Dean x Sister!Reader, Sam x Sister!Reader
Synopsis: Hello! I have a very angsty request!!! Winchesters x sister!reader. The reader is the boy's half sibling and always seems to be forgotten. She goes through memories of them forgetting about her for early years to present. [Never picked up from school, left behind on a hunt, having to clean up after them,stuck with research,chores,ect.] It makes her snap when she was put in a life threatening situation[kidnapped for a couple of months] and they didn't even notice she was not in the bunker.
NOTE: This is a lot sadder than I thought it would be, I’m so sorry. I’m also sorry if this wasn’t quite what you were looking for but once I started I couldn’t stop and- I mess around with the ages too, so don't worry about the canon ages.
There is a trigger warning for this one. It’s not the happiest of one shots.
Your life passes in snapshots.
You’re 12, the product of something between your mom and a man whose two sons stare at you with blatant resentment. You’ve slandered something, soiled someone’s image or reputation. They’ve come to your school, you see, and they know who you are. They don’t take you with them when they leave, and you’re not sad to see them go.
When you tell your mom that the Winchester boys can’t possibly be your brothers, she laughs sadly until she starts crying and holds you tightly throughout the night.
She dies when you’re 14, two years after Sam and Dean had taken one look at you and decided that didn’t want you. Someone contacts John, and you hear the Impala before you see it. It’s a majestic beast, big and proud and growling. You desperately want to touch it.
John does’t let you stay for the funeral. He’s not being cruel, he’s just gotta get back to something. You sit in the back with Sam while Dean sits in the front with John.
“I don’t really hate you,” Sam whispers, sneaking you a lolly. You take it shyly. Sam smiles. “I’m Sam.”
“I know,” you say, and his smile grows instead of wavering, and you know that things won’t be too bad if Sam’s around.
Sam leaves when you’re 16, a teenage girl who’s prone to flinching at sudden movements but can stand next to a firing gun and have a spine of steel. Sam storms out the front door in a flurry of anger and deadly hate. John shouts something about not coming back, and Sam shouts back that he doesn’t care, and then the door slams.
Dean comes to your bed that night, wordlessly asking for comfort. You roll over and let him lie next to you before you’re cuddling in to his side and crying as silently as you can. Dean’s body shakes, but the darkness hides if he’s got tears too. You fall asleep like that, and when you wake up, Dean’s already moving around the room and there’s no way to tell if last night had been real.
When you, Dean and John pile into the Impala, you think that it’s awful lonely in the backseat.
You’re almost 18 when you and John have your first real fight. You’ve argued before, fuck knows John can’t be around another living thing without arguing with it, but this time there’s a slap from you and a threat from him and Dean has to step in the middle.
You can’t say it doesn’t hurt, but it’s expected. You stare at them, so alike in their feelings and their actions and their pain, and you scoff and shake your head and say, “I hate this family.”
“You aren’t hunting, Y/N, and that’s final!”
“And why not?” You shout back, and Dean groans because here you both go again. It’s the same argument you’ve just finished, but the anger is still rippling under your skin so you don’t walk away. “Am I just some glorified nurse? Here to clean up the messes?”
“You weren’t supposed to be my responsibility,” John seethes. He’s said it before. It doesn’t really hurt much anymore. “I’ve already lost Sam because of this life. I won’t lose you too.”
You give up fighting. It’s too tiring. You can’t be bothered.
When you’re 19, Dean comes back half-dead and without John.
You keep calm and stitch him back together again, going through too much alcohol and too many strips of cloth. You run out of dental floss for stitches, but you make fucking do, because if Dean dies on your watch, you may as well die too.
He’s not coherent the whole time he’s with you, mumbling about ghouls and blood and John, but you can’t spare a second to worry about John now, not if you want Dean to live. You manhandle him, pretending that he’s just drunk and not concussed and bleeding out.
“Fuck you,” you hiss at him as you cover him with the sheets on the bed, sitting by his side as he sinks into a troubled sleep. “You problematic fuck.”
John doesn’t come back until three days later. He’s not horribly injured, but the claw mark on his chest has smeared blood all over his front and he looks like death incarnate. He sees Dean, still unconscious on the bed, and grunts, settling into the seat at the table and closing his eyes.
“Fucking ghoul,” he sighs, and then you’re attacking him with whatever medical supplies you have left.
Dean wakes up the next day, takes the keys, and drives you and John far away from that little town. You never tell him that you left your story book on the bedside table.
It had been the last thing you’d had of your mothers.
You’re 22 when Sam truly settles back into hunting.
You know he misses Jess, know that he’s got too much weight on his shoulders, know that he wants to find Dad just so he can go back to pretending he doesn’t miss his old life. But he settles into it after a while, sitting in the front seat with Dean.
It’s still lonely in the back.
You’re 23 when John dies.
Dean and Sam are without injuries. You have a broken arm that doesn’t get properly treated before you’re leaving the hospital in the dust, the taste of ash still on your tongues.
Everything goes to shit when you’re 24. There’s something about Sam, him being a Chosen One, and Dean says that John had wanted him to kill your brother, and it’s all so confusing. You know about the visions, and you trust the visions, but then Sam and the other kids like him are mutating into something else and you’re afraid.
You know it’s the Demon, good old Yellow-Eyes, but you don’t matter to him. You don’t matter to anybody. Bobby sees you sometimes, but that’s because Bobby is an old soul in an old body and knows what it is to be in the background.
Ellen sees you too, but only because you remind her of Jo. “Don’t let them boys walk all over you,” Ellen tells you one day, when you’re sitting at the counter at the Roadhouse after the boys had taken off on one of their adventures without remembering you. “Honey, you aren’t a doormat.”
“I’m not much of anything,” you tell her and then you finish your beer and motion for another.
You’re 25 when Sam dies and Dean sells his soul and leaves you with two brothers who are forever tainted with the cold tang of death.
You’re 25 when you look at schooling options for adults.
The Hellhounds come for Dean sometime after you turn 26, and you have nightmares about Sam’s cries and Dean’s blood until you have to start taking extreme measures, like pills and alcohol and concussions.
You and Sam crash at Bobby’s house once, and you sleep easier than you have since your brother went to Hell.
When you wake up, Sam is gone and he doesn’t come back. Bobby looks at you with pitiful eyes, but you keep your head down and make yourself a list of permanent chores to do just so you have a purpose and won’t have to kill yourself.
Dean comes back while you’re still 26. You’ve given up on schooling, which is good, because Dean wants to look for Sam, and you have to scramble to get in the back seat of the Impala before he takes off with a squeal of the tires.
Bobby sits in the front. It’s not any less lonely in the back. You seem to care less now, and you wonder if it’s because the nightmares have sucked out your soul and no you’re just hollow and beaten and sad, and you don’t care anymore that your brothers don’t really care about you.
Sam causes the Apocalypse. You’re turning 28 the next day.
You meet Cas when you’re 28, but you aren’t important so he doesn’t see you. The angels don’t see you, your brothers don’t see you, and Bobby loses sight of you somewhere along the way. You slip through the cracks.
You go on a hunt on your own and it goes fine.
You’re disappointed that you don’t die.
You’re 29 when Sam jumps in the Pit with Lucifer and Michael. Cas isn’t God, and you aren’t important enough for anybody to take as leverage. Zachariah had taken Adam and Sam, but he hadn’t taken you and that should tell you to quit while you’re ahead, but you’ve already decided you’re a lot cause with school and there’s nowhere else for you to go.
Dean goes to Lisa and Ben. Cas disappears. You float around and you pretend you have purpose. You think your name becomes a legend amongst the hunters. Something about you being a ghost, here one moment and gone the next.
You’re too cold to cry, really.
You’re 30 when you attempt to kill yourself and fail.
Nobody comes to get you until you’re 32. Sam loses and gains his soul in that time. There’s someone named Samuel. There’s Alpha monsters and Death and walls in minds that shatter far too easily, and then Cas is the new God, but he’s sick.
You run into the boys on a hunt. Dean says your name with the reverence of someone who has seen God and laughed. He talks to you, and it’s nice, and then he tells you about Leviathans and Cas and your heart breaks and you crawl into the back seat of the Impala and stare out the window.
Hunters still talk about the Ghost.
Dean doesn’t know that it’s you.
You’re 33 when Dean and Cas go to Purgatory, and you’re 34 when Dean comes back.
You’re 33 when Cas comes back, too.
You’re 35 when Metatron casts the angels out of Heaven and Sam fails the Trials. It’s a mess, but there’s Kevin and the Bunker, and the angels falling look like dying stars and it’s oddly beautiful.
Kevin likes you. It’s strange because Kevin doesn’t really like anybody else. You think that its nice to be seen, but then there’s Crowley and demons and your brothers are important again and you quietly make enough food that nobody stares and clean up afterwards.
Your room stays bare. Nobody comments. You don’t think Sam or Dean could point out which room you claimed as your own anyway.
You’re 37 when Dean gets the Mark of Cain. It’s scary and it makes him into something harsher and more unstable. You try and keep quiet around him, because he seems almost hyper-aware of you now and he keeps eyeing you.
You make food and you do beer runs because that’s the role that they accept, and that’s the role you know. Charlie braids your hair once. It feels like something a sibling would do.
The Darkness brings Mary back when you’re 38.
Mary looks at you once, understands who you are and what you represent, and then she turns to her boys and smiles. You are 39 years old in a world that doesn’t want you, and you’re invisible to everybody in the damn room.
You can’t harbour any anger for Mary though.
You’re just so unbearably tired.
You’re on the cusp of turning 39 when someone steals you off the road when you’re waiting for the boys to come out from questioning a witness. You don’t know who they are, but you know they want information on your brothers, they want someone to experiment with.
Torture becomes old soon enough, so they play mind games. It takes them a while to adapt to your apathy though, but once they understand that forcing you to imagine your brothers being nice hurts more than making you think they hated you, things get going.
You don’t talk. But you hurt.
You hurt, you hurt, you hurt.
You’re 39 when you make your escape, killing everybody there and returning to the Bunker covered in blood and wounds and you are afraid.
“What the fuck,” Dean says in a tight voice as you stumble down the stairs. Cas is already charging towards you, a glowing hand held out. You flinch away. but he’s persistent, and your wounds close slowly. “Y/N?”
Sam stares at you with wide eyes. You stare back without saying anything. Cas gently brushes his hand over your shoulder. You croak miserably and he pulls away.
“Where were you?” Dean asks.
(You’re 39 when you realise that nobody had noticed you were gone.)
You turn away, intent on going back to your plain little room, but someone holds your arm and you can’t take the touch. “Stop,” you beg and whoever is holding you lets you go.
“What-” Sam gets cut off by the guttural wail that rips from your throat.
“I was gone for months!” You seethe, voice cracking and rasping. You are 39 and you are breaking, breaking, breaking. “You didn’t come for me, you’ve never come for me.”
The Ghost, the Ghost, the Ghost.
“I am nothing and I am nobody, but I should have been somebody and you took that from me and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”
Cas reaches for you again. “Let me ease your troubles,” he says and fingers touch your forehead and nothing happens. “You are in too much pain.” he murmurs. “I am sorry.”
“So am I,” you whisper, and then you turn away from your brothers and you go to your plain little room.
You are 39 and half-Winchester when you press a gun to your temple and pull the fucking trigger.
