I’m opening up my inbox for standalone one-shots featuring Dean, Sam, and our girl Nelli. These are "Missing Moments" or "Alternate Universes" that focus on the moments the brothers went through while raising a little girl.
~•~ I’m open to including other characters too, such as Bobby, Jody, etc…as long as Nelli remains the main character ~•~
‼️These will be standalone pieces that aren't necessarily part of the main story, so feel free to get creative with your ideas.‼️
What I will write:
•Family dynamics
•Fluff
•Angst/comfort
•AUs ( like high school AU, for example)
What I will NOT write
•smut/romance
•no major character death (I’ve had enough of that in the show)
•no other characters or OCs (for now I’m only writing for Nelli and of course her family.)
Drop your requests in the asks and I’ll try my best to write it!
heyyy girl could you write a fic where Nellie behind on her school work, and Sam’s upset with her, but still helps her but she’s so behind she’s crying frustrated. And Dean steps in saying alright that’s enough she needs a break?
Slamming doors
The front door of the bunker slammed against the wall with enough force to send an echo down the concrete stairs.
Dean, who was currently sitting at the heavy wooden table in the main room with a half-torn hand-drawn map of one of the states in front of him, barely blinked. He took a slow sip from his warm mug of coffee, one eyebrow already arching up before his eyes even tracked to the top of the staircase.
“Well, damn. Remind me to check the hinges after that entrance,” Dean called out, not bothering to lower his voice. “Nice to see you too, Sunshine.”
Nelli didn't answer. Heavy, deliberate footsteps thudded down the metal steps, each one carrying the weight of a teenager who had reached her absolute limit for the day. She practically threw her backpack onto the nearest empty chair, so hard the pencils could be heard rattling around, and yanked her jacket off, aggressively tossing it over the back of another seat.
Sam looked up from his laptop on the other side of the table, his brow instantly furrowing as he read the room. He pushed the laptop’s screen down, watching her closely. “Hey, Nels. How was-“
“Don't,” Nelli snapped, her voice tight, cutting Sam off before he could even finish the sentence. She stalked straight toward the kitchen area, grabbing a glass from the shelf with way more force than necessary and slamming the fridge door open.
Today was about slamming doors, apparently.
Dean leaned back in his chair, a classic, infuriatingly smug grin spreading across his face. He rocked back on two legs of the chair, folding his arms over his chest.
“Oof. Someone's got a stick up their back porch,” Dean drawled, his tone dripping with classic big-brother sarcasm. “What happened, kiddo? Did one of those guys you fancy invite another girl to prom?"
Nelli slammed the juice carton onto the counter, done with her brother’s attitude. Dean knew damn well she didn’t ’fancy’ anyone at her school, but he enjoyed annoying her too much.
“Shut up, Dean.”
“Hey, watch the mouth, kid,” Dean shot back, though his grin only widened. He was thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I'm just saying, if that’s what happened you can tell us. I’m sure Sam can come up with a plan to kick his ass”
Nelli whirled around, her hands clenching into fists at her sides, her eyes flashing with pure irritation. “I said shut up! I don't need your stupid jokes right now! Just leave me alone!”
Dean rolled his eyes, dropping his chair back down on all four legs with a dull thump. He opened his mouth to make another snide remark, but as he actually looked at Nelli, really looked at her, the humor vanished from his face almost instantly.
Her shoulders were tight up near her ears, her breathing was shallow, and beneath all that teenage defensive anger, there was a raw, miserable exhaustion in her eyes. It wasn't just 'I had a bad day at school' mad. Something had actually gone sideways.
Dean dropped the playful act completely, his jaw setting. The sarcastic tone was gone, replaced by the grounded, protective voice that took over whenever one of his siblings was genuinely hurting.
“Alright, hold on,” Dean said softly, tossing his pen onto the table and standing up. He walked around the table, taking a few steps toward her, his hands resting on his hips. “Hey. Nels.”
Nelli stopped, her back still half-turned toward them, her chin tucked low.
“C’mon. Just tell us what happened, kid.”
“Nothing,” she muttered, though her voice wobbled just a tiny bit on the word, betraying her.
“Yeah, right, and I'm the king of Hell,” Dean said, his tone quiet now, devoid of any teasing. He took another step closer, leaning down slightly to try and catch her eye. “Look at me. Nelli, look at me.”
The girl hesitated for a long second before slowly turning her head to face them.
“You're practically vibrating, rugrat,” Dean murmured, his eyes scanning her face, looking for any physical sign of trouble. “Nobody gets that pissed off over nothing. Did somebody say something to you? Did someone mess with you at school?”
“Nelli, you know you can tell us,” Sam added gently, taking a step forward with his hands out in a comforting gesture. “Whatever it is, just tell us what's going on.”
Nelli held her breath for a long second, her shoulders hitching up as she squeezed her eyes shut. The tough, defensive wall she’d put up the second she walked through the door was rapidly crumbling under the weight of their attention.
She let out a harsh, frustrated breath that sounded half like a sigh and half like a groan, violently running both hands over her face.
Sam took one careful look at Nelli’s rigid stance, the fiery look in her eyes, and the crumpled piece of paper peeking out of the side pocket of her backpack.
Sam’s relaxed posture vanished in a split second. His face darkened, shifting straight into full-on stern brother mode. He set his books down on the table with a firm click and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Let me guess,” Sam said, his voice quiet, low, and completely stripped of humor. “Mr. Harrison handed back the AP History exams today.”
Nelli froze mid-stride, her grip tightening on the soda can. She tried to dodge Sam's gaze, looking everywhere except at his face. “I don't wanna talk about it.”
“Yeah, I bet you don't,” Sam said, taking a step toward her. He picked up her backpack, pulled out the crumpled sheet of lined paper, and smoothed it out with his thumb. The giant red 'D-' at the top was practically glowing. Sam let out a long, heavy breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose in sheer frustration. “Nelli... are you kidding me?”
“It was a stupid test!” Nelli snapped, her voice pitching up in defense. “The questions were totally unfair! He asked about things that weren't even in the main reading!”
“Unfair?” Sam repeated, his tone sharp. “Nelli, it was in the supplementary reading I printed out for you two weeks ago. The ones I left on your desk. I asked you about those every single night for the past ten days!”
Dean blinked, his protective, ready-for-a-fight posture faltering into sheer confusion. “Wait... school stuff? You’re this bent out of shape over... tests?”
“Do you have a problem with that, Dean?” Nelli shot back, gesturing wildly with her hands. “I don't know crap. I’m gonna fail every single one of the upcoming tests too, get kicked out of high school, and then what? I'll end up working at a pig farm.”
Dean opened his mouth, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he prepared another jab, Pig farm, huh? That's specific, but before he could get a single word out, Sam took a quick step forward and placed a firm, warning hand on Dean’s shoulder, shooting him another look that clearly said: Shut your mouth right now.
Dean closed his mouth with a quiet snap, holding up his hands in surrender as he took a step back.
Finally.
If there was one person who knew what to do in situations like this, it’d be Sam Winchester. Guy’s a damn academic weapon.
“Dean, don't,” Sam sighed without breaking eye contact with Nelli. He turned back to her, his jaw set. “You swore to me you had it under control. Every time I asked if you needed help reviewing flashcards, you gave me the whole 'I'm fine, Sam, quit smothering me' routine. And then you blow off studying all weekend to re-watch movies and scroll on your phone!”
“I was stressed out!” Nelli shouted back, her cheeks flushing bright red. “I can't spend eight hours a day at school and then come home to another four hours of your insane boot camp! I'm not you, Sam! I don't care about history crap!”
“It’s not about being me, Nelli, it’s about effort!” Sam’s voice cracked with genuine anger and worry. “You’re smart. You’re ridiculously smart! But you're lazy when it gets tough, and you just brush it off like it doesn't matter. You think grades just magically happen? You think you can coast by on charm and luck?”
Sam gestured toward Dean, who just raised his hands in a 'don't drag me into this' gesture.
“You have potential, Nelli, but you refuse to challenge yourself!” Sam continued, stepping closer, his tall frame looming as he held up the paper. “This grade isn't because you didn't understand the material. It's because you didn't put in the work. And I know you knew you weren't ready, which is why you’ve been snapping at Dean since the second you walked through that door!”
Nelli stood her ground, though her eyes were shining with a mix of anger, embarrassment, and impending tears. She shoved her hands into her hoodie pockets, glaring up at Sam with pure defiance.
“Sam, you don't get it, I studied at lunch and nothing made sense, I—“
“Nelli,” Sam interrupted, his voice low, firm, and grounding. “I think I do get it. Went to school too, remember? I know how it feels” He walked over to her abandoned backpack, picked it up, and set it carefully on the main table. He pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit down.
“Why do I even bother…” she muttered.
“What was that?! Why do you even bother, Nelli this is important stuff! Of course you should bother!”
“Well, I shouldn’t.” The teenager bit back.
“Enough with the crap, Eleanor. It’s bad enough that you decided to start studying just a few days before your exams anyway! Not to mention the grade you just got.”
“Excuse me for having other stuff to do too!” She shouted, making Sam furrow his brows.
“Actually, you don’t! You don’t come on hunts, you don’t clean, you don’t cook! Your only job is to study, which you clearly failed at by the way!”
It wasn’t a lot of times Sam got this worked up, especially with his sister. But education was extremely important to him and she just pushed his buttons.
“Sit,” Sam commanded.
Nelli hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip, but the sheer exhaustion won out. She dragged her feet over to the table and sank into the chair with a dramatic, miserable slump, resting her forehead against the wood.
Sam didn't hesitate. He unzipped her bag, pulled out her binder and her textbooks, and began neatly sorting them by subject.
“Alright,” Sam said, pulling out a yellow pad and a pen from his own stash on the table. He sounded pissed off. “First off, you need something to eat since you said you studied at lunch. Dean, go make her a sandwich or something, I don’t know.”
Dean grunted, though he was already heading toward the kitchen area. “Yeah, yeah. A cheese and ham one would be good, no? Just like when you were small.”
“I'm sixteen, Dean,” Nelli mumbled into the wooden table.
“Whatever, kid, food is food,” Dean called back, the sound of the fridge opening echoing through the room.
Sam pulled up a chair right next to Nelli and tapped the table next to her head. “Alright, up. Head off the table, Eleanor.”
She slowly lifted her head, looking up at him with tired, frustrated eyes.
“Don’t call me that!” She grunted.
“It’s your name, isn’t it?” Sam shook his head.
“You know I don’t like it! You’re just being a jerk on purpose because I didn’t study!”
That wasn’t entirely a lie. He really was mad at her for ignoring her schoolwork.
Sam flipped open her algebra book, scanning the page quickly.
He tried to calm himself down a little, so he could actually help her instead of just yelling. “It’s just algebra. We’ll write down some of the formulas you need and then you’ll try to apply them, okay? It’s easy, promise.”
“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. “You're a giant nerd who reads encyclopedias for fun. Psycho behavior”
“Language,” Sam nudged her shoulder with his. "I was sixteen once too, you know. I had to study while riding in the back of an Impala with a flashlight while your brother listened to Led Zeppelin at top volume. Trust me, if I can learn this stuff, so can you.”
He clicked his pen, sliding the yellow legal pad between them.
“So how about we start with math,” Sam said, his tone full of quiet confidence, much different than how she was at the moment. He always loved studying.
"I’ll break down the logic behind a few different types of problems, write out a cheat sheet for you, and we’ll go through practice exercises together until you can do them on your own. Then tomorrow, we tackle history.”
Dean walked back over, dropping a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich next to a regular cheese and ham sandwich and a glass of juice in front of Nelli. He leaned against the table, looking down at his brother and Nelli with a small, quiet smirk.
“Making progress?” Dean asked, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “You’ll do fine, Sam knows all the tricks, dude was a full time nerd after all.”
“I really wasn’t, Dean,” Sam said without looking up from the notepad, though his brow twitched.
”Potato, potahto,” Dean grinned, tossing a wink at Nelli. “Point is, you're fine, rugrat. You’ll pass.”
The next three hours passed in a heartbeat. Sam was trying his absolute hardest to explain algebra to his sister, who was NOT paying full attention and that annoyed him to no end.
Perhaps because helping her with homework reminded him of his own years of high school. He had a much different approach to studying and now he was facing the reality: not everyone is like him.
“I can't do this!” Nelli groaned for the fourth time, dramatically flopping her upper body onto the table so hard her head bounced off a stack of notebook paper. “My brain is fried. It’s melted into sludge, Sam. It's dead. RIP my grades.”
Sam didn't even flinch. He sat straight, flipping a pen between his fingers. He pulled the notebook out from under her forehead, smoothed out the wrinkled paper, and tapped the middle of the page with the pen's cap.
“Your brain is fine, Nels,” Sam said in that steady, low tone that allowed zero room for negotiation. “Get your head off the paper. We're doing problem number six again.”
“No!” Nelli whined, sitting up and shoving her hair back out of her face with both hands, glaring at the page like it had insulted her personally. “I’ve been looking at x and y for two hours! I don't care what x equals! X can go live in a cave for all I care!”
“Can you stop the whining? It’s not my fault you failed history! And it’s not my fault that you’re doing God knows what instead of actually studying!”
“Yeah, cause you would know! You’re always gone anyway, so why even bother?!” This time she raised her voice, or at least tried to, because it just ended up cracking trying to not burst into tears.
“Because that's what kids your age are doing, isn’t it obvious?” Her brother retorted.
“Are kids my age also dealing with vamps and spirits on a daily basis? Or is that particular?”
“What’s with all the talking back, huh? I’m trying to help you pass and all you do is throw witty comments at me”
If she wasn’t sure until this point, now she could confidently say that she got him mad.
“I wouldn’t do it if you would just shut up,” she muttered, throwing one of the pencils at the wall.
“How am I supposed to teach you crap if I don’t talk?” Sam yelled, annoyed at her over the top.
From the kitchen counter, Dean let out a loud snort, leaning back against the sink with an apple in one hand and a beer in the other.
“Are you two bickering or studying?” Dean called out, taking a bite of his apple. He chuckled to himself once more, which drove the teenager mad.
“You were a high school dropout!” She shouted back as loud as she could.
Ouch.
“Dean, stay out of it,” Sam snapped, not taking his eyes off Nelli. He turned his full, intense focus back to her, adjusting his glasses. “Nelli. Sit up straight. Look at the formula.”
“I don't want to!” Nelli huffed, pulling her knees up to her chest on the chair and wrapping her arms around them, tucking her chin into her sweater collar. “I want to quit. I'm calling it. I'm dropping out and living in the woods. Hell, that’d be great!”
“You hate bugs,” Sam pointed out calmly.
“I’ll find a way to make it work then!”
Sam lifted both eyebrows, genuinely surprised. He couldn’t understand why she was yelling right now and where all that anger came from. Most importantly, he couldn’t comprehend why she was aiming it at him.
“You complained for three days straight when we stayed in a cabin with moths, Nelli.” Sam picked up her hand, forcing her to hold the pen again. “I doubt the woods are made for you.”
“Not your business.” She answered. Sam tried not to continue the fight and so he changed the subject. This was hard.
“You know what? Let’s try history.”
“History?!” Nelli practically shrieked, her green eyes wide with genuine panic. “Sam, history is four hundred pages of dead guys! Who cares who signed what in 1776?!”
“Well, for starters, your high school curriculum,” Sam replied, completely unfazed. “And second, history is literally just storytelling. You're great at remembering details when you want to. Stop fighting it.”
“I'm tired!” she protested, kicking her foot against the heavy table leg. “My eyes are burning, my hands are cramped, and you're being ass!”
“Call me whatever you want,” Sam said, leaning in closer, his big frame casting a shadow over the paper as he pointed to the top equation. “You don't get to quit just because it gets hard. You're smart, Nelli. I know you know how to do this. You did problem four completely right on your own.”
“That was luck!”
“It wasn't luck, it was you actually paying attention instead of throwing a tantrum,” Sam shot back, his tone turning a little firmer, pulling out that old-school Winchester tough-love authority. “Now. Factor out the square root. Right here. Go.”
Great, so it’s still math, not history.
Nelli stared at him, trying her absolute best to give him her most ferocious, stubborn scowl. But Sam was an absolute fortress. He just stared right back, his hazel eyes completely calm, unyielding, and patient. He had survived decades of Dean's stubbornness and John Winchester's iron rules; a tired sixteen-year-old didn't stand a chance.
Slowly, reluctantly, Nelli let her feet drop back to the floor. She gripped the pen tightly, her knuckles turning white.
“If I get this wrong again I’ll just drop out,” she muttered under her breath.
“Not an option!” Dean called out from the kitchen, holding his hands up in defense.
“Just write the line, Nelli,” Sam said, a subtle, proud little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched her finally lower the pen to the paper. “Break it down. Come on.”
Nelli let out a long, dramatic sigh that blew a strand of hair off her forehead, but she started writing. Line by line, number by number, her frantic scribbling slowly settled into a rhythm.
By the time the hands on the wall clock ticked past midnight, the atmosphere in the war room had completely shifted. The initial storm of complaints, dramatic groans, and desk-slapping had burned out, replaced by a eerie, hyper-focused silence.
She sat stiffly in her chair, her back straight and her nose inches from her notebook. Her eyes, rimmed with red from fatigue, were locked onto the paper, darting back and forth as her pen flew across the page in frantic, relentless strokes. She hadn't taken a sip of her water in an hour. She hadn't shifted her posture. She barely even seemed to be breathing, beside the occasional sniffling every few minutes.
Sam leaned over the table, watching her with a mix of genuine pride and growing concern. He recognized that look, he’d spent enough nights staring at textbooks until his vision blurred to know when someone was running on pure stubbornness.
“Alright, Nels,” Sam said softly, reaching out to gently tap the edge of her notepad. “Hey. Take a breath. You just blew through three entire chapters of history, and you got every single practice problem right on the last algebra sheet. You’re doing great.”
Nelli didn't even look up. Her eyes remained fixed on the next paragraph, her pen making sharp, aggressive scrawls as she filled out her study guide. “Can't stop,” she muttered, her voice sounding tight and raspy. “If I stop, the momentum goes away. I still have to review the turn of the century and then re-do set B.”
Sam looked down at her notebook, now filled with whole paragraphs and notes. It was stained with tear drops, making the ink smear all over the page.
He’s never once seen her cry like this, let alone for an entire hour, if not more.
“Nelli, listen to me,” Sam urged, his tone warming with that steady, soft big-brother comfort. “It’s midnight. Your brain needs time to process everything you just crammed into it. Put the pen down for a minute.”
“No!” she snapped, her knuckles turning white around the plastic casing of the pen. Another tear dropped onto the paper.
She didn't blink, her bloodshot, from both crying and being tired, eyes scanning line after line like a machine. “I stop, I forget. I forget, I fail. I’m fine, Sam, just let me finish!”
Teenagers were hard to deal with. One moment it was ‘I don’t want to review for my exams anymore’ and three hours later it was ‘let me study more’ plus a whole lot of crying.
She got one equation wrong and just lost it. Sam didn’t even say anything this time, she just crumpled the paper and threw it into the bin, letting her head fall onto the wooden table, pen still in hand.
Nelli hiccuped, gripping her hair.
What was wrong with her life?
Before Sam could try another logical argument, a large hand reached down from over her shoulder, snapped the top of her notebook shut, and yanked the pen clean out of her fingers.
“Hey!” Nelli shrieked hiccuping, her head finally snapping up as she glared violently into the room.
Dean stood over her, casually twirling her blue pen between his fingers before shoving it into his front pocket. He tossed a fresh dish towel over his shoulder, holding a half-eaten piece of pie in his other hand.
“Come on, calm down,” Dean said, his voice firm and completely unimpressed by her death glare.
“Dean, give that back!” Nelli demanded, pushing her chair back to stand up, but she just stumbled from doing it too fast. “I was in the middle of—“
“Of turning into a zombie,” Dean interrupted, stepping into her path and placing a broad hand flat against her forehead, easily pushing her right back down into her chair. “Look at you. You look like you got run over by the Impala, dragged five miles, and then slapped around by a Poltergeist. You're done.”
“Sam said—“
"Sam didn’t say anything different from what I said. Don’t bullshit me," Dean shot back, throwing a smirk over his shoulder at his brother, who opened his mouth to protest before realizing Dean actually had a point. Dean turned his attention back to Nelli, his green eyes softening just a fraction beneath his strict, head-of-the-house demeanor. “Look, kiddo, you worked hard. You proved to College Boy over here that you're not entirely brainless. But if you keep pushing past full, your engine's gonna blow.”
“Dean, I'm fine—“
“You haven't blinked in ten minutes, Nels,” Dean grunted, snatching her binder off the table and dropping it into her open backpack with a loud zipper drag. “It's creepin' me out. Now, off the chair. Move it.”
Nelli stared at him, her mouth open to argue, but the sudden absence of the study materials let the exhaustion crash into her all at once. Her shoulders slumped, her posture completely deflating. The adrenaline left her system in a single breath, leaving her eyes heavy and her limbs feeling like lead.
“See? There it is,” Dean chuckled softly, taking her by the elbow and helping pull her up from the chair. “Come on. Kitchen. You're gonna eat a piece of pie, drink some water, and then you're gonna hit the sack.”
Sam offered a warm, quiet smile from across the table, closing his own laptop and giving Nelli an encouraging nod. “He's right, Nels. You killed it tonight. Sleep on it, and it'll all be there in the morning.”
Nelli rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, letting out a long, defeat-filled sigh, though a tiny, reluctant smile cracked through her miserable expression.
After finishing her piece of pie under Dean’s watchful eye, Nelli dragged her feet down the dim, quiet hallway of the bunker toward her room.
The soft, ambient hum of the bunker’s ventilation system filled the background. Out in the main room, Sam had already cleared off the mountain of textbooks and high school study guides, replacing them with thick, leather-bound lore books, a notepad, and his laptop, diving right back into research mode with a fresh cup of coffee.
Across the hall, Dean had kicked off his boots, tossed his flannel over the back of a chair, and propped himself up against the headboard of his bed. He had an old portable DVD player set up on his lap, silently flicking through a selection of classic action movies with the volume turned down low.
Nelli shut her bedroom door quietly, changed into an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, and crawled under her blanket. She closed her eyes, ready to embrace the sweet relief of sleep.
Except sleep didn't come.
Her body was exhausted, but her mind was still spinning out of control. Every time she closed her eyes, quadratic formulas floated across her eyelids. Dates from the American Revolution blurred together with Spanish vocabulary and equations. Her heart beat in a fast, anxious rhythm as the ghost of exam panic crept right back in. She tossed to her left, flapped her pillow over, and tried to count sheep, but even the sheep were holding tiny flashcards.
After forty-five minutes of tossing, turning, and staring blankly at the concrete ceiling, Nelli sat up with a heavy sigh.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet hitting the cold floor. She hesitated at her bedroom door, her fingers hovering over the handle.
When she was little, back when they lived in dirty motel rooms, when John was gone for weeks, or when nightmares of monsters got too real, she used to crawl into Dean’s bed without a second thought. But she wasn't six anymore. She was sixteen. She was nearly grown up, and walking into her brother's room to ask to share a bed felt humiliatingly childish.
Still, the quiet bunker felt too quiet, and the pressure in her head was too heavy.
Nelli slipped out of her room, her feet making tiny, silent taps against the cold hall floor. She hovered in the doorway of Dean’s open room.
Inside, the dim blue light of the portable DVD screen cast soft shadows across the room. Explosions flashed silently on the small screen while Dean leaned back against his pillows, a bag of pretzels resting on his stomach.
Nelli stood in the doorframe, hugging her arms tightly across her chest, suddenly feeling small and terribly self-conscious. She shifted her weight, shifting her eyes to her feet.
Dean didn't even look up from his movie, but his quick instincts picked up her presence instantly. He popped a pretzel into his mouth, chewed slowly, and tossed the remote onto the nightstand.
“You know, for someone who was practically screaming about being exhausted, you're not doing a very good job of sleeping,” Dean drawled softly, his low voice cutting comfortably through the dim silence.
“I tried,” Nelli whispered, her voice carrying that slight, shy wobble she only got when she felt vulnerable. She hovered by the doorframe, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “My brain won't shut up. I keep... I keep thinking about the tests.”
Dean glanced up then. He saw her standing there, wrapped up in her oversized shirt, shifting nervously from foot to foot. She looked taller, older, with high school stress resting heavy on her shoulders, but beneath all of it, Dean didn't see a sassy teenager. He saw the tiny girl who used to grab the hem of his leather jacket in crowded stores.
To Dean, it didn't matter if she was six or sixteen. She was his kid sister. Screw that, she was his kid. Always had been, always would be.
Without saying a word, Dean picked up the bag of pretzels and set it on his side table. He slid over to the far side of the bed against the wall, pulling the heavy blanket back to leave an open space beside him.
He patted the mattress twice.
“Get over here, rugrat,” Dean said, his tone casual, warm, and entirely devoid of judgment or teasing. “You're letting out all the warm air standing in the doorway.”
Nelli’s shoulders dropped, a huge wave of relief washing over her. The shy hesitation melted away. She walked over, climbed onto the tall bed, and slid under the covers next to him just like she used to years ago.
Dean pulled the blanket back over her, tucked it firmly around her shoulders, and leaned back against his pillows. He picked the remote back up and hit play, muting the loud action sound so only a quiet murmur came out of the small speakers.
Nelli rested her head on his shoulder, letting out a long, shuddering breath. The heavy, grounding warmth of Dean's presence instantly quieted the noise in her head. The math equations vanished. The history dates faded away.
“Still think you're gonna end up on a pig farm?” Dean murmured softly, his hand resting on top of her hair, his thumb gently smoothing down her messy strands in a slow, familiar rhythm.
“Shut up, Dean," she mumbled, but there was zero bite to it this time. She snuggled closer into his side, her eyelids growing delightfully heavy.
"Yeah, yeah,” Dean chuckled quietly, resting his chin lightly near the top of her head as he watched the movie screen. “Never say crap like that agin, you hear me?”
“It wasn’t that bad,” she defended herself, whispering.
“Yeah, it was.” And with that silence settled over Dean’s room.
The dim blue light of the portable DVD player cast a soft, rhythmic glow across the quiet bedroom. Outside in the hallway, the faint hum of the bunker's power generator felt miles away.
For a long time, neither of them said anything. Dean just kept his arm lightly wrapped around her shoulders, his hand resting on her hair, gently smoothing down the messy strands the way he had done ever since she was small enough to fit against his chest.
Nelli rested her cheek against the front of his soft, worn t-shirt.
“Dean?” she spoke up quietly, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
“Yeah, rugrat?” Dean’s voice was low, soft, and grounded. God, how she loved when he talked like that. It reminded her of rainy days spent in motels years ago. Before Sam came back from Stanford.
When it was just her and Dean. When he used to make her hot chocolate before bed and watch scooby doo with her. She could still remember the distinct scent of that room. After just one day of them staying there the crappy smell would be gone and replaced by a strong scent of apple pie, cinnamon and musk.
If she closed her eyes and tried hard enough, she could still imagine herself there, in her brother’s arms on a rainy night.
She didn’t know it then, but it really was the most beautiful period of her life. Nothing could compare, not even close.
“I'm sorry I yelled earlier,” Nelli murmured, her eyes staring at the soft folds of his shirt. “And for throwing my stuff around. I just... I felt like I was a complete mess today. Like if I didn't get it all right, I was going to fail at everything.”
Dean took a slow, quiet breath. He shifted slightly, leaning his head back against the headboard, his grip on her shoulder tightening just a fraction in a reassuring squeeze.
“Don’t think for one second that I don’t notice how you feel,” Dean said gently. "You're carrying a lot. School, tests, living in an underground fortress with two brothers. I know that most of the time we aren’t enough to fill all the gaps in your life, Nels.” He closed his eyes before continuing.
“I know you need somebody to teach you girl stuff. Somebody you can talk to about whatever the hell you want to. Neither me or Sam can ever be that for you. Dad raised us like freaking soldiers and trust me, even though we’re trying to do things differently with you, it doesn’t always work. I know we’re not perfect, trust me.”
She could feel tears brimming in her eyes, threatening to spill any second now. Nelli couldn’t believe her brother, the one person she looked up to her whole life, thought he wasn’t enough for her.
Yeah, sure, they had their disagreements and sometimes she wished she had a woman around to teach her how to braid or how to do her make up. She wished her mom was there when she got her first period or when she wanted to talk about boys from magazines or movies.
But Sam and Dean have always been by her side. Not once did they let her down, and quite frankly, she didn’t want a life with her mom if it meant losing her brothers.
Not even an option.
“Don’t talk like that, De” she whispered.
“It’s not a lie”
“Not the truth either,” Nelli answered.
God, this girl was his whole soul. After everything she’s been through she still chose them over anything else.
Nelli swallowed hard, a small knot forming in her throat, though this time it wasn't from stress. “It just feels like you and Sam always know what to do. You guys deal with... everything. Real life-and-death stuff. And here I am losing my mind over an algebra exam. It feels kind of stupid.”
“It's not stupid,” Dean said immediately, his tone completely serious. He paused, picking his words carefully, the kind of absolute honesty he usually kept tucked away. “Listen to me. What Sam and I do... that's our life. But you going to school, working hard, stressing over exams, trying to build a future... that's your life. And it matters just as much. Don't ever think your stuff is small just because it isn't carrying a shotgun.”
Nelli lifted her head just enough to look up at him in the dim light. Dean met her eyes, his expression earnest and warm.
“I know I make stupid jokes,” Dean continued softly, offering her a faint, genuine little smile. “And I know I give you a hard time. But... I see how hard you work, Nelli. I see you staying up late, trying to do things right, taking on all this pressure without complaining until you hit a wall. You're tough as nails, kid. Tougher than you think.”
He reached up, using his thumb to gently tap the side of her chin.
“Sam and I... we're so proud of you, Nels. Seriously. Seeing you grow up, seeing how smart and strong you're turning out to be... it's the best thing we've ever seen. You're doing great. I promise you.”
Nelli felt a warm, quiet lump swell in her chest. The heavy weight of self-doubt that had been crushing her all day finally dissolved completely. She didn't say anything back because she didn't need to. She just let out a long, quiet sigh and pressed her face back into Dean’s side, wrapping one arm over his waist.
“Thanks, De,” she whispered, her voice thick with sudden tiredness.
“Anytime, rugrat,” Dean murmured softly. He reached over with his free hand, pulled the blanket up higher around her shoulders, and rested his hand back on her head.
A/N: I don’t know if I even like this, honestly. I rewrite it like 5 times so now I don’t even know if it makes any sense. I hope it does though and that it’s what you wanted
I still have lots of requests to edit and I’m currently trying to finish one each day so bare with me.
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
Omg I just read you latest fic and it is so amazing!! I love all the emotions you put into it!! It actually gave me an idea for a request!! (100% your choice btw)
I was wondering if you could do a request where maybe Nelli is younger like 10 or so idk and Sam starts trying to boss her around like Dean does and Nelli is just not listening because she’s so used to Dean being the “boss” and she doesn’t view Sam on the same podium. Like to her Sam is her brother but he was gone for a chunk of her younger years therefore he does not hold the same authority as Dean does. And maybe one day Sam tries to tell her to do something and then Dean tells her to do something else and Nelli listens to Dean and Sam gets mad but Nelli argues right back at him and as the argument carries on Nelli gets louder trying to catch deans attention so she can hide behind him while he finishes the argument.
Sorry if none of this made sense lol
Hot chocolate
Ten-year-old Nelli was sprawled out on her stomach in the middle of the scratchy floral bedspread, her sneakers dangling off the edge. Spread out around her was an absolute buffet of terrible choices: two half-eaten bags of sour gummies, a chocolate bar, and a bottle of soda she’d snuck out of the vending machine down the hall, using one of her eldest brother’s tricks, of course.
Dean was out. Naturally. He had mumbled something to Sam, slapped on a leather jacket, and headed down to the local bar to charm some waitress, leaving his younger brother on babysitting duty, a title Nelli privately thought was absolute garbage.
Sam was sitting at the tiny laminate table with his laptop open, surrounded by a mountain of yellowed lore books and printouts. He rubbed his eyes, letting out a long, heavy sigh before looking over at the bed. His jaw dropped slightly when he took in the wall of junk food surrounding his little sister.
“Nelli, what are you doing?” Sam asked, setting his pencil down. He tried to hit that firm, authoritative note Dean pulled off so effortlessly. “It's well past nine. Put the candy away, brush your teeth, and get under the covers.”
Nelli didn't even blink. She reached out, popped two more gummy worms into her mouth, and kept her eyes glued to the TV playing reruns of some random cartoons. “I'm not tired.”
Sam’s brows furrowed. His tall frame straightened up as he pushed his chair back. “I didn't ask if you were tired, bug. I said it's bedtime. Come on, we've got an early drive to Sioux Falls tomorrow.”
Nelli let out a small, scoffing noise, chewing loudly.
In her head, the math was simple: Dean was the boss. Dean was the one who made her eat her vegetables, Dean was the one who checked under the bed for monsters, and Dean was the one who made the rules, regardless of how stupid they seemed to her. To Nelli, Sam was great for helping with homework or telling stories, but he wasn't Dean. He hadn't earned the right to issue orders, and he definitely didn't hold the same weight.
“Nelli,” Sam repeated, his tone sharpening into his best stern older brother voice as he stepped around the table. “I'm talking to you. Clean up the junk and get in bed. Now.”
Unfortunately for Sam, this time would be just as useless as the first one.
Nelli finally turned her head, glaring up at him with matching green eyes, throwing her chin out in pure defiance. “No!”
Sam stopped, completely taken aback by the sudden sharpness in her voice. He’s well accustomed to her usual tantrums and comments, but tonight she was straight up mean.
“Excuse me?”
“You're not the boss of me, Sammy!” she yelled, sitting straight up on the bed and kicking her feet violently against the mattress in a full-blown ten-year-old tantrum. “Dean lets me stay up! He didn't say I had to sleep at nine! You're just trying to act big cause he's not here to tell you what to do either!”
Sam’s jaw tightened, a flash of genuine, stunned frustration crossing his face. Nobody taught him how to deal with his out-of-control-kid-sister who’d probably ate too much sugar after her curfew.
“Nelli! Do not throw a fit at me!I am your big brother as well, you know that, right? My rules are just as important as Dean’s.”
Sam said, trying to get his voice to be sterner, despite knowing that he wasn’t going to win the argument. How could anyone when the opponent was a literal kid.
“You were gone!” Nelli shrieked right back, her voice echoing off the cheap wood-paneled walls. “You were off in California for forever! You don't get to come back and tell me what to do! Dean's the boss, not you!”
Sam stood there in the middle of the dingy room, twitching with sheer, unadulterated frustration, completely outmatched by a ten-year-old having a meltdown. He was tired of everyone reminding him of his past, of Stanford. Yeah, he went to college, or at least attempted to, but what’s so bad about that, Sam didn’t understand. In his head, it was reasonable considering he grew up with John Winchester and his obsession with finding the thing that killed mom.
Sam let out a ragged, disbelieving laugh, throwing his hands up in the air. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.”
He took two big strides toward the bed, looming over her with his arms crossed tight over his chest, his hazel eyes flashing. “You think because I was at school I don't get a say? That's not how this works, Nelli! I was at college, not having fun in clubs by myself, just because I wanted to!”
“It was your fault anyway!!” Nelli yelled back, her voice squeaking with rage.
Her brother shook his head, both angry and confused. He was just a kid when he chose to leave. That was years ago, and it still haunted him to this day.
Not to mention the way it felt when his little sister called him out on his choices. Where did she even hear all these things from?
“That's extremely rude, Nelli,” Sam snapped, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and flipping it open with a sharp click. “I'm calling Dean right now. We'll see what he has to say about you throwing a massive tantrum and refusing to go to sleep.”
Nelli froze, her eyes widening slightly. She knew Dean was out at a bar, probably trying to talk to some girl, and Dean hated being interrupted when he was out, especially over something stupid. But more than that, the thought of Sam running to Dean to tell on her made her face burn with embarrassment.
“Don't call him!” she shrieked.
“Then put the candy away and get under the covers!” Sam barked, thumb hovering over Dean's speed dial. “I am two seconds away from hitting call, Nelli. Try me.”
Nelli glared at him with pure, unadulterated ten-year-old venom. In a flash of stubborn fury, she grabbed the open bags of sour gummies off the bedspread and hurled them straight across the room.
Clack-clack-clack. Brightly colored, sticky gummy worms rained down all over the dingy carpet, scattering under the nightstand and near the door.
“Fine!” she screamed, snatching the scratchy floral blanket and yanking it clear over her head, completely cocooning herself into a furious, stiff lump in the middle of the mattress. “Happy?!”
Sam stood there in total silence, staring at the neon candy littered across the floor, then at the dramatic lump on the bed. He let out a long, exhausted breath, slowly closing his phone and sliding it back into his pocket.
“Unbelievable,” Sam muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked down at the mess on the floor, knowing he was the one who was going to end up picking it up. “You’re impossible.”
From under the heavy blanket, a muffled, furious grunt was the only answer he got.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The heavy door swung open at seven in the morning, letting in a sharp gust of wind and the smell of fresh grease, coffee, and cheap diner bacon. A must for every morning in the Winchester family.
Dean sauntered in, looking slightly rumpled, a greasy brown paper bag tucked under one arm and two large foam coffee cups balanced in his hands. He was mid-yawn, ready to drop the breakfast on the table, when his boots crunched directly onto a handful of stale sour gummies scattered across the entryway carpet.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Slowly, Dean looked down at his boots, then swept his green eyes across the rest of the room. Brightly colored, lint-covered gummy worms were strewn everywhere, under the nightstand, beside the TV stand, and pinned against the bathroom door.
Over at the tiny table, Sam was sitting slumped in a chair, dark circles under his eyes, looking like he had spent the night wrestling a bear. On the bed, Nelli was still buried under a massive blanket cocoon, only her messy brown hair sticking out the top.
“What in the hell happened in here?” Dean asked, looking between Sam and the candy-paved floor. “Did you two get ambushed by Willy Wonka?”
Sam rubbed his face with both hands, letting out a heavy, miserable sigh, not bothering to ask Dean where he even heard of Willy Wonka from.“Ask your sister.”
At the sound of Dean’s voice, the blanket mound instantly shifted. Nelli sat up, her hair completely wild, blinking sleep out of her eyes. The angry scowl from last night vanished the second she locked eyes with Dean.
“Dean!” she chirped, her voice raspy from sleep. She slid off the edge of the bed, carefully dodging the sticky floor, and trotted right over to his side. “You're back!”
“Yeah, kiddo, I'm back,” Dean said, raising an eyebrow as he set the coffee and breakfast down on the laminate table. He crouched down slightly to her level, pointing a stern finger at the mess on the carpet. “Care to explain why my boots are covered in syrup?”
Nelli crossed her arms, throwing a quick, deadly glare over her shoulder at Sam before looking back up at Dean with her best innocent-puppy eyes. “Sammy made me do it.”
“I did not!” Sam barked, slamming his hand on the table as he stood up, towering over them both. "Dean, she threw a full-blown fit because I told her to go to bed at nine! Not to mention how stupid the excuse was! Why would I make her throw candies around?!"
“I threw them cause you were being mean!” Nelli yelled back, stepping right behind Dean's hip and grabbing the leather of his jacket. You were acting like you run things!”
“I am twenty-three years old!” Sam shouted, tossing his hands in the air. “I do run things when Dean isn't here!”
“Okay, alright, shut up, both of you!” Dean yelled, his gravelly voice cutting through the noise like a knife. Silence instantly hit the room.
Dean rubbed the back of his neck, looking from a furious Sam down to Nelli, who was actively using his leather jacket as a human shield.
“First of all,” Dean said, looking down at Nelli with an unamused scowl, “you don't throw sugar at your brother, short stack. I don't care how bossy he's being. Pick all that crap up right now before I make you eat it off the carpet.”
Nelli opened her mouth to argue, but the hard look in Dean's eyes meant business. She huffed loudly, dropping down to her knees to start shoving the dirty gummies back into the plastic bag.
Useless, in her head, because Dean wasn’t going to let her eat any of those anyway. Might as well just leave the gummies on the floor. They’ll leave next morning and somebody else could clean everything up.
But no, Dean just had to make her do it.
Dean turned back to Sam, a small, tired smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he picked up his coffee. “And as for you, Sammy... Stanford experience and you got taken down by a ten-year-old with a gummy worm?”
“Shut up, Dean,” Sam growled, sinking back into his chair and grabbing a breakfast sandwich. “Just... shut up.”
Dean took a long swig of his black coffee, leaning his back against the laminate counter and watching Nelli grumble under her breath as she crawled around picking up lint-covered gummy worms.
Sam waited until she was far enough under the second bed before leaning in, lowering his voice into a quiet murmur. “Seriously, Dean. What is that? I tried talking to her like a normal person, I tried using the firm voice... she completely stonewalled me. But you walk in, say two words, and she's picking up candy.”
Dean let out a soft snort, a amused glint in his green eyes as he looked over at his brother. “It’s not rocket science, Sammy. You’re trying to logic her out of a tantrum. She’s ten. Logic doesn't work on ten-year-olds.”
“I wasn't using logic, I was trying to set boundaries!” Sam argued quietly, waving a half-eaten bacon sandwich. “She practically told me I didn't have any authority because I went to Stanford! The heck is that supposed to mean?!”
Dean’s smirk faded slightly, replaced by a softer, more understanding look. He took another sip of coffee and leaned a little closer to Sam.
“Look, man... you gotta remember where her head's at,” Dean said softly, making sure Nelli couldn't hear over her loud sighing from under the nightstand. “When you left for California, she was little. I was the one who had to enforce the rules, check for monsters, yell at her when she didn't finish her dinner, all of it. To her, I'm the one who's always been the wall she can't push past.”
Sam frowned, looking down at his paper plate. “So she just sees me as an outsider?”
“No, she loves you, idiot,” Dean said, nudging Sam’s shoulder with his elbow. “She thinks you're the smart, cool big brother who knows everything. But authority? Authority comes from consistency, Sam. You can't just jump in after four years and expect her to jump when you say 'jump.' She’s gonna test you. Hell, she’s testing me half the time, too, she’s just worse with you cause she thinks she can get away with it.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” Sam asked, genuinely at a loss. “Just let her throw candy at me?”
“No,” Dean chuckled, clapping a heavy hand on Sam's shoulder. “Next time she pulls that crap, don't scream back and don't threaten to call me. Standing there arguing with a ten-year-old makes you look like you're on her level. You just give her the look, tell her how it's gonna be, and if she throws a fit, you take her stuff away.”
Sam grimaced slightly at the comparison, but he nodded slowly, taking the advice in.
“Got all of 'em,” Nelli grumbled, popping up from beside the nightstand with a tightly wrapped plastic bag full of crushed gummies. She dragged her feet back over to Dean, handing it over with a pout. “Can I eat my bacon now?”
Dean took the bag, tossed it straight into the trash can, and pointed a stern finger toward the breakfast table. “Sit down, wash your hands, and eat. And apologize to your brother.”
Nelli groaned, dragging her feet over to the table, but she shot Sam a quick, quiet, “Sorry, Sammy,” before grabbing her orange juice.
Sam looked at Dean, who gave him a subtle, victorious wink before grabbing his own sandwich.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The ride to Sioux Falls was quiet, but the second they pulled into Bobby’s salvage yard, the tension flared right back up. Dean and Bobby grabbed their gear and headed straight out to investigate a lead on a ghost sighting near the docks, leaving Sam and Nelli behind at the house.
The entire day was an endless cycle of bickering. If Sam said up, Nelli said down. She argued about doing her homework, complained about the cold, and made sure every single chore Sam assigned took twice as long as it should have. By the time the Impala pulled back into the driveway late that evening, both of them were thoroughly worn out.
Dean and Bobby trudged into the kitchen, shedding their heavy jackets and dropping a pair of greasy duffel bags onto the table to start cleaning and prepping weapons.
Nelli, looking exhausted with heavy dark circles under her eyes, dragged her feet into the kitchen. Dean took one look at her pale face and softened.
“Alright, short stack,” Dean said, tossing a rag onto the table. “Go hit the shower, get changed into your pjs, and get ready for bed.”
Nelli hovered near the counter, rubbing her eyes with her sleeve. “Dean... can I make a hot chocolate first? Please? My throat is scratchy.”
Dean glanced over at her, letting out a small sigh before nodding. He knew she was perfectly fine, just wanted an excuse to drink one of her sugary drinks before bed.
Normally, he’d tell her to suck it up, but he was tired and in no mood to argue with his stubborn sister. “Yeah, alright. Make your cocoa, drink it, and then straight to bed.”
“Thanks, De,” she mumbled.
While Dean stepped into the pantry to hunt for oil rags and Bobby went down to the basement to check on a salt shipment, Sam walked into the living room where he thought Nelli was supposed to be gathering up weapons gear.
“Nelli,” Sam called out, his voice sharp from a full day of dealing with her attitude. “Go help Dean and Bobby unload the trunk. Don't just sit around.”
Nelli didn't even turn around. She grabbed a glass mug from the cupboard and pulled a carton of milk from the fridge. “I’m making a hot chocolate.”
“I told you to go help them!” Sam snapped, his patience completely gone. “Stop making excuses and go outside!”
Nelli stubbornly ignored him, reaching up to pour the heavy carton of milk into the glass mug on the counter. “You can’t tell me what to do!”
“Nelli!” Sam barked, taking two loud, aggressive steps into the kitchen, raising his voice to a full shout. “I am talking to you! Put that down right now and—“
The sudden, booming shout startled her so badly that Nelli gasped, her hands shaking violently. The heavy carton slipped from her grip, slamming straight into the glass mug.
The glass shattered across the hard kitchen tile into a dozen jagged pieces. A massive wave of white milk and dry cocoa powder splattered everywhere…flooding the counter, pouring down the cabinets, and soaking straight through Nelli's socks and sneakers.
Nelli froze, staring down at the disaster, her face turning completely white as tears immediately flooded her eyes.
“Great! Just great!” Sam yelled, throwing his hands in the air, his face flushed with anger. “Look at this mess! You could’ve cut yourself wide open, Nelli! What is wrong with you today?! Why aren't you helping Bobby and Dean like you're supposed to be doing?! Why are you making a mess with hot chocolate in the middle of a hunt?!”
“I didn't mean to!” Nelli sobbed, shrinking back against the edge of the sink, clutching her hands against her chest to avoid the glass on the floor. “I wasn't trying to break it!”
“Because you don't listen!” Sam shouted back over her crying, completely unaware that Dean had just walked out of the pantry. “You just do whatever you want!”
Nelli shrieked, her voice pitching up extra loud to make sure it echoed straight out toward the pantry and down the basement stairs. She took a tiny step back, hyper-aware of the sharp glass scattered across the tile, but made her voice sound as panicked as humanly possible. “You’re the meanest ever! I hate you!”
“Stop screaming, Nelli, I'm standing right here!” Sam bellowed, waving a hand at the milk and glass coating the floor. “You're ten years old, you shouldn't even be messing around with glass mugs when there's work to do! You completely ignored what I told you!”
“I DID NOT!” she yelled right back, throwing her arms up, her eyes darting toward the doorway.
“Hey! What the hell is going on in here?!”
Dean shoved his way into the kitchen, a greasy rag gripped in one hand, his eyes wide as he took in the scene: milk dripping off the counter, cocoa powder turning into brown sludge on the floor, glass everywhere, and Nelli sobbing wildly behind the island.
The second Nelli saw Dean, she didn't hesitate. She scrambled around the edge of the puddle, completely dodging Sam, and ducked right behind Dean's broad back. She grabbed the back of his flannel shirt with both hands, burying her face into his spine and letting out a dramatic, muffled sob.
“De!” she wailed from behind his shoulder, making sure her voice was loud enough for the whole house to hear. “I was just making the hot chocolate like you said, and he came in here yelling and made me drop it!”
“Dean, that’s not how it happened!” Sam snapped, his face turning red as he pointed an accusing finger at her hidden form. “I told her to go outside and help unload the trunk! She completely blew me off, started messing with the fridge, and then threw a fit when I called her out on it! She could've stepped on a shard of glass!”
“He scared me!” Nelli sniffled loudly, tugging on Dean's shirt. “You told me I could make it, Dean! Tell him!”
Dean looked down at the shattered glass, then back up at Sam, pulling Nelli slightly more behind his hip as he held up a hand.
“Alright, back off, Sammy,” Dean said, his voice dropping into that firm, grounded register that instantly took the air out of the room. “I'm the one who told her she could make the cocoa.”
Sam’s jaw dropped in absolute disbelief. “What?! Dean, she didn't say a word about—“
“I told her she could have a cup before bed because she wasn't feeling great,” Dean interrupted smoothly, stepping forward to fully block Nelli from Sam's towering frame. “She wasn't playing with you, Sam. She was doing what I told her to do.”
“So she gets a free pass for making a massive mess and screaming bloody murder?!” Sam shouted, throwing his hands in the air.
“Nobody gets a free pass,” Dean grumbled, turning slightly to look down at Nelli, who was peering out from behind his elbow with a victorious look. Dean caught her eye and narrowed his own. “And you, wipe that smug look off your face. You're cleaning up every drop of this milk, carefully so you don't cut your fingers.”
Nelli’s triumphant smirk instantly fell, but she stayed firmly glued to Dean's side, safe from Sam's lecture while her eldest brother handled the rest of the argument.
She took her sweet time with the broom and paper towels, wiping up the sticky brown mess while keeping her eyes glued to her sneakers. Once the tile was spotless and the broken glass was safely tossed in the trash, she crept out the back door into the chilly night air.
Dean was sitting on the wooden steps of Bobby’s porch, a small whetstone in hand as he methodically sharpened his hunting knife.
Nelli didn't say anything. She just dragged her feet across the porch boards, her bottom lip stuck out in a deep pout, eyes shiny with unshed tears. She stopped right beside him, hugging her arms tightly around her chest.
Dean took one look at her pale, heartbroken little face, and all his strictness melted away. He set the blade and stone down on the top step, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“Come here, kiddo,” Dean said softly, tapping his knee.
Before she could think twice, he reached out, caught her under her arms, and hauled her right up into his lap. Nelli immediately collapsed against his chest, burying her face into the collar of his worn denim jacket and letting out a shaky, shuddering sigh.
Dean wrapped one heavy arm securely around her waist, tucking her in close, while his other hand stroked the back of her hair.
“Hey,” Dean murmured, his voice low and warm, completely dropping the tough-guy act. “What's with the waterworks, short stack? The mess is cleaned up. Nobody's mad at you.”
“Sammy was shouting at me,” Nelli sniffled, her voice small and muffled against his shirt. “He was so mean. He acts like I'm just a huge pain.”
Dean sighed softly, resting his chin on the top of her messy head. “Listen to me, Nels. Sammy doesn't think you're a pain. He was just scared.”
Nelli pulled back a fraction, blinking her glassy green eyes up at him in confusion. “Scared?”
“Yeah, scared,” Dean said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “When glass breaks like that and you're screaming, Sam's brain goes straight to 'she's hurt.' He freaked out because he cares about you, kiddo. He just doesn't know how to express it without sounding like a drill sergeant.”
Nelli looked down at her lap, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “He's always trying to boss me around.”
“Because he's your big brother,” Dean explained patiently, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “It's his job to look out for you, same as me. I know it feels like he's picking on you, but he spent a long time away, Nels, and things were different when you were smaller. He's just trying to figure out how to deal with his little sister growing up. You gotta cut him a little slack, okay?”
Nelli bit her lip, looking back up into Dean's soft green eyes. “Are you mad at me?”
“Nah,” Dean smiled, pressing a firm, warm kiss right to the side of her forehead. “I could never stay mad at you for long, rugrat. Now, how about I go whip us up two huge mugs of hot chocolate, with extra marshmallows, and we go offer one to Sam as a peace offering?”
A tiny, reluctant smile finally broke through Nelli's pout. She nodded, wrapping her small arms around Dean's neck for a quick hug. “Okay. Thanks, De.”
Dean carried Nelli back inside, setting her down gently on the kitchen counter while he pulled out a small saucepan. He got to work making a fresh batch of hot chocolate from scratch, none of that instant packet junk, stirring in plenty of milk and dropping a massive handful of mini marshmallows straight into three oversized mugs.
The heavy wood of the kitchen door creaked open, and Sam walked back in, looking worn out and carrying a roll of paper towels to finish double-checking the floor for any missed glass shards. He froze when he saw the two of them, his posture stiffening slightly as he prepared for another round of tension.
Dean caught Nelli’s eye and gave her a subtle nudge with his elbow, leaning down to whisper right in her ear.
“Go on, rugrat,” Dean murmured softly, nudging one of the steaming mugs toward her. “Go talk to him.”
Nelli swallowed hard, her small hands wrapping around the warm ceramic of the mug. She slid down off the counter, took a slow breath, and shuffled over to where Sam was standing near the kitchen table.
“Sammy?” she asked quietly, looking up at him through her eyelashes, her bottom lip still a little soft. She held out the mug toward his giant hands. “De made cocoa. I... I brought you one.”
Sam looked down at the mug, then at her tired, pale face, and all the frustration completely drained out of his shoulders. His expression softened, letting out a long, quiet sigh as he crouched down to her eye level.
“Thanks, Nels,” Sam said softly, taking the warm mug from her hands. He reached out with his free hand and gently ruffled her messy hair. “Look... I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier. I just got scared when the glass shattered, okay? I didn't want you getting hurt.”
Nelli nodded slowly, stepping a little closer and resting her forehead against his shoulder for a second. “I'm sorry I didn't listen to you today.”
“It's alright, kiddo,” Sam chuckled, giving her a quick, one-armed squeeze. “We'll work on it.”
From across the kitchen, Dean leaned against the stove, taking a slow sip from his own mug with a satisfied smirk. “Look at that. Family bonding over sugar.”
Sam carried his mug over to the worn leather couch in the living room, with Dean and Nelli trailing right behind him. Nelli immediately scrambled up into the middle, sinking into the soft cushions and tucking her feet under her blanket, while Dean dropped down on her left and Sam sat on her right, sandwiching her comfortably between them.
The room was warm, filled only with the soft hum of the old refrigerator in the kitchen and the steam rising from their mugs.
Sam took a slow sip of his cocoa, staring at the warm ceramic in his hands before turning his head to look down at his little sister.
“Nels,” Sam started, his tone serious, gentle, and quiet. “I really mean it about earlier. I shouldn't have raised my voice at you like that. I know it's a difficult part of your life, hell, I still remember how I used to feel at your age, and I know I've been trying to push my way into telling you what to do. That wasn't fair of me.”
Nelli looked up from her marshmallows, blinking up at him in surprise. “It's okay, Sammy.”
“No, really,” Sam insisted, giving her knee a light tap. “I'm working on it, alright? I just care about you, kiddo.”
Dean leaned back against the cushions, resting one arm over the back of the couch behind Nelli's head. He took a long drink from his mug, then shot Nelli a stern, raised-eyebrow look.
“That goes both ways, short stack,” Dean added, his voice dropping into that classic, non-negotiable tone. “Sammy apologized, but you gotta step it up, too. You can't just throw a fit or ignore him every time he tells you to do something just because I'm not standing right there. He's your big brother. What he says goes, especially when it comes to keeping you safe. You got me?”
Nelli bit the corner of her lip, looking between the two of them. She saw the genuine warmth in Sam's hazel eyes and the firm, unwavering trust in Dean's.
“Got it,” Nelli mumbled, a small, genuine smile creeping onto her face as she leaned back, resting her head against Dean's side while tossing her feet across Sam's lap. “I'll try not to throw candy at him next time.”
Sam snorted out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, please don't. My hair still smells like sour gummies.”
Dean chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her in close as they settled in for the rest of the night, the whole mess finally behind them.
A/N: I’ve got no idea if this is what you wanted!!!
I kept editing this and rewriting it over and over again and I’m still not happy with how it turned out, I feel like it makes absolutely zero sense.
The heavy crunch of gravel outside hit the room like a gunshot. Through the thin plastic blinds, a dark, dusty pickup truck pulled into the spot right next to the Impala.
Sam’s shoulders instantly squared, his jaw clenching hard as the truck’s engine sputtered off. A second later, heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed on the concrete walkway, and the door was pushed wide with that familiar, demanding presence.
John Winchester stepped inside. He looked weathered, his dark coat dusted with road grit, his eyes sharp and scanning the room in half a second flat.
“You're late with the report, Sam. Isn’t that why we met in the first place?” John said, completely skipping a greeting as he tossed a thick, worn leather journal onto the small table with a heavy thud. “I told you to have the Djinn's warehouse locations mapped by zero-eight-hundred. It's almost nine.”
Sam let out a quiet, frustrated breath, stepping up. “Dad, we just cleared the last warehouse yesterday. We spent all night checking the kid, making sure there wasn't any residual toxicity from the IV, and—“
“I don't care about the excuses, Sam,” John cut him off, his voice dropping into that strict, unyielding tone that made the air in the room instantly freeze over. “A professional hunter clears the board first, then takes a breather. You know the drill.you and your brother both. You let your guard down, you leave loose ends and it gets people killed.”
That was the thing about John Winchester. He cared more about strangers than his own kids. Any normal human being would be concerned about his 6year old daughter who spent days in a paranormal creature’s basement. But not him. No, he cared about the potential victims.
Sam opened his mouth, his face turning red with defensive anger, ready to blow up, but Dean stepped right into the gap between them.
“Hey, easy,” Dean said softly, his hands up, palms flat as he offered a subtle, mediating barrier between his father and brother. He kept his voice low, measured, and completely even. “Sammy worked the research all night, Dad. The locations are underlined on the map. We just didn't want the kid running on a high-voltage panic while we processed everything. It's handled.”
Dean, ever the peacemaker when it came to Dad.
John grunted, his dark eyes shifting to Dean for a long, heavy second before he looked around the cramped motel room. “Where is she?”
“Bathroom. Getting dressed,” Dean replied smoothly, though his heart was hammering against his ribs. He turned toward the hallway. “I'll go grab her.”
Dean walked down the narrow carpeted hall, pushing the heavy bathroom door open with his foot.
He expected to find her pouting on the edge of the tub. Instead, he walked in just in time to see a pair of small, navy-blue sweatpant-clad legs frantically kicking in the air. Nelli had dragged the plastic trash can over to the wall, climbed on top of it, and was desperately trying to haul her six-year-old self through the tiny, fogged-glass window above the toilet. A window that was barely eight inches wide.
She was completely stuck at the waist, her small hands clawing uselessly at the dusty wooden frame outside. God, Dean could swear he was in a Scooby-Doo episode. Since when did kids start climbing windows in the bathroom?
Dean stood in the doorway for a beat, letting out a long, quiet, exhausted sigh that felt like it carried the weight of the entire world.
He stepped over, reached up, and easily wrapped his hands around her waist, lifting her right out of the tiny frame and setting her gently back down on her feet. He kicked the trash can out of the way before she could try it again.
Nelli spun around, her hands balled into tight little fists at her sides, ready to yell or fight her way out. But the second her green eyes met Dean's, her chin began to wobble uncontrollably. She squeezed her eyes shut, her small chest hitching violently as she fought with everything she had not to let the big, fat tears spill over her cheeks in front of him.
Dean looked down at her, the stern, frustrated big brother from earlier completely melting away, replaced by that heavy, aching guilt he was way too familiar with. So, he didn't yell. He just dropped down onto one knee in the tiny bathroom, bringing himself right down to her level, waiting for her to look at him.
Dean reached out and gently took her small hand, brushing her sleeve back to inspect her arm. Sure enough, fresh, angry pink scrapes lined the soft skin of her forearm where she’d tried to force herself through the rough window frame, a stark contrast right next to Sam’s neat white bandaging on her wrist.
“Hey, look at this,” Dean growled softly, though the sharpness in his voice was thick with exhaustion. He tapped the new scrape with his thumb, his jaw tight. “What did I tell you about doing stupid crap like this, Nels? Huh? Squeezing through an eight-inch window? You could’ve sliced your arm open or fallen straight into the gravel outside. Use your head for once.”
Nelli yanked her hand back, her face flushing bright red with sudden, furious tears. The dam finally broke, and she exploded into a high-pitched, breathless rant.
“I don't care! I'm not going out there!” she shrieked, her voice echoing off the bathroom tiles. “He's mean, Dean! All he does is yell at Sammy and make you act like a jerk! He doesn't even care about us, he just wants us to fight monsters, and I hate him! I want Bobby! I want to go home!”
The loud, chaotic noise hit Dean like a freight train. Outside the door, he could hear the heavy silence of John and Sam waiting, the pressure in the motel room rising by the second. His nerves were shot, his body was running on pure adrenaline, and the sheer stress of trying to manage Dad’s harsh expectations while keeping Sam from blowing up finally pushed Dean completely past his limit.
He didn't pull her into his lap. He didn't offer a gentle joke or a soft kiss on her forehead, like he usually does in situations like this one.
Instead, Dean stood up straight, his massive frame towering over her in the small bathroom. His green eyes hardened into a cold, uncompromising wall, his face completely devoid of its usual playful warmth.
“That's enough!” Dean snapped, his voice dropping into a harsh, authoritative bark that instantly cut her off mid-breath.
Nelli froze, a sob catching hard in her throat, startled by the sudden, chilling distance in his tone.
“You listen to me right now,” Dean commanded, pointing a stern, steady finger straight at her face. “I am sick of the yelling, and I am sick of the tantrums. That man out there is your father. He saved our lives, he keeps a roof over our heads, and you will show him respect. You are going to wipe your face, walk out that door, and answer his questions like a Winchester.”
Nelli stared up at him, her lip trembling violently as a fresh wave of quiet tears spilled over her eyelashes, but Dean didn't soften. The heavy weight of his order hung in the small room, leaving zero room for argument. To her, the phrase ‘like a Winchester’ was entirely confusing. Because what was a last name even supposed to mean? What was the name Winchester supposed to mean?
When did a last name become a standard and what was she supposed to do to reach it? To a six year old kid, a last name meant nothing.
All she knew was that Dean and Sam were her brothers and John was her dad, the last name was just something that she was given at birth. It was supposed to be a present, but it turned out more like a curse.
“Out. Now,” Dean ordered, stepping aside and gesturing toward the open hallway.
Nelli’s breath hitched, her small chest heaving as she stared up at Dean with pure heartbreak. Her sad eyes had become a too usual sight. She swiped a tear away with the back of her hand, her eyes flashing with a sharp, wounded fury that came out of nowhere.
“I hate you!” she choked out, her voice cracking loud in the small bathroom. “You're the worst ever!”
Without waiting another second, she pushed past his leg and stormed out into the main room, her small sneakers stomping angrily against the carpet.
John was standing by the small table, his heavy jacket unbuttoned, leaning over Sam’s research notes. He turned the second Nelli stomped into the room, his dark eyes narrowing into a sharp, intense stare as he took in her red, tear-stained face and the bandage on her wrist.
“Eleanor,” John said, his voice dropping into that deep, authoritative tone he used when taking command of a room. “Get over here. I need to know exactly what the Djinn did before it put you under.”
Nelli stopped dead in her tracks, crossing her tiny arms over her chest, her glare locked onto John with absolute venom. “I'm not telling you crap!” she yelled, her high-pitched voice ringing out loud. “Leave me the hell alone, you jerk!”
Sam’s eyes went wide. “Nelli, hey—“
John’s face instantly darkened, his jaw clenching hard as he took a heavy step toward her, his imposing presence towering over the six-year-old. “What did you just say to me?” John growled, his voice laced with a cold, dangerous fury. “You watch your mouth, young lady. You don't talk like that in this family.”
“I don't care!” Nelli shrieked back, sticking her chin out stubbornly even as a fresh tear tracked down her cheek. “You're not my boss! You're never even here!”
John whipped around, his furious gaze snapping directly over to Dean, who was stepping out of the hallway, his face pale and completely drawn.
“Is this how you're running things when I'm gone, Dean?!” John roared, pointing an angry finger right at his eldest son's chest. “She's six years old, running around swearing like a street thug and throwing tantrums! I leave her in your care, and this is what I come back to? You're raising her wrong! You're letting her run wild, soft-headed, and undisciplined!”
That was the absolute breaking point.
The days of suffocating guilt, the exhaustion, the terror of almost losing his little sister, and the relentless pressure of carrying the entire family on his shoulders suddenly slammed together inside Dean's chest, snapping something deep within him.
“Oh, I'm raising her wrong?!” Dean exploded, his voice booming through the small motel room so loudly that even Sam flinched.
Dean took two long, furious strides right into John’s space, his green eyes burning with a raw, fierce rage he had been burying for years.
“I shouldn't have had to raise her in the first place!” Dean screamed, pointing a shaky, furious finger right at John's chest, his breathing ragged. “I'm her brother, Dad! I’ve been looking out for her since the day you brought her home! I’m not her father! It was your damn job to raise her! It was your responsibility!”
The room went dead silent, the echo of Dean's voice hanging in the thick, suffocating air. John stood frozen, stunned by the sheer violence of Dean's outburst, while Nelli cowered back against Sam's leg, wide-eyed and terrified by the storm she had just unleashed.
A/N: gosh how I hate writing arguments between Dean and Nelli.
What do you think about this chapter? Pretty short but the next one will be longer. Since I’m finally on vacation I just spend my days writing so that’s why I’m posting all these chapters and one shots.
I’m so happy I finally found my inspiration again and I can write daily.
Also, I got LOTS of requests so I’ll start working on them, I promise you I’ll try to get them done in a week or two
Hii I loveee Nelli and the boys. Could you do one where after a hunt they were all frustrated and tired and she just acts out, and how Dean and her argue to where Sam steps in and scolds her for it. Which hurts her because he’s never the one to get on her it’s usually Dean! :)
Completely done with it
It had been a brutal, seventy-two-hour hunt in the muddy woods of Ohio, a pair of stubborn rawheads that refused to die easy.
Dean’s shoulder was aching, Sam’s ribs were purple, and all three of them were caked in dried mud, sweat, and cheap diner coffee, the brothers were at least, because Nelli was not allowed to drink coffee. Sammy’s rules.
Dean tossed his leather jacket onto the nearest chair in the main room, letting out a long, exhausted groan as his back cracked. “Man, I am gonna sleep for three days straight,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. “Or at least until the beer runs out.”
Who would have guessed that…Dean and his beer obsession…
Fourteen-year-old Nelli slumped into one of the heavy wooden chairs at the library table, her arms crossed tight over her chest, staring blankly at the map spread out in front of her. She was exhausted, running on pure adrenaline and about three hours of broken sleep, and her teenage angst was dialed up to eleven.
“Hey, kiddo,” Dean said, turning toward her as he unbuckled his gun belt. “Do me a favor. Take the weapons duffel back to the armory and start wiping down the machetes before the blood sets in and rusts the steel. I gotta check the oil on Baby before I pass out.”
Nelli didn't move an inch. She didn't even look up at him. “Do it yourself.”
Dean stopped dead in his tracks, his green eyes narrowing. He was way too tired for this. “Excuse me?”
“I said do it yourself,” Nelli repeated, her tone dripping with teenage attitude. “I'm not your maid, Dean. I just spent three days in a swamp getting eaten alive by mosquitoes while you guys did all the actual hunting. I'm not cleaning your knives.”
In Nelli's head, it was a completely valid stand. She was fourteen now. She felt like they still treated her like a little kid when it came to the danger, dragging her along just to keep her in sight, but turned her into the cleanup crew the second they got back to safety. She was sick of getting the boring, dirty work while they treated her like baggage.
“Hey, don't start with the attitude, rugrat,” Dean barked, his voice dropping into that strict, no-nonsense register. “We're all tired. Nobody gets a free pass. I asked you to do one simple job, so get your feet off the table and move.”
Nelli finally looked up, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. “No! You always do this! The second we get home, you start bossing me around like I'm six years old! 'Nelli, carry this. Nelli, clean that.' Why doesn't Sam have to do it?”
“Because Sammy spent four hours digging a grave while you sat in the truck listening to music!” Dean snapped back, stepping right up to the edge of the table, his patience completely threadbare. “I am not playing this game with you today, Nelli. I'm sore, I'm bruised, and I've got a headache the size of Texas. Take the damn bag to the armory!”
“Make me!” she shrieked, kicking the heavy wooden leg of the table so hard it rattled the lamps. “I'm not doing it! You're not my boss, Dean!”
“I am the adult here, which makes me your boss!” Dean yelled, pointing a stern finger straight at her face.
Talk about sounding like John Winchester…
“I hate you!” Nelli yelled, her voice cracking with a mix of exhaustion and childish rage as she stood up so fast her chair screeched against the concrete floor. “You're just a giant jerk who likes pushing people around!”
“That is enough, Nelli!”
The sharp, echoing roar slammed through the war room like a thunderclap.
Both Dean and Nelli froze instantly.
Sam stepped out from the hallway, setting a heavy crate of salt down on the concrete floor with a dull, forceful thud. His jaw was set tight, his tall frame towering over the space, and his hazel eyes were blazing with a rare, cold fury. He didn't look like the gentle, patient older brother who usually stepped in to cushion Dean’s sharp edges or offer a soft smile after a rough day.
He looked furious.
Nelli’s mouth stayed half-open, her chest heaving as she stared at him in absolute shock. In fourteen years, Sam had yelled at her maybe three times, and it was always because she had done something dangerously stupid on a hunt. He never yelled at her for throwing a fit. He was the one who listened. He was the one who took her side when Dean got too stubborn.
“Sammy—“ she started, her voice faltering, the cocky teenage bravado evaporating in a single second.
“Shut it, Nelli,” Sam commanded, pointing a long, rigid finger directly at her. His voice wasn't just loud; it was deep, authoritative, and laced with complete, utter disappointment. “I am sick and tired of listening to you throw a tantrum every time you don't get your way!”
Nelli flinched hard, as if he’d actually struck her. A sudden, hot prickle stung the backs of her eyes, but Sam didn't back down.
“You think you're the only one who's tired?” Sam demanded, taking two long, heavy steps toward the library table. “You think Dean and I are out here enjoying ourselves? We just spent seventy-two hours tracking two rawheads in the pouring rain, getting tossed through tree branches, and digging six-foot holes in thick mud while you sat safe in the Impala! And the second we walk through that door, Dean asks you to wipe down a few blades, and you talk to him like he's dirt on your shoe?”
“I—I didn't mean—“
“I don't care what you meant!” Sam snapped, his tone cutting her off like a knife. “He's your older brother. He takes care of you, he feeds you, he makes sure you're safe every single second of your life, and you stand there and tell him you hate him over a bag of weapons? You are acting like a spoiled, self-centered brat, Nelli, and I am completely done with it!”
Dean stood completely motionless off to the side, his own anger instantly vanishing, replaced by a look of sheer, stunned disbelief as he watched Sam lay into her.
Nelli felt her chin tremble violently. The harsh, stinging words tore through her far deeper than any of Dean’s stern barks ever could. Dean yelling was standard procedure, it was just how they operated. But Sam? Sam looking at her like she was a selfish disappointment felt like a physical weight crushing her chest.
A big, fat tear finally spilled over her eyelash, tracking down her dusty cheek. She bit down hard on her lower lip, clutching her arms tightly around her stomach as she stared at Sam, completely heartbroken and utterly stripped of all her fight.
Nelli didn't say another word. She couldn't. The sting of Sam’s words was so sharp it physically hurt. With her head hung low and tears silently streaming down her face, she picked up the heavy leather weapons duffel, her shoulders slumping under the weight, and hurried off down the hallway toward the armory without looking back.
The heavy iron door of the armory clicked shut, leaving the main room in a thick, stunned silence.
Dean stood frozen for a few seconds, his hands resting on his hips, his jaw slightly slack. He looked at the empty hallway, then slowly turned his head to stare at his brother.
“Well, damn, Sammy,” Dean finally breathed, a mix of genuine shock and a half-amused, disbelieving smirk breaking across his face. “Remind me never to get on your bad side. I think you just stripped the paint off the walls.”
Sam let out a heavy, exhausted sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as the adrenaline bled out of him. He slumped into one of the chairs at the table, looking completely drained. “I'm serious, Dean. She can't keep talking to you like that. You let her get away with way too much because she's the kid, but she's fourteen now. She needs to get it together.”
“Hey, no argument here,” Dean said, walking over and grabbing two cold beers from the small fridge, popping the caps off and sliding one over to Sam. “Trust me, I was two seconds away from grounding her until she's thirty. But…” Dean paused, taking a long swig of his beer before looking down the hall with a furrowed brow. The amused smirk faded into genuine concern.
“What?” Sam asked, looking up.
“It's just... you never lay into her like that, man,” Dean said softly, leaning his hip against the table. “I mean, I'm usually the bad cop. You're the one who hands out the ice cream and tells her it's okay. You hit her pretty hard, Sammy. I think you broke her brain a little bit.”
Sam stared at his bottle, a sudden wave of guilt washing over his tired face. “I know. It's just... we're all running on empty, Dean. I lost my temper.” He looked toward the hallway, hearing the faint, rhythmic sound of a rag scraping against steel coming from the armory. “I guess I should go talk to her.”
“Give her five minutes to finish the machetes first,” Dean muttered, though his eyes stayed fixed on the dark hall, already feeling that familiar tug in his chest to go check on their kid sister.
Sam gave it a few minutes before pushing himself up from the table, taking a slow breath as he walked down the dimly lit hallway toward the armory. The heavy metal door was propped slightly open, and inside, Nelli was sitting on a wooden stool by the workbench, aggressively scrubbing oil onto a blade with a rag. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her jaw was set in a tight, angry line.
Sam leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice dropping back into its usual gentle register.
Nelli didn't look up. She just kept furiously wiping down the machete, the rag making a harsh shhh-shhh sound against the steel. “What do you want, Sam? Here to tell me I'm ruining the family balance again, or is it already time for the next lecture?”
Sam winced slightly at the bite in her voice, stepping fully into the room. “Look, bug... I came to talk. I know I came down on you pretty hard out there.”
“Oh, really? I hadn't noticed,” Nelli snapped, her tone dripping with thick sarcasm as she finally tossed the rag onto the bench and picked up a hunting knife to start on next. “I thought that was just your new fun way of saying 'welcome home.' Really sets the vibe.”
“Nelli, come on,” Sam sighed, running a hand over his face. He walked over and sat on the edge of the workbench near her, trying to catch her eye, but she deliberately turned her head away. “You know you were out of line with Dean. You were acting out, and you said some nasty stuff to him after a seventy-two-hour hunt.”
“And you sounded just like Dad,” Nelli shot back, her voice cracking slightly on the last word, though she tried to cover it with a sharp glare. “So congrats, Sam. Gold star for you.”
That hit Sam right in the chest, making him go quiet for a beat. He looked at her closely, seeing right through the snappy comebacks to the genuine hurt sitting right beneath the surface. He knew why she was throwing up walls, it was easy to roll off Dean’s stern barks because they argued like cats and dogs all day, but getting chewed out by Sam was a whole different story.
“I shouldn't have yelled at you like that,” Sam admitted softly, his voice gentle and completely serious now. “Calling you names wasn't right, and I'm sorry. I was exhausted and stressed, but that's no excuse. I snapped, bug.”
Nelli stared down at the knife in her hands, her thumbs tracing the dull back of the blade. The defensive, witty front started to crack, her lower lip giving a tiny, betraying tremble. “You've never yelled at me like that,” she mumbled, her raspy voice barely above a whisper. “Not ever.”
“I know,” Sam said softly, reaching out to gently catch the edge of her sleeve until she finally looked up at him. “And I hate doing it. But you gotta realize, Nelli... we're a team. When you're hurting or tired, we get it because we are too. But taking it out on Dean when he's just trying to keep things running... it's not fair to him, and it's not fair to you.”
Nelli sniffled, wiping her nose with her sleeve, the fierce teenage attitude completely melting away into the fourteen-year-old who was just plain wiped out. “I was just tired,” she muttered quietly, staring at her sneakers. “And my feet hurt.”
Sam let out a faint, warm huff of a laugh, reaching over to ruffle her messy hair. “I know, kiddo. We're all dead on our feet. Come on, finish up that last knife and go get some sleep. Dean's already half-asleep on the couch, but I'm pretty sure if you apologize, he won't even remember why he was mad.”
Nelli dropped the knife onto the workbench, turned around, and buried her face straight into Sam’s chest, wrapping her arms around his waist as tight as she could.
“I just... I just wished Dean would've understood that I was just tired,” she sobbed softly, her voice muffled against his shirt. She squeezed her eyes shut, a fresh wave of tears soaking into the fabric. “And now I know both of you are mad at me. You hate me, and Dean thinks I'm a jerk, and I ruined everything.”
Sam’s heart melted completely. He wrapped his long arms around her, pulling her close and resting his chin on the top of her head.
“Hey, bug, listen to me,” Sam whispered, gently pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as he rocked her back and forth. “Nobody hates you. Nobody is mad at you anymore, okay? Dean loves you more than anything on this planet, and so do I. We were all just running on empty and snapped at each other. It happens.”
Nelli sniffled, her shoulders shaking with a small hiccup as she slowly let go of his waist, looking up at him with watery eyes. “Promise?”
“Promise,” Sam said with a warm, reassuring smile. He reached over, took the last knife out of her hands, and pointed a finger down the hallway toward the bedrooms. “Now, go take a shower and get into bed. I'll finish wiping down the rest of these blades for you.”
Nelli blinked, surprised. “Really? But you said—“
“I know what I said,” Sam interrupted softly, ruffling her hair one last time. “Consider it my apology for losing my cool out there. Go on, get some sleep.”
A tiny, relieved smile finally broke through her tear-stained face. “Thanks, Sammy,” she whispered, stepping back and wiping her nose with her sleeve before heading out of the armory, ready to finally crash.
Nelli padded down the quiet corridor, her sneakers squeaking softly against the polished floor. She stepped into the main room, expecting it to be completely empty, but Dean was still there.
He was sprawled out on the heavy leather couch, one arm flung over his eyes and his boots propped up on the edge of the coffee table. The moment the heavy iron door clicked shut behind her, his ear twitched, and he pulled his arm back to look at her.
A slow, tired grin spread across his face, his green eyes glinting with familiar mischief.
“Well, well, look who survived Sammy’s wrath,” Dean said, his voice gravelly from fatigue. He sat up slowly, wincing as his sore back popped, and leaned his elbows on his knees. “I gotta admit, kid, I didn't think he had it in him. You really brought out the big guns today. I thought he was gonna make you write an essay or something.”
Nelli stopped near the end of the long library table, dragging her feet. She was completely drained, her eyes heavy and sore from crying, and her whole body felt like lead. She just wasn't in the mood for Dean's usual teasing.
She let out a tiny, miserable huff and crossed her arms, looking down at her sneakers. “It's not funny, Dean.”
Dean’s playful smile faltered, catching the soft, utterly defeated note in her voice. The snappy, sarcastic teenager from thirty minutes ago was completely gone, replaced by a fourteen-year-old who looked like she was about to fall asleep standing up.
“Hey,” Dean said, his tone softening instantly as he patted the cushion right beside him. “Come here, kiddo. I'm just messin' with you.”
Nelli hesitated for a second before dragging her feet over to the couch. She sank down onto the leather cushion beside him, her whole body practically slumping into a heavy, miserable lump.
Without a word, Dean reached over, hooked his arm around her shoulders, and hauled her right into his side. Nelli didn't fight it this time. She just let her head fall heavily against his chest, her forehead resting against the worn leather of his jacket as a long, shaky breath escaped her lips.
Dean wrapped his big arm securely around her, resting his hand on her hair and gently resting his chin on top of her head. He let the quiet of the bunker settle over them for a long moment, listening to the soft hum of the hum overhead and the steady rhythm of her breathing.
“Look, Nels,” Dean began, his voice dropping into that quiet, gravelly tone he only ever used when it was just the two of them. “I know. Alright? I know this life is absolute crap sometimes. I know it sucks that you don't get to have a normal room, or normal friends, or just come home from school and complain about homework instead of helping us wipe down machetes.”
He squeezed her shoulder gently, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles into her arm.
“I get why you're angry,” he continued softly. “Heck, I'm angry half the time, too. You're fourteen, you're exhausted, and you feel like you're stuck in the middle of two big brothers who are constantly telling you what to do, where to go, and how to stay safe. It's a lot to carry, kiddo. Way too much for a kid your age.”
Nelli stayed completely still, her fingers slowly tangling into the hem of his shirt. She didn't say anything, but Dean could feel the tension gradually melting out of her small frame as his words sank in.
“I'm sorry I barked at you earlier,” Dean admitted, pressing a soft, firm kiss into her messy hair. “We were all running on fumes, but that's no excuse for me to push you around. I don't ever want you to think you can't be mad, or that you have to pretend everything is fine. You get to throw a fit every once in a while, rugrat. That's your right.”
He let out a low, tired breath, shifting slightly to make sure she was comfortable. “Just... don't go thinking Sammy or I don't see you, or that we don't care. Everything we do, every strict rule, every weapon lesson, every annoying order, it's all just because keeping you safe is the only thing that keeps me and Sam going. You're our whole world, Nels. Got it?”
Nelli let out a tiny, shaky hiccup, her cheek pressing firmer against his chest as she nodded softly against him. “Got it,” she mumbled, her raspy voice barely audible over the thump of his heartbeat.
“Good,” Dean whispered, pulling the soft throw blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over her shoulders, tucking her in tight against his side. “That’s good, kiddo.”
Not even ten minutes later after she fell asleep Sam walked softly out of the hallway, holding a clean glass of water in one hand. He stopped at the edge of the rug, his tall frame leaning against the archway as he looked over at the couch.
Nelli was completely dead to the world, wrapped tight in the flannel throw blanket with her head pillowed heavily against Dean’s chest. Her breathing was slow, deep, and steady, finally asleep after such a long day.
Sam set the glass on the side table and stepped over, bending down to gently brush a stray lock of hair away from her forehead. He pressed a warm, quiet kiss to the top of her head before straightening up, making sure not to wake her.
Dean shifted slightly, keeping one heavy arm locked around her shoulders so she wouldn't slide off the cushion, and looked up at his brother with a tired, quiet smirk.
“Look at that,” Dean whispered, keeping his voice barely above a murmur. “Sleeping like a rock. Guess your big scary lecture didn't traumatize her for life after all.”
Sam let out a breathless, silent laugh, shaking his head as he pulled up a wooden chair to sit near the couch. “Shut up, Dean. I still feel terrible about it. She thought we both hated her.”
“Ah, she knows better,” Dean said, his eyes dropping down to look at her small, peaceful face. He smoothed down the top of her messy hair with his thumb. “She was just overwhelmed, Sammy. Fourteen's a rough age under normal circumstances. Add in... well, our crazy life, and it's a miracle she doesn't blow her top more often.”
Sam folded his hands, his expression turning thoughtful and a little somber as he watched her sleep. “She's growing up fast, man. Sometimes I forget she's not six anymore, asking for juice boxes and hiding behind your legs. She's got real opinions, real anger... she's starting to see how messed up everything around us really is.”
"Well, to be fair, she’s always done that.” He smiled warmly, looking down at the sleeping teenager. “Even when she was six, she’d still be a pain in our asses, in the best way possible.”
“You’re right about that,” Sam sighed, now smiling at himself. “I still can't believe I shouted at her…”
“Sam—“ dean started, but was soon cut off.
“She said we talked like Dad, Dean. Like Dad.”
Dean could practically taste the disgust in Sam’s voice. It was always there when he talked about John.
If the eldest didn’t know any better, he’d say that Nelli didn't mean it. And a part of him wanted to believe she didn’t.
But he knew, he knew, that sometimes he does sound like John. And so does Sam.
That’s something they’d never forgive themselves for. Both brothers knew what having a John Winchester in your life meant, especially at a young age, and it was something they’d never want their kid sister to experience.
They both swore she wouldn’t.
A/N: so I got this lovely request and I just HAD to get it done. It was so fun to write!
About the actual story, get ready cause the next chapter will be up in a few hours, I’m finishing the last edits so that’ll be quick.
Just fyi, 'character a x character b' means it's a romantic relationship, not a platonic one. I'm not judging you if it is supposed to be incest but if not, please consider using 'character a & character b'
Gosh I don’t even know how to respond.
I have no idea if what I’m about to say makes any sense, so i apologize if it doesn’t.
I want to clarify, there is nothing romantic between Nelli and her brothers. I never meant for it to come across that way!!! She’s a kid, and she’s NOT in a romantic relationship with anyone.
About the tags, I did intend to use “&” when I published the first chapter of my story but I searched on tumblr what others are using and I came to the conclusion that everyone posting one shots or anything that has a Winchester sister, even Sam or Dean’s daughter, is using “x” in their tags.
I have no idea why that is, because none of those works are in any way romantic, but since this is what everyone is doing, and has been doing, I decided to use the same tags so it’s easier for people to find my works. It’s a whole trope on tumblr and that’s just how the these types of posts are tagged, not only my posts, but the majority of them.
Once again, I’m sorry if it doesn’t make sense! I’ll add tags with “&” but I’ll still have to keep my usual tags too so my posts can be found.
Nelli was jostled awake by a rough hand shaking her shoulder. She blinked her heavy eyes open, squinting against the glare, her brain instantly picking up on the suffocating, high-voltage tension buzzing in the air.
Sam was frantically throwing clothes into a duffel bag on the far bed, looking pale and completely wired. Dean was standing right over her, already laced up in his heavy boots and leather jacket, his face set in a hard, rigid line. The gentle, soft-spoken big brother from the night before was completely gone, replaced by a guy who looked like he was gearing up for a war.
“Up and at 'em, rugrat,” Dean said, his voice flat, gravelly, and entirely stripped of its warmth. “Rise and shine. Wrap it up.”
Was there even a fifth way of saying ‘get up’ ?
Nelli rubbed her eyes, pulling the itchy blanket up to her chin as she looked between her brothers, her chest tightening instantly. “De? What's going on? Why's Sammy packing?”
Dean let out a heavy, sharp breath through his nose, running a hand over his face. He didn't sit down on the edge of the bed like he usually did. He just stood there, hands on his hips, towering over her.
“Dad's gonna be here in twenty minutes,” Dean dropped on her, his tone clipped. “He knows about the Djinn, and he wants a full rundown. Which means he's gonna want to talk to you.”
The words hit her like a bucket of ice water. Nelli’s face went completely red, her lower lip trembling for half a second before pure, furious terror took over. She snapped upright, her small hands clutching the sheets.
“No!” she shrieked, her voice cracking loud in the small room. “No, no, no! I don't wanna talk to him! Tell him to go away! You promised he wasn't gonna-”
“Nelli, keep your voice down,” Sam warned, darting a nervous glance toward the thin motel walls, his hands pausing over his duffel. “Hey, look, it's not a big deal, bug, he just—“
“I don't care!” Nelli screamed, kicking her feet violently under the blankets, completely throwing a full-blown six-year-old tantrum. “I'm not doing it! I'm staying in the car! You can't make me talk to him, Dean! He's mean and he yells and I hate him!”
Dean’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. He was already running on two hours of sleep, his nerves completely shot from the Djinn case, and the crushing anxiety of facing John Winchester in less than a quarter of an hour was pressing down on his chest like a lead weight. He didn't have the time, the brainpower, or the patience to play the soft-spoken brother right now.
He stepped directly up to the edge of the mattress, his green eyes narrowing into a sharp, commanding glare. He dropped into his stern, drill-sergeant persona, the one he usually reserved for when she ran off during a hunt.
“Hey! That is enough!” Dean barked, his voice dropping into a stern, authoritative growl that cut right through her screaming.
Nelli froze, her mouth still half-open, startled by the sudden harshness in his tone.
“I am not playing this game with you today, Nelli, do you hear me?” Dean snapped, pointing a strict finger right at her face. “Dad is coming through that door whether you like it or not. You're gonna get out of this bed, you're gonna put your shoes on, and when Dad asks you a question, you're gonna look him in the eye and answer it.”
“Dean, easy…” Sam muttered under his breath, looking uncomfortably at the small girl, though he didn't dare step between Dean and his authority when John was involved.
“No, Sammy, I'm sick of the whining,” Dean shot back, not breaking eye contact with Nelli. His patience was completely threadbare, his own fear of John making him snap harder than he meant to. He leaned down, grabbing her small sneakers from the floor and tossing them hard onto the foot of her bed. “Put 'em on. Now. I've got enough on my plate without you throwing a fit over nothing. Get moving, Eleanor.”
Nelli stared up at him, her eyes welling up with big, fat tears of betrayal, but the dangerous edge in Dean's voice told her that his usual gentle boundaries were completely off the table today.
Nelli snatched the sneakers off the mattress, her face burning a furious, bright red. She glared up at Dean with absolute betrayal in her tear-filled eyes, then scrambled off the bed and bolted straight for the bathroom. She slammed the door with a loud, wooden BANG that made the light fixture above the vanity rattle violently, followed by the dramatic clunk of the lock, and then the intentional, loud thud of her shoes being aggressively tossed against the tile floor.
Dean winced slightly at the slam, but his jaw stayed set in a hard, rigid line. He let out a sharp, frustrated breath, running both hands over his face as he paced a short, agitated line across the worn motel carpet.
Sam set his duffel bag down on the luggage rack, his brow furrowed as he stared at his older brother. The frustration on Sam’s face was obvious as he stepped right into Dean’s walking path, forcing him to stop.
“Dean, what the hell was that?” Sam demanded, keeping his voice in a low, urgent whisper so it wouldn't carry to the bathroom, though his tone was sharp. “You didn't have to bark at her like she's a drill recruit.”
“Sammy, back off,” Dean growled, wiping a hand down his neck, his nerves visibly fried. “Dad’s gonna be here in ten minutes. I don't have time to hold her hand and sing lullabies while she throws a full-blown fit. We need her locked in and ready, not acting like a wild animal.”
“She’s six years old, Dean!” Sam shot back, leaning in closer, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. “She spent three days hooked up to a Djinn, out of her mind with nightmares, and now she’s terrified because Dad's rolling in. You know how he gets, and you know how she gets when you jump down her throat!”
“I didn't jump down her throat, I set a boundary!” Dean snapped, his green eyes flashing with defensive anger. “Somebody's gotta be the bad guy around here, Sam, because if Dad comes through that door and she starts screaming and throwing shoes, he’s gonna lay into all three of us. I'm trying to nip it in the bud!”
“Yeah, well, you're making it worse,” Sam argued, shaking his head with a heavy, exasperated sigh. “Look at the track record, man. Every single time you lose your temper and pull the tough-guy routine with Nelli, things go completely south. She shuts down, she stops listening to you, and then you get pissed off because she’s ignoring you. It never works. You're just taking out your own stress about Dad on a kid who's already traumatized.”
That hit a nerve. Dean’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing, but he didn't fire back a quick insult like he usually did. The heavy truth of Sam’s words hung suspended in the cramped motel room, punctuated only by the aggressive sound of Nelli loudly turning the sink faucet on and off in the bathroom.
Dean ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long, defeated breath, the rigid posture in his shoulders finally slumping just a fraction as the crushing weight of everything settling on him became unbearable.
The heavy bathroom door clicked open, and Nelli marched out like a tiny, furious soldier on a mission.
She was practically swallowed whole by a massive, puffy winter coat, two thick scarves wrapped around her neck so tight she could barely turn her head, and her oversized backpack stuffed so full of her coloring books and stuffed animals that it practically weighed more than she did. She didn't look at Sam, and she definitely didn't look at Dean. She just set her little chin, stared straight ahead at the exit, and started striding right toward the front door with absolute, furious determination.
Dean stared at her, caught in a bizarre mix of being completely amused, utterly confused, and thoroughly irritated all at the exact same time. The sheer sight of a six-year-old trying to pull off a dramatic runaway stunt while dressed like a bloated marshmallow was almost ridiculous enough to shatter the tension in the room.
Almost.
Before her small hand could even reach for the shiny brass doorknob, Dean was across the room in two long strides. He reached down and hoisted her up by the back of her bulky coat, scooping her right off her feet and tucking her securely against his hip.
“And just where do you think you're going, Dora the explorer?” Dean grunted, his voice a sharp blend of disbelief and unyielding authority as he held her tightly so she couldn't wiggle away.
Nelli instantly started kicking her heavy winter boots against his thigh, flailing her arms like a flipped turtle. “Let me down! I'm leaving! I'm going to live with Bobby!” she yelled, her face turning bright red under her mountain of scarves.
“Yeah, nice try, pipsqueak, but Bobby's three states away and you can barely carry that bag across the room,” Dean snapped back, though his grip on her stayed completely solid and protective.
Sam let out a low, breathless sigh from the corner, rubbing his temples. “Nelli, calm down. Nobody's going anywhere right now.”
“I'm not talking to him!” Nelli wailed, twisting around in Dean's iron grip, her eyes glaring daggers right into his face. “I'm not doing it, Dean! You can't make me!”
“Alright, get over that, quiet down!” Dean growled, his stern big-brother mode clicking right back into gear as he bounced her once on his hip to settle her flailing legs. He reached out with his free hand and snatched the heavy handle of her oversized backpack, unzipping it just enough to relieve the weight off her shoulders without dropping her. “You're staying right here, you're taking off these forty layers of clothes, and you're gonna breathe.”
Nelli stopped kicking, resting her forehead heavily against his collarbone with a loud, dramatically miserable sigh, defeated for the moment but still radiating pure, hot rage.
Dean let out a heavy sigh, unbuckling the massive backpack from her shoulders and tossing it onto the foot of the bed with a dull thud. He set Nelli down on her feet, holding onto her shoulders until he was sure she wasn't going to make another break for the front door.
“Look at me,” Dean said, his tone dropping from sharp irritation to a firm, no-nonsense line. He tapped her forehead gently with his knuckle. “You're not going to Alaska, and you're not running off to Bobby's. Lose the marshmallow coat and the three scarves.”
Nelli crossed her arms tight over the bulky jacket, sticking her lower lip out in a massive pout. “I'm cold.”
“You're sweating, is what you are,” Dean countered, rolling his eyes as he reached down and unzipped her winter coat himself. He peeled the heavy layers off her, tossing the pile onto the chair by the table. “Go back in the bathroom, pick out some normal house clothes, a t-shirt, sweatpants, normal kid stuff, and put 'em on. No more stunt driving through the lobby.”
Sam stepped over, picking up her little sneakers and setting them neatly by the door. “Go on, bug.”
Nelli glared at Dean one last time, her big green eyes full of stubborn resistance, but the firm look on his face told her there was zero room left for negotiation. She let out a loud, dramatic huff, snatched a soft pair of navy sweatpants and a faded shirt out of the open duffel, and marched back toward the bathroom.
“And don't slam the door!” Dean called out after her.
The door shut with a muffled, reluctant click instead of a bang.
Dean ran a hand over his face, shaking his head as he looked at Sam. “Six years old and already pulling runaway stunts. I swear to God, Sammy, she gets the dramatic streak from you.”
“Right, because you're the picture of calm and quiet,” Sam muttered back with a tiny smirk, though his eyes darted nervously toward the window as the heavy crunch of gravel outside signaled an incoming car.
does john know about the man from the diner/everything that happened with nelli? is that smth we may get to see from his perspective?
Okay, firstly, John doesn’t know anything. Since he wasn’t around much, he’s in complete darkness about what happened to Nelli and what she went through.
Secondly, yes, there will be chapters from his perspective when he finds out.
I think you’ll like the next chapters because John will appear and then things will get interesting when he notices that Nelli is different.
Without giving away too much, things will get heavy at some point and you’ll find out more about what happened to Nelli because the boys will have to clarify everything to John so they won’t sugarcoat it the way they do it with her.
I’ve got so many things planned and I’m so so excited to see what you think.
They finally kicked open the door to a crappy, neon-lit motel room, and the second the door clicked shut, Nelli was like glue.
Gosh how Dean wished they’d actually have a place to stay in times like these. He was tired of all the motels, the shitty beds and the smell. God, the smell.
Sam told him once, years ago, when Nelli was just a baby, that their lifestyle was not fit for a kid. Dean just shrugged back then, maybe even threw some witty comment to his brother, he couldn’t remember. Now he could see that Sam was, in fact, right.
Not that either of them could do something about the way they live.
Nelli wouldn't let either of them get more than two inches away. When they sat down on the squeaky double bed, she jammed herself right into the middle slot between Sam and Dean, clutching the edges of their shirts like she’d float away if she let go.
If you asked either of the brothers, they’d say that she’s pretty calm despite what happened. Well, as calm as she could be in a situation like that.
She wasn’t crying, so that was a good first step. They could deal with the rest. They will deal with the rest.
After a minute, she flopped her head straight down onto Dean’s lap, curling her little six-year-old self into a tight ball. Her big green eyes looked up at him, totally wiped out but still filled with a ton of heavy questions.
“De?” she mumbled, her voice sounding small and raspy. “Why do the monsters always pick on the kid?”
Dean completely froze, his hand pausing mid-stroke in her messy hair. He cut a totally baffled look over at Sam, his jaw dropping a bit. Sam, mirroring Dean’s expression, shook his head, a quiet and discreet way of telling his older brother that he’s just as surprised.
For a guy who could talk his way out of a corner with a demon, this totally threw him off. He had absolutely no idea what to say to a kid asking the deep, crummy questions about their messed-up life. If you could call it a life.
Most of the time Dean said they’re trapped in a rat race anyway.
“Uh…” Dean stammered, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. He softened his face, looking down at her. “Look, rugrat... I don't know. The universe is just full of jerks, I guess. Bad crap always happens, and I promise you, I promise you, it’s not your fault. You just got unlucky” Dean closed his eyes for a moment, muttering something that sounded like a curse under his breath, before continuing “very unlucky to be stuck with us. There’s always a target on our backs, and we’re dragging you with us.”
Nelli blinked, processing that, but then her eyes went wide as a memory from right before the Djinn grabbed her popped back into her head. She sat straight up, staring between the two of them.
“I don’t want to be without you” she gasped, her little fingers tightening on Dean's knee. Her gaze then moved to Sam, reaching her other hand to grab his own
Sam shifted closer, letting her hold his hand.
“That’s not the case, bug” Sam said quickly, trying to reassure her.
“Dean was just saying that it’s a shame we have the lives that we have, not that we don’t want you with us” he explained, watching her expression closely.
Dean shifted uncomfortably, the easygoing look instantly vanishing from his face. He exchanged a heavy, serious glance with Sam before looking back down at his little sister.
“I know how this looks like from your side, kiddo” Dean said softly, his voice dropping into a low rumble.
“Let’s just focus on something else. Dean?” Sam looked at his brother meaningfully, trying to signal him that it’s time they stop talking about their fucked up lives in front of the kid. Dean seemed to get it right away and he closed his eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time, sighing.
“Does anything hurt?” He asked out of a sudden. Dean could see Sam shaking his head, seeming disappointed.
Out of all the questions Dean could have asked, he chose that one. Sam knew damn well his brother wasn’t the brightest when it came to social stuff.
He could only do so much.
“I think we’ve already settled that one, no?” The younger brother said quickly and he got up, making Nelli frown for a moment, before grabbing a water bottle, which had tea in it, but anyway, and sitting right in front of the kid. She looked a little bit confused, to be fair Dean was too, maybe that’s why he’s been giving Sam the raised eyebrow look for the last minute.
“I don’t think we-“ Dean started but was soon interrupted.
“Yes, we did.” Sam mumbled.
“No-“ Dean tried once again, but there was no outcome this time either.
“Yes, Dean.” The younger brother nodded towards the confused kid, trying to get Dean to understand that when he said they needed to change the subject, he meant a completely different one. Not hopping from crappy lives to injuries.
Not to mention Dean checked her for injuries the whole car ride. And Sam himself made sure the ones she did have were bandaged up and disinfected.
“Sammy?” Nelli’s voice broke the silence.
“Yeah, bug?”
“Before the—the thingy took me…did you go to meet with dad?” She whispered, looking from Dean to Sam and from Sam to Dean again.
“Good enough of a subject for you?” Dean muttered to Sam, who was signing and looking extra stiff out of a sudden.
“We did, actually—I mean, dad is back and he—“ the middle sibling started clearing things up, but Nelli was entirely gone after the confirmation.
Her face completely dropped. She crossed her small arms over her chest and let out a huge, dramatic pout, slouching hard against the pillows. Growing up Winchester meant she knew exactly what "Dad being back" meant—it meant more moving, more training, less diner pancakes, and her brothers constantly looking over their shoulders. It meant Sam and Dean couldn’t back her up everywhere something went wrong. It meant arguments and yelling. She was totally not hyped about it.
"Can you tell him not to come back," she grumbled, burying her face back into Dean's side.
“I don’t want him here”
Sam let out a faint, quiet huff of a laugh, leaning over to ruffle her hair. "We know, bug."
“Then do something!” She raised her voice out of a sudden, and towards the end both brothers could hear it crack.
Dean didn’t even hesitate and he lived her up into his arms, his hand quickly culling the back of her head.
“Hey, shh, bring it down a notch, kid,” Dean murmured, his voice instantly dropping into that fierce, protective rumble as he tucked her close. He rocked her back and forth just a fraction, his large hand rubbing the back of her head to keep the waterworks from starting up again. “Nobody's letting anyone take you, and nobody's dropping you off anywhere. You're stuck with us, remember?”
Nelli’s little fingers dug deep into the leather of his jacket, her face buried so hard into his neck it muffled her voice. “But Dad makes everything loud,” she sniffled, her tiny shoulders hitching. “When he's here, you and Sammy just yell. I don't want him to make you yell.”
Dean felt a familiar, ugly knot tighten right in the center of his chest. He cut Sam a look over her head, a heavy, exhausted look that spoke volumes.
The kid wasn't wrong. Whenever John Winchester rolled into town, the air got thick, the orders started flying, and the motel rooms turned into a tactical briefing zone where a six-year-old girl definitely didn't belong. Dean hated that she noticed that stuff. He hated that at six years old, she could read the room well enough to know when something wasn’t right.
“Nels, look at me,” Sam said softly, leaning in close and gently tugging at one of her little belt loops to get her attention. “Dad's just... he's got a lot on his plate right now. But Dean and I? We're not going anywhere. We're your brothers, okay? Nothing gets to you unless it goes through us first.”
“Yeah, what Sammy said,” Dean added, forcing a lighter, gruff tone into his voice to break the heavy mood. “Besides, who else is gonna teach you how to properly double-clutch the Impala?”
He gave her a gentle squeeze, then tapped her chin. “Alright, enough sitting around growing moss. Let's get you changed, and then we're going outside to give the car a once-over. Sound like a plan?”
Nelli let out a small, wet sniffle against his collarbone but gave a tiny nod.
Dean set her down on the edge of the mattress, rummaging through the small duffel bag until he found a clean pair of her tiny jeans and a faded gray Led Zeppelin t-shirt that used to belong to Sam when he was a toddler. Dean handled the buttons and the shoes with the kind of practiced, clumsy gentleness he only ever used with her, making sure the fresh gauze Sam had put on her arm didn't catch on the sleeves.
Once her sneakers were tied in double knots so she wouldn't trip, Nelli immediately reached her arms right back up toward him, lifting her chin expectantly. She was still completely in glue-mode.
“Man, you are a heavy little gremlin today, you know that?” Dean grumbled, but there wasn't a single drop of real bite in his voice. He scooped her right back up onto his hip, his strong arm locking around her small frame like a vice.
“Don't lose the shoes this time,” Sam called out from the table, not looking up from his laptop, which he just opened, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
“Mind your business, Sasquatch,” Dean fired back, tossing the motel key into his pocket and kicking the door open with his boot.
The cool evening air hit them the second they stepped out onto the concrete walkway of the motel parking lot. The neon sign above the office buzzed with a low, annoying hum, casting a flickering pink glow over the hood of the Impala. The parking lot was mostly empty, save for a rusty pickup truck a few doors down, giving them total quiet.
Nelli wrapped both arms tightly around Dean's neck, her head resting heavily on his shoulder as he walked them over to the car. Even out here in the open, she wasn't letting go.
“Alright, let's see what we're working with,” Dean muttered, adjusting his grip on her as he reached out with his free hand and popped the heavy latch of the hood. The metal gave a satisfying, deep clunk as it rose, exposing the massive, familiar engine block.
Dean leaned over the fender, keeping Nelli securely anchored against his side. The smell of oil, gasoline, and old leather instantly filled the space between them, a hundred times better than the dingy, stale air of the motel room.
“See that right there, rugrat?” Dean pointed a calloused finger down toward the air filter. “That's where the magic happens. You gotta keep an eye on the oil level after a long haul through the fog, otherwise she gets cranky. Just like you when you don't get your pancakes.”
Nelli let out a tiny, faint giggle, her fingers loosening just a fraction around his collar as she peered down into the dark machinery. “Baby isn't cranky. She likes the road.”
“Damn right she does,” Dean smiled, his green eyes softening as he grabbed a clean rag from the side panel and wiped down a stray smudge of grease on the chrome. For a few minutes, out here under the buzzing neon light, with the car between them and the rest of the world, the shadow of John Winchester felt a million miles away.
A/N: there we gooo. This is one of my favorite chapters everrrr.
I’m also working on some requests, which are very funny, so get ready for those too. (If you have any requests for one shots with Nelli and the boys don’t hesitate to ask)
Nelli felt a hand on her shoulder, gripping it tightly. She didn’t even know what was happening with her. How could anyone even reach her? She could have swore she was in the car, crying, just moments ago.
Her mind drifted to the phone call, Dean and Sam’s voices ringing loudly through her head.
She could feel the tears flooding her eyes, but when she tried to blink them away she realized that she wasn’t even in the car, nor was she at bobby’s.
Around her were weird rugs hung on the walls, furniture everywhere -old and dusty- and…people. Nelli panicked, her eyes going wide in seconds. People were sat on chairs, looking every bit lifeless. They had weird tubes that Nelli couldn’t identify hung all over them.
For a second she wondered if she also had one. Her eyes drifted to her hand and she immediately identified the very same tube onto her arm.
“De!” Nelli tried to scream, but her voice came out as a weak, pathetic squeak. Her throat felt like it was coated in sand, scratchy and itchy.
She didn’t even have time to process what was happening, when a loud CRACK rang through the weird room. It was then followed by the thud of boots - way too familiar for her to not notice it -
“Bobby, take the back stairs!” Sam’s voice boomed through the building, rough and laced with absolute panic.
“If that son of a bitch touched her, I’m gonna—” Dean roared back, his voice sounding raw, furious, and completely terrified.
“Dean, let’s not start again. We’ve been going at it for days.” The younger brother cut him off, trying to sound a little bit calmer.
Nelli’s eyes went wide. They were alive.
She was utterly confused. Chances are, if she wouldn’t have the tube hanging from her arm, and if she wasn’t in what looked like an abandoned hotel, she’d question everything. She’d probably try to identify where she was, and she’d try to remember what happened. Yet she did none of those.
“De!” she tried again, harder this time, kicking her legs against the rusted metal frame of the cot she was tied to. “Sammy! I’m up here! De!”
The heavy wooden door to the room was kicked off its hinges with a deafening bang. Dean burst through the frame first, his silver M1911 raised, his knuckles white around the grip. His jacket was torn, his face smeared with sweat and dirt, and his green eyes were wild, scanning the room like a lunatic. Right behind him was Sam, holding a massive silver blade covered in glowing blue blood, and Bobby, shotgun leveled, his trucker hat tilted back.
“Nelli!” Dean’s voice cracked. He dropped his gun straight to its holster and sprinted across the room, completely ignoring the creepy, lifeless bodies around them. He threw himself to his knees beside her, his rough hands instantly cupping her face. “Oh, thank God. Sammy, get over here, she’s awake!”
“De!” Nelli wailed, the fresh tears finally spilling over her cheeks as she tried to wrap her small arms around his neck, restricted by the tube. “The phone…the voice said — it said you weren't coming back!”
Dean looked confused, but he tried to not make it obvious. He knew she’s been through some tough things, and she probably still can’t tell reality and fake apart.
“Hey, hey, look at me, kiddo. Look at me,” Dean ordered, his voice shaking as he gently wiped the tears from her nose with his thumb. “It wasn't real, Nels. It was a Djinn. We’ve been looking for you for three straight days.” De leaned closer, culling her small hand in his palms and slowly brought her head to his lips, pressing a long kiss to her forehead.
Sam dropped to his knees on the other side of the cot, his massive frame trembling with relief. “We got him, Nelli. He’s gone. You’re safe,” he breathed, his long fingers carefully reaching out to peel the tape off her hand. “I’m gonna take the IV out now, okay? It’s gonna tickle a little bit.”
“Son of a bitch,” Bobby muttered, lowering his shotgun but keeping a watchful eye on the door, though his gruff face softened the second he saw the kid was breathing. “You idjits almost gave me a heart attack. Let’s get the kid out of this freak show before more of 'em show up.”
With a quick, practiced motion, Sam yanked the tube out, pressing a clean piece of gauze to her hand. The second she was free, Nelli lunged forward, burying her face directly into the collar of Dean’s leather jacket. It smelled exactly like it did in her dream, only this time it wasn’t.
Dean gathered her up in his arms, lifting her small body effortlessly against his chest. He held her so tight she could barely breathe, his chin resting on top of her wild, messy curls.
Dean didn't say another word. He just stood up from the rusted cot, keeping his arms locked around her like she was made of glass and the whole room was a stiff breeze away from knocking her over. His heart was hammering so hard against his ribs that Nelli could feel the rhythmic thud against her cheek, a fierce, solid proof that he was right there, warm and breathing.
“Alright, we're ghosting this joint,” Dean muttered, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated right through his leather jacket. He cut a sharp look over his shoulder at Sam. “Sammy, grab her bag if it’s around here. Let's move.”
“On it,” Sam said, his long legs already carrying him across the dusty room, his eyes scanning the cluttered furniture until he spotted her little backpack tossed in a corner. He scooped it up, slinging it over one shoulder while keeping his machete gripped tight in his other hand.
Bobby stayed ahead of them, his heavy boots making the old floorboards groan as he guarded the doorway, his shotgun leveled at the dark hallway. “Move your boots, boys. This neighborhood is giving me the creeps, and I ain't planning on staying for tea.”
Dean carried Nelli down the dark, crumbling stairwell of the abandoned building, his grip never loosening for a second. Every time she gave a tiny, trembling hitch of her shoulders, he’d just tighten his arms, pressing his jaw firmly against the top of her head. “I got you, rugrat. Shh... just breathe.”
The cool, damp night air hit them the second they broke through the front doors, and Nelli's eyes instantly tracked the gravel driveway. There she was. The sleek, black silhouette of the Impala was idling near the curb, her engine giving off that familiar, beautiful, low-end thrum that sounded like safety. The headlights were cutting bright lines through the fog, completely defying the darkness.
Dean marched straight to the passenger side. Sam was already there, swinging the door wide open. Instead of putting her in the back seat like usual, Dean slid her right onto the front bench seat, tucking her closely against the middle ridge.
“Slide over, baby,” Dean murmured softly, jumping into the driver's seat right next to her and slamming the heavy door shut, locking out the creepy silhouette of the abandoned hotel.
Sam climbed into the passenger side, his massive frame instantly filling the space, while Bobby threw his gear into his own truck parked just behind them, giving Dean a sharp nod through the windshield before climbing inside.
The moment Dean threw the Chevy into drive and hit the gas, the tires crunched loudly against the gravel, and the hotel—or whatever the hell that building was—began to blur into the rearview mirror.
Inside the car, the silence was thick, broken only by the steady, comforting rumble of the engine and the soft click of the heater kicking on, blowing warm air across their knees. Nelli was still trembling, her small fingers tightly bunching the rough fabric of Dean's sleeve. The phantom echoes of that horrific phone call were still rattling in her head—Dean's rattling gasp, Sam's weak, choked voice telling her about the otters. It felt so incredibly real that her brain was having a hard time letting it go.
Sam looked over from the passenger seat, his long fingers resting on the dashboard as he watched her with deep, furrowed worry. “Hey, Nels... you alright? Huh? You're still looking a little spaced out.”
He quickly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a fresh bottle of water and some clean gauze to tend to the nasty scrape where the IV had been. “Hey, Nels,” Sam said softly, his giant hand gently patting her knee. “We're gonna get you cleaned up, okay?”
But Nelli couldn't stop the words from spilling out. The terror of the Djinn's illusion was still vibrating through her veins, blurring the edges of the dingy room. “De…” she choked out, a violent hiccup interrupting her breath as she clutched at his collar. “The... the phone. It was the toy phone. The plastic one... it was ringing red.”
Dean frowned, looking over her head at Sam, completely confused. A toy phone? “Hey, hey, slow down, baby,” Dean cooed softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her messy curls. “Take a big breath for me, hm? What about the phone, kiddo?”
“It... it was you,” she wailed, burying her face deeper into his neck, her tears soaking right into his shirt. “You and Sammy... you were in the dirt. Your shiny gun was in the tall grass and Bobby had it. And you called me, De! You sounded so tired... you said you were sorry... and Sammy told me to hold Bobby's hand so I wouldn't float away!” Another heavy hiccup rocked her small shoulders, making her gasp for air. “I thought you died! I thought the sun went down and you left me alone in Baby!”
Dean's heart did a painful, heavy drop in his chest. He didn't know exactly what the Djinn had made her see, but hearing her piece together such a broken, terrifying nightmare made his protective instincts go completely through the roof. He hated that a monster had spent three days twisting her favorite things: his car, their things, her brothers, into a horror show.
“Oh, sweetie,” Dean whispered, his voice cracking with pure devotion. He pulled back just enough to cup her face in both of his large, calloused hands, forcing her watery eyes to meet his. He used his thumbs to gently wipe away the flood of tears on her cheeks, his expression fiercely tender. “Listen to the sound of my voice, alright? Look at my face, Nels. Huh? Am I a ghost? Do I look like I'm going anywhere?”
She gave a tiny, pathetic shake of her head, her lower lip trembling violently.
“Exactly,” Dean said, forcing a small, soft smile just for her. He leaned in and pressed a lingering, warm kiss to her forehead, then another right on her tear-stained cheek. “I'm right here. Safe and sound. And my gun is right where it belongs. That ugly monster just played a nasty trick on your brain, baby. It was all a big, fake lie.”
While Dean kept her anchored, Sam carefully took her small hand, using a sanitizing wipe to clean the sticky tape residue and the tiny prick from the IV. He worked with painstaking gentleness, keeping his voice incredibly soft. “Dean's right, Nelli. We stick together, no one’s leaving you.”
“But it felt so real,” Nelli whispered, her voice hitching as she looked between the two of them, her fingers still loosely bunching Dean's shirt like she was making sure he wouldn't turn to smoke. “I begged the voice to take me instead.”
Dean's jaw tightened for a split second, a fierce, protective heat flaring in his chest before he smoothed it over with absolute softness. He scooped her up completely, adjusting her so she was cradled tightly in his lap, babying her without a single care about anything in the world.
“Hey, no way. You don't ever make deals like that, rugrat, you hear me? Huh?” Dean murmured, his fingers gently tracking through her messy curls, massaging the back of her neck to get the last of the panic to leave her body. He kissed her cheek again, right over her freckles. “Me and Sammy do the heavy lifting. You’re never supposed to protect us, that’s not how this goes. Hm?”
Nelli let out a small, wet sniffle, the heavy, suffocating panic finally starting to melt away against his solid warmth. “Kay, De,” she mumbled against his shoulder.
“That's my girl,” Dean breathed, wrapping his arms around her tightly as Sam finished securing a clean strip of gauze over her hand. Dean cut Sam a relieved look before glancing up at Bobby. “Alright. Let's get our little dropout out of this joint and back to the Impala. I think someone needs about five orders of diner pancakes.”
A/N: guys I know it’s been forever and I’m so sorry :(
I had exams and then I went on vacation and couldn’t find time to write anything…
Now I’ve been home for three days and this is what I managed to write, it’s not the best but I thought it’s better than nothing. I’ll try to get back in the rhythm and update constantly, once every 2-3 days.
Bear with me for a bit cause I have lots of ideas, I just needed some time to start working on them.
I was wondering if I could please request one where Nelli is around 12-13 and she just had a really bad day at school so she calls Dean and wants him to pick her up and so he does and they spend the rest of the day snuggled on the couch as she explains why her day was so bad and Dean just comforts her.
This is 100% your choice and thank you for your time
I ❤️your writing
Same as always
For Nelli school was something extremely bizarre. Maybe it was the fast paced environment or perhaps the way you’re on a schedule constantly, with no freedom. At least that’s how the thirteen year old sees it.
Growing up Winchester meant a lot of different things, from your brothers sleeping with guns under their pillows to your dad being obsessed with finding some demon. Another thing it meant was moving around constantly. Nelli doesn’t think she’s ever stayed in the same town for more than a week.
That was until now. Nelli, Sam and Dean have been in Salem, Massachusetts for a week now and the brothers didn’t seem to make much progress. So naturally Sam suggested that she goes to the local school so she isn’t alone in a motel room while they’re out investigating.
Sam had the best intentions with that proposal, of course. For Dean it didn’t take long to agree and so in just a few days Nelli’s first day of school was starting.
Everything went surprisingly well considering her brothers’ ID’s were as fake as possible, and her name wasn’t Eleanor, but Evelyn.
Sam insisted on something fancier but Dean said he’ll forget anything that’s more complicated than Evelyn, so the little brother dropped it.
The day that followed was pretty much just another boring one. The third day, however, wasn’t.
Nelli was rapidly exiting her classroom, clutching her backpack tightly into her arms, while trying to reach for her phone.
Her eyes were very much red, though she was not fully crying yet. The kid sniffed and quickly wiped her nose with the sleeve of her jacket, perhaps trying to hide the fact that she was horribly close to a full crying meltdown.
The moment she stepped into the furthest bathroom stall she dialed Dean’s number on her phone, covering her mouth with her hand so that she wouldn’t start crying.
It rang for about thirty seconds before the line clicked and her brother’s voice could be heard.
“What’s up kiddo?” Hearing his voice, Nelli’s state worsened and she muffled a sob.
“Nels?” Dean asked once again, but didn’t get a proper answer from her this time either. She managed to mumble a ‘hm’
Dean shifted the phone to his other ear, his forehead creasing as the heavy silence on the line stretched out, punctuated only by that tiny, ragged little muffled sound. He kicked his boots off the motel coffee table, his easygoing posture instantly tightening up. Sam looked up from a stack of old town library records, his eyes tracking the sudden shift in his brother's face.
“Nels? Come on, talk to us. Why the heck aren't you saying anything?” Dean pressed, his voice dropping the casual banter, getting that low, sharp big-brother edge. “You're starting to freak me out here, kiddo. What's going on?”
On the other end, in the cramped, sterile bathroom stall, Nelli squeezed her eyes shut. She swallowed hard, her throat feeling like it was full of glass, trying desperately to find enough breath to force the words out without completely spilling over into a full-blown meltdown.
“De…” she whispered, the sound barely a breath against the plastic receiver. She kept her hand clamped tight over her mouth, her voice trembling so violently it sounded completely foreign. "I... I can't—"
Dean’s jaw clenched. The irritation at the mystery instantly dissolved into pure, concentrated worry. He could hear the absolute terror and misery vibrating in that tiny whisper, and it set off every alarm bell he had. He stood up, already reaching for his leather jacket hung over the back of the chair.
“Hey, hey, s'alright. Just keep it low,” Dean murmured, his tone turning incredibly gentle, that grounding rumble he used whenever the world got a little too heavy for her. “Tell me what you need, rugrat. I'm listening.”
Nelli hitched, a single tear escaping and tracking down her cheek, leaving a hot, damp line. She clutched her backpack tighter against her ribs like a shield. “Come get me. Please, Dean... just come pick me up.”
Dean froze, one arm halfway through his sleeve. He blinked, completely caught off guard. Nelli wasn't the biggest fan of the whole school experiment, she’d grumbled about the schedules and the weirdly intense environment since day one, but she was a Winchester. She usually had a stubborn, tough-it-out streak that matched his own. For her to straight-up beg to be pulled out in the middle of the day meant the wheels hadn't just come off; the whole wagon had crashed.
“You want me to roll out now?” Dean asked, surprise breaking through his worried tone. He cut a sharp look over at Sam, who was already closing his books, sensing the emergency. “Nels, it’s barely lunchtime. What happened, baby?”
“I—I—,” she choked out, her whisper fracturing as a small, pathetic sob finally slipped past her guard. She tightly gripped the phone, her knees shaking. “Just... please, De.”
Hearing her in that state, totally broken and terrified, stripped away any remaining hesitation Dean had. He shoved his arm the rest of the way into his jacket and grabbed the keys off the dresser with a loud, metallic clatter.
“Alright, alright, lock it down, kiddo. I'm on it,” Dean said, his voice solid, leaving absolutely no room for doubt. “Nels, listen t’me, hm?” He paused for a moment, waiting for her to catch her breath.
“You have a water bottle in the pocket of your backpack, yeah?” He said softly and in the next moment he could hear shuffling on her end.
“Y-yes” she hiccuped.
“That’s my girl.” He whispered, sighing softly and grabbing the car keys. “I want you to drink a bit, kiddo. Think you can do that f’me?”
She nodded, though Dean couldn’t see it.
“Need words, baby” her brother said, concerned.
“T-think I can…” she whispered back shakily.
“Good. Take a slow sip, keep your head between your knees, and just focus on breathing, alright?” Dean murmured, his fingers tightening around the keys as he gave Sam a sharp jerk of his head toward the door. “Listen, Nels, I gotta flip the phone shut for a minute so I can put my foot on the gas. I don't need a local cop pulling me over for distracted driving when I’m trying to get to you. You gonna be okay for five minutes?”
On the other end of the line, the silence was heavy, broken only by the tiny, metallic click of her water bottle cap twisting open. “...'m tryin',” she whispered back, the words barely a puff of air against the speaker.
“That's all I need. See you in a flash, kiddo.” Dean snapped the phone shut, shoving it into his pocket as he and Sam bolted out of the motel room.
The Impala’s engine roared to life with a fierce, aggressive rumble that matched the tension rolling off Dean's shoulders. He slammed the car into reverse, tires barking against the loose gravel of the motel lot, before throwing it into drive and tearing down the Salem streets. Sam sat shotgun, his long legs cramped up against the dashboard as he kept his eyes peeled on the traffic ahead, giving Dean a quiet nod every time they bypassed a slow-moving sedan.
In less than four minutes, the black silhouette of the middle school loomed ahead. Dean didn't bother with the regular visitor parking slots; he pulled the Chevy right up onto the curb by the main entrance, the engine idling with a heavy, restless thrum.
“Stay with the car, keep it running,” Dean ordered, throwing his door open before Sam could even answer.
Dean stormed through the heavy glass double doors of the front office, his boots striking the linoleum with a sharp, echoing rhythm. He didn't look like a guy checking in a student; his leather jacket was dusted with road grit, his green eyes were locked in a fierce glare, and his posture screamed absolute business.
A middle-aged secretary with thick glasses blinked up from her computer, startled by the sudden, intense presence blocking her desk light. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Yeah. I’m here to pick up my sister. Evelyn,” Dean said, his voice flat and unyielding as he leaned his large hands on the counter. He forced his brain to remember the fake ID tucked into his wallet. "Evelyn Fort. I'm her brother, Hector Fort. There’s an emergency at home and she needs to be pulled out right now."
The secretary frowned, tapping her pen against the desk. "Well, Mr. Fort, the school policy for mid-day releases requires a signed note from a parent or legal guardian—"
"Look, lady, I don't give a crap about the policy," Dean interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, a dangerous, low heat flashing in his eyes that made the woman instantly freeze. He didn't have time for bureaucracy when his sister was hiding in a bathroom stall choking on her own tears. “My sister called me, she’s sick, and I’m taking her home. Now you can either buzz her classroom or you can watch me walk down the hall and find her myself.”
The secretary swallowed hard, the tough-guy hunter vibe completely blowing past her standard school defenses. “Right. Let me... let me just print the pass.”
Dean didn't wait for the secretary to page the classroom. The second she reached for the printer, he spun on his heel and stroked down the hall with purpose. He knew exactly where the nearest girls' bathroom was, he’d memorized the layout of the building the day they dropped her off, a standard hunter precaution.
He pushed the heavy door open, completely disregarding the sign on the front. The room was empty save for the quiet, ragged sound of sniffling coming from the very last stall.
“Nels,” Dean called out softly, his voice a low, familiar anchor in the sterile room.
The stall door clicked open immediately. Nelli was sitting there, her face a blotchy, tear-stained mess, her tiny fingers frantically digging into the skin of her own forearm, a nervous habit she always fell back on whenever the panic got too big to handle.
Dean dropped to one knee on the cold tile right in front of her, his eyes instantly scanning her from head to toe for any signs of an actual injury. The second he noticed her fingers pinching her arm, leaving a bright red mark, his hand shot out. He gently but firmly caught her wrist, pulling her hand away from the skin.
"Hey, hey. Cut it out," Dean admonished softly, his green eyes locked onto hers with a mixture of sternness and deep affection. “What did I tell you about doing that, hm? You don't hurt yourself just because you're upset. Look at me. Breathe.”
Nelli let out a shaky, wet hiccup, her small shoulders sagging as she let go of the tension.
“Alright, let's get out of this joint," Dean murmured. He stood up, reaching down to grab her fallen water bottle and tossing it back into the side pocket of her backpack. He zipped the bag shut with a quick, decisive snap and slung the straps over his own shoulder.
Without another word, Dean leaned forward and scooped her right up off the seat. Nelli didn't hesitate; she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and locked her legs securely around his waist, burying her face straight into the familiar, comforting scent of his leather jacket.
Dean adjusted his grip under her knees, taking a slow breath as he carried her out into the hallway. “Man, rugrat,” he wheezed out, trying to force a faint, teasing smirk into his voice to break the heavy tension. “What are they feeding you in that cafeteria, huh? You're getting a heck of a lot heavier than the last time I had to carry your butt around like this.”
A tiny, miserable sniffle was all he got in response. She just squeezed him tighter, hiding from the world.
The joke didn't hit the mark, and Dean knew it. His expression instantly softened, the tough-guy hunter facade completely melting away. He wrapped his large hand around the back of her head, pressing her cheek firmly against his shoulder as his boots thudded against the floorboards, guiding them toward the exit.
"S'alright, baby. I got you," Dean whispered into her hair, his voice dropping into that deep, rhythmic rumble that never failed to settle her down. “We're out of here. Me and Sammy are taking you back to Baby, and we're hitting the road. Just hold on tight.
Dean carried her straight past the front office, ignoring the secretary’s wide eyes, and walked right out to the curb where the Impala was idling. Sam had the passenger door swung open before Dean's boots even hit the asphalt.
“She okay?” Sam asked, his eyes wide with immediate concern as Dean carefully slid Nelli onto the front bench seat.
“We're getting the heck out of Salem, Sammy. Pack your stuff,” Dean said shortly, jumping into the driver's seat and slamming the door. He didn't waste a second, hitting the gas and tearing back toward the Motel.
When they kicked the door open to Room 12, Nelli was still clinging to Dean’s flannel shirt, her breathing a ragged line of tiny, exhausted hiccups. Dean set her down gently on her feet near the front door, keeping a steadying hand on her shoulder.
Dean dragged his feet over to the saggy motel couch, practically collapsing onto the worn cushions with a heavy sigh. He didn't even have to say a word before Nelli scrambled right up after him, curling her legs into a tight ball and burying her face straight back into the crook of his neck. She was still shivering, her small hands clutching the fabric of his flannel shirt like it was a lifeline.
“Mm, c'mere, rugrat,” Dean mumbled softly. He wrapped his broad arms completely around her, pulling her small frame flush against his chest so she was entirely tucked under his chin.
He didn't push her for answers right away. Instead, he just focused on locking the rest of the world out. His large, calloused hand started running through her hair, his fingers gently massaging the back of her neck and her scalp in a slow, rhythmic circle to get the tight tension to leave her shoulders. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead, then another right against her tear-stained cheek, completely unbothered by the dampness.
“Alright, look at me. Huh? Take a big breath for me, baby,” Dean murmured, his voice dropping into that unusually deep, gentle rumble he only saved for when her whole world was crashing. He kept rubbing her back, his touch incredibly careful. “We're out of that joint. It's just me and you. But you gotta talk to me, Nels. Hm? What kind of crap happened inside that building that got you this worked up?”
Nelli let out a long, ragged hiccup against his collarbone, her little fingers tightening on his shirt. The sheer terror of the morning finally started spilling out in a quiet, breathless whisper.
“The... the main office,” she choked out, staring wide-eyed at the peeling wallpaper. “They called me down to the principal's office right after the morning bell. I thought... I thought it was just for a late pass or something.”
“Hm,” Dean hummed softly, his fingers continuing to gently track through her hair, keeping her grounded. “And? What did they want?”
“He had all the papers on the desk. The ones Sammy made,” Nelli whispered, a fresh tear tracking down her nose. “He said... he said the birth certificate and the transfer records from the last town didn't add up. He said the numbers on the tax documents were completely fake, and when they tried to call the old school, the line was disconnected.”
Dean’s thumb stopped its slow rub against her shoulder for a split second, his jaw tightening as a cold, dangerous streak of hunter survival instinct spiked in his chest. The paperwork tripped an alarm. “He sat me down and started asking all these scary questions, De,” she sobbed softly, burying her face deeper into his flannel. "He asked who Hector really was, and if you guys were actually my family. And then... then he said things looked too weird, and he was lifting up the phone to call the local police to come sort it out. He told me I had to stay in the chair.”
A sharp, frightened gasp broke through her words. “I got so scared the cops were gonna come and put handcuffs on you and Sammy, and take me away to some place where I'd never see the Impala again. I just bolted out the door when he turned his back, and I hid in the bathroom. I thought... I thought I ruined everything, Dean.”
“Hey, hey... cut that out right now. Look at my face. Huh?” Dean commanded softly, his tone completely cutting through the rising panic. He cupped her chin with his hand, tilting her face up until her watery green eyes were locked onto his. His expression was dead serious, burning with an absolute, unyielding certainty. “You didn't ruin a damn thing, Nels. Hear me? You did exactly what a Winchester is supposed to do. You broke contact and you called for backup.”
He wiped the dampness from her cheeks with his thumb, his face softening back into that fiercely protective older-brother look. “I don't give a rat's ass about the principal or his phone. Like I said, me and Sam are pros at ghosting. By the time the local cops even roll into that school parking lot, Baby's gonna be thirty miles down the turnpike and our fake names are gonna be ashes in a coffee can. Nobody is touching you, rugrat. I promise.”
Nelli blinked up at him, her chest giving one last, weak hitch before she finally let out a long, exhausted breath, completely melting back into his solid warmth. “For real, De?”
“For real, baby,” Dean whispered, wrapping his arms tight around her again and resuming the slow, soothing strokes on her head.
“I don’t want that to happen again. It was scary” she whispered into his shirt.
"Yeah, I hear you, kiddo," Dean murmured, his voice a deep, steady safety blanket in the quiet room.
“Alright, rugrat,” Dean said, aiming for a light, easygoing grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Step one: ditch the school uniform. Go throw on some of your regular duds. You're swimming in that giant hoodie anyway, you look like a walking laundry basket.”
Nelli didn't smile. She didn't even huff an insult back at him like she usually did when he teased her about her clothes. She just gave a miserable little nod, her green eyes dull and rimmed with red, and dragged her feet into the bathroom, clicking the door shut behind her.
Dean’s grin dropped instantly. He ran a hand over his face, letting out a long, heavy breath as he turned to Sam, who was already tossing books into a duffel bag.
“What happened, Dean?” Sam asked in a low whisper, keeping his eyes on the bathroom door.
“Guidance counselor,” Dean growled, his voice a dangerous, quiet rumble as his jaw clenched. “Started poking his nose into our business, asking about Dad, the fake IDs, the whole nine. Freaked the kid out completely, talking about calling the state and getting her a 'proper home.' Nels thought we were gonna get thrown in the slammer.”
Sam froze, a look of pure, cold panic flashing across his face before hardening into the same protective fury Dean was feeling. “Man... alright. The car's almost packed. We can be across the state line before dinner.”
The bathroom door clicked back open, and Nelli walked out. She had changed into her favorite oversized gray sweatpants and a faded rock t-shirt, her hair still a bit messy. She looked incredibly small, standing by the edge of the bed, her fingers still restlessly twitching against her seams.
Dean walked over, his expression completely softening as he blocked her from the messy room. He reached out, deliberately ruffling the top of her hair. “Hey. Look at me, Nelli. No more waterworks, alright? The nerd's already got the trunk half loaded.”
He nudged her shoulder playfully with his fist. “Think about it this way, you just set a new Winchester record for the most days of going to the same school in Winchester history. Dad's gonna owe you five bucks.”
Nelli just stared down at her sneakers, a fresh stray tear leaking out and tracking down her cheek. “I don't care about the record, De. I just... what if they find us? What if that lady already called the cops?” Dean knew that she wasn’t going to get over this easily and quite frankly he wasn’t asking her to.
Seeing the joke crash and burn, Dean didn't try to force it again. The tough-guy act completely vanished. He stepped in close, wrapping his large, strong arms around her shoulders and pulling her straight back into his chest, anchoring her against his ribs. He restarted that slow, soothing motion, running his large palm over the back of her head.
“Listen to my voice, kiddo,” Dean murmured, his tone dropping into that deep, fiercely solid cadence that meant absolute certainty. “Nobody is finding us. That clipboard lady doesn't know jack crap about who we are.”
“You promise?” she muffled against his shirt.
“I promise, baby,” Dean whispered firmly, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “You're a Winchester. You stay with us. We're gonna hit the highway, get some greasy diner food, and put this crappy town in our rearview mirror. I got you. Same as always.”
A/N: gosh this is so long but I LOVED the request so much that I couldn’t stop writing. I didn’t even go to sleep until I finished it.
Can I please request one where maybe Nelli is 12 and got her first period and shes with Sam as Dean is doing something idk just not with her at the moment and Nelli gets kinda freaked out and she just wants Dean and wants his comfort. I feel like Nelli would still be very affectionate at times even though she’s about to be a teen lol 😂
100% your choice
You’re not dying
The cheap motel mirror was spotted with old water stains, but twelve-year-old Nelli didn’t care. She leaned in close, aggressively tugging a brush through her tangled, light brown hair, trying to make it look halfway normal. She was supposed to meet up with Sarah, a girl she’d met at the local diner the day before, and she was already running late.
“Hey, lightning,” Dean called out from the main room. He was sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, cleaning a disassembled shotgun with a greasy rag. “You got five minutes before I revoke your hall pass. Come here.”
Nelli let out a loud, theatrical sigh, rolling her green eyes so hard it practically hurt. She grabbed her denim jacket off the bathroom doorknob and stormed out into the cramped bedroom, her sneakers dragging against the ugly carpet. “I’m literally just going three blocks down to the diner, Dean. It's not that serious...”
Sam looked up from his laptop at the rickety table, shaking his head. “Doesn't matter if it's three blocks or three miles, Nels. You know the drill. What are the rules?”
“Stay where there are people, keep my phone fully charged, don't talk to creepy guys, and if anything feels weird, use the code word,” Nelli recited in a flat, monotone voice, crossing her arms over her chest. “Can I go now? Feels like I’m in freaking jail.”
“Hey. Drop the attitude, kiddo,” Dean said, his voice instantly dropping into that firm, older-brother register that meant business. He stood up, towering over her, and deliberately reached out to messily ruffle the top of her hair, completely ruining the brushing she’d just spent ten minutes on.
“Dean! Stop it!” she snapped, batting his large hand away and taking a sharp step back, her temper flaring. “Seriously, you ruin everything!”
Dean didn't laugh this time. His green eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching slightly as he pointed his finger directly at her face. “Watch your mouth, Nels. I mean it. You've been snapping at us since we pulled into this town, and my patience is running on fumes. You want to go hang out like a regular kid? Fine. But you don't talk to me or Sam like we’re your punchlines. You got me?”
Nelli bit the inside of her cheek, her chest heaving with a mix of embarrassment and sudden, unexplained irritation that made her want to scream. “Yeah. Whatever. Got it.”
“Say it like you mean it,” Dean pressed, his voice stern but grounded.
“I got it, Dean,” she muttered, looking down at her sneakers.
“Alright,” Sam cut in gently, trying to defuse the tension before it blew up. He gave her a soft, encouraging smile. “Have fun. Be back by five, okay?”
Nelli didn't answer. She just snatched her keys off the nightstand, spun on her heel, and slammed the heavy motel door behind her, the glass rattling in its frame.
The diner had been fine, but by the time four o'clock rolled around, Nelli was exhausted. Sarah had been nice enough, but the constant effort of trying to act like a normal, carefree teenager when her entire life was lived out of a duffel bag felt draining. Her lower back was aching with a dull, heavy throb, and a strange, cramping pain was beginning to knot up her stomach.
She walked back to the motel, her feet dragging. She felt a sudden wave of guilt for snapping at Dean earlier; her mood had been entirely out of her control all day, swinging from furious to miserable for absolutely no reason.
She unlocked the door to Room 14, fully expecting to see Dean watching a wrestling fight on the tiny TV and Sam drowning in research.
“Hey,” Nelli called out, closing the door behind her. “I'm back.”
Silence greeted her. The motel room was completely empty.
Dean’s jacket was gone from the back of the chair, and Sam’s laptop was shut on the table. A small, familiar yellow sticky note was left on the wooden dresser in Sam’s neat handwriting: Had to run to the hardware store for salt and check a lead at the county records. Back in an hour. Lock the door.
Nelli groaned, tossing her jacket onto the bed. The cramping in her stomach suddenly spiked, a sharp, twisting ache that made her double over slightly. Wincing, she rushed into the bathroom, figuring the greasy diner fries were just messing with her stomach.
She pulled down her jeans, and the second she looked down, her entire world came to a sudden, terrifying halt.
Bright, dark crimson blood stained her underwear.
Nelli’s breath hitched in her throat, her heart instantly hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her mind raced through every horrible thing she’d ever heard about hunts, cursed objects, and internal injuries. Was she bleeding out? Did something curse her at the diner? Was she dying?
Panic, cold and absolute, washed over her. She scrambled for a handful of toilet paper, trying to wipe it away, but there was more. The sharp pain in her abdomen twisted again, and a sob tore out of her throat.
“What’s happening…” she whispered, her voice breaking into a high, frightened cry as she stared at the tiles. She was completely alone in a dingy bathroom, and the only person who had ever kept her safe from the terrors of the world wasn't there.
The heavy rattle of the Impala's engine pulling into the gravel lot outside cut through the quiet room, followed a moment later by the loud, familiar clatter of the motel door swinging open.
“Nels? You back?” Dean’s voice boomed through the space, carrying a paper bag that smelled strongly of greasy takeout and onions. “We brought burgers. Get your butt out here before Sam eats yours.”
Nelli was still sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, her knees pulled tight against her chest, her face buried in her denim jacket to muffle her crying. At the sound of his voice, a sharp wave of relief crashed over her, but the sheer panic kept her entirely paralyzed.
“De…” she tried to call out, but the word caught in her throat, coming out as a tiny, pathetic squeak. She swallowed hard, forcing her voice through the knot of terror. “Dean?”
She didn’t even know why she called him, she wasn’t going to let him in but just knowing that he was there, and she wasn’t alone, calmed her nerves.
In the main room, Dean froze mid-stride, his green eyes instantly darting toward the closed bathroom door. He’d spent fourteen years tracking the slightest shift in his sister's tone, and the fragile, shaky vibration in her voice right now set off every hunter instinct he had. He tossed the takeout bag onto the table, his posture instantly going rigid.
“Nels?” Dean walked over to the bathroom, stopping right outside the door, his hand hovering near the knob. “Hey. Everything okay in there?”
“Yeah,” she choked out, trying desperately to sound normal, but it ended up sounding high-pitched and completely breathless. “Just... give me a minute.”
Sam stepped up behind Dean, his brow furrowed in concern as he looked at the closed door. “Nelli? You're not sick, are you? Did something happen at the diner?”
“No! I'm fine!” she yelled back, her voice cracking under the stress. “Just go away!”
Dean’s jaw clenched. He didn't like the sound of this at all. If she’d been targeted by something supernatural, or if she was hurting, he needed to know now. He knocked firmly on the wood, his voice dropping into that low, no-nonsense, commanding tone he used when there was absolutely no room for arguments.
“Eleanor. Unlock the door and get out here right now. I'm counting to three.”
The use of her full name did it. The lock clicked, and the door swung open a mere couple of inches.
Dean didn't wait. He pushed the door the rest of the way, his eyes instantly scanning her for a hex mark, a wound, or an injury. But the second the space opened up, Nelli didn't say a word. She lunged forward, burying her face straight into the rough canvas of his shirt, her small hands clutching the fabric of his jacket with a terrifying, white-knuckled grip. She was shaking violently, her tears instantly soaking through his sleeve.
“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Dean’s sternness completely evaporated, replaced by a sudden, protective panic. He hooked his large arms securely around her shoulders, anchoring her against his chest as he looked around the tiny bathroom, trying to spot the threat. “Kiddo, look at me. What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did someone touch you?”
Sam was hovering at the doorway, his face pale as he looked at how frantic she was. “Nels, talk to us. What happened?”
Nelli just buried her face deeper into the crook of Dean’s neck, her breath hitching in a ragged, miserable gasp. The shame and the sheer terror of what she’d seen were fighting for dominance in her chest.
“I'm... I'm bleeding, De,” she choked out, her voice a tiny, muffled whisper against his collarbone.
Dean went entirely rigid, his heart hitting his ribs like a sledgehammer. His hands automatically moved to check her sides, his voice sharp with terror. “Where? Where are you bleeding, Nels? Did you get cut? Did someone follow you?”
“No!” she sobbed, pulling back just enough to look at him, her face completely flushed and wet with tears. She looked incredibly young in that moment, her green eyes wide with a desperate, primitive fear. “In the... in the bathroom. On my clothes. There's blood, Dean. Lots of it. I don't know why, my stomach hurts so bad, and I think... I think I'm dying. I think something's wrong with me.”
Dean stared at her, his brain frantically trying to piece the clues together—the moodiness all morning, the dull back ache she’d mentioned, the sudden cramping, and now this.
Slowly, the frantic hunter panic in Dean's chest hit a sudden, screeching halt. A completely different kind of realization washed over his face, his expression freezing into a mix of utter bewilderment and profound, older-brother awkwardness. He cut a wide-eyed, slightly panicked look over his shoulder at Sam.
Sam’s jaw was slightly slack, his eyes widening as the pieces clicked for him, too. He took a cautious half-step back into the bedroom, rubbing the back of his neck, looking entirely out of his depth.
Dean looked back down at Nelli, who was still looking up at him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. He let out a long, slow breath, his large hand coming up to gently smooth back her messy hair, his voice dropping into a soft, grounding rumble.
“Hey. Look at me, rugrat. Look at my face,” Dean murmured, his touch incredibly tender. “You’re not dying. I promise you, you’re completely fine.”
"You're not dying, Nels. I swear to you," Dean repeated, his voice solid and completely steady, though inside, his brain was scrambling at a hundred miles an hour. He cleared his throat, trying to force down the massive wall of older-brother awkwardness currently choking him. “Look, it’s just... it’s a girl thing, alright? It means you’re growing up. It’s called a period.”
Nelli blinked up at him, her tear-stained face scrunching into a look of pure confusion and lingering horror. “A... a what? Dean, I'm bleeding! How is that normal?”
“It just is, kiddo,” Dean grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, his face definitely heating up a little. He kept his arm securely wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her grounded. “It happens to every girl. It just means your body is doing what it’s supposed to do. You're completely healthy, Nels. I promise.”
From the doorway, Sam finally cleared his throat, his face a sympathetic shade of pink. “Yeah, Nels. Dean’s right. It’s completely normal. You’re okay.”
Nelli looked between the two of them, her breathing finally starting to slow down from the absolute panic, though her stomach still gave a nasty, painful twist. “So... I'm not sick?”
“Not even a little bit,” Dean murmured, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. He pointed toward the shower. “Alright, here's what we're gonna do. You’re gonna go take a warm shower and get changed into some fresh clothes. Strip those off and put 'em in the sink, I'll handle the laundry part. Go on.”
Nelli nodded miserably, sniffling as she stepped back into the bathroom.
The second the bathroom door clicked shut, Dean spun around and glared at Sam, his eyes wide with a silent, frantic panic. “Sam. Supplies. Now.”
“On it,” Sam said, already reaching for his jacket and the car keys.
“Don't go to a store, man, she’s in there right now,” Dean whispered urgently, gesturing to the door. “Go to the front desk. Hit up the vending machines or ask the manager’s wife. Just get whatever they have.”
Sam didn't need to be told twice. He turned on his heel and sprinted out the motel door, his long legs eating up the pavement as he dashed toward the main office.
Dean let out a long, heavy breath, leaning his back against the wall next to the bathroom door. He could hear the shower water start to rumble against the old pipes, punctuated by Nelli’s occasional, quiet hiccups. He hated this for her. He hated that she had to go through regular, scary teenager milestones in a dingy, drafty motel room with two brothers who knew way more about silver bullets than feminine hygiene.
Less than five minutes later, the motel door burst open again. Sam rushed in, slightly out of breath, holding a small plastic grocery bag tightly in his hand. “Got 'em,” Sam whispered, handing the bag over. “The lady at the desk gave me a handful of stuff from her own stash.”
“Good. Nice work, Sasquatch,” Dean muttered, taking the bag. He knocked gently on the bathroom wood. “Hey, Nels. Open up a crack.”
The door opened just enough for Nelli to peek her wet face out, a towel wrapped tightly around her frame. Dean awkwardly thrust the plastic bag into her hands, looking absolutely anywhere but at her. “Here. Sam got this from the front desk. There’s... pads and stuff in there. You figure out how to use 'em, or you need Sam to look up a manual on his computer?”
“Dean!” Sam hissed from the kitchen area, his face turning bright red.
A tiny, breathless watery giggle finally broke through Nelli’s misery. “I know how to do it, idiot. I can figure it out…” she mumbled the last part under her breath.
“Yeah, well, don't scare me like that again,” Dean grumbled, though a massive wave of relief washed over him at the sound of her laugh. “Get dressed.”
When Nelli finally walked back out into the main bedroom, she looked entirely exhausted. She was swallowed up in her oversized gray sweatpants and one of Dean's old, soft flannels, her hair damp and clinging to her neck. The cramping in her lower abdomen was still a dull, heavy throb, making her drag her feet.
Dean was already sitting on the edge of his bed, having cleared off his shotgun parts. He held up a thick, warm mug of hot chocolate Sam had made using the kitchenette microwave. “C'mere, rugrat.”
Nelli didn't hesitate. She crawled straight onto the mattress, curling her legs up tightly against her chest and burying her face right back into the crook of Dean’s neck, the heavy mug clutched between her small hands. The hot ceramic felt good against her shivering fingers.
Dean wrapped his large, calloused arms around her, securely anchoring her against his chest. He began to rock her back and forth in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, his large hand coming up to gently, rhythmically stroke through her damp hair.
A stray, exhausted tear slipped down Nelli’s cheek, her voice muffled against his flannel shirt. “My stomach hurts, De.”
“I know, kiddo. I know,” Dean whispered, his voice dropping into that deep, soothing rumble that always acted like a security blanket for her. He pressed a long, tender kiss to the top of her damp head, his touch incredibly careful. “S'alright. The hot cocoa will help. There’s no need to cry anymore, Nels. Me and Sam, we got you. We’re right here.”
Beside the bed, Sam silently dragged a chair over, setting down a bottle of ibuprofen and a fresh bottle of water on the nightstand, giving her a soft, encouraging smile.
Nelli closed her eyes, her breathing finally leveling out into a calm, steady rhythm as she melted into the solid, unyielding heat of her older brother’s arms, the scary world outside fading away into the quiet safety of the room.
A/N: I absolutely loved writing this!!! I actually need more requests like this, with teenage Nelli, cause they’re fun to write
Soon after Nelli ran to Bobby, crying and telling him about what happened, the two of them left the quiet house, getting in the truck and driving towards Nebraska.
The older man kept trying to call Sam or Dean but neither were answering. At first he didn’t even want to believe that the phone call the kid received was true. But seeing that the brothers weren’t answering and no other hunter from that area had seen them, Bobby actually started believing what Nelli told him.
That was the worst part. This wasn’t just a random event happening. They were Winchesters, something was always after them. But calling and threatening a kid was too far even for their fucked up world.
Currently, the kid was curled up in the passenger seat of Bobby’s truck, crying on her own shoulder. She wasn’t even supposed to stay in the passenger seat of the car; Sam always said that it’s not okay for her to, and that in case of an accident she’d be put in unnecessary danger.
Dean didn’t really care much about seating rules in the car, firstly because he wasn’t planning on letting her there anyway, that was Sammy’s spot, and Sammy’s spot alone, secondly because he considered himself a hell of a driver, so in his mind it was impossible for him to crash.
Still, if Sam would have seen her now, buckled in the front seat, almost laying down and resting her head on the cold window, he would’ve gone crazy.
“Why aren’t they answering?!” She whined, crying.
“Just busy at a bar or something like that…you know them” Bobby tried to calm her down with a lie, hoping with all his heart that she would believe him. She grew up with two brothers though, which she closely paid attention to. So there weren’t many chances of her buying that crap.
“But the voice said—“
“They’re okay, kid.”
Bobby didn’t say anything else, his mouth forming into a thin, tight line as he kept his eyes glued to the dark, empty road ahead. The truck’s headlights cut through the thick Nebraska fog, the engine rattling loudly, but the noise inside the cab felt deafening.
Nelli didn't say another word either. She knew Bobby was lying. Dean didn't just ignore his phone when the sun went down. He’d pick up even if he was in the middle of a fistfight, just to tell her he’d call her back. The silence in the truck grew heavier with every mile they put behind them. She just squeezed Zepp tighter against her ribs, the dog’s warm fur the only thing keeping her from shaking apart completely.
By the time the clock on the dashboard read 3:15 AM, Bobby had tracked down the last known coordinates Sam had mentioned from their research. It led them deep into the boondocks, down a crumbling, overgrown dirt road that looked like it hadn't seen a town road-grader in ten years. The trees on either side leaned in close, their bare branches scratching against the sides of the truck like fingernails.
Then, the truck's high beams caught something metallic reflecting through the brush.
Nelli’s heart stopped, then gave a violent leap right into her throat. She sat straight up, her face instantly pressing hard against the cold passenger window.
It was a sleek, black silhouette parked crookedly under a drooping willow tree.
“Baby,” Nelli breathed, her voice a tiny, choked whisper.
Before Bobby could even bring the truck to a complete halt, Nelli was already fumbling frantically with her seatbelt.
“Hold your horses, Nelli! Stay in the truck!” Bobby yelled, slamming his foot on the brake, but the kid was already gone.
She threw the heavy passenger door open and hit the gravel running. Her laces were still dragging, tripping her up, but she didn't care. She scrambled up the small embankment, Zepp barking wildly as he broke loose and ran right alongside her.
“De! Sammy!” she shrieked, her high-pitched voice echoing eerily through the empty woods.
She reached the Impala and threw her weight against the driver’s side door, desperately grabbing the chrome handle and yanking on it. It didn't budge. It was locked tight. She ran around to the passenger side, pulling on Sam’s door, then the back doors, her small hands smacking against the cold glass.
“Let me in! De, open the door!” she cried, her tears blinding her as she tried to peer through the dark windows.
The car was completely empty. The green cooler wasn't in the back seat, and Dean’s heavy duffel bag was gone. The only thing left behind was a stray cassette tape sitting on the dashboard—the Bob Seger one.
Bobby finally caught up to her, his heavy boots crunching in the dirt, a loaded shotgun already held firmly in his grip. His eyes scanned the perimeter, his jaw tight. Just a few yards away, past a rotting wooden fence, stood a massive, decaying two-story house. Its windows were shattered like broken teeth, the front door hanging loosely off its hinges. It was a textbook slaughterhouse.
“Nelli, get back behind me,” Bobby ordered, his voice low and dangerous as he nudged her with his knee.
But Nelli wasn't looking at the house. Her foot had caught on something heavy hidden in the tall weeds right next to the Impala’s front tire. She stumbled, looking down through the dark grass.
It was a gun. A shiny, silver M1911 with a custom pearl grip.
Her breath hitched. She’d seen that gun a million times. It was the one Dean kept tucked into his waistband, the one he spent hours cleaning at the motel tables while humming classic rock. He never dropped it. He never went anywhere without it.
Seeing it laying there in the dirt, abandoned and cold, made the reality hit her like a physical blow. The creepy voice on the phone hadn't been a nightmare.
“De,” she whimpered, dropping to her knees right there in the weeds. She didn't care about the mud or the sharp briars. She picked up the heavy metal pistol with both hands, her small fingers barely able to wrap around the grip. It felt freezing cold against her skin.
Bobby saw it and let out a low, breathy curse. He knelt down, gently but firmly taking the weapon out of her hands and tucking it into his own pocket. “Alright. That’s it. Inside the car, kiddo. Right now.”
He used his spare key to click the Impala’s locks open. The second the door popped, Nelli didn't hesitate. She scrambled inside, pulling Zepp right in behind her, and slammed the heavy door shut to block out the terrifying silence of the woods.
The inside of the car smelled exactly like them—old leather, cheap burgers, and the faint scent of Dean’s cologne. But instead of making her feel safe, the familiar smell just made the ache in her chest worsen.
She didn't stay in the back seat. She crawled right over the bench, dropping down into the middle of the front seat, the sacred space right between where Dean drove and where Sammy researched.
Nelli curled herself into a tight, miserable ball, pulling her knees up to her chest and tucking her head down. She squeezed her eyes shut, crying so hard her little shoulders shook violently, her tears soaking right into the cracked black leather. She laid her cheek against the spot where Dean’s hip usually rested against the seat, clutching her little backpack to her stomach.
Outside, she could hear the muffled sound of Bobby’s heavy footsteps walking toward the abandoned house, his shotgun clicked into place.
Inside the dark, quiet car, Nelli just held onto the seat, weeping into the empty space her brothers had left behind. “Please don’t bleed,” she whispered into the leather, her voice breaking into a jagged sob. “De, you promised. You promised me.”
The heavy click of the Impala’s doors shutting locked the terrifying quiet of the Nebraska woods outside, but the silence inside the car was worse. Nelli stayed squeezed into a tight ball right in the middle of the front seat, her face pressed against the worn black leather that still smelled like Dean’s jacket. Zepp had crawled up right beside her, resting his heavy chin on her knee, letting out low whines every time her shoulders shook with another sob.
Bobby was somewhere out there by that rotting, broken house, his shotgun out, tracking whatever had taken her brothers. But Nelli felt completely small and completely alone. Dean’s gun, the shiny silver one he never, ever left behind, was gone, tucked into Bobby’s pocket. It felt like the biggest rule in their whole universe had been broken.
Then, a sudden, sharp vibration cut through her crying.
It wasn't the car. It was coming from inside her little backpack.
Nelli froze, her breath hitching in a wet, jagged hiccup. She slowly pulled her backpack closer, her shaking hands fumbling with the zipper. Inside, sitting right on top of her fairy coloring book, was her small toy flip-phone, the plastic one Dean had bought her at a grocery store so she could pretend to take "hunting cases" like him.
It didn't have a real battery. It wasn't supposed to be able to ring.
But the little plastic screen was glowing a bright, sickly, flashing red, nonetheless. A high-pitched, electric screeching sound was buzzing right out of the toy speaker.
Her fingers trembled so hard she almost dropped it, but she flipped it open and pressed the cheap plastic to her ear.
“Please,” Nelli wept into the phone, not even waiting for the speaker to make a sound. She buried her face back into her knees, begging into the dark. “Please let 'em go. Please don't hurt them. I'll be a good girl, I promise! I won't touch Dad’s stuff, I won't whine about the oatmeal, just... please don't hurt Sammy and De!”
There was no response at first. Just that same freezing, static-choked silence that felt like wet sand. The voice didn't mock her this time. It didn't let out that awful, layered chuckle that was hunting her head. The heavy, suffocating weight on the other end of the line just listened to a six-year-old girl beg until her throat was raw.
Then, with a sharp, sickening crunch of static, the audio shifted.
The sound of heavy, agonizing breathing filled the speaker. It was close, so close it sounded like it was right there in the front seat with her.
“...Nels?”
Nelli’s eyes snapped open, a gasp ripping out of her chest. “De? De!”
“Hey, rugrat,” Dean’s voice came through, but it sounded completely wrong. The usual steady, confident rumble was entirely gone. His voice was incredibly weak, thick with a rattling gasp, coughing violently before he could finish the word. She could hear the faint, sickening sound of liquid dripping in the background. “Listen to me, kiddo... you gotta... you gotta stay with Bobby. You hear me?”
“De, where are you?! Come back to Baby! Your gun is in the dirt!” she screamed into the plastic toy, fresh tears blinding her.
“Shh, don't cry, baby... don't look for us,” Dean panted, his voice dropping into a strained, fading whisper that broke her heart into a million pieces. He sounded so tired, like he was trying to drag himself through an ocean of weights. “Tell Bobby... tell him to stop... stop researching…” he said, sounding more tired than Nelli has ever heard. “hey, Sammy, talk to the kid...” he whispered soon after
There was a rough rustle, the sound of chains or heavy rope dragging across a concrete floor, and then a weak, choked groan.
“Nelli...” Sam’s voice drifted over the line. It didn't sound like the annoying, smart-aleck middle brother who always corrected her homework. He sounded incredibly small, his breathing shallow and ragged, catching in his throat like he was in severe pain. “Nels, hey... don't be scared. Remember the... the fun fact? About the otters? You gotta hold... hold Bobby’s hand. Don't float away...”
“Sammy, move faster! Run away!” Nelli shrieked, clutching the phone with both hands, her small knuckles turning completely white. “Get up, Sammy! Tell De to get up!”
“We can’t... we can’t this time, sweetie,” Sam whispered, his voice cracking with a raw, heavy sadness. He let out a sharp, breathless gasp, like someone was pressing down on his chest. “Be a big girl for us... okay? We love you so much, Nels. Dean and I love you...”
“No! No, no, no!” Nelli wailed, kicking her feet against the dashboard. “De, you promised! You promised every single night! The sun went down! You're a liar if you don't come back!”
“Every... single... night,” Dean’s voice cracked back in, a tiny, broken echo through the static, sounding further away now. He let out one final, heavy wheeze, a sound full of absolute defeat and unbearable pain. “I'm sorry, rugrat... I'm so sorry...”
A sharp, deafening blast of white noise slammed through the speaker, and the plastic toy phone went completely dark, the screen dying instantly.
Nelli dropped the toy like it had burned her, throwing her arms over her ears as a loud, guttural scream of pure heartbreak ripped out of her small chest. She collapsed completely onto the front seat, burying her face into the cold leather where Dean usually sat, weeping so hard she couldn't breathe. It felt like the whole world had just dropped out from under her, leaving nothing but the empty space between her brothers' seats.
A/N: if you have any suggestions for one shot ideas with Nelli and the brothers, I’d be more than happy to write some of them! I was really thinking about writing some with teenager Nelli, where she’s like 10-15, cause those would sure be fun.
