I saw your post about wanting requests and I was curious if I could pop in and ask for literally anything with gabriel! 💀 maybe something silly like the reader is talking to sam or dean about their feelings for gabriel and he happens to overhear. a bit of a he’s right behind me isn’t he moment 🧍♂️ or if you’d prefer to write a similar scenario with dean or cas or if something else comes to mind! thank you <3
listening in
summary ♡ you've been spending a lot of time with a certain archangel lately, and your brothers, especially dean, don't approve. OR gabriel overhears something he shouldn't.
word count ♡ 1.4k
warnings ♡ fem winchester!reader mild language, use of "sweetheart", "m'lady", and "dollface" (dollface is used jokingly), mentions of lucifer (yuck)
notes ♡ this is set sometime between changing channels and hammer of the gods (we ignore the implications that this means gabriel would be ‘dying’ soon in universe.. whoops!) AND SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO POST ANON!!
"Gabriel? As in— the friggin' archangel? That's who you've been goin' on about all this time?" Dean threw his hands up as he paced the room, stopping in his tracks to give you a look. "Seriously? Him?"
Sam was pointedly staying out of the conversation, sitting on one of the motel twin beds and presumably doing some research on his laptop, only glancing up every few seconds, perhaps to make sure Dean didn't explode.
"Okay, okay, I know you don't exactly like him, De, but— c'mon, he's not so bad." You and Gabriel had been spending quite a bit of time together lately, for no reason in particular except for the fact he kept popping in whenever your brothers went out on hunts and refused to let you come (much to your dismay). At first, you'd been reluctant, after all the guy had put your brothers through some… rather questionable situations, but he turned out to be sweet. Like, stupid sweet.
"'Not so bad'" Dean pitched his voice up to a mocking tone, "The dude freakin' ganked me. Hundreds of times. Not that I personally remember, but still."
Well. He wasn't wrong. "Well— uh, he's helped us out, hasn't he?" Maybe 'helped' was a bit of an exaggeration, but whatever. You needed Dean to understand that Gabriel wasn't as much of a dick as he seemed to believe.
"Helped. Sure. Because puttin' us through a bunch of TV shows was just what we needed while we're trying to stop the devil from icing the entire frickin' planet—"
He had a point, but to be fair, you'd already spoken to Gabriel about that. And he had been trying to teach Sam and Dean a valuable lesson, in his own rather special way. You just needed him to be a little less creative when it came to getting things through your brothers' thick skulls (although, you often had to resort to unusual methods in that area too.)
"He's sweet, Dean." You sighed exasperatedly, "I know nothin' I say is going to make you like him, but he's nice. And he's trying to help, he just.. doesn't always go about it the right way."
Dean gave you a look, his brows furrowed into a tight crease just above his nose bridge. "What, are you in love with the guy? Cause' your damn mistaken if you think m'letting my little sister date an archangel. That'd be like me givin' your hand in marriage to Lucifer."
You grimaced at the thought of that. "First of all, you don't get to decide who I date. I'm an adult." you paused, "and second, Gabriel is nothing like that son of a bitch."
Dean let out a whistle and raised his hands up in mock surrender, taking a step back. "Okay, okay. Either way, you didn't deny bein' in love with him."
Sam didn't glance up from his laptop, but he did murmur, "Dean, c'mon. Leave her alone."
Dean waved him off, "So are you?"
You flushed a little. If you were being honest, you supposed you didn't really know. What you did know was that you'd had more fun hanging out with Gabriel the past few months than you'd had in a long time— maybe even ever. You did know that whenever he made his stupid, flirty jokes towards you, you could feel your stomach go all fluttery. So were you in love with him? Maybe.
"I don't— I don't know, maybe," you murmured, cheeks burning, your gaze burning a hole into the cheap, musty motel carpet. "Doesn't matter."
"I dunno, sweetheart, I think it matters." That was definitely not Dean's voice. Dean turned so quickly, cursing when he noticed that the angel had been standing in the room unnoticed for God knows how long.
You instantly felt your face flush even more. If it was possible to die from sheer embarrassment, you already had one foot in the grave. You didn't know how long Gabriel had been standing in the corner, didn't know how much he had heard— but clearly, he'd heard the most incriminating part; you admitting that you were maybe, sort of, a little bit in love with him.
"Jesus, Gabriel, you can't just… pop in whenever you feel like it," you glanced up at him, saw that cocky smirk, and— nope— you dropped your gaze right back to the ugly carpet.
"Yeah, Gabriel," Dean's voice shifted to a more teasing tone when it got to Gabriel's name. You figured he was probably still mocking you. Dick.
"Such a warm welcome," Gabriel deadpanned, and you caught Sam roll his eyes. Gabriel gestured at you, "You usually don't mind when I pop in at random."
"Okay, well," you trailed off, "I was havin' an important conversation."
"Oh, yes, I heard," you glanced up and he was grinning smugly, in a way that made you want to simultaneously kiss and punch it off of him.
"How much did you hear?" you mumbled, digging into the floor with your heel. You wanted to disappear right now. If you could fly like Gabriel, you'd already be halfway across the globe by now.
"Only like, all of it," Gabriel shrugged and chuckled confidently. You wanted to crawl into a deep, dark hole and die. Preferably as soon as possible, or even yesterday. Before you even had time to process your thoughts on the situation, Gabriel tapped two fingers to your shoulder and all of the sudden you were flying, stomach twisting with waves of nausea.
You landed in an arguably much nicer hotel room. You couldn't figure out exactly where you were, not that the location was the most pressing issue to you at the moment, rather the fact that Gabriel now knew you had feelings for him.
Head spinning, you grumbled, "Gabriel, what was that for—?"
"Wanted to talk to you, sorry m'lady," he gave a cheesy little bow and oh, you loved him. No doubt about it anymore. No 'maybes' there.
"Shut up," you murmured, "You- weren't supposed to hear any of that, y'know? Eavesdropping is rude in human culture."
"Well, good thing i'm not a human then, dollface." He shot you a flashy smirk.
"Don't call me that." You gave him a look, and he nodded immediately.
"Yes ma'am," he winked, and you rolled your eyes despite the way it sent butterflies swarming in your gut. "So, a little birdy told me you're maybe in love with me?"
"Oh, shut up with that 'a little birdy' crap," you swatted his shoulder, "Just say you were eavesdropping, because you have no manners, and you overheard me saying that i'm definitely in love with you."
"Definitely? I've been promoted?" You could've sworn there was a pink tint to Gabriel's cheeks, and if that didn't make the butterflies go even crazier, you didn't know what would.
"Yes, definitely, idiot. I'm in love with you," you murmured under your breath, not looking at him. "Not exactly how I wanted you to find out."
Gabriel placed two fingers under your chin and gently tilted your head up to make you look at him. "I didn't quite hear you the first time there, mind saying that again?" there was a shit-eating grin plastered to his face, and that put you at ease a little.
"I love you, Gabriel." You muttered, and you watched his eyes noticeably soften the moment the words left your mouth.
"Well, gee, don't flatter me," he was blushing quite obviously, and his hand was fully cupping your jaw now. "I do too, though."
Just to be annoying, you tilted your head in mock confusion. "You do… what?"
He rolled his eyes dramatically. "I love you." your heart melted the moment you heard him say that. He leaned in, and for a moment you thought he was going to kiss you; and he did, but on the tip of your nose rather than your lips, which felt infinitely more romantic to you. Such a human gesture from an archangel, your archangel. Oh, you definitely liked the sound of that.
"My brothers are going to kill you," your forehead was pressed gently against Gabriel's. He let out a loud chuckle.
"Wont be their easiest task. And it would be worth it, anyway. I should be safe for now though," he smirked, "After all, Sam knew I was 'eavesdropping' as you call it."
"I'll chew him out for that later," you murmured, "right now, I don't really care."
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
"Say Cheese!" Winchester!reader & Dean, Sam Winchester & Cas.
Summary: The reader, Sam and Dean’s younger sister, takes embarrassing photos around the bunker. Castiel misunderstands it as a bonding ritual and joins in, creating chaotic family fun.
Contains; super fluffy, playful teasing, sibling chaos. I love Cas.
You learned two very important things growing up with Sam and Dean Winchester.
One: if you didn’t move fast, you got left behind.
Two: if you did move fast, you could cause problems.
Today, you chose chaos.
The bunker was unusually calm—no alarms blaring, no salt lines being redrawn, no demon blood debates echoing through the halls. Sam was buried in a lore book at the war table, Dean was in the kitchen arguing with the coffee maker like it had personally wronged him, and Castiel stood nearby, staring at the microwave as if it were a hostile entity.
Which made it the perfect time.
You quietly lifted your phone.
Click.
Sam didn’t notice at first. He was hunched over, glasses slipping down his nose, hair doing that annoying floppy thing that made people trust him instantly. You leaned slightly to the side, framing the shot perfectly.
Click.
Sam finally looked up. “Are you taking pictures of me?”
You smiled sweetly. “No.”
Click.
“That was definitely a picture.”
Dean leaned around the corner, mug in hand. “What’s going on?”
You turned and snapped a photo mid-sip—his face twisted in betrayal as the coffee was clearly too hot.
“Son of a—” Dean hissed, lowering the mug. “Did you just—”
Click.
“Oh my god,” Sam groaned, realizing the danger far too late. “She’s doing that thing.”
Dean pointed at you. “No. No, absolutely not. Delete them.”
You backed away slowly, still snapping photos. “You can’t stop what’s already been immortalized.”
Castiel turned his head toward you. “What are you doing?”
You beamed. “Documenting.”
Click.
Cas blinked. The photo caught him mid-blink, mouth slightly open, trench coat somehow sitting wrong in a way that defied physics.
He frowned. “Why did you capture my image?”
Dean snorted. “Because she’s a menace.”
“It’s called a selfie culture,” you said, walking closer to Cas. “Here—stand still.”
“I am always standing still.”
Click.
Sam stood abruptly. “Okay, new rule. No pictures without consent.”
You immediately spun and took one of him standing, hands braced on the table, looking like a disappointed librarian.
“Wow,” Dean said. “That one’s going on your tombstone.”
Sam glared. “I hate all of you.”
Castiel stepped closer, studying your phone with intense focus. “These images are… unflattering.”
“That’s the point,” you said cheerfully.
Cas tilted his head. “Why would one intentionally preserve an unflattering representation of an ally?”
Dean shrugged. “Trust me, buddy. She’s been doing this since she was twelve.”
You grinned at Cas. “It’s love.”
Cas considered this. “So… this is a human bonding ritual?”
“Yes,” you and Dean said at the same time.
Sam sighed. “No.”
Cas nodded slowly, as if committing this to memory. “I see.”
You moved on, catching Dean slouched in his chair, Sam rubbing his temples, even a blurry shot of Jack peeking around a corner looking vaguely guilty.
Then, without warning—
Click.
You froze.
Castiel was holding his own phone.
“When did you get a phone?” Dean demanded.
“Yesterday,” Cas said calmly. “I did not understand its purpose until now.”
He held the phone up.
Click.
Dean’s mouth was open mid-complaint. Sam was half-blink, half-sigh. You were grinning like an idiot.
Cas looked at the screen, then at you. “Did I do it correctly?”
You burst out laughing. “Perfectly.”
Dean groaned. “Great. Now there’s two of you.”
Cas nodded, satisfied. “I will continue this custom. For bonding.”
He raised the phone again.
Click.
Sam dropped back into his chair. “We’re never surviving this.”
You slung an arm around Cas’s sleeve. “Welcome to the family.”
Cas looked down at the photo again—at the messy, unguarded moment frozen in time.
“I believe,” he said thoughtfully, “that I like this tradition.”
Imagine being the youngest sister of the Winchester brothers, being dragged across the country training to kill monsters with Sam, Dean and John. Then Sam runs off to Stanford and Dean and John are definitely not maternal enough to care for a little girl on their own!
So they drop her off at one of Johns female hunter friends (like Bobby but in Indiana, if you see where i'm going with this..). Specifically Hawkins, Indiana; where our littlest Winchester grows up and whether that's yk Nancy, Steve, Johnathan & Robin's age or the "Party's" age is up to debate but still. Picture she's dating one of them in either group (like Steve for the adults or Dustin for the teens) and she's with them one day when something "stranger things-y" happens and whoever she's dating, along with the whole group has to explain to Y/N that "monsters are real, etc.." and Y/N is straight up like..
"Uhm, yeah? Obviously.. did you guys think I didn't know? Do- Do you guys not know who I am? What kind of hunters don't know the Winchesters?"
Cue the miscommunication realisation that Y/N thought the group KNEW she was a Winchester and hunts monsters but wanted to spare her from it bc of trauma, that's why they are so careless talking about monster stuff and El's powers - but they all are just bad at keeping secrets and thought Y/N was just oblivious bc she never mentions it
Winchester!Reader headcanons (as the eldest daughter)
✩ It was common knowledge that John wasn’t the best father around, to say the least. Sam and Dean had their own versions of the story, but you kept the worst of it.
✩ Despite being two years older than Dean, you always felt invisible. At least in your father’s eyes. It wasn’t like he didn’t love you. You knew he did… or at least that’s what you told yourself for the sake of your sanity. The only time his eyes ever settled on you was to give you an order or scold you for something you hadn’t done right. His obedient little soldier.
One day, in the middle of a fight, one of many, you finally asked him.
“Why do you hate me so much?”
And he answered.
“Because you’re just like your mother.”
And right then you knew it didn’t matter how hard you tried. You were never going to do enough. Never going to give enough. In his eyes, you were just a reminder of what he’d lost.
You were nothing more than the ghost of Mary.
✩ You didn’t remember much of her. You were only six when she died, after all. But everyone always told you that you were the spitting image of her. The eyes. The hair. Even the shape of your face. From the people who’d known her back in Kansas to your father every time he looked at you with something you could never quite name.
So you called it hate.
Because it was easier to believe someone hated you than to think they might love you.
✩ As soon as you were old enough, you dyed your hair. Black. Dark as night. For the first time, you felt like yourself instead of Mary.
But instead, you started looking like the one person you swore you’d never become.
John.
✩ Since Mary died when all three of you were still kids, you became the only mother figure the boys had. Everything they knew, everything they learned, came from you. You helped them with homework. Cooked for them. Trimmed their hair. Did whatever you could so they could have something close to a normal life despite everything.
✩ Dean never let you baby him too much. He insisted it ruined his whole “strong and broody hunter” image. Especially once he became a teenager. He would complain nonstop about how annoying you were, but he’d still quietly help you make dinner or clean up whatever motel room you were staying in that week.
He’d seen the way John lashed out at you whenever something wasn’t done perfectly. Heard your quiet cries in the middle of the night after a hunt went wrong and John had taken it out on you.
✩ Since you were the one who raised both of them, Dean learned from you how to be a little more open with his feelings. He’s still stubborn and likes to pretend he’s tough and untouchable. But after a rough day, he always ends up sitting next to you, telling you what happened, skipping a few details so you won’t worry.
✩ Needless to say, he doesn’t play when it comes to you. If anyone even dares to say or do something to you, he’s already there, ready to throw punches.
✩ He got to finish high school. Unlike you. He even applied to the fire academy after you encouraged him to. He told you he didn’t get accepted.
But deep down you knew the truth.
Dean Winchester was just too loyal to leave you and Sam behind with John.
✩ And Sam? Sam was your baby. His first word was your name. When he took his first steps, he was walking straight toward you. Definitely his favorite sibling, even if he never actually said it out loud.
✩ From a young age you learned that alcohol was a good way to forget the things you didn’t want to remember. And that smoking helped burn your problems away.
You knew it wasn’t healthy.
But hunters die young anyway.
✩ At least, that’s what you always expected. You never planned for a real life. A normal life. Because you never thought you’d have one.
You always hoped Sam and Dean might get out someday. Run away from all of it.
But not you.
You were born and raised to save people and hunt things.
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.
You were the eldest Winchester, the sister who grew up with two younger brothers — Dean, fiery and protective, and Sam, quiet and thoughtful. By the time you turned eighteen, you knew you couldn’t follow the life your father had laid out for you. Hunting monsters wasn’t your destiny. You had ambitions, dreams that didn’t involve stakes, salt, and endless road trips. So you left. And for years, Dean resented you for it. You’d abandoned them, abandoned the life they all shared, and he carried that bitterness quietly, the way he always did.
But you were also a blueprint. Sam watched you leave and learned something invaluable: he didn’t have to accept being a hunter as his whole identity. You tried to keep contact — at first it was easy. Picking Sam up from school and taking him for ice cream, stealing those small, fleeting moments that reminded you both that family didn’t have to be sacrificed entirely. But as the years went on, it became impossible. The Winchesters rarely stayed in one place long enough for you to call or visit. Dean stopped answering your calls when you did. Dad pressed Sam to train, to learn, to keep pace with hunting life, until there was barely a moment left for you. Eventually, you stopped trying.
Dean, though, never stopped watching. Even in his silence, he kept track of you in the ways he knew how — stashing your last known address in a drawer he never opened, memorising the streets you lived on like a map he refused to unfold. When the internet finally crept into their lives, he scoured the earliest corners of MySpace, then Facebook, hunting for any trace of you, just to make sure you were still out there, still living, still laughing somewhere beyond the reach of their family chaos. Every little update, every fleeting digital footprint, was a quiet reassurance: you were alive, and maybe, just maybe, you were happy. He missed you, missed you so much it ached, but pride and guilt tangled together, making words impossible. A whole decade passed before either of you spoke.
It was Sam who bridged the gap first. When he left to pursue college, he reached out, and slowly the two of you built a rhythm again. Every Saturday became coffee, catching up, sharing fragments of your separate lives.
And then, when Dad went missing, Dean showed up on your doorstep — not because he needed you, necessarily, but because he wanted to see you. He didn’t expect you to follow, didn’t plan on having you back in his life, but when you did, the old ache in his chest softened just a fraction. The hole your absence left finally began to fill, and even the quietest, most stubborn part of Dean admitted: he had missed you more than he could ever say.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: You almost died. Dean saw it with his own eyes and he nearly broke. Then he held you in his arms all night and kissed you. Kissed you like he never had before. Repeatedly.
Then the next day he denies anything ever happened. You are not about to let your big brother get away with this. He will admit his true feelings for you whether he likes it or not.
