Some headcanons on what it would be like if you were just like your big brothers!!
Taking after Dean:
Having the same taste in music, rocking out in Baby to Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Bob Seger, etc.
Driving Sam crazy because there's basically two of Dean
On movie nights, you and Dean basically act out the scenes for Rocky, every Clint Eastwood film, Die Hard, so on, there's really no need to even play the movie (Sam is dying inside)
Arguing over the last slice of pie
Stealing his clothes, especially band t shirts
Always begging Dean to let you drive Baby
Loving slasher films & Halloween, always planning costumes with him (but rarely getting to actually dress up as hunting gets in the way)
Making pop culture references with Dean
Being obsessed with bacon
Calling each other Batman & Robin
Being pretty flirty as you get older, Dean giving you pick up lines & tips
Him teaching you to fight & defend yourself, being proud of how strong you are but also scared for you
Taking after Sam:
Always down for a library trip with Sam
Dean rolling his eyes at his "nerdy little siblings"
Arguing over the best fantasy books and films
Swapping & sharing books, talking about how you liked the book or what you didn't like
Eating your fair share of salads BUT you love pie almost as much as Dean does
Going through a break up and Sam playing Celine Dion at full volume while you cry
Talking about college when the time comes, Sam helping you with your admissions essays
Him helping you study by quizzing you, marking practice tests, etc.
Dean always complaining about how long you both take to wash your hair
Dragging Dean around museums, you & Sam having a great time & Dean losing his mind (he likes the gift shop though)
Sam teaching you Latin & lore, you helping him organise the Bunker's files & archives
Going for runs with him but complaining like 90% of the time
BUT overall I think you'd be a little bit like both of them while still being your own person. Growing up with little influence other than those two, it would impossible for you not to be like them.
Summary - Meg's father picks her up from school. Or does he? Set between 1x16 (Shadow) and 1x20 (Dead Man's Blood).
Pairings/characters - Meg Winchester (OC), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer (mentioned).
Dean Winchester x little sister, Sam Winchester x little sister, John Winchester x daughter
Warnings - some violence, swearing, John Winchester's A+ parenting
Language - English (British)
Word Count - 9,910 (I got a bit carried away...)
Notes - This is set between 1x16 and 1x20, with some canon divergence. Not proof read lmao
Credits - gif via @lower-the-volume
The Winchester's were settled - as settled as they ever were - in a small, nondescript town in the mid west, the same as hundreds of other towns they had stayed in or passed through over the years. Meg was even enrolled in elementary school.
After their father had finally turned up - and abruptly left again - Meg had felt uneasy, and the boys had too, though they wouldn't admit it, so they decided that sticking to one town for a while could be good for all of them.
Meg hadn't really been to school before. She was home-schooled, sort of, by her brothers and occasionally Uncle Bobby. They didn't follow a curriculum or do tests, but they spent a few hours each day going over all different subjects - numbers, reading, history, science - and Meg frequently had her head in a book. She hadn't expected to like school. While she most definitely did not like being separated from her brothers all day, she enjoyed the classroom and the playground, hanging out with kids her own age, using the multitude of crayons and pens and craft supplies, playing with footballs and bicycles.
What she had never imagined was that her father would pick her up from school. Mrs P. - that's what everyone called her - waved Meg over to the school gate where John Winchester stood waiting. Meg's eyes were wide as saucers when she saw him, half excitement, half trepidation.
"Daddy!" she cried nonetheless, throwing her small arms around him in a hug. He swung her off the ground and sat her on his hip, giving her hair an affectionate pat. "Bye Mrs P.!" Meg called as John walked towards the car. It was different from his truck, not as big or shiny. Maybe the truck was broken and Dean was fixing it. He was good like that. That must be why Dean wasn't here.
John opened the passenger side door and placed Meg on the seat. No car seat! "Dean says little kids have to have a car seat, Daddy," Meg said. John gave her a conspiratorial smile.
"I thought you were a big girl now?" he replied, switching on the ignition. Meg beamed.
"I am, Daddy. But Dean doesn't listen." she replied, fiddling with the various buttons. John pulled away from the school just as she found the radio.
________
Dean locked the Impala and meandered through a crowd of children and soccer moms to the school gate. Meg was usually waiting for him, stood patiently next to her teacher. She enjoyed school, but he had to admit it made him a little warm and fuzzy inside to know she missed him.
Today, however, Meg wasn't stood by the gate. Mrs P., the third grade teacher, was talking to a small group of moms, their children playing with each other nearby. Dean scanned the playground quickly, a small frown on his face, looking for two brown pigtails and dungarees. The playground was emptying now, children trailing out of the gate onto buses and into minivans, so it should've been easy to see her.
Dean caught Mrs P.'s eye, beckoning her over with a nod of his head.
"Hey, where's Meg?" he asked, cutting right to the point.
"Oh! Her father picked her up today." Mrs P. said with a smile. Dean's stomach dropped, twisting anxiously.
"What?" he asked, momentarily dumbfounded. "I mean... our father's out of state on business."
"Oh, well... he signed in at the front desk. Showed his ID and everything. John Winchester, Kansas, right?" Mrs P. asked, looking confused but not exactly concerned.
Dean, on the other hand, was extremely concerned. Dad wouldn't just show up and take Meg out of school, not without telling him, and he certainly wouldn't show his actual ID.
"He... he's not here." Dean said, through gritted teeth. "So who has my sister?" Dean tried his best to remain calm, not to let panic and fear overwhelm him.
"I can assure you, Dean, he is here. Reception checked his ID against our records."
"He isn't even listed as an authorised adult to pick her up!" he said, voice rising. "Sam and I filled in those damn forms ourselves. How the hell could you let an eight year old wonder out of school with a stranger?"
"Not a stranger, her father." Mrs P. replied, an edge to her voice. "You are more than welcome to check with the front desk if you have any concerns, but we do our due diligence before letting the children leave."
Dean's jaw was set as he turned on his heel, stalking back towards his car. He flipped his phone out, dialling his father's number. He wasn't expecting an answer, and indeed, John did not pick up. He tried Sam instead, hitting the gas and pulling away from the school.
"Sam, is Meg with you?" Dean asked, voice sharp.
"What?" Sam's voice crackled through the phone. "Of course not. You're picking her up."
"She's not here. They said... the teacher said Dad picked her up."
"Dad? Our dad?" Sam asked. "He's not even in the state is he? Why would he just show up and pick Meg up from school?"
"I don't know!" Dean shouted down the phone, no longer able to suppress the panic. "I mean - he wouldn't. You heard him the other week, he thinks it's too dangerous for us to be together anyway. No way he'd just show up unannounced and take Meg."
"What do we do, Dean?" Sam asked, urgency and fear in his voice.
"I'm on my way back to you. I've tried Dad but can't get him, you keep calling, texting, anything." With that, Dean hung up, speeding back towards the motel. He tried his dad again as he pulled in to the space outside their room.
"Dad?" he asked, shocked to the core he even picked up.
"Dean," his father's voice was flat, unimpressed. "I told you-"
"Have you got Meg?" Dean cut him off. They didn't have time for a lecture.
"What? Why would I have Meg?"
"The school said you picked her up. Showed your ID to reception. Is she with you?"
"No, Dean, of course she's not with me. Who the fuck has her? Why would they let her leave with a random-"
"I don't know! I don't know, Dad. But she - she's not here. She wasn't at school, she's not - fuck!" Dean cried down the phone, the fear now all-consuming. "What state are you in?"
"Just left Texas. Text me your address, I'm on my way." John replied, voice icy cold and tense. Then he hung up, without waiting for a reply.
Dean slammed the door of the motel room shut behind him.
"Dad's in Texas," he said by way of greeting to Sam, who had been pacing the motel room, cellphone in hand. Sam stopped pacing, face pale.
"Then... then who..?"
"I don't know," Dean snapped harshly. "I don't - fuck. How could I let this happen?"
"Dean, this isn't... you couldn't have known this would happen. I called Bobby, he's on his way. Figure... figured we'd need all the help we could get." Sam said, trying to comfort his brother, who felt everything, everywhere was his fault.
"Dad is too. Says he just left Texas."
"Dad's coming?" Sam asked, unable or not bothered enough to hide the surprise in his voice.
"Yes, Sam, of course he's coming. His daughter is m-" Dean couldn't even say the word. Missing. His jaw was tense, breathing heavy. "He'll be here."
"So, what could've taken her? A shifter, maybe, if it looked like dad?" Sam questioned, reverting into problem-solving mode. "But then, what the hell would a shifter want with Meg? Or dad, for that matter?"
"I don't know, Sam," Dean said. God, how many times had he said those words this last hour? So many unknowns - who had her? Was she hurt? Or worse, was she -
No. Dean couldn't go there. If he started thinking like that, starting spiralling and letting the fear control him, they might never get her back.
"Does the school have cameras?" Sam asked, opening his laptop. "We could look for camera flares." Dean nodded, taking a deep, steadying breath.
This was a hunt. A case. He could do that. Work the case, find the monster, save the kid. It's what he does. What he's been doing most of his life. It's just a case.
________
It didn't take Meg long to figure out something was... wrong with her father. As if showing up to her school hadn't been strange enough, they then drove out of town, opposite direction to the motel the Winchester's had been staying in.
"Where are Sam and Dean?" Meg piped up from the passenger seat. Dad hadn't even prompted her to put a seat belt on, but she'd done it anyway. Otherwise Dean would just lecture her.
"They're... they'll meet us there." John replied, eyes fixed on the road.
"Where?" Meg asked.
John's jaw tensed. Meg was used to that. She asked a lot of questions, and Dad rarely answered. Usually snapped at her to be quiet. Dean explained things, as best he could, in a way that she could understand, a way that wouldn't scare her too much. "Never mind where," John replied, as his cell began to ring. He flipped it open, eyes darting between the road and the screen. "Yeah? I've got her. Was almost too easy."
Meg listened to half the conversation, nervousness twisting in her belly. What did that mean? The voice on the end of the phone didn't sound like Sam or Dean, so who was he talking to?
Meg pressed herself closer to the door, trying to put some distance between herself and the person who looked like her father. She wanted her brothers.
John smirked into the phone. "Oh, they'll take the bait alright. She's a pretty little thing. They won't leave her behind."
Meg trembled in her seat. That didn't sound right. None of it felt right. The man looked like her father, had his voice, but... he wasn't. Something in the way he held himself, his manner of speaking. She realised with a jolt of dread and panic that this was not her father, no matter what her eyes were telling her.
She really, really wanted her brothers now.
________
Two days. It had been two days since Meg had been taken. Dean hadn't slept a wink, a combination of coffee, adrenaline, and fear keeping him up.
They had accessed the schools cameras, and indeed, it was a shifter, the eyes of not-John Winchester flaring silvery-grey. They'd even got the license plate of the car he was driving, but it was stolen a few states over and didn't lead anywhere solid. Bobby had arrived a few hours after Sam called him, helping the boys poke around the town, searching out spots where a shifter might lay low, to no avail. Further research turned up shifter-sounding cases in nearby towns, which Bobby had gone to check out, see if he could pick up a trail or find any clues.
Sam and Dean stayed in the town in case Meg showed up, following any lead they could. They expected something - a ransom call, negotiation, anything - and the lack of communication made Dean even more uneasy.
Sam had suggested calling the police, reporting her as a missing person, but Dean thought that would only make things worse. Especially if they saw the footage of John Winchester walking out the school gates with Meg on his hip. Last thing they needed was a manhunt for their father.
Dean hated the waiting. The research. They'd checked every warehouse, sewer, abandoned building in the town, twice, but it didn't feel like enough. None of it did. They were waiting on a call from Dad or Bobby, or one of their contacts to get back to them. Sam had rung the sheriff's office, security companies, anything he could think of, to see if any break ins or suspicious activity had been reported. Nothing.
All he could think of was how scared she must be. He had no idea what kind of conditions they were keeping her in - was she tied up? Was she being fed? - but the thought of a monster with their father's face holding her hostage somewhere.... Dean would never forgive himself for this. It was his job, to take care of his siblings. God, he should never have put her in school, never let her out of his sight for so long.
A harsh rap at the door startled Dean from his thoughts. He and Sam looked at each other briefly, before Dean unlocked it and opened it, revealing John Winchester.
He pushed into the room, not greeting either of his sons, slinging a duffel onto the floor. He headed for the fridge.
"What the hell happened?" he shouts, turning to face the boys, uncapping a bottle of beer. "You were supposed to look after her." Dean looked at the floor, unable to meet his father's eyes.
"I... I went to pick her up from school, and they said... they said that you had already collected her, said you showed your ID and everything, an-"
"Why the hell was she in school, Dean? You know how dangerous is can be-"
"It's just school, Dad!" Sam fired back. "We just wanted her to be a normal kid, for once in her life, school isn't supposed to be dangerous, or weird - it's where she should've been all along!"
"Oh, no, don't you lecture me about school, boy!" John shouted, old tensions and arguments coming to the surface. Dean was suffocating. "You can-"
"Alright, enough! Both of you!" Dean yelled, standing between them. "We don't have time for this, Meg needs us, so stow the crap, get over yourselves, and start thinking. Meg is relying on us." His voice trembled slightly over the last sentence. Dean had one priority right now. He had tunnel vision, focused only on the little girl who needed him to find her. The Winchester men stood silently for a tense moment, each wound like coiled springs. Dean took a steadying breath, trying to remain calm, collected. He turned to his father. "It’s a shifter. We went back and checked the camera’s outside the school, and the eyes flared. We encountered one a few months back in St. Louis." He began calmly. "Bobby is-"
"You called Bobby?" John snapped. Granted, the two men weren’t on good terms - Bobby had nearly pumped John full of buck shot last they’d seen each other - but the old man, grumpy as he could be, cared for Meg deeply.
"Yes, we called Bobby. He was closer than you, and we need all the help we can get." Dean said tightly. "I don’t care what you think of the man, he loves her, and he’s doing whatever he can to help." John clenched his jaw but didn’t say anything. Dean took it as permission to continue. "Bobby’s checking out potential shifter activity in nearby towns. There’ve been reports of strange behaviour, people in two places at once, that kinda thing. Sam and I stayed in town in case…. In case she came back. Showed up. We’ve been scouting places shifters like to hide out." John nodded. Dean could see his brain working, forming potential plans, dismissing the ones that wouldn’t work, recalling everything he could about shifters.
“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath and putting his bottle on the table. “That’s good. That's - it's a solid start. You got a map of this place?" Sam turned tightly, pulling out the map of the town they had found. It was covered in black and red marker, places circled and crossed out, anywhere the shifters could be keeping Meg. John leaned down, looking over the town, at the places Sam and Dean had already searched. "You checked this place?" he asked, pointing to what looked like a factory on the edge of the town.
"No, not yet." Dean said softly. Sam pulled out his computer, looking up the site.
"Okay... so it seems like it was abandoned a few years ago. An old steel mill. Seems pretty remote, could be worth searching it." Sam said, tapping away at the keyboard. "There's another empty factory, a processing plant, about... two miles further up. We could check 'em both?" John nodded stiffly.
"I'll take one, you two take the others. Where's the silver?"
"Dad, we'll be safer if we stick together. Splitting up-" Sam began
"We can cover more ground if we separate. It'll be quicker that way." John replied, his tone not leaving room for argument. But Sam pressed on.
"We have no idea how many there could be! You can't go on your own, Dad, it's-"
"Dammit, Sam, do as you're told!" John shouted, eyes blazing.
"We aren't kids anymore, Dad, you can't just give out orders like some goddamn drill sergeant!" Sam yelled back. Dean rolled his eyes, gritting his teeth.
"For the love of God!" Dean shouted, stunning Sam and John into silence. He was breathing heavily. "Dad, you take the processing plant, Sam and me will check the steel mill. We'll split up if only so I don't have to listen to you two arguing. Meg is out there, alone, terrified, and you two can't grow up and get over yourselves for five goddamn minutes! Pull yourselves together!" Dean didn't raise his voice at his father often - scratch that, ever. But he was sick with worry and needed to find his little girl, and the arguing wasn't helping. He reached for the weapons duffle. "We got silver bullets and knives in here." He said, quieter now, loading the clip of his gun with silver bullets and tucking a blade into his belt. Sam and John readied their own weapons, the room heavy with a tense silence.
They left the motel rooms, driving to the abandoned industrial estate in their separate vehicles. The Impala turned off at the steel mill, John's truck carrying on to the processing plant. As Dean looked up at the factory, his stomach twisted, praying she'd be in there, that she was safe.
"Ready?" Sam asked, checking the magazine on his gun again and pulling out a flash light. Dean swallowed, nodding, as they headed into the mill.
________
Meg's body trembled, a combination of fear and cold. They'd arrived at some old factory or warehouse a while ago, not-John dragging her in by the rope he had tied around her wrists. He had put in her in a cage, slightly bigger than a dog crate, finally releasing her bruised wrists. She could stand up, but barely, and there was a bucket in the corner. She had a thread-bare blanket wrapped around her shoulders, though it did little to stave off the biting chill.
There were three men now, the man who wasn't her father, and two shorter, mousey looking men. Mostly they left her alone, drinking beer and playing cards. Sometimes the phone rang, and the took orders from someone - Meg assumed it was their boss, because they twitched every time it rang.
Meg had never known hunger or fear or cold like she did now. She kept hoping, praying, begging Sam and Dean to find her, believing in her brother's to rescue her. But every hour that passed made her worry more and more that they'd never find her, that she was stuck here forever with these monsters.
It was not-John who scared her the most. It was her father, but it wasn't. His face sometimes curled into this sickening smile, so un-Dad-like, and his laugh, which she rarely heard, was cruel and callous. His green eyes raked over her like she was a piece of meat; his entire demeanour made her skin crawl.
She realised she was crying again, tears snaking down her cheeks. She was surprised she had the energy left to cry. Meg licked at the tears as the trickled down her cheeks, the moisture - though salty - a small relief on her dry tongue. As her stomach growled at her in hunger, she wondered if she was going to die.
________
Dean kicked over an old barrel outside the steel mill, frustration and panic building to new heights.
"Dean," Sam said softly. "We'll find her. She'll be alright."
"Will we, Sam? Because we are running outta places to search in this godforsaken town, and anything could be happening to her right now." He snapped, fists clenched at his sides. Sam sighed, swallowing. Dean was right; they were running out of locations in the town where a shifter could keep a young girl. But he set his jaw, taking a deep breath.
"We're gonna find her," he said, with more conviction than he felt. Dean looked at him with uncertainty, but his phone rang before he could reply.
"Dad?" he asked, hope flickering to life in his stomach.
"She ain't here," John said gruffly over the phone. "But I got someone. Think he's working for the shifters."
"Stay put, we're on our way." Dean replied, snapping his phone shut. Sam looked at him questioningly.
Dean put his foot to the floor as they sped toward the processing plant, filling Sam in on the way. The Impala screeched to a stop next to John's truck, engine barely off before he was out the car and racing inside.
John had the guy tied to a chair in the middle of the abandoned factory. He'd tested him extensively; silver, holy water, salt. He was human.
"This him?" Dean asked, voice low and rough. John nodded.
"Yeah. Found evidence that a shifter was here, reckon this one knows something." John replied, keeping his voice even.
"Evidence? You find any evidence Meg was here?" Sam asked, hope lacing his voice.
"No," John admitted quietly. "But a shifter definitely shed its skin here. Whole mess of skin and crap back there." He jerked his head toward a back room, the walls painted with blood and gunk. God, he hated shifters.
Beside them, Dean's hands clenched and unclenched into fists, his breathing ragged and uneven. He approached the man, who at least had the decency to look ashamed and afraid.
"Where is she?" Dean asked, voice low with a barely contained rage.
"Don't know what you're talking 'bout." the man said, though he avoided Dean's gaze. Dean hit him, the man's nose breaking with a crunch as Dean's fist connected. The man let out a shout, blood beginning to drip from his nose. John and Sam were by Dean's side in an instant, Sam's hand on Dean's arm.
"I said where is she?" Dean repeated, eyes simmering. He didn't have time to lose. The man spit blood onto the floor by Dean's feet.
"Fuck you," he snarled. So Dean hit him again. This time Sam pulled him away, forcing him to take several steps back.
"Dean, stop. Stop it. He's human." Sam said.
"And?" Dean asked, eyes still firmly fixed on the target. Sam was taken aback by Dean's callousness, the unnerving look in his eyes.
"I know you've been working with shifters. Where'd they go?" John asked calmly, pacing in front of the man.
"I already said, I don't know what you're on about." the man repeated, blood coating his teeth and dripping down his jaw. Dean tried to step toward him but Sam blocked him, hands on his shoulders.
"Listen, Steve. It is Steve, isn't it?" John asked in that same, even tone. He didn't wait for a reply. "We can do this two ways. Either tell us who you've been working for, and where they went. Or I'll let my boy here beat it out of you." The man gulped. Dean liked the sound of the second option.
"I'm just a caretaker. Ain't seen nobody round these parts for years," Steve replied, avoiding eye contact with any of the Winchester's. John sighed, but Dean didn't wait for permission.
He launched himself at Steve, punching him so hard the chair fell backwards. Dean knelt on top of the man, gripping the collar of his shirt.
"You tell me where the hell they went right now, or so help me God." he snarled, twisting the shirt in his hands.
"God?" Steve asked, smiling. "What's God gonna do to those monsters?"
Dean hit him again, and again, breaking the chair Steve had been tied to. He dragged the man to his feet, throwing him against a nearby wall.
"My little girl is out there! You tell me what you know, or you can ask God himself what he does to monsters!" Dean shouted, forearm pressed to Steve's throat.
Behind them, Sam and John watched in silence. Sam looked briefly to John, wondering if they should stop Dean. John let the scene unfold. He'd never seen Dean so angry - so afraid. Something in John twisted when Dean called Meg his little girl. Guilt? Anger? Shame? All of them, he supposed.
And Dean was right. Meg was more his little girl than she ever was John's.
There was a pregnant pause, a brief moment of tension.
"There's a shipping yard, 'bout forty miles from here. That's where they were headed." Steve said quietly, the words slightly muffled by his split lip. Dean let the man go, turning on his heel and stalking toward the Impala.
"What do we do with this guy?" Sam asked, looking at Steve, who was slumped against the wall, a hand pressed to his face.
"Leave him," John said, picking up his weapons. "He ain't worth any more of our time."
Outside the processing plant, Dean was already in the Impala, engine revving.
"I'll follow you." John said as Sam slid in to the passenger seat. Dean nodded at his father, and the second Sam's door closed, the Impala's tyres screeching as they took off toward to the shipping yard.
________
Meg's eyes fluttered open, blinking in the dimness of the room. She'd drifted off again, despite her efforts to stay awake. She didn't know what might happen to her if she slept.
Not-John had left a little while ago, leaving the other two men to guard her. The watched her with their beady eyes, shifting in their seats, their card game abandoned. The phone, which sat on the table between them, hadn't buzzed in several hours, and it made them nervous.
Meg stayed huddled in her corner, rocking slowly in an attempt to comfort herself. She hummed Hey, Jude, the song that Dean would sing when she had a nightmare or couldn't fall asleep. It was a little comforting, but it made her miss Dean even more. She wanted him to sing it to her, to hold her close and rock her gently, snuggled against him in the Impala or a rickety motel bed. She wanted to hear Sam typing away in the corner or the sound of the Impala's engine. She wanted her brothers.
She was crying again, wondering if she'd ever see them again, every hear Dean's terrible jokes or Sam's laugh. God, at this point, she even missed her dad, the small, soft smiles he reserved for her, the way he let her sit on his shoulders, the fact she could play any music she liked in his truck.
But the thought of her father was slightly tainted now, the memories of him combining with the sinister looks of the shifter, the way it had taken her and locked her up.
Distantly, there was a clang, metal hitting metal. Meg froze, ceasing the rocking and humming, her body stiff with fear. Was not-John back? Or worse, was it the leader, the one who phoned every few hours? The one who seemed to scare even her captors.
She pressed herself as far back as she could, sharp metal bars pressing into her back, the blanket wrapped tight around her as if it could shield her. Then there was a distant shout, and her two captors stood, reaching for their knives. Meg was paralysed with fear, her whole body shaking as she tried to stay quiet, stay hidden.
The door was kicked open, and Meg whimpered as a fight broke out, the shifters launching themselves toward the door. There were shouts, the sound of metal on metal, and a gun shot. Meg screamed, the sound reverberating around the small room.
Then the cage door was rattling as someone tried to open it, and Meg pressed her hands over her ears, eyes squeezed shut. Please, please, please, she whispered to herself. I don't want to die.
Someone's hands were on her and she screamed again, thrashing her arms and scrabbling backward, although there was nowhere else to go. Distantly, she could hear someone saying her name, calling her.
"Meg. Megsie, it's me, look at me. It's Sam." he repeated, trying to reach her, to soother her. She was trembling, eyes shut and hands over her ears, pressed against the back of the cage.
She opened her eyes, looking up at Sam. Sam.
Or was it? Not-John had looked like her dad, and then she ended up here. Maybe she wasn't safe after all.
"Get back!" she cried, putting her hands out in front of her to protect herself.
"Meg, baby, it's me, it's Sam." he said again, reaching out slowly, but she screamed once more and he pulled his hand back. Behind him, a body thudded to the floor, but Sam couldn't take his eyes off her. Her cheeks were sunken in, dark bags beneath her eyes. She was shaking like a leaf, so scared - of him.
"Go away! You're not him!" she shouted, pressing her eyes shut again, sobbing softly.
Dean knelt next to Sam, his heart breaking at the sight of his little girl, so exhausted and afraid.
"Megs," he called softly, unable to hide the desperation in his voice. "Meg, it's us. Look at me, it's us." She whimpered, opening her eyes, crying softly as she saw him. She wanted so desperately to believe him. It looked like Dean, it sounded like Dean... but so did the one with her father's face, the one who had taken her.
She shuddered, shaking her head. "You're monsters," she whispered. Dean's heart broke.
"No, sweetheart. It's us. Meg, Goose, please - it's me." Dean pleaded with her, worry etched into every line on his face, voice desperate. He reached a tentative hand out for her.
"Go away! Get back, you're not him!" She cried, shrinking back into the corner. Dean was beginning to panic now, desperate to hold her, make sure she was okay, but she was afraid of him. Of him.
"Hey," Sam said softly, taking the silver blade from his pocket. "Remember the St. Louis shifter? Remember how silver burned them?"
Meg's eyes were wide, locked on to the blade, but she nodded. She remembered St. Louis, the shifter who had taken Dean's form. Sam pressed the silver blade against his hand. It didn't burn. Then he did the same to Dean, and again, the silver didn't burn his skin.
It was them. They found her.
"Sammy?" she whispered. "Dean?"
"Yeah, baby girl, it's us. It's us." Dean said softly, heart in his throat. They watched her with wide, cautious eyes as she looked between them, still trembling. She looked to Dean, his piercing green eyes glistening with fear and love and hope, then to Sam, whose wide puppy-eyed stare so often matched her own.
Her brothers. Her boys. They found her.
"De," she cried launching herself forward and into their arms. Dean gripped hold of her, pulling her firmly into his lap and cradling her close. Sam wrapped his arms around the pair of them, needing to hold his little sister close, desperate to keep her safe. Dean murmured softly against her hair, holding her so tightly and never intending to let go. She sobbed into her brother, face tucked tightly into his neck. Sam pressed a soft kiss to her head, a stray tear or two falling, his hand warm and steady on her back. She was safe.
Sam pulled away first, trying to assess Meg's body for injuries. She was scrawnier, her spine visible beneath the thin t-shirt. Her hair was matted, limbs dirty, but there were no obvious injuries, no blood. A small relief. He tried to coax her from Dean's neck, to check her face and neck for wounds, to ask if she was hurt, if she was okay, but she wouldn't move. Wouldn't, or perhaps couldn't, too afraid to let him go ever again. And, from the look on Dean's face, the few tears he discreetly wiped away, Dean wouldn't be letting her go ever again, either.
Behind the trio, the door opened, and John walked in. His shoulders sagged in relief when he saw Meg, cradled safely in her brothers arms. But she stiffened and turned at the sound, and when she saw him her face twisted in panic.
"No!" Meg cried, trying to scramble away from him, the man with her father's face. He was back. "Go away!"
"Meg - hey, no, it's him, it's Dad," Dean said gently, holding her arms so she couldn't run. "It's okay. The shifter's dead. It's really Dad." But his words had no effect. All Meg could see was the man who'd taken her. She was shaking again, eyes wide with fear, fresh tears falling down her face.
"No, no, please," she begged. Sam took the silver blade, walking quickly over to John, whose face betrayed the pain of seeing his daughter fear him.
"Meg, hey - look. No burn, see?" he said, pressing the blade to John's skin. "He's human. Not a shifter." Sam reassured her, pocketing the blade and coming back to crouch next to her. She regarded John warily, pressing herself close to Dean, who had his arm securely around her waist.
"Hey, princess." John said softly, kneeling a few feet away so as not to scare her. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart." John didn't really know what he was apologising for. For the shifter taking his face? Or for not being there for her in the first place? He gave her a small, soft smile, trying to offer her some reassurance, some proof it was really him.
Meg sniffled, still pressed firmly against Dean, eyes flickering nervously over her father's face. She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, turning to Dean with fresh tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whimpered, clutching Dean's hand in her own. "I'm sorry I left school without you, without checking, I- I thought that - that..." She hiccuped as Dean shushed her gently.
"Hey, no, it's not your fault, Meg. It's okay - you thought it was Dad, you couldn't have known. It's okay, sweetheart. Don't apologise." Dean said, cupping her cheek with his free hand and wiping away some stray tears. Seeing her like this, apologising for it... God, it broke his heart.
"C'mon," Sam said, standing and holding out a hand. "Let's get out of here. Get you to a hospital." Meg swallowed, wide eyes flicking between her family.
"No hospital," she whispered, voice hoarse. "Please." Sam and Dean exchanged a look. Dean ran his eyes over her body, no clear wounds or serious concerns evident, but God knows he'd feel better having her checked out properly. But how would they explain this to a doctor? To the CPS? He held her hands gently.
"We'll take you to the motel, check you over there. But if Sammy or I find anything that needs medical attention, we're taking you straight to a doctor. Capiche?" Dean said softly, toeing the line between doing what was best for her and not traumatising her further.
"Capiche." She echoed. When Dean stood up, she held out her arms, unwilling or perhaps unable to walk. Dean scooped her up wordlessly, glad to be able to hold her close still, and the trio headed for the door.
John hung back, unsure if he should go with them, not wanting to frighten his daughter more. He settled for trailing after them at a distance, close enough to still hear the soft, reassuring words Dean was murmuring to Meg, but far enough that Meg didn't feel threatened. Her green eyes still flicked over to him every few seconds, wary and distrusting, and it broke his heart.
Meg didn't let go of her brother, even when they got to the car. Her legs were wrapped firmly around his waist, arms around his neck, fingers gripping the collar of his leather jacket tightly. When Dean opened the rear door to the Impala, she whimpered, pressing her face into Dean's neck.
"Okay, it's alright," he said softly. "We'll sit up front, okay? Sammy can drive. You wanna pick some music?"
John watched them carefully for a few more seconds, Dean lowering himself into the car and settling Meg onto his lap, Sam waiting until the were safely inside before getting in himself. John nodded to Sam, a silent meet you at the motel passing between them.
In the Impala, Dean put the heat on full blast, while Meg opened the glovebox and found the Beatles cassette. He smiled at her choice.
"This one?" he asked, popping it in and turning the volume up a fraction. She nodded, snuggling into him, his large leather jacket enveloping them both as Sam drove them back to the motel. The car ride was quiet, Dean humming along to the Beatles, stroking gentle, soothing circles on Meg's back absentmindedly.
They beat John to the motel, pulling in front of the door. Dean carried her in, settling on the bed with her, while Sam fetched the first aid kit and a bottle of water, which Meg gulped down quickly.
"Woah, easy tiger," Dean said, easing the bottle from her grasp. "You're gonna make yourself sick." God knows how long she'd been without water, or food, or anything. He didn't want to think about that too much. Sam took Meg's hands in his gently, rolling up the sleeves. There were red marks on each wrist, bruises purpling underneath.
"Did... did they tie you up?" Sam asked quietly. Meg's lip quivered as she nodded.
"At the first place. Then they... they took me to the place with the cage." She whimpered, breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Dean squeezed her reassuringly. "I... I really thought it was him."
"I know you did, Scout. I know." Sam said, wiping her wrists with antiseptic for good measure. "Can you stand up for me?"
Meg did, legs shaking, Dean holding her arms for support - physical and emotional. Sam checked her over, feeling for broken bones, cuts, anything. Mercifully, she was okay save the bruised wrists. Sure, she'd lost some weight, was exhausted and dirty, but physically, at least, she was unhurt. Mentally, on the other hand... Sam and Dean knew it would take her some time to understand what happened, to process the trauma.
"You're okay," Sam said, reassuring Meg, himself, and Dean. "Would you like a bath, hm? Get you warmed up and clean?" Meg whimpered, shaking her head and pressing herself back against Dean. He squeezed her arms reassuringly.
"It's okay. We'll stay with you, alright? We won't leave you on your own." He murmured. Just then the motel door opened slowly, John lingering in the doorway. Meg tensed up as she saw him, pressing herself further into Dean's embrace, eyes wide and wary.
"Hey, sweetheart," John said softly, taking a few cautious steps into the room so he could close the door. "I figured you'd be hungry so I picked up some food. Pancakes sound good?" He held up a bag of food, its warm, enticing scent wafting across the small space.
Meg turned in Dean's arms, pressing her face into his neck, body trembling. Dean swallowed, holding her close, glancing at John with a pained, almost guilty expression. John was hurt, face falling as she turned away from him.
"It's okay, sunshine," Dean said reassuringly. "It's Dad. I promise you, it's really him."
"Wanna take a bath," Meg said into Dean's neck. He looked up at Sam, then John.
"Okay, sweetie. We'll get you bathed. Then you put on your pyjama's and we'll eat, yeah?" Dean spoke softly, as if speaking to a frightened animal that might bolt at any second. Meg nodded, pulling herself back from his arms slightly.
Sam grabbed her duffle, rummaging around for some pyjama's, the soft, fluffy ones she liked, draping them over the heater so they'd be warm for her. Dean picked her up carefully, sitting with her on the closed toilet seat while he ran a hot bath. John stayed, frozen, just inside the door, unsure what he should do, unable to take his eyes off the little girl who feared him now.
"Dad," Sam calls quietly. "It'll be okay. She'll come round. She just... she just needs a minute." John swallowed thickly, nodding. His eyes burned with tears he refused to let fall. God, what was he doing to his children? Sam clapped him on the shoulder, heading to the bathroom to be with Dean and Meg.
After a warm bath, the grime scrubbed from her body and her hair freshly washed, Meg pulled on the pyjama's Sam had set out for her, toasty warm from the heater. She held up a hairbrush wordlessly, silently asking one of her brother's to comb through the tangles. Sam took it, gently brushing through her damp hair, while Dean tidied the bathroom.
In the main room of the motel, John sat at the small table, bag of food in the middle, a beer in his hand. Meg stood in the doorway of the bathroom, eying him suspiciously, her toes curling anxiously into the carpet. When he noticed her, he gave her a soft smile, eyes kind.
It was her father, Meg realised suddenly. The shifter had never looked at her like that, its eyes had never been so gentle, never held anything except malice. She returned the smile with a small, hesitant one of her own, making her way slowly to the table.
"What kinda pancakes did ya get?" She asked softly.
"Chocolate chip, of course," John replied, pushing the bag towards the edge of the table. She gave him a bigger smile then, flashing the gap in her front teeth, taking another few steps towards him. He'd remembered her favourite food. Still, she waited for Sam to join them before she sat down, climbing into his lap.
He put his arm around her waist, holding her firmly on his knees so she wouldn't fall, as she began eating her pancakes, dribbling syrup down her chin. Sam ran his ringers through her unruly curls, slowing springing back to life as they dried. Dean joined them a minute later, relieved to see she was eating something, and that wasn't trembling in the presence of their father. Sam looked up at him, brows furrowed, taking in Dean's disheveled appearance and red-rimmed eyes. Dean avoided eye contact at all costs, instead pulling up a seat next to them. John handed him a beer wordlessly as they exchanged looks.
They still had questions, still needed to figure out why the shifter had taken Meg in the first place. They watched her eat a moment longer as she shoved forkful after forkful into her mouth, clearly starving. Dean wiped her sticky chin with a napkin, smiling softly down at her.
"Don't eat too fast, Goose." he said. He looked at his father again, who nodded. "Megs... do you know why the shifter took you?"
She froze, fork halfway to her mouth, eyes going wide. Her hands trembled slightly as she set the cutlery down, folding her hands in her lap. She shook her head slowly.
"They didn't say why, but... but I think they wanted you guys to come." She began softly, twisting her fingers anxiously. "They said... it said you'd take the bait." Dean reached out a hand, holding her small ones in his own, trying to soothe her. She looked up at him, wide green eyes brimming with tears again. "I'm sorry I went with him - it. I'm sorry I left school, I-"
"Hey, hey, shh. Stop apologising, sweetheart. It's not your fault." Dean said softly, one hand on her face to wipe away the tears. "It's not. You thought it was Dad, you had no reason to think otherwise." He repeated his words from earlier. He didn't want her to distrust her father, their family. It wasn't like they could have the 'don't talk to strangers' lecture; she knew that, it had been ingrained in her for as long as she could remember.
"Meg," John spoked up next to then. Her eyes flickered over to him, momentarily betraying the fear she still held for her father's visage. "Were they all shifters? Or were any of them demons? Did you smell sulphur at all?"
"I think they were shifters. I don't know what sulphur smells like, but I don't think so." Meg said quietly.
"Rotten eggs. Sulphur smells like eggs." John prompted, but Meg shook her head again. "Did they mention demons at all, any demon?"
"Dad." Sam said, voice low in warning.
"I don't think so. There was... they spoke to someone on the phone a lot. But I don't know who."
"The demon? Did they use a name at all? Or a location?" John pressed further.
"Dad." Sam repeated, more forcefully. John glared at him momentarily. Meg gulped at the sight, the warmth in his eyes earlier - the look that had reminded her this was, in fact, her father - was gone, replaced with a cool anger.
"I don't - I don't know, Dad. I'm sorry, they didn't say anything about demons, I don't think. I'm sorry." Meg whispered tearfully, avoiding John's piercing gaze. Dean stroked his thumb over her shaking hands softly.
"It's okay, sweetheart. Don't apologise." Dean reassured her.
"Anything, Meg. Anything you can think of will help us." John said again, not seeing or perhaps not caring that his daughter was growing increasingly agitated.
"Enough." Dean snapped, only half turning his head to look at his father. He turned back to Meg, his gaze softening. "It's okay if you don't know anything. Don't worry about it now, you're safe." Meg nodded, looking down at her feet, swinging a foot off the floor. "Why don't you finish eating, hm? Then we can watch cartoons." She gave him a small smile, turning to her plate, but she didn't eat anymore, just pushed pieces of pancake around the plate.
"I need some air." John muttered, standing so abruptly that Meg flinched. He looked down, eyes betraying his guilt, but didn't say anything and left the room. Dean's jaw was set as he stood - slower than John did - and followed after him.
"Dad," Dean said, closing the motel room door softly so he wouldn't startle Meg. "You can't interrogate her like that. Not after what she's just been through."
"This is the demon's work, Dean. It knows I'm closing in on it." John snaps.
"Maybe so. But your daughter just got kidnapped by a bunch of shifters. Anything could have happened to her! And you want to question her? To- to find the demon?" Dean snaps back, trying to control his temper. He loved his father, he did, but sometimes his priorities were all wrong. Dean - his top priorities always have been, and always will be, his siblings.
"We have been hunting this thing for 20 years, Dean! I am this close to catching it, to getting revenge for your mother. That's what all this is about, Dean, I'm not gonna give up now." John fires back, breathing heavily.
"No one is asking you to give up, Dad, but for once will you just try and be a parent to that little girl? Not a hunter, not a - a drill sergeant. Just a dad." Dean snaps. John swallows, looking away from his eldest son. Dean's right, he knows that; he's never been a great father, always training his children, not raising them. Still, it hurts to hear Dean say it.
"Yesterday, you - you called Meg your little girl." John started softly.
"Listen, I'm sorry about that, I-"
"No, Dean, don't apologise. You're right. Shit, you've done more for her than I ever have. You've raised her, cared for her. Everything I should have done, should be doing - you do it. And you do it well. She - she's a wonderful kid, Dean." John looked at his son, pride in his eyes. Dean nodded, a small, fond smile on his face as he thought about her. "My point is, Dean, is that you look after this family. Better than anyone, better than I ever have. I know I'm never around much, I - I don't always put you guys first. But you do. You put this family first, you put your siblings first, always. Every time." Dean nodded, understanding what his father was trying to say - thank you for everything you do, I'm proud of you, I'm sorry - without actually saying it. John clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Dean. For looking after them."
Back inside the motel, Meg was curled up on Sam's lap, trusty red checkered blanket it tow, her favourite plushie, Patch, gripped in one hand. Tom and Jerry played quietly, the lights of the TV illuminating their faces in the dim of the room.
Dean and John entered quietly, but the disruption still made Meg jump, head snapping towards the door. Sam held her closer, keeping her safe.
"Hey, princess," John said quietly, standing near the couch. "I - I gotta take off. It's not safe for any of us if I stick around too long."
"You're leaving?" Sam said in disbelief.
"Yes," John said sharply, eyes flickering back to Meg. "Your brothers are gonna take real good care of you, like always. They'll keep you safe, alright?" Meg nodded, looking up at him. John moved, as if to hug her or take her in his arms, but he settled for resting his hand against her head briefly. "I - I love you, sweetheart. I'm sorry I haven't been here."
Meg just nodded, eyes wide as she looked up at him. John nodded to each of his sons, picking his duffle off the floor. He looked at Dean once more.
"Watch out for your siblings." He said gruffly, before turning on his heel and walking out. The door shut behind him, the three siblings sitting silently for a moment. Dean looked at Meg, at the bags under her eyes and the hollowness of her cheeks. He walked over to them, kneeling in front of her.
"Hey, sweet cheeks. How you feeling? You still hungry?" he asked softly, brushing a stray curl from her face. She shook her head. "Okay. Good. Why don't we get you to bed?" Her eyes flickered across the room then back to Dean.
"Will you both stay with me?" she murmured. Dean smiled, nodding.
"Yeah, we will. You want Sammy to read you a story?" She nodded eagerly, holding her arms out to Dean. He swung her onto his hip hugging her close and pressing a kiss to her head. Sam rifled through his bag, looking for The Hobbit. He'd read it to her when he came back from Stanford, and now it was her favourite.
"Can we do a Meg sandwich?" she asks, eyes hopeful. Sam and Dean share a look; the Meg sandwich, as it became known, had started when the heating had packed up in a crappy motel in Chicago in the middle of winter. The Winchester siblings, left alone by their father, had piled into one bed for warmth, two-year-old Meg snuggled between her brothers. It fast became one of her favourite things in the world, even if it wasn't the most comfortable for the boys.
Any other time, under any other circumstances, they probably would've said no. But she'd been gone nearly three days, and they'd come so close to losing her... they couldn't refuse. They didn't want to refuse, both wanting to keep her close for a while, keep her safe.
"Sure thing," Dean said, sliding into the bed next to her, wrapping his arms around her. Sam sat on her other side, book in hand, opening it to the first page. Meg lay snuggled against Dean's chest, but faced Sam. He cracked the spine on the well-worn copy of the Hobbit, clearing his throat.
"Are you sitting comfortably?" he asked theatrically. Meg giggled and nodded. "Very good. Let's begin. In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole...."
Meg was asleep within three pages, using Dean's arm as a pillow, her small leg hooked over Sam's. He put the book down, moving some hair from her face, watching her sleep.
"You okay?" he asked Dean. He'd seen his brother's face earlier, his hair tousled where he ran his hands through it, his red eyes. Sam suspected it was a panic attack or something similar, though God knows Dean Winchester would never admit that.
"I'm fine," Dean said shortly, sighing as he looked down at the little girl in his arms. "I just... we came so close to losing her. So close. And I don't know what I would've done if - if-"
"I know," Sam cut him off, not wanting to dwell on that scenario. "But she's okay. She's safe now."
"We can't put her back in school. Not until this demon business is over and Dad's back. We can't take that chance."
"I agree. We'll just continue homeschooling her." Sam replied. Dean nodded. "You should get some rest too, Dean. You didn't sleep a wink the whole time she was missing." Dean shook his head stubbornly.
"Nah. I'll watch over her. She'll feel safer that way." Sam rolled his eyes at his brother.
"No, I'll watch over you both. Get some sleep, you look like crap."
"Oh, thanks, man." Dean replied sarcastically. Sam's eyes rolled again.
"You know what I mean. Get some rest." Sam studied him for a moment, wondering if he'd refuse again. But he didn't; Dean nodded, eyes still fixed on Meg's sleeping form, sliding down to be more comfortable.
Sam watched Dean's eyes flutter close, saw his breathing even out. There weren't many times Sam felt like the oldest and most responsible one. But now, watching his siblings sleep, keeping them safe, he felt the profound sense of responsibility he wondered if Dean always felt. Eventually, Sam sunk back into the pillows too, his arm over Meg's waist, until he drifted off into sleep as well.
________
The Winchester's had left the following afternoon, all three of them wanting to put distance between themselves and the town. Meg had sat in the front of the Impala, nestled between her brothers, too afraid to be alone in the back.
A week later, a new town, a different motel room, Meg woke up alone.
"Dean?" she called out. "Sammy?" She looked around warily. She didn't like being alone anymore.
The key clicked in the lock of the door not a minute later, and her brothers walked in. She scrambled out of bed, backing into the corner.
"Is it definitely you?" she called shakily, unsure if it really was them or if it was monsters wearing their faces. Sam and Dean sighed, pulling out a silver blade. This happened every time one of them left her sight for more than a few minutes. Every time Dean went for food, or Sam to the library, she panicked they'd been swapped for a shifter. They were trying to be patient, of course they were, they knew what she had been through; but it was exhausting.
They each press the blade to their skin, and Meg visibly relaxes when there is no reaction.
"Come here," Dean says, beckoning her over to the small living area. He hoists her up, sitting her on his knee. "Sammy and I had to run a quick errand. It's gonna help you, though. Okay?" She nodded earnestly, looking between her brothers, then to the paper bag in Sam's hand. "Okay. We know you're scared, that you can't tell who's a shifter and who's human. And you know that silver burns shifters, right? Right. Well, this ring," he gestures to the ring that is always on his right hand. "This is silver. And Sammy, we got him a silver bracelet." Sam pulls a silver chain from the bag, as well as a small ring. "And this here, this is for you. A silver ring. So, if you're ever not sure whether someone's human or not, you simply shake their hand. And as long as me and Sammy have our silver on, you'll always know it's really us. Sound good?"
Meg nodded slowly, watching as Sam put his chain on, letting Dean wiggle the ring onto her finger. She fiddled with it, spinning it round, getting used to the feel of it. She leant her head back against Dean's shoulder.
"Thank you," she said quietly. Her brother's had gone to all this effort just so she'd feel safe. Dean smiled at her.
"You don't have to thank us, sweetheart. We're gonna look after you. Always." Dean said softly, rubbing her arm soothingly. Sam smiled at her, too, taking her hand as she reached out for him. "We're gonna take a few days off, okay? No hunting this week. Anything you wanna do?"
Meg thought for a moment, tapping her finger on her chin. "Hmmm.... Disney World?" Sam and Dean exchanged a nervous glance.
"Maybe not Disney World... we could find a carnival or something though." Dean said. Meg sighed softly. She really wanted to go to Disney.
"Okay. Can I ride the ghost train?" she asked. "Oh, and the dodgems. And can we get cotton candy? Or popcorn! I wonder if they sell candy apples?" Meg rambled on, her mood lifting, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. Sam and Dean shared a smile, glad they could ease her worry, if only for a short while. She still didn't sleep well, waking up screaming most nights, insisting the kept a light on. She didn't like to be alone, or be too far from her brothers.
But this morning, she was excited about something. She was bouncing on Dean's knee, talking about food, mostly, but also about stuffed toys and games and fairground rides. Dean put a gentle hand on her head, trying to stop the bouncing.
"Easy, tiger." he said with a laugh. Then she asked the dreaded question.
"Can I choose the music in the car?" Dean sighed. So much for the house rules.
"Fine. Just this once." he said.
But he was lying. All three of them knew it. Meg Winchester could choose the music in the Impala whenever she damn well pleased. She was the only person in the world whom the house rules didn't apply to.
Driver picks the music; shotgun shuts their cakehole; Meg wins them both over with a gap-toothed smile and a glimmer in her eyes.
Pairings/characters - Meg Winchester (OC), Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, John Winchester
John Winchester x daughter, Winchesters x little sister, Dean Winchester x little sister, Sam Winchester x little sister
Warnings - 0 (John Winchester)
Language - English (British)
Word Count - 360
Notes - It physically pained me to write potato chips btw (they're crisps)
Credits - @firefly-graphics for the Impala divider <3
The Winchester's were situated in a motel room, much like all the other motel rooms, in all the other backwater towns they stayed in across America. Sam had his head buried in some homework, John and Dean pouring over newspapers looking for any freak accidents or weird deaths.
Two-year-old Meg was waddling about the room in just a diaper, bag of potato chips in hand. She was speaking more and more these days, learning new words every day, and she liked to babble to herself, little made-up conversations or singing silly little songs.
Having circled the musty couch where Sam was sat for a third time, she decided to venture toward the kitchenette instead, the ratty old carpet giving way to cracked linoleum. The divide between carpet and lino was uneven, the old flooring lifting up and warping from years of use and misuse.
Meg tripped, arms windmilling slightly, enough to keep her balance, but lost her bag of chips in the process.
"Oh, balls!" she exclaimed, letting out a small huff and crouching down on her chubby legs to start piling the chips back into the bag.
All three Winchester men looked up, staring dumbfounded at the toddler.
"What did you just say?" John asked, brows furrowed. Meg straightened up.
"Balls!" she said again, pointing to the spilt potato chips. Dean choked, stifling a laugh, turning his face so Meg couldn't see his smile. Sam, similarly, brought his book in front of his face, shoulders shaking as he laughed quietly. John's mouth twitched as he fought to keep a straight face.
"Meg..." he began, battling his facial muscles. "You don't say that word. Understand?"
Meg did not understand, frowning indignantly at her father. "Unca Bobby says it." she chirped matter-of-factly. John sighed, running a weary hand across his face. Dean let out a soft snort.
"That's not... it doesn't mean...." he sighed again, standing from his seat. He scooped her off the floor, settling her on his hip, intent on giving her a stern talking to, but one look at her wide, innocent eyes had him crumbling. "Remind me never to leave you alone with Bobby Singer again, okay?"
Summary - Meg knows how important this date is to Sam. Set around season 14 or 15, Meg is in her early 20s.
Pairings/characters - Meg Winchester (OC), Sam Winchester
Sam Winchester x little sister
Warnings - none
Language - English (British)
Word Count - 345
Notes - I meant to post this on Nov. 2nd but then I took a nap & completely forgot :/
Credits - @firefly-graphics for the dividers
Meg didn't bother knocking on her brother's door, letting herself into his bedroom and lying next to him on the bed so swiftly he couldn't have objected even if he'd wanted to.
Sam was reading a book, fiction for once instead of lore, slouched against the headboard.
"Hey," he said softly to his sister, surprised by her sudden appearance. "You good?"
Meg sighed deeply, staring at her odd socks, arm gently resting on his. "It's November second," she said quietly, still not looking at him. Sam swallowed thickly. He knew what day it was - of course he did. The date haunted him like a spirit whose bones he could never find and torch. He nodded but didn't say anything.
"I know that when I was little, when it happened, I couldn't do much. But I'm not a kid now. So, if you want to talk about it, I'm here. Or if you want to binge watch House of the Dragon, I'm good with that too. I can get you a beer or snacks. And I suppose, if you really want, I can leave you alone, but I don't like that option much." Meg said quickly. Sam's mouth quirked up into a soft smile. He definitely didn't want to talk about it, not with Meg anyway. Dean understood, sort of, remembered it better. Besides, he didn't want to burden her with that. But he appreciated the gesture.
"You finish season 1 of House of the Dragon yet?" he asked. She looked up at him how, smiling.
"I haven't seen the finale yet."
"Okay, then." Sam said, reaching for the remote with one hand, looping his other arm around his sister's shoulders. "We'll finish season 1, then we can start the next one."
Meg burrowed into Sam's embrace, resting her head on his chest as he hit play. The opening credits began rolling, the theme playing softly in the background.
"Thanks," Sam murmured. Meg gave him an affectionate squeeze in reply. She didn't need to say anything else. They both knew the importance of the moment without the need for words. So instead, they turned their attention to the television, and let themselves get lost in a fantasy world for a while.
“Hey uhhh Sam?” You held the phone tightly in your hands.
“What happened now (Y/n)?”
Sam’s voice sounded exasperated and tired. You heard him sigh heavily, Surely making a face.
“Uhm.. The police stopped me.. Can you uhh.. Get me out of this?”
“Where’s Dean?”
“That’s the thing. I have no fricking idea” You smiled nervously at the police officer.
“Are you sure? Did you call all his cell phones?”
You could hear Sam open the door to a car and turn on the engine.
“Yup. All went straight to voicemail.”
“He’s not at the bunker.. You think anything happened to him?”
“Nah. He’s good. He was with a woman the last I saw of him”
“Figures. Where are you?”
“Uhm at the police station”
“You are not getting out of this”
***
“Sam! Long time no see!” The police officer smiled, Shaking his hand.
“Hey Lynn!” He forced a smile.
“What’s going on? How are you?” Lynn smiled at him.
“Been doing good.. Speaking of, Have you arrested a girl? About fifteen this high?” Sam marks your height with his hand.
“Yup. Arrested her a few hours ago. Real talker” She laughs then frowns.
“Yeah.. That’s my younger sister”
“No way! Different mothers?”
“Yup. Can you tell?” Sam runs his hands through his hair nervously.
“Do you uh think.. You can forget about this?”
Lynn sighs, Looking Sam right in eye.
“You’re lucky you saved my life Sam. I was about to fill up the paper work. Here are the keys. Hurry before someone comes. If I get fired, I’m coming for you Winchester” She hands him the keys, Watching his eyes light up.
“Thank you so much Lynn! I owe you one!” He hugs her briefly, Running to the holding room.
“Of course you do!” She shouts back, Fiddling with some papers.
**
“Sam! Thank you so much for saving me!” You stand up, Watching as he opens the door.
“You’re so grounded” He glares at you.
“Come on-”
“You have about 3 charges. You’re lucky I knew an officer. I would’ve left you here”
“No you wouldn’t! You love me!” You smile, Walking out.
You have never lived with your brothers, And it has only been a few weeks since you moved into the bunker with them. You where with them at all times, So they could protect you; And watch you at all times. Right now you were filling your duffel bag full of your clothes, Ready to leave the cheap motel you have been staying in for the past week.
You were sick of sleeping with your brothers, Since they only get motels with two beds, You always have to take turns sleeping with your brothers. Sam was your favourite, He always hugged you and pulled you close to his body to protect you and when he was cold.
Dean was an asshole. He always tore the blanket away from you, Snored, His legs always found a way to lay on your body, pushed you off the bed, And farted while keeping you trapped under the covers. You hated sleeping with him, Even though sometimes he would leave you with the biggest side of the bed.
“Hold on guys! Let me get my stuff from the bathroom! and I gotta pee!” Your brothers were all ready to go, But they woke you up late and now you had to hurry.
After doing your business, You stuffed your forgotten objects, Zipping the bag closed; Running outside and not seeing the impala. Raising an eyebrow, You look around the parking lot, Every car possible but the impala.
“Oh no. They did NOT just leave me here” Looking around once more, You walk to the reservation desk, The lady who worked there giving you a soft smile when you walked inside.
“Hello, Ma’am? Did you see a black impala leave?” You place your backpack of the chairs and walked toward the desk.
“Oh, You where with those fine boys from last night. Oh yes, They left about 15 minutes ago. Went south from here from the looks of it”
“Oh really?” Venom dropped from every word, Your face still keeping a smile. “May I use your phone? They seemed to have left me”
The lady laughs, Handing you the phone.
“I’m sorry for laughing. My husband did that to me one day. It was our first date too-”
You slammed the buttons on the phone, Nodding at the lady to continue. Stomping your foot, You waited. One ring. Two. Three. Four. Then Dean’s rough voice was heard.
“Yeah?”
“Hello dear brother it seems like you have forgotten a package back at the motel”
“Oh shit! Sam! We forgot (Y/n)!”
You could hear the wheels screeching; Dean was probably doing a U turn.
“We’re sorry (Y/n) We forgot you where with us. We haven’t had another person-”
“Sam- Sam! It’s fine. How could you have forgotten your own sister!?” You shout, Startling the lady in the middle of her story.
“We’ll be there in about 15 minutes. Stay put and don’t talk to strangers” Dean hangs up, And you’re left seething.
“And then here we are - 65 year later and still happily married” The lady ends, And you smile.
“It’s like a fairy tale story. Hopefully my brothers get here before I kill them”
“Oh I’m sure.” The lady smiles.
You hand her the phone, Walking outside and sitting down on a bench with backpack on tow; Ready to kill your brothers when they got there.
Sam was on a grocery run while you stayed in the bunker researching for new cases. You liked staying in the bunker, Everything was quiet and you could do anything you wanted. The front door opened, Hoping Sam had bought more of those cakes you loved so much.
“Welcome back Sam! Did you get those cakes?”
“Oh were you expecting someone?” A rough voice spoke, And you immediately knew who it was.
Dean. Except this wasn’t your normal Dean. He had black eyes.
“Dean? What happened to you?” You took out your gun, Ready to shoot just in case he tried anything.
“The best thing that’s happened in my whole life” He walked toward you, Knife in hand.
Your reflexes took over you, And you bolted. You looked for possible hiding spots. The closet? No. The cabinet? No. Under the bed? Could work.
You opened the door to your room quietly, And shimmied under the bed as quietly as possible. You could hear him open random doors, Throwing everything and breaking anything that you could hide in.
“(Y/n)…” He called for you, His voice echoing across the bunker. “Don’t you want to spend time with big brother Dean?” He scraped his knife across the bunkers walls, A horrible screeching sound echoing through the halls.
He stopped in front of your door. It was almost like he could smell you. He kicked the door open, Breaking the closet door, And throwing everything around. You closed your eyes, Hoping he would just go to another room, Giving you time to escape. Everything was dead quiet, And you didn’t notice you stopped breathing.
“Gotcha!” He grabbed your ankles, Pulling you from under the bed, Watching as you shrieked in terror.
“Think you could get away? Come on, Big brother Dean just wants to spend time with his beloved sister!”
He held you tightly, Swinging his knife around, Trying to hurt you. You are able to uppercut him, Dazing him. You’re able to wiggle out of his strong hold. While in his daze he digs his knife deep into your bicep, Effectively injuring you. You are able to run away, Covering your wound.
“Don’t worry (Y/n)! You won’t get far”
You heard his voice boom before it died down. Staggering across the hallways, You use the wall for support, Effectively leaving streaks of blood on the wall, Making it easier for him to find you. You made it to the flight of stairs, Still leaving blood trails behind you.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Dean pulled you by your arm, Causing you to fall on some chairs, Hearing cracks here and there.
“The fun hasn’t started yet” Dean pulled you toward the bathroom, Throwing you onto the tiled floor.
“Dean! I know this isn’t you- Just stop- Please!” You cried, Watching as he cleaned the sharp knife.
“Nah.” He began stabbing you, Over and over and over again. Blood was everywhere. The walls, The sink, The toilet. Dean looked at your face, And he smiled. He.. smiled.
“It’s okay Dean. I know this isn’t you” You weakly took his hand, Watching as he looked at it. “I know you don’t mean this. It’s okay. I won’t hate you.”
You placed your bloody hand on his cheek, Your life flashing before your eyes before it slumped onto the floor.
Sam walked down the stairs, Groceries in hand.
“(Y/n)! I’m back!” He stopped when he saw the place a mess. Everything was broken. He became alarmed when he saw blood on the walls.
“(Y/n)!?” He called out for you, Dropping the bags and running down the remaining stairs.
He looked at the blood around the walls, And every room possible was broken into. He became worried when your room door was broken and everything was thrown around. He became cautious, And took out his gun.
“(Y/n)?!”
He heard sobbing coming from the bathroom, So he ran toward it, Pausing and looking at the bathroom. It looked like something out of a horror movie.
“Dean?”
Dean turned around, His face bloodied and stained with tears.
“I killed her Sam.. I killed her..” He held your lifeless body in his arms, Watching how Sam’s eyes shifted to you.
“(Y/n)??” He walked toward your body, Pushing Dean out of the way. ”(Y/n)?” Sam pulled you toward his body, Cradling you.
“Sam-” Dean tried to explain himself, But Sam just glared at him.
“Get out. Get the hell out!”
“Sam-”
“Get the fuck out or I’ll swear I’ll rip your heart out!!” Sam shouted from the top of his lungs, Moving your soft hair from your eyes.
Dean didn’t need more than that. He stood up and walked out; Not wanting to cause more problems.
Sam looked at your beautiful face. You were too young. He should’ve never left you alone. How many times did you yell for help? How many times did you yell his name? How many times did you plead?
His dear baby sister was now dead, All because of him.
