn’t look up when you spoke.

“Yeah.” Sam swallowed. “Yeah, we’re done.”

Your voice was noticeably thicker when you spoke again.

“You’re leaving now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I’m leaving.”

“Please don’t go.” You lifted your tear-stained face, and it was Sam’s turn to look away.

“Kiddo, you know I have to go. I’m going to college, and—“

“Take me with you!” You were tugging on Sam’s arm now, trying to get him to look at you. “We can go together.”

“Kid—“ Sam didn’t want you to see the tears forming in his eyes, but he couldn’t look away from you. He blinked rapidly, and forced more words out. “I—I can’t. I can’t look out for you like they can.”

“But you always look out for me!” You pleaded. “Sam please. I don’t wanna be alone all the time.”

“You won’t,” Sam soothed. “It’s gonna be just like now. Dad and Dean gonna go on hunts sometimes, but they’ll come back.”

“But they don’t talk to me like you do,” you sniffled. “And they’re gonna be mad now. They’re always mad when they’re sad.”

“What?”

“Dad and Dean. They always get mad when you talk about sad stuff, like mom, or—or when you talk about leaving.” You picked at your fingers as you spoke, and Sam grimaced when he saw tears dripping on your hands. “They don’t like being sad, so they get mad instead. If you leave, they’re always gonna be sad.”

Sam would’ve rather swallowed a cactus than swallowed your words. He let them hang in the air, unsure and unfettered. He wasn’t sure what to think of this new perspective you’d given him, so he decided to bat it away instead. You were more important now.

“They won’t always be sad, okay? You just—you just need to talk to them about something else. They’ll talk to you, just give them time.” Sam could think of nothing more unfair than placing the burden of your relationship with your father and older brother on you, but he didn’t see any other options.

Not when he wasn’t sure if he’d ever talk to John and Dean again.

“Just don’t talk about me,” Sam added. “Then they won’t get so sad.”

“But—“ your breath was starting to pick up again as your tears flowed freely. “But I don’t wanna forget you like I forgot my mom. Or like you forgot your mom.”

Sam’s heart felt like it was going to eat itself.

“You won’t forget me, kid. Listen, when Dad and Dean leave you alone, you can call me. Any time. I’ll talk to you, I promise. But you shouldn’t tell Dad or Dean. It might make them sad, okay?”

“You promise you’ll answer?”

Sam tugged you into his arms. “Of course I promise.” He pulled away slowly. “Hey, I’ve got something for you.” Sam reached into his bag and retrieved a sketchbook, then held it out for you. “I’ve been saving it for you. It’s…it’s for whatever. You can put anything in it—drawings, photos, writing, whatever. If you have something to say and no one’s listening, just put it in here.”

You took the book with hesitant, shaking hands.

“I’m scared,” you whimpered.

“Hey.” Sam tilted your chin up and wiped your tears away with his thumbs. “Me too.”

“Really?” You grabbed onto Sam’s fingers with your hands.

“Yeah, really. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you.”

You reached up, brushing away tears on Sam’s face that he hadn’t realized were there.

“Don’t be scared, Sammy. I’ll call you, I promise.”

A smile cracked on Sam’s face, and he pulled you in for another hug.

“Thanks kid.”

…

You were lost again, and this time, Sam had looked everywhere. The Impala, every inch of the motel room, even nearby parks—you were nowhere.

“Maybe she went to Dad’s grave,” Dean suggested in a heavy voice.

Sam didn’t think so. It had been a week since John died, and you hadn’t even been able to talk about him like he was dead. You were still saying “Dad is,” instead of “Dad was,” and any time anyone mentioned the day he died, you went quiet. Sam didn’t think you were ready to visit the grave. But Dean had given him a different idea.

“Maybe she forgot something at the hospital. It’s not far, she could’ve walked.”

“She would’ve just told us she forgot something.” Dean shook his head. “I say we go to Dad’s grave.”

But something about the hospital was nagging at Sam’s mind, and it wouldn’t leave him alone. He didn’t know why, but he knew he had to look there.

“You go to Dad’s grave. I’m gonna walk to the hospital,” Sam decided, walking out of the motel room before Dean could argue with him.

Sam’s memory led him through the wings of the hospital, horrible images flashing into his head.

Doctors running.

Nurses shouting.

John, laying so still on the floor.

He pushed the memories away when he rounded the corner and saw you, sitting on a chair in the waiting room, knees curled up to your chest.

Sam approached you slowly, like he wasn’t sure what you would do. The seat next to you was empty, so he took it.

“There’s someone new in his room,” you mumbled. “I couldn’t go in.”

“There’s nothing in there for you,” Sam said gently. You hummed in acknowledgment, and the two of you sat in silence for a beat.

“I couldn’t remember what I said to him,” you said at last.

“What?”

“That—that day. Before you and Dean came in, I was sitting with Dad. But…but I can’t remember the last thing I said to him, or the last thing he said. I thought if I came here, if I saw the room…I thought I might remember. But I can’t.” You sniffled. “What kind of daughter forgets her dad’s last words?” Your sentence cut off with a muffled sob as you ducked your head.

“Hey, hey—“ Sam wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “Don’t say that.”

“But I forgot,” you cried. Sam pulled you in closer.

“You had so many moments with Dad. It’s not just about the last one. That’s not all that matters.”

Sam felt you pulling away, and he let you. Tears were still streaming down your cheeks, but you took a shuddering breath and tried to ignore them. You reached under your chair and pulled out the sketchbook he had given you years ago.

“It’s weird.” You rubbed at your eyes and started to flip through the book. “I could never think of anything to say to him while he was alive. But now that he’s gone…” your flipping had stopped, and Sam could see that the most recent pages were full of text. It looked like a letter. “Now that he’s gone, I have so much I wish I could tell him.”

Sam swallowed. You were looking at him with those eyes that scared him—the ones that seemed to be begging him to fix you.

“Hey. You and Dad—just because you couldn’t always think of what to say, it doesn’t mean—he loved you, and he knew you loved him.”

“How do you know? I never told him.”

Sam shook his head. “You didn’t have to. Life’s not just all about what we say, or remembering last words. It’s about what we do. The four of us, we’d all die for each other. That counts for more than just words.”

You were looking away from Sam now, down at your hands.

“I guess,” you said. “But I think the words matter too.”

“Yeah. Yeah I guess they do.”

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

You looked up. “I love you.”

Sam smiled. “I love you too, kid.”

“Can we go find Dean now? I have something I wanna tell him.”

“I’m sure he’ll love to hear it,” Sam said. “And kiddo?”

You hummed.

“If…if you need someone to listen, instead of writing in that book, I’m always here.”

You finally smiled.

“I know. You always have been.”

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz @johannelis2302nely @studiogrimm810 @tell-elle @harlekin705 @fangirl2002

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Guys, I’ve been watching the boys (at least the parts of it I feel comfortable with between lots of skipping, I’m sure you guys know what I mean), and I just…

Like the untapped dad & daughter!reader potential this man has…

Like why are there not more fics of this?

Anyway if anybody has ideas for Billy Butcher & daughter!reader, I may possibly be open to write something