˗ˏˋ fem | she/her | 20s | brit trying to write american (send help) ˎˊ˗
hi, i'm winnie! this is my writing blog, but you may also know me as @winchesterdefender
i share my writing here instead of on winchesterdefender as they just get lost in all the crap i reblog lol.
˗ˏˋ me ˎˊ˗
i love supernatural sister fics! casual shipper of most spn pairings (i'm just touch starved and love love).
not big on rpf as they are in fact real people with real partners and real lives (just my opinion!).
living vicariously through fictional (traumatised) people.
-ˏˋ my writing ˎˊ˗
requests are open but i can't promise i'll get to them quickly as i am a student & work part time (also i just suck sometimes).
🍂masterlist🍂
my tag - #winniewrites
🖋 my requests are open! 🖋
characters/fandoms i am writing for:
supernatural 👻
soldier boy / ben 🦅
big sky / beau arlen 🤠
marvel ⚡️ [mostly bucky tbh]
mattheo riddle 🐍
spencer reid 🤓
but i am happy to write for many more, pls just ask!
*₊˚ mostly sfw but will label all fics with content and trigger warnings. if you're under 18 you probably shouldn't interact but let's be real, we all read smut when we were way too young, and i ain't a hypocrite
*₊˚ fics are in english (native) but british english not US so don't come for me. i'm not american but most of the characters i write for are so i'll probably get a lot wrong yikes.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Ditzy!Reader (Forensics Mythologist, ERT)
Summary: reader is a ditzy but brilliant forensics mythologist from the Evidence Response Team and a friend of Penelope. When the BAU struggles with a cryptic case, Penelope calls her in. Despite seeming scatterbrained and rambling off topic, she quickly deciphers the symbol no one else can.
Tone: PG, humor, mild fluff
word count: 703
a/n: literally made that job title up but we’re gonna role with it. Also shout out to google cause I had no idea about the history of symbols.
The bullpen was quiet in that tense, worried way that meant everyone was stuck.
Spencer was pacing, gesturing with one hand as he rattled off theories. “The symbol is vaguely Celtic, but the lines are wrong. It has Masonic elements but not consistent enough. And the numerology in the corners doesn’t reduce to anything meaningful—”
JJ looked between the board and him. “So... you don’t know what it is?”
Spencer bristled, pushing his hair back. “Not yet.”
Penelope, perched on the corner of Hotch’s desk with her laptop, sighed dramatically. “Okay, don’t get mad... but I think I know someone who might know.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Better than Boy Genius here?”
Penelope patted his shoulder. “He’s not threatened. Are you, sugar?”
Spencer frowned but mumbled, “No.”
Hotch didn’t even look up. “Do it.”
Ten minutes later there was the sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway and an enthusiastic, singsong greeting before the door even opened:
“Hiiii BAU people!”
You pushed in, slightly breathless, a folder tucked under your arm, hair a bit mussed, Penelope scurrying behind you like she was corralling a puppy.
Spencer blinked.
You blinked back.
“Spencer Reid!” you announced, like you’d just won a game show. “You wrote that piece on colonial burial symbols in Forensics Quarterly! I loved it!”
He blinked harder. “You... read that?”
“Of course I did,” you chirped, dropping your folder and immediately crouching to pick up the papers you’d scattered. “Oops. Sorry. I read everything about colonial death rituals and coded symbology, it’s so—oh, wait, is that the symbol?”
You hopped back up and nearly collided with him, squinting at the board.
Hotch raised an eyebrow at Penelope.
She spread her hands in frantic jazz-hands of please trust me.
You peered closer, nose practically pressed to the picture. “Hm. Hm. Oh my gosh.”
You spun, narrowly avoiding smacking Reid in the face with your hair. “Do you have a pen? Pen? Pen? Never mind, I have a crayon.”
You produced a purple crayon from your coat pocket and began sketching on the back of one of Reid’s printouts.
Emily exchanged a look with Morgan.
Reid was speechless.
You babbled while you drew. “So the outer circle is wrong if you think it’s Celtic. It’s actually based on Rosicrucian variants. But they borrowed from alchemical cipher scripts, see? And then the inner part is Latin shorthand, just a weird one actually, wait, they used a funerary ligature system from 18th century Venice which is just so cool. I went there once, the pigeons are actually so aggressive, like I had a sandwich and they—”
“Focus!” Penelope chirped, clapping.
“Oh! Right! Sorry. Anyway.” You circled a section of the drawing. “It literally says ‘Judgment is Coming’ in an encoded form of Latin. This little line here changes the tense. Without that stroke it would have meant ‘Judged.’ Whole different vibe.”
Silence.
Spencer leaned in slowly. “Wait. How did you... you recognized it just like that?”
You beamed at him. “It’s my job, Dr. Reid. Forensics Mythologist. Symbol systems are kind of my thing. ERT keeps me busy. It’s amazing what you can learn if you hyper-fixate on crypt symbols for fifteen years! Also you wrote that really good breakdown of Puritan grave iconography, it’s super useful. Seriously. Top tier.”
Spencer actually turned pink.
Emily coughed into her hand to hide a laugh. Morgan didn’t even bother. Hotch just sighed — but in a way that sounded like relief.
Penelope grabbed your shoulders. “You. Are. An. Angel.”
“Oh!” You glanced at your watch. “Gotta go. I think I left my car door unlocked. Again. Last time a raccoon got in. Anyway, hope that helps! Bye guys!”
You waved, nearly hit the doorframe on the way out, then vanished down the hall with your crayon still in hand.
Penelope turned back to the stunned team, clapping her hands like a satisfied matchmaker.
“Well? Aren’t you glad I called her?”
Spencer was still staring at the door, a tiny smile creeping onto his face.
Morgan elbowed him. “Reid. You okay there?”
Spencer blinked, adjusting his tie.
“She, uh. She read my article.”
Morgan snorted. “Yeah. Try not to propose in front of the unsub.”
Summary: Sam's POV of yours and Dean's relationship.
Word Count: 2.1k
Warnings/tags: Implied smut, angst, fluff, mentions of blood and injury, poor Sammy! Dean being his typical over protective self, both of them are stubborn.
AN: Hey guys, I know I've been MIA for a lil while, but I'm doing okay, still getting there, although this isn't a full return, I just wanted to pop on and give you guys a little something, as well as catch up on some reading now I have a minute 😅. This was sitting in my drafts and finally touched it up. I tried something little different with It being from Sam's POV. But I enjoyed this one and I hope you guys do too! ❤️
Main Masterlist
They were fighting again.
Sam didn’t even flinch. He barely glanced up from his laptop as the sharp words echoed through the paper-thin motel walls—voices rising, footsteps pounding, another inevitable blowout brewing like a summer storm.
“You can’t just run in like that!”
“I had it handled!”
“No, you almost got yourself killed!”
“I’m not a child, Dean! I know what I’m doing!”
“Well, you could’ve fooled me with the way you acted tonight!”
Sam sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He’d heard this fight a hundred times—probably more. Same argument, different hunt. Dean being overprotective, you pushing back, neither of you knowing when to shut up.
Then came the inevitable—
“Go to hell!”
“Already been, sweetheart.”
Sam winced a second before a door slammed hard enough to rattle the walls. Right on cue, his own door flew open, and in stormed Dean—still fuming, chest heaving, hands clenched at his sides, his face flushed with frustration.
Sam didn’t look up. He’d learned his lesson. Playing mediator between you two was about as effective as standing between two charging bulls. So, he kept his eyes locked on his screen, feigning deep concentration on the case he was researching.
A small town in Lincoln, Nebraska. Three bodies in a week, hearts missing. Probably a werewolf. Maybe a Rugaru. Definitely not as terrifying as the emotional carnage currently unraveling in the room.
Dean stalked back and forth like a caged animal, running a hand through his hair. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
Sam made the mistake of humming in vague agreement. That was all the opening Dean needed.
“Right? I mean, she just—she just goes in, no backup, no plan, like she’s got a damn death wish.”
Sam finally looked at his brother, eyebrows raised. “You mean like you do? All the time?”
Dean scowled. “That’s different.”
Sam snorted. “Oh, is it?”
But Dean ignored him, too deep in his rant to acknowledge logic.
“She doesn’t listen. Ever. I tell her to stay back, and what does she do? Runs straight into danger like she’s got something to prove.”
From the other side of the wall came a muffled, but unmistakably pissed-off voice: “I can hear you, jackass!”
Dean didn’t even hesitate. “Good!”
Sam sighed, long and suffering, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was his life. Not just the near-death experiences, not just the monsters and the ghosts—no, this. Being caught between his stubborn brother and his brother’s equally stubborn, equally reckless, equally loud girlfriend.
Dean, still grumbling to himself, flopped onto the opposite bed and crossed his arms like an angry child. Sam wisely said nothing. He knew the drill—Dean would rant, stew for a while, and eventually, in a few days—
Wait... Scratch that.
A few hours later, Sam was rudely jolted awake by a very different kind of disturbance.
At first, his sleep-fogged brain struggled to make sense of it. A fight? No—too much giggling between the groans.
And then—
Oh. Oh, no.
Realisation hit like a freight train at full speed and his stomach churned.
The unmistakable sound of a headboard knocking against the wall. The low, hushed moans. And worst of all—
“Oh, God, Dean—”
Nope. Nope, nope, nope.
Sam groaned, grabbed his pillow, and smothered his own face with it like he could suffocate the memories before they fully formed. How could he forget about the damn make-up sex? He should’ve known when Dean left the room and didn’t return that this is what would come of it.
Burying himself deeper under the blanket, he contemplated driving to another damn state. Maybe exorcising himself. Was there a ritual for that? A way to erase the mental scarring?
Eventually, after a painfully long time, blissful silence returned, and with it, the symbolic, albeit fragile, truce between you and Dean.
The next morning, Sam nursed his coffee like a war veteran as he sat in the outdated diner, watching the two of you with equal parts fascination and whiplash.
You were nestled beside Dean on the other side of the booth, stealing bites of his pancakes with a smug grin.
Dean—who, under normal circumstances, would stab a man with a fork for even looking at his food—just smirked, all stupid heart eyes, letting you get away with it like you were some divine exception to the rule.
Sam squinted. Not even twenty-four hours ago, you two were about five seconds away from an actual homicide.
Now? Now, you were practically glowing, exchanging touches, finishing each other’s sentences, giggling like a couple of lovesick teenagers in a CW drama.
Sam exhaled slowly, shaking his head.
Every relationship expert on the planet would call this toxic. Hell, if he described it to anyone—the explosive fights, the impossible stubbornness, the complete disregard for self-preservation when it came to each other—they’d probably diagnose you both with something and slap you with a warning label.
But for as long as he could remember—even before you and Dean finally got together—it had always been like this. Back when you were just a couple of reckless teenagers, trading jabs and daring each other into stupid, dangerous situations. Before things got complicated with feelings and labels.
You and Dean were like flint and steel—constantly striking, constantly sparking, burning hotter than anything Sam had ever seen.
But the fire never went out.
It should have. By all logic, it should have burned itself to the ground a dozen times over. But instead, it just kept going, somehow forging you both into something stronger.
It was chaos. It was infuriating.
And, honestly? It was kind of impressive.
Even if it made Sam’s head want to implode.
But then there were moments that tore away all the noise, stripped everything down to the bare bones of what you and Dean truly were. Moments that left no room for doubt.
Because when it came down to it—when it really mattered—the two of you didn’t just care. Didn’t just love each other. You were willing to bleed for one another, break for the other, burn the whole damn world down if you had to.
And tonight? Tonight just proved that.
The hunt was supposed to be routine—get in, take care of the pack, get out. But the damn werewolves were faster, stronger. They had numbers. And somewhere between the chaos and the fighting, you made a split-second decision.
You saved Dean’s life. And you nearly lost your own in the process.
Dean caught you before you hit the ground. One second you were standing, the next you were collapsing, blood soaking through your shirt, pooling between his fingers as he pressed down hard against the gash in your side.
“No—no, no, no,” Dean’s voice was hoarse, raw with panic. “You're okay. I got you.”
Sam barely had time to react before Dean’s head snapped up, his eyes wild, desperate.
“Sam! Get the car!”
Sam was already moving, sprinting for the Impala as Dean held you against him, his flannel already stripped from his shoulders and bunched against your wound, trying to stop the bleeding.
“You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart,” Dean murmured, his grip unrelenting. His fingers trembled against your skin, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “Just hang on. I got you.”
Sam skidded to a stop beside the car, yanking the door open. He turned back just in time to see Dean lifting you into his arms, his expression twisted in barely contained panic.
Sam didn’t miss the way his brother held you—not just with urgency, but with a kind of care that made his chest ache.
He helped ease you into the back seat with Dean, still pressing the flannel to your side. His voice was shaking, but his grip was steady.
"Step on it, Sammy.”
Sam didn’t argue. The second he was behind the wheel, he floored it, tires screeching against the asphalt.
The drive was a blur of traffic violations, but because it was nearing midnight, the roads were practically empty, making up for the reckless driving. The city flashed by in streaks of yellow and white, and in the rearview mirror, Sam could see Dean cradling you against him, his forehead nearly pressed to yours as he whispered every reassurance he could think of.
"Stay with me, sweetheart.”
"You’re okay.”
“I swear to God, you’re gonna be okay.”
But Sam heard the crack in his brother’s voice. Saw the way his hands were shaking. Dean wasn’t just worried. He was terrified.
By the time they crashed through the ER doors, shouting for help, Dean was covered in your blood.
The nurses barely had time to react before Dean was snapping at them to hurry, his voice sharp, desperate. And then you were gone—whisked away behind double doors, leaving Dean standing there, breathing hard, fists clenched, and your blood staining his hands.
Then came the waiting.
Dean couldn’t sit still. He paced the hospital waiting room like a caged animal, running a hand through his hair over and over, jaw tight, eyes darting to every single doctor or nurse that walked by.
The agitation built inside him like a pressure valve ready to burst, as Sam sat nearby, watching his brother unravel, feeling helpless.
"What the hell is taking so long?" he growled, throwing his arms up in frustration as his gaze stayed trained on the double doors they had wheeled you through.
Sam let out a quiet sigh. He was just as worried, but kicking and screaming wasn’t going to make time move faster. “They’re doing everything they can, man. You have to let them do their job.”
Dean clenched his jaw, his entire body rigid with anxiety, and Sam could see the cracks forming in his brother’s usual composure. Deannwas a lot of things—fearless, reckless, stubborn as hell—but right now? Right now, he just looked scared.
When the doctor finally approached them, Dean nearly jumped down his throat.
"How is she? Is she okay?"
“She lost a lot of blood,” the doctor said. “But we’ve managed to stabilize her. She needs plenty of rest, and we’ll have to monitor her overnight and go from there.”
Sam let out a breath of relief. But Dean—Dean’s shoulders sagged, his lips pressing into a thin line as something unreadable passed through his expression.
They had lied, of course. Told the doctors you’d been attacked by a bear because —“yeah, doc, she got slashed by a goddamn werewolf” — would’ve landed them in padded cells. Thankfully, the doctors didn’t ask too many questions.
When they were finally allowed to see you, Sam watched as Dean crumbled at the sight of you lying in that hospital bed.
You looked so small. So fragile. The machines beeped steadily beside you, an IV hooked up to your arm, your face pale from the blood loss. It made even Sam’s heart twinge painfully to see you this way. You were not only his brother’s girlfriend. You were his best friend. His sister.
Dean approached cautiously, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he got too close. Then, without a word, he sat beside you and grasped your hand, his fingers brushing over your knuckles with a gentleness that didn’t match the man who had just been almost punching walls in the waiting room.
His throat bobbed. Then, wordlessly, he lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, his lips lingering there as he exhaled shakily.
"You scared the hell outta me," he muttered, his voice thick, raw. “You’re gonna pull through this, you hear me?”
He swallowed hard, then softer, more broken— "cause' I can't lose you."
Sam swallowed hard against his own emotions. He knew this wasn’t just about saving you anymore. It was about Dean confronting the most terrifying thing he could ever imagine—the thought of losing you. And for a man like Dean, who was constantly worrying about this very thing, you'd think he'd be somewhat prepared for the real thing. Evidently not. It was crushing, breaking him into a thousand pieces.
Sam wasn’t sure how long he stood there, watching the way Dean’s thumb traced gentle circles against your skin, but he saw the anger rise, predictable from his brother's guilt and fear as it continued to chip away at him the longer he looked at you.
“Dammit, Y/N. Why didn’t you listen to me? I—“ Dean’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he just closed his eyes, like he was trying to pull himself together.
And then, as if on cue, you stirred. Your fingers twitched in his grasp, your eyelids fluttering, and Dean went still—his breath caught, his entire body frozen as he waited.
Slowly, your eyes opened, hazy with exhaustion and pain, but when they focused on him, you still managed a weak, lopsided smile.
"Worth it.” you murmured, voice hoarse.
Dean closed his eyes like he wanted to strangle you and kiss you at the same time, because of course you’d have a comeback, even on the brink of death.
Sam huffed a small, teary laugh, shaking his head.
Because this was the two of you. Always on the brink of disaster. Always throwing yourselves in front of danger for each other. Always driving each other insane.
It was a deep love. A dangerous love.
But it was real.
And it was true.
AN: What started off as a Drabble, became a one shot lol. I hope you guys enjoyed this one, it was fun to do. 😁💕 Also I am still working on part 2 of In The End , I'm sorry for the delay guys 😭
If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊
Maybe Dean has a girlfriend, though he'd never use that word. She's a hunter, obviously, just as scarred and twisted as Dean, same taste in music and old movies, so much like him it makes Sam's head hurt. There's two of them now. They're exclusive, connected, care for each other deeply, but they'll never say it. Not in so many words.
Maybe she fights Chuck with them, disappearing before Sam's eyes when Chuck erases everyone. He has to tell his brother, who just lost his best friend, that his girl is also gone.
But Jack brings her back, brings them all back, and now they've got a dog. Chuck is gone, Jack is god, they settle into a new routine. Wake up, walk the dog, make love, make breakfast, look for hunts. But they look for hunts less and less, scrolling through job sites instead of news alerts, looking for postings not hauntings. Dean even prints out an application form.
And then he dies. Properly, forever. No coming back, he makes Sam promise. It never ends well. She stands by Sam's side, Miracle at their feet, as his body burns. It wasn't supposed to end like this.
It's her and Sam in the Bunker now, sharing the space with an odd tension, neither able to comfort the other, both trapped in their respective grief. The application form is still on his desk, waiting for him to come back, fill it in, send it off. It's silent in the Bunker now, no more cartoons or rock - no music of any kind, because it all reminds her of him. And he's gone.
Then one day they're drinking too much, Sam joining her for a change, each with a bottle of whiskey, laughing, crying, reminiscing. And before they know it.... their lips touch. Hesitant at first, shakily, like a couple of teenagers on a park bench. But they're both drunk on whiskey and grief so it grows deeper, more heated, hands pulling at hair and clothes, and neither of them stop. Because he's gone. And Sam doesn't know what to do without his brother, so he settles for the next best thing - his brother's girl. And she feels something other than empty for the first time since he died, so she pulls Sam closer, eyes tight shut, picturing Dean's face, trying to fool herself. It's not Dean but it's the closest she'll get. Their eyes are the same, after all, their laugh too, and sometimes when she squints, in the hazy, early morning sunlight, she can pretend, for a while, that it's Dean. When the fingers tighten on her waist, she imagines they're his, freckled and calloused and pulling her close.
Then suddenly they're leaving the Bunker, switching the lights off one last time, Dean's room untouched, a ghost in itself. Miracle trots after them, hopping into the backseat of Baby, Dean's music crackling through the stereo. And when she looks over at the drivers seat and it's not Dean, she cries, makes Sam pull over, empties her stomach. They drive the rest of the way in silence.
She makes Sam put the car in the garage, hidden under a dust sheet. They buy something sensible, a family car. They get regular jobs, and it's boring and sensible and safe, and Dean would hate the monotony. But he's gone.
They decide they may as well get married, and she's finally a Winchester. It's small and the whole thing is tinged with sadness, because they both know she's marrying the wrong Winchester. It's not Vegas with Elvis, the way Dean had always joked, but then, he's not Dean.
And she loves him, of course she does. He's Sam. He's sweet and gentle and a little lost these days. He loves her, too, not in the way he knows he should, but it's a love nonetheless. They both pretend they're doing it for the right reasons. They never discussed the Dean-shaped elephant in the room. Jody tried to bring it up once. She doesn't try again.
Miracle gets sick. She does everything she can to save the dog, Dean's dog, but Sam convinces her to let go. Miracle's in pain, and it isn't fair. So she does, and she goes silent for a while, the house feeling cold and empty and quiet like it did after he died. Sam brings home a puppy. It's not the same, but she forces a smile, kisses his cheek and thanks him. They don't talk about Miracle again.
Then comes the day, the early morning in the bathroom, the little stick with two blue lines laughing up at her. And she feels sick with love and fear and guilt and worry. Months later she's sweaty and exhausted, holding her son in her arms, Sam sat at her bedside. They don't say anything for a long while, staring down at the baby they made, and they both know what they'll call him. Sure, it's a little twisted - the whole thing is. But they've come this far so why stop now? And two days later they leave the hospital, the carrier swinging gently between them, a birth certificate clutched in her trembling hands. Dean Winchester, Junior.
For a while she doesn't use his name. Just calls him 'little man' or the baby. Then he becomes DJ. It's as much as she can manage for a long time. Sam doesn't question it, doesn't push her. But he uses his son's name. Religiously. He tells little Dean about his uncle, the guy who saved the world. His stories usually come in the quiet of the night, trying to soothe the colicky baby, let his wife have some rest. But she's always awake, always listening, eyes shining as she recalls the stories Sam tells their son, trying to block out the parts of the stories Sam doesn't know; the sex they had in the back of the Impala after a too-close call, the way Dean's hands would feel on her skin as he patched her up.
And DJ grows up. He's all Winchester, that's for sure; it's like her genes didn't even try. But he's a beautiful blend of his father and uncle, the twinkle of mischief in his eyes that makes her heart ache. He grows tall like his father, green eyed and freckled like his uncle, quick-witted like his mother.
One day he asks about the car in the garage. The one they never use. She leaves abruptly, taking the dog for a walk. She returns a while later, eyes red, and DJ never asks her about it again. Sam tries to get her to open up, to confide in him, but she doesn't. She never does.
Sure, he's not their Dean, but he's a Dean. He finds his mom's records, and suddenly little DJ has the same taste in music as his uncle, and her heart breaks all over again. Sam teaches him to play ball, to fix up the car, passing the knowledge Dean gave him onto his son. She watches from afar, Sam and a Dean laughing, messing about like they used to, and it's almost good. She's almost happy.
She dies first. Her health takes a bad turn and she refuses all treatment. Doesn't fight, doesn't try. She's ready. Has been since the barn, that fateful night. Sam knows that. DJ doesn't understand, but he's there when she goes, holding her hand, Sam holding her other, and he swears she looks relieved.
Sam carries on a few years more, hesitant to leave his son an orphan. Hesitant to leave another Dean. But eventually he can't fight anymore, laying in their house, pictures of both Dean's haunting the place like a spirit he's never been able to salt and burn. And his son tells him it's okay, he can go, and Sam cringes because that's what he said to Dean all those years ago. But he lets go, closing his eyes, relaxing, finally.
And DJ wonders why both his parents looked so relieved to die.
Summary - You're sick of your husbands relationship with another supe, even if it's just for show. Set around 1980.
Pairings/characters - Soldier Boy (Ben) x wife, wife!reader
Warnings - language, Vought are dicks, angst with cliff hanger ending (kinda)
Language - English (British)
Word Count - 2,297
Notes - Sorry about the ending lol. Not proof read.
Credits - this imagine is partially inspired by @syrma-sensei <3
Star divider is @cafekitsune
A while ago, Vought decided Soldier Boy needed a girlfriend. You didn't pretend to understand their bullshit reasons - publicity, good image, blah, blah - and you definitely didn't understand why it couldn't be you, why you and Ben couldn't finally go public with your relationship.
Oh, no. Of all people, it had to be her. Crimson Countess. The nation's favourite whore.
When Ben had first told you, the argument had been fierce. You couldn't understand why Vought decided he needed a girlfriend, why it couldn't be you, and why it had to be her instead. Ben had reeled off the crap excuses they'd given him - it needs to be someone famous, we'd make a great power couple, you're not a supe - and it equal parts broke your heart and enraged you.
Of course you understood Ben wasn't happy about it, either. You knew he loved you - he had married you, after all - and you knew it was just for show. But it still hurt. Still pissed you off.
And then today - today, Ben and Countess had been doing some red carpet, interview type thing, and she pulled him in, kissing him firmly on the lips, leaving her bright red lipstick all over him. You'd seen it on the news, the video of their kiss playing over and over again in your mind. You could read Ben well, saw his body stiffen, his hands staying where they were, not pulling her closer. The way he pulled back quickly, jaw clenched. He hadn't been expecting it. He hadn't wanted it.
You were sat on the couch, arms crossed over your chest. Ben would be home any minute - likely with flowers, or wine, or both, ready to grovel - and you were doing your best to remain calm. Level headed. Trying to remember this wasn't him, it was Vought. The front door creaked open, and you heard him leave his boots and shield by the door - something he never usually did, which meant he was sorry and he didn't want to piss you off further.
"I'm home," he called quietly, checking the kitchen first, then rounding the corner to see you sat stoically on the couch. "Hey." He sat down next to you, close enough to bump knees gently but not too close, in case you were mad. You didn't say anything, didn't look at him, just sat staring ahead. "You mad?" he asks, as if he couldn't read it on your face. One of his arms rested on the back of the couch, the other fiddled with his super suit. You let out a sigh.
"I'm not mad at you, Ben." You say quietly, and it's true, to a certain extent. It's not his fault, not like he asked for it.
"Not even a little bit?" he asks. You give him a small, sad smile.
"Maybe a little..."
"Why a little bit?" he questions, a small frown gracing his forehead.
"You didn't bring me flowers, which you always do when you mess up." You reply with a smirk. Ben rolls his eyes fondly, his hand moving the hair off you shoulder tenderly.
"I'm so sorry I forgot your flowers, princess. Is that all you're mad about?"
"Mhmm..." You muse quietly, one finger tracing patterns over his thigh absentmindedly. His finger moves to your chin, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes.
"You sure that's it?" he prompts again, and you try and avoid his gaze, letting out a long sigh.
"They were talking about you today, at work. You and... her."
"Saying what?" he asks, almost defensively.
"How... good you two look together. That you're a- a great couple and you'd - that you'd..." Every word feels like poison in your mouth, spitting them out through gritted teeth.
"We'd what?" he prompts, finger tracing your jaw gently.
"They said you'd make cute babies," you say finally, shoulders slumping in defeat. Next to you, Ben tenses up, clenching his jaw. He cups your cheek, making you look at him again.
"That is bullshit. Absolute crap. I love you. I married you, not her. She is - she's a - a prop. Set dressing for Vought. I love you, darlin'." he says emphatically, his rage simmering beneath the surface of his words. "You know that, right?"
"I know," you say softly, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. Ben looks at your hands, recognising the anxious habit. He picks your left hand up in his own, kissing the back of your hand, the ring on your finger. He can tell there's more, something else troubling you.
"Talk to me, doll," he requests softly. Your fingers entwine in his lap, his other hand still stroking your hair.
"It's just-" You sigh sharply. "I didn't mind being a secret. I... I understood why Vought wanted it that way - why you wanted it that way. I'm fine being out of the spotlight, away from potential danger. But... this. This bullshit with Countess... I don't get it. I know, I know you gave me their crap excuses, but you and I know it's shit. I don't care about being secret, but now... now I feel like the other woman." You try and explain. Ben's hand tightens in yours, his fingers stilling their gentle wanderings through your hair. He takes a deep breath.
"I'm so sorry, darlin'. I - I never meant for this. For you to feel like this. But you - you are not the other woman, you hear? You are my wife - mine. I love you, I chose you. You could never be the other woman, okay?"
"I know that, Ben. I'm the one with - with the ring, and the house, with your last name, for crying out loud. Logically, I know all of this, but that doesn't make it any easier, doesn't make it hurt less. First Vought said you couldn't have a girlfriend because of your image, now you suddenly need one for your image? And that Crimson bitch of all people? It just - it makes me so mad." You fume, working hard to try and keep your cool. Ben, you can see, is trying to do the same.
"It's not real, though. It's just publicity." He retorts, jaw tight as he tries not to direct his anger at you.
"The way it makes me feel, the way it affects our life - that is real. Ben, every time I leave the house, I see the two of you plastered on every - every billboard, the side of every bus, on fucking soda cans. I can't even go to work without seeing a magazine with the two of you on it, or without half the department talking about you and your movies and how great you look together, and it kills me, because I just have to take it, to put up with it." I cry, frustration building, eyes welling with tears. Ben feels guilty - how could he not? - that his crap is affecting you so much, that he can't look after you properly. But, in true Ben fashion, it presents as anger.
"What the hell do you want me to do, then?" he yells. The both of you are now standing - god knows when that happened - facing each other, breathing heavily. Ben's fists are clenched, your arms crossed over your chest as you stare each other down. You both know your anger is with Vought, but now you're taking it out on each other.
"I want you to fight for me, Ben! Stand up to them, for God's sake. You're supposed to be the strongest man alive, America's greatest superhero! Fucking act like it and do something. Fight for me, for us! How are we supposed to have a future if we're living in the shadows? How can we have - children, a family?" You shout back, frustrated that he doesn't seem to get it. Why wasn't he trying harder to end this publicity stunt with Countess?
"I can't, don't you see? We have nothing without Vought, they call the shots. I can't just turn around and tell 'em to fuck off. They own me, Y/N, which means by extension, they own you too. We piss 'em off, they could - fuck, they could have you killed. We would lose everything."
"We don't need them, Ben. And they don't 'own' you. Maybe the own the - the Soldier Boy name, the suit, whatever; but they don't own you, Ben. And we could do it, we would be fine without them or with whatever consequences they throw at us, if you would just stand up for me!" You shout back, chest heaving with anger, fighting back the tears in your eyes. His eyes simmer with a dark rage you never see targeted at you.
"I am Soldier Boy, it's not just a name, a - a costume. I thought you understood that? And provided they didn't — didn't try and have you killed or something, we would lose everything. The house, the cars - all of it."
"I don't care about that! Let them have it! I don't need a fancy house or expensive cars, I need you. I married you, Ben. Not Soldier Boy, and not Vought. I chose you, I want to have a family with you, and I don't care where that happens."
"Really? You'd be fine with, what slumming it? Living in some crappy, too-small apartment, or, or a cabin in the mountains? No vacations, no fancy dinners, none of it?" he retorts condescendingly.
"Ben, I have never given a shit about that, about any of it! We could be on the streets, in a shack in the arse end of nowhere, and it wouldn't matter to me, because we'd be together. Don't you see that? I don't care where we are, how big our house is or how many vacations we go on. All of that - it matters to me because of you. It matters that this is our home that we made together, the walls that we painted this fuck-ugly green, that crooked shelf in the kitchen that you put up. It matters that you planned our vacation last year because you know I love Paris, not because we flew first class to get there. This ring - you've always known I love sapphires, that is why I love it, not because of how much it cost or where you brought it from. I don't - I don't care what it costs us, Ben, but I... I can't do this anymore. I can't feel ashamed of our relationship, I can't feel like the mistress in my own marriage. Please." Your voice gets softer with every word, until those last few sentences are barely more than a whisper, tears sneaking down your cheeks. Ben looks at you, brows furrowed, eyes displaying pain and an insurmountable love. He swallows, taking a step towards you.
"I'm sorry," he says softly, pulling you into his arms. "I'm sorry I - fuck, I'm sorry I said you only cared about - about... I love you. So much, I do. I - I can't lose you, I won't lose you." He pressed a kiss to your head, his strong arms holding you close. He pulls away, cupping your face in his hands, wiping away some of the tears. "Do you really think the walls are fuck ugly?"
You laugh, shaking your head at him. "Kind of. I... I liked the green in the store, but it doesn't look right here. That's also not the point."
"I know it's not." he says, smiling as he plays with your hair. "I'll tell them. I'll... we'll figure it out. Together. I just... we have this thing, in Nicaragua. I need the team to be together, to be focussed for that. Can you wait until then?" You nod slowly, understanding the importance of the upcoming mission.
"It'll give us a few weeks to get things in order, too." you say softly. You disliked Vought before this, but now you loathed them. Might as well take them for as much money as you could. "We could... transfer the house, the cars, into my name. Then they wouldn't have a claim on it, right?"
Ben nods thoughtfully, brows furrowed. "That's not a bad idea, doll." He sighs, looking down at you, hands still on your cheeks. "I love you. More than anything." He says earnestly, leaning down to kiss you gently.
"I love you, too." You whisper against his lips.
"After Nicaragua, then. I'll tell them to shove the Countess thing, that we're going public, take it or leave it." He says with conviction, a determination in his eyes. He presses another tender kiss to your forehead. "Did you mean what you said just then? About - about wanting a family. Kids." He asks quietly.
You smile softly, nodding your head. "Yeah. I do want a family with you, Ben. I always have." He smiles, eyes bright, as if he can't believe.
"Really? You - you want to have a baby? With me?" You nod again, chuckling softly.
"Of course I do."
"We could.... I mean, only if you wanted, of course, but... we could try. For a baby, I mean. When we go public, after Nicaragua. We could have a baby." He murmurs, almost afraid to say it aloud.
"I do want to. And yes. Let's... let's try for a baby." You reply with a tender smile, cheeks flushing a light pink at the thought.
Ben beams. "Okay then. After Nicaragua, we'll tell Vought to stick it and then have a baby." He says softly, almost reverentially.
"After Nicaragua," you repeat softly, smiling at the thought.
🫣 sorry about the ending!! please let me know if you enjoyed!!
Hi! First off I wanna say that I love your Meg Winchester series! Second, it's more like a question than a request but I was wondering how Meg would react to Dean's death at the end of the series? Also would Meg like ever married and have a normal life, or would she stay in the hunter business even after Dean's death ?
Aah thank you!!! I'm really glad you like it!!!
SPOILERS FOR THE SPN FINALE
So, I have many thoughts on this, but I intend on actually writing a piece about this in the future so I'm going to keep it vague.
I will start by saying that I personally HATE the finale (I assume we are talking his final, final death in 15x20). I know there is a lot of discourse and mixed feelings on it, but for me it was not the right ending considering the 15 seasons of character development Dean had which included him wanting out, wanting a 'normal' life (as late as s13 he's talking about him, Sam, Cas "toes in the sand" retiring). I like to ignore it as much as possible tbh. So this does influence my thoughts on Meg and this event.
For the second (and easiest) part of the question - no, Meg would not be a hunter. She's never hunted as much as her brothers, never been as invested, mostly because Dean raised her differently than John raised him, and both boys worked to make sure she wouldn't end up like them and could have a normal life. This will become evident as more parts are published, but Meg never wants to hunt (becomes very clear in contrast to characters like Krissy & Claire); she knows what is has taken from her brothers, the toll it has taken on her life, and wants to keep away from it.
I do envisage her settling down, having a 'normal' job, although maybe something like a museum curator or auctioneer, so she could keep an eye out for cursed or haunted objects, help with research, etc. - a way for her to still save people & hunt things but with far less danger.
The only way I envision Meg surviving his death - by which I mean she doesn't make a deal of some kind or take her own life - is if she has someone (a significant other, a child, etc.) to live for. Something bigger than herself. Again, this will become clearer when parts of her story are published, especially from the later seasons.
In my mind, she isn't actually there when he dies. Sam pulls up to her house in the Impala, she comes out thinking her brothers are visiting, but one look at Sam's face tells her everything. She is obviously totally distraught. Crying, screaming, begging Sam to do something, take her to a crossroads. Sam is trying to tell her Dean was ready/willing to die, etc. - but she really doesn't want to hear it. They drive out to the woods with Miracle and torch his body. Neither of them had the heart to call anyone else they know - Jody, Claire, Donna, Garth, etc.
In Dean's monologue, he would obviously include Meg. He'd tell Sam to watch out for her, tell her how proud he is of her, something like that. Meg would be utterly broken. She would also be furious with Jack. Her and Jack were super close, pretty much from when he was born. She was gentle and understanding with him, they were best friends, and then he became God with his hands-off approach and basically ghosted her. She would scream to the sky until her throat was raw, begging him to bring Dean back, to help her.
I am in two minds about what happens to Meg and Sam's relationship after this too. On the one hand, I feel like they should lean on each other, become closer, especially as Sam leaves hunting for a normal life. In my mind blurry wife has always been Eileen, so maybe they'd settle down nearby, have dinners at Meg's house.
On the other hand, I think that Sam would remind Meg of Dean so much it would be painful (and vice versa for Sam); if Sam drove the Impala, Meg would feel sick at the sight of it. She'd of course love Dean Jr. but could never use his name - just call him Junior, the kid, etc. So maybe they'd grow apart for a while. But I think they'd always come back to each other, even if it takes time. Spend Christmas and Thanksgiving at Meg's house, BBQ on July 4th in Sam's backyard, their kids playing together. On Dean's birthday they'd take the Impala and Miracle (for as long as she's alive) to a quiet spot, open a beer, pour one out for Dean, reminisce about him. Plus I think when Sam died (with his Party City wig lol), Meg would die a few months later. I just don't think Meg Winchester could survive for long in a world without either of her brothers.
This ended up being super not-vague at all lol, but these are some of my thoughts on this! A lot of this will become clearer as more MisAdventures parts are published and Meg's character grows and develops, so I'm sorry if this doesn't completely make sense. But thank you so much for your ask!! I love talking about Meg she's literally my baby lol <3
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.
a collection of interesting info and miscellaneous head canons about Meg and her life that I am calling Character Lore (so get this...).
⟡ Dean's nickname for Meg is Goose, a Top Gun reference - she is the Goose to his Maverick, his sidekick & wingman. Plus the usual sweetheart, baby girl, etc.
⟡ Sam's nickname for Meg is Scout, as in Scout Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird. Sam read the book in high school when Meg was young (around 2), and Scout reminded him of his sister - funny, defiant, always following after an older brother in dungarees.
⟡ Meg often calls Dean "Dean-o", a nickname he'd hate from anyone else. He also gets called Maverick. Meanwhile, Sam is often referred to as Sasquatch or Atticus (another To Kill A Mockingbird reference), and later she adopts Crowley's nickname of Moose.
⟡ Meg was born on a meteor shower, in August 1997 (the 12th!). Almost every year, the Winchester's spend her birthday at Bobby's, where they stay up late to watch the shooting stars and make wishes.
⟡ Meg is very book smart. She grew up on the road with not much to do besides read & learn. As she grows older she becomes a perfectionist, and her attitude to school & studying becomes almost toxic.
⟡ Meg has a red and black checked blanket that goes everywhere with her; it's a little beaten up these days, but to her, it's home.
⟡ She doesn't want to be a hunter and go into the family business (much to her brothers relief). She has seen what is has cost her father & brothers, and indeed herself, and wants something more for herself.
⟡ Sam is very proud of how clever Meg is and how well she does at school. He is, however, a little jealous when her SAT scores are better than his.
⟡ Meg has complicated feelings around her father and his death. He was not very involved in her life - she was raised primarily by Dean - and was only 8 when he died. She doesn't feel like she's 'missing' much after he dies, as everything a father was/is supposed to do, Dean does.
⟡ Dean & Meg's relationship is similar to Jesse & Michelle from Full House.
⟡ Sam reads Meg a bed time story every night (before Stanford). When he returns, he reads her The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, etc., doing different voices for each character. Only Dean is allowed to do the voice of Smaug.
⟡ As a kid who spent her entire childhood with Dean, she is very similar to him in many ways and spends her formative years following him around and imitating him. As she grows up, she finds herself becoming a perfect mix of both her brothers, which she - and they - love.
⟡ When Meg was about 2 and her hair was getting longer, the boys decided they needed to be able to braid it. Sam practiced on Meg when she would sit still (which wasn't very often), and Dean practiced on Sam.
⟡ Although Dean would always follow John's orders, he did occasionally talk back to or even refuse John if it wasn't the best thing for Meg. When John suggested she learn to shoot at age 7, Dean flat out refused. John never brought it up again.
⟡ She rarely talks about or asks after her mother, who abandoned her on a motel doorstep when she was a baby. As far as Meg is concerned, her mother never wanted her, so why should she want her mother?
⟡ When Sam dies in All Hell Breaks Lose, Meg isn't there. But the sight of her dead brother, and the empty look in Dean's eyes cause her nightmares for weeks. When Sam is brought back, she becomes exceptionally clingy for a while.
⟡ Sam and Dean both cry at her high school graduation (and later her college graduation too).
⟡ Dean tries to give Meg the childhood he never had and could never give Sam. She's never hungry, she isn't trained like a soldier, he spoils her when he can with toys, books, etc. from thrift shops. One year he even hustled enough money to take her to Disney World (she cried with excitement, ate too much Mickey Mouse shaped food, and threw up. It was the best day ever.)
⟡ Meg is homeschooled for the most part, but sometimes enrols in Sioux Falls if they are with Bobby for extended periods. Sam doesn't want her to feel like an outsider or a freak as he often did growing up & changing schools frequently, so while she is young and the boys can still teach her, they do. As she gets older and hits middle/high school, they look at schools and getting her enrolled somewhere full time, which is easiest when they are settled (such as the time with Lisa/Amelia, when they find the Bunker, etc.)
⟡ In the car crash at the end of Season 1, Meg badly breaks her right leg. It eventually heals, but the knee causes her issues for the rest of her life.
⟡ She becomes very close with Ellen & Jo, Charlie, Jody, Donna, etc., as she didn't have many female figures in her life growing up. She isn't as close with/fond of Lisa and Amelia, as she felt that her brothers should have been looking for one another during their time with their respective girlfriends, rather than trying to live a normal, apple pie life.
⟡ When she was little and would play games with other kids (at school, playgrounds, etc.), other kids would suggest they play 'Mommies & Daddies', but Meg would always request to play 'Dean's and Daddies, or 'Dean's and Sammy's'.
⟡ As they get older, more and more people would mistake Dean & Meg for father and daughter. Neither minded, and they rarely corrected the assumption.
⟡ At first, Meg dislikes Ben, Claire, Krissy, etc., as she feels threatened by them & how much her brother's (especially Dean) care for them. Meg has always felt insecure in her place in the family, and seeing her brother's interact with and care for other kids makes her uneasy. This is most apparent with Ben in the year they live together. However, she usually warms up to them after some time and reassurance from her brothers.
⟡ Sam tries to get Meg into running. She (reluctantly) agrees to go once and doesn't hate it (but don't tell Sam that). She doesn't go all the time, but if she's stressed or worried, running with Sam helps her take her mind off it for a while.
⟡ When Mary is brought back, neither women know how to act with one another. Mary is uncomfortable with Meg's presence (existence) at first, and Meg is scared she will be replaced or kicked out. Meg tries to leave for a while to make things easier on Mary, but neither Sam nor Dean will let her. Eventually, they work things out, and Mary and Meg become friends.
⟡ Meg is bi, and similar to Dean on the dating front. They often argue over who gets to hit on waitresses.
⟡ When Bobby died, none of the Winchester's knew how to cope. Meg would lash out at her brothers, throwing teenage tantrums. Dean was confused at first, until Sam pointed out Dean responds in a similar way. Then they sat and tried to work through their feelings together (it got a bit messy).
⟡ During 1x12, when Dean was dying, Meg snuck Sam's phone away from him and called their Dad. He didn't pick up, but she left him a message, begging him to come help Dean. He never showed.
⟡ Bobby loved all the Winchesters, but he had a real soft spot for Meg. She had her own room in his house which he painted pink (and then yellow, when she decided she grew out of pink) and where she kept her toys. He taught her about fixing cars, lore, and began teaching her Latin and Greek at her request.
⟡ Sam and Meg going on library trips and reading 'dates' together. They sit and read, or talk about their books in their mini book club. It's a nice way for them both to unwind and spend some quality time together. As their circle expands, it grows to include Charlie, then Jack, Alex and Patience, but Sam and Meg always make sure they take time for just the two of them.
⟡ When the Winchesters moved into the Bunker, Meg - like Dean - loved having and decorating her own room. Dean took her to a hardware store for supplies so she could put up shelves, hang pictures, etc. Meg wanted to turn her closet into wall-to-wall bookshelves, but instead Dean cleared out one of the many bedrooms for Meg to turn into her own personal, mini library (no lore books allowed).
⟡ Meg is an emotional reader. Often the boys find her crying and immediately panic, but she just gestures at her book. Dean rolls his eyes and leaves, but Sam will sit with her and let her talk about the book, comforting her over the deaths of fictional characters.
⟡ Like Sam, Meg has a big heart and likes to believe the best of people. She often bumps heads with Dean because of this.
⟡ For her 16th birthday, Dean fixes one of the many cars in the Bunker's garage, a red 1950 Ford Mustang. Whereas Dean nicknamed his car 'Baby', Meg calls hers the 'Pussy Wagon'. It’s an accurate description.
⟡ On cases, when victims or witnesses ask Dean if he has kids, he always says yes.
⟡ Meg is the only other person (occasionally) who can play music in Dean's car (Sam finds this infuriating). While they generally have similar taste (Zeppelin rules), she often likes to play ABBA or Elton John, mostly just to mess with Dean. She likes modern music too, including Hozier, Florence & the Machine, and Taylor Swift. She's convinced Dean is a secret Swiftie.
⟡ Sam and Meg love watching Harry Potter, the Lord of the Rings/Hobbit, and other similar films together (Sam insists she reads all the books before watching the films). Every year around fall and Christmas they binge all the films. Dean rolls his eyes & groans everywhere, but he secretly likes their annual tradition, and the family time it gives them.
⟡ The boys always want Meg to have a normal life (as normal as possible). Sam and Dean have to encourage Meg to go and socialise with people her own age, to the point where Dean straight up tells her to sneak out to a party. She does, but doesn't drink much, and instead hustles the other kids at beer pong & makes $150. Dean's never been prouder.
⟡ When it comes to college, Dean, and especially Sam, make the experience as different from Sam's as possible. Sam helps Meg with her applications, they all read the acceptance letter's together and celebrate when she gets accepted to her first choice. They help her pack her things, load them into Baby, and make a 25 hour drive to campus. Sam cries, both at leaving Meg, and for himself and the college experience he never had.
⟡ In one of the Bunker's many rooms, Meg finds a dusty old piano. By some miracle, it's still tuned, so she begins teaching herself. It becomes one of her school extracurriculars, and Sam & Dean attend every recital she performs in (Dean sheds a tear at the first one, but if you ever ask him about it, he'll deny it. Or punch you).
⟡ Meg and Jack become best friends, fast. She's never really had anyone she can talk to about everything. Even when Dean doesn't trust him, Meg does. They watch TV together, she shows him Vines and memes, and Meg teaches Jack everything there is to know about the world, about being human.
⟡ Growing up in a series of crap motels sometimes meant no working heaters and cracked windows. On cold nights, Sam and Dean would squish into bed either side of Meg, creating the 'Meg Sandwich'. She still convinces her brothers to do it on cold nights or when she's feeling sad.
⟡ All three Winchester's are quick to correct anyone who refers to Meg as the boys' 'half sister'. She's their sister, through and through - family ain't about blood, after all.
⟡ Meg struggles with depression, anxiety, and PTSD - as you'd expect from someone who grew up the way she did. She gets separation anxiety after her brothers come back from the dead (after Sam died in Season 2, Dean in Seasons 4 and 8) and hates being apart from them. She often gets panic attacks or gets stuck in her own head, and the boys (especially Dean) work hard to equip themselves with the knowledge and tools they need to help her. They develop the 'Code Black', which means Meg is in a bad place and they need to drop everything and go to her.
⟡ Meg meets her best friend when she is 16. It is a schoolmate of hers whose house is haunted. She convinces her friend, Lucy, to let her brother's investigate, and they get rid of the ghost. Having a friend who knows about the supernatural makes things easier.
⟡ For Christmas, when she was four, she woke up to a little stuffed animal under her pillow - a black and white dog, with a black patch over one eye. She named him Patch (obviously). He goes everywhere with her, utterly convinced Santa climbed down Bobby's chimney to give it to her.
Pairings/characters - Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Meg Winchester (OC), Jessica Moore, John Winchester (mentioned), Bobby Singer (mentioned)
Sam Winchester x little sister, Dean Winchester x little sister
Warnings - mentions of death and violence, spoilers for spn (obviously lol), that's it?
Language - English (British)
Word Count - 2,675
Notes - I'm NOT doing a series re-write but many of these will be/feature episodes, although there will be plenty that don't take place within an episode. Please let me know if you like!
Credits - @firefly-graphics for the dividers
Stanford University, 2005.
Dean stood in his brother’s apartment, face to face with him for the first time in over two years. Their not-so-happy reunion had been interrupted by Sam’s girlfriend, Jessica, whom Dean immediately decided was way out of his brother’s league (and he proceeded to hit on her).
Dean needed Sam with him on this. Dad was missing, and Dean didn’t know what to do. His only back up was a scrawny eight year old, and - much as he loved the kid - that wasn’t much help. He needed Sam.
“Dad hasn’t been home in a few days,” Dean said, choosing his words carefully in front of Sam’s civilian girlfriend.
“So he’s working overtime on the miller time shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later,” Sam replied. He didn't see why this warranted Dean breaking in at midnight. Couldn't the man pick up a phone?
Dean opened his mouth to reply, but a clunk and a bang from the kitchen made both Winchester’s tense up. Then Dean sighed in resignation.
"You were supposed to wait in the car.” Dean called. Sam - who had been ready to tackle for the second time that night whomever had broken into his apartment - gave his brother a confused look. But his worry and confusion fell away when a small head of brown curls and bright green eyes poked around the kitchen door.
"I was lookin’ for Pop Tarts,” she said with a toothy grin. Her eyes moved from her eldest brother to the one she hadn’t seen in years. “Sammy!”
She'd grown, gotten taller, but she was still wiry and thin. As a baby, Meg had looked like Sam, but she was growing into a carbon copy of Dean, with his green eyes and spattering of freckles across her cheeks.
She moved at the speed of light, throwing herself into Sam's arms. He swung her off the floor so she could wrap her legs around him. She was bigger, but she was still small. She'll always be small to Sam.
Meg's arms went around her brother's neck and she held him tight for several seconds.
"I missed you!" she cried out, pulling back far enough to look at her brother.
"I missed you too, Scout," Sam replied affectionately, surprised at how easily the nickname slipped out. "You got tall."
Meg grinned, flashing a gap in her front teeth. "Almost as tall as you, I reckon." Sam chuckled. Meg then looked shyly to the girl standing by Sam, giving her a small smile.
"This is Jessica. Jess, this is Meg." Sam said softly. Jess smiled widely.
"Hi, Meg. I've heard a lot about you." Jess replied. Meg beamed. That meant Sammy had been talking about her.
"Meg." Dean said behind them, but he wasn't really mad. Not watching his two favourite people reunite. "I told you to wait in the car. How'd you even get in?"
Meg shrugged one shoulder as Sam set her down, the strap of her dungarees falling down. "Climbed the fire escape. I wanted to see Sam," she reasoned. "Plus, I'm hungry." Dean rolled his eyes fondly. The girl certainly had his appetite. She went to stand next to her oldest brother, who placed a gentle hand on her unruly curls.
"Was just explaining to Sammy why we're here," Dean said, shifting his focus back to his brother. "Dad's on a hunting trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days."
Sam stiffened, his face serious. "Jess, excuse us."
____
Meg knew it was bad. They'd come to get Sam from school, so it had to be bad. The didn't bother Sam for anything, not even when Meg hurt her leg last year. Sure, Dad would take off for days, sometimes weeks at a time, but he always called. Kept Dean up to date on where he was and what he was hunting. Sometimes he'd ask after Meg. Most of the time he trusted Dean to look after her and assumed he'd call if anything was wrong. Not that John could - or would - do anything if she was sick.
Dean had already been getting worried in New Orleans when they hadn't heard from him. Then they got the voicemail, and his worry turned to dread. He'd ran the voicemail through a computer and found the EVP, a crackling female voice talking about home. They'd left for Stanford that night.
Meg knew it was bad, but she wasn't that concerned. The thing that worried her most was Dean's fear. He was trying to hide it, but she could see that underneath his smile and confidence, he was worried. For Meg, things were much the same. In fact, they were almost better. She could go months without seeing her father or hearing his voice, that wasn't new. But getting Sammy back? That was awesome.
She sat in the back of the Impala while Sam and Dean had a conversation in hushed voices about Dad and EVP and Monday. Meg didn't know what was happening on Monday, but it seemed important to Sam. She waited for them to finish talking, and looked up at Sam's apartment. She liked Jess, she decided. Meg had been raised by her brothers, her Uncle Bobby, and very occasionally her father, but she didn't know many women. Jessica was nice, and she was pretty, and Sammy seemed to really like her - maybe even love her.
The driver side door opened and Meg sat up eagerly.
"Sammy's gone to pack a bag," Dean said with a smile. Meg stuck her head out the Impala's window.
"Sammy!" she called. He turned at the door. "Bring me a Pop Tart!"
_________
"Can I sit up front with you?" Meg asked her brothers after Sam slung his duffel in the trunk. Sam didn't have any Pop Tarts in his house, but he'd brought her a brunch bar to snack on. It tasted like cardboard and disappointment.
"No, you stay back there, munchkin. Get some sleep." Dean replied. Meg pouted.
"I can't sleep! We just got Sammy back!" Meg cried. She turned her attention to Sam. "I like Jessica. Is she your girlfriend?"
"Yeah, yeah she is." Sam said, and he couldn't keep the smile of his face.
"Awww." Meg said, scrunching up her nose. "Jess and Sammy sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes love-"
"Alright, alright. Cut it out." Dean said, but he smirked at the blush creeping up Sam's neck to his face. "Hey, Goose, why don't you tell Sam what you've been up to since you saw him last."
"Dean, we haven't seen him in for ages! That's so much stuff! Hmm... Okay, Uncle Bobby got a new dog, his name is Rumsfeld and I love him. Last year I hurt my leg really bad and I had to get shots but even then we couldn't come see you. But it was alright 'cos Dean looked after me for a week and I didn't have to do any school work. I lost like four teeth since I last saw you as well and now I can't whistle. Umm... what else? Oh - Dean taught me how to fix the Impala and I'm really good at it. I've been riding shotgun when it's just us, but you can have that seat now. Just don't touch my music. I also grew taller and then my shoes didn't fit so we had to go shopping. That was kinda boring though. Uncle Bobby's been teaching me lots of things, too, like -"
Sam held up a hand. "Slow down, Meg. Take a breath. What happened to your leg?" The admission she'd hurt her leg had been the most concerning thing he'd heard, and she hadn't been forthcoming with any details.
"A monster got it. I had'to go hospital and get shots and stitches, but then Dean got me ice cream, and even Dad-"
"Why in the hell were anywhere near a monster? Dean, what the hell are you thinking? She's a kid, she- "
"I know she's a kid, Sam, it's not like I planned it. Dad needed help on a case and I didn't have time to take Meg to Bobby's, so she stayed in the car. There were only supposed to be three - Dad hadn't clocked the other Skinwalker until it was at the car. We handled it, Meg got patched up, everyone's fine." Dean fired back defensively, raising his voice.
"How is that fine, Dean? She could've been taken, or killed, or turned! You're supposed to be looking after her, not putting her in danger, for crying out - "
"Looking out for her? Sam, that's all I do. It was a freak accident, and you ain't gonna make me feel worse than I already do. Not to mention, you haven't even been here for years. I ain't about to get a lecture from the guy who bailed on us, on his family - "
"Enough!" Meg cried out from the back seat, eyes getting watery. "No arguing when we just got Sammy back! 'Sides, he left 'cos he and Dad argued all the time so if you keep arguing, he'll leave again." Both boys softened at her outburst.
"Meg, that isn't why I left - "
"I don't care. I didn't get that hurt, really. Plus Dad stuck around for like almost a whole week, which I think is the longest I've seen him since... ever? And Dean made me pancakes whenever I asked, and then we went to stay with Uncle Bobby while my leg got all the way better and he looked after me really, really well. It wasn't Dean's fault, it was the monster's fault. Don't shout at him."
The car lapsed into an awkward silence. Dean's guilt was still eating him up inside, even though it had been over a year since Meg got hurt. He knew it was his fault, knew he should've looked after her better, but Sam throwing it in his face didn't help. Not to mention the fact that Meg thought Sam was staying so long as they didn't argue. He'd have to sit her down and explain that Sam was probably leaving them as soon as they found Dad. But that conversation could wait.
"Do you want to see my wicked cool scar?" Meg offered, trying to ease the tension. "I look like the Terminator!" Sam smiled softly and nodded, so Meg rolled up the leg of her dungarees to show him.
"Just like the Terminator," Sam murmured, running a finger over the raised, pink scars. There were three, clearly claw marks, running up her shin. Eight years old and scarred by a monster. "You said Uncle Bobby'd been teaching you stuff. Hunting stuff?"
Meg shrugged one shoulder as she rolled the cuff back down. "Sometimes, but mostly other stuff. We've been readin' about myths and the Greeks and how the Egyptians made mummies. They pulled the brains out through their noses! We study a lot of history together, probably 'cos he was there when most of this stuff happened."
Dean snorted. "Maybe don't tell Bobby that, Goose." Meg just shrugged. "We got a few hours driving, you really should get some shut eye."
"But Dean..." Meg whined, shutting up when Dean shot her a look in the rearview mirror. She huffed, reaching for her blanket and stuffed dog toy, Patch - her best friend, really. She draped the red and black checkered blanket over her lap, leaning her head back against the seat. She was tired, but didn't want to go to sleep. She stifled a yawn.
"Sammy'll be here when you wake up," Dean said softly, as if he could read her mind. She smiled a little, closing her eyes as the thrum of the Impala's engine lulled her into sleep, as it had done her entire life.
_______
This case was different from the others they worked, Meg could tell. Their Dad wasn't in Jericho, in fact he'd packed up mid-hunt, leaving Sam and Dean tracking down something called a Woman in White. Then Dean had been arrested, Sammy drove the Impala into a house and nearly had his heart ripped out by a ghost.
Average day for a Winchester.
They were on the road again, and Meg had an awful, awful feeling they were taking Sam back to Stanford. She was in the front, squished between her brothers, her favourite place in the world. Dean's music was playing in the background, the familiar bass welcome in the otherwise silent car, Meg's head resting on Sam's shoulder.
"Do you have to go back?" she asked quietly, so quietly they almost hadn't heard her. Sam sighed softly, stroking her unruly curls away from her face.
"Yes, sweetheart, I do. I have an interview on Monday." he replied gently. Meg's lower lip quivered as she fought back tears. Both her arms were wrapped around Sam's large one, gripping the fabric of his jacket.
"Please don't leave us." She begged, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. Sam and Dean exchanged a look over her head. "Please."
"I'm sorry, Meg." Sam said, wrapping his arm around her. She buried herself in him, his scent, his Sam-ness, savouring it. "I... I have to. You'll be okay. Dean'll look after you." She knew that. That wasn't the problem.
"Everyone leaves," she mumbled into his shirt, and both boys knew she was talking about more than Sam.
"Don't worry," Dean said with more confidence than he felt. "It'll me and you again, like always. We'll find Dad together." Sam's heart twisted at Dean's words, with guilt and hurt. Was there a place for him in this family anymore? He knew Dean's words were meant to comfort Meg, that they weren't intended to hurt him. Or maybe Dean was pissed at him for going back, or for going to college in the first place, and they were meant to hurt, in which case, mission accomplished.
Sam looked down at Meg, the guilt eating at his heart. He knew what it was like. She'd grown up with the three Winchester's and a handful of other hunter's as family, the Impala as a home. Her mother had left, then Sam, and now Dad was missing too. He didn't know what to say. Couldn't offer her the comfort or reassurance she needed. So he squeezed her shoulder and pulled her in closer, savouring the feeling of her in his arms again.
_____
The smell of smoke was all around them, even though the fire had been put out. They'd hung around a while outside Sam's apartment, Meg dozing in the back seat, Dean watching the building closely. He hadn't been sure what he was even waiting for. Until he was. Until the flames erupted and he heard Sam scream.
Meg was tucked under Dean's arm where she was safest. She'd been crying, partly for Jess, even though she barely knew her, but mostly for Sammy. The small, selfish part of her that may have been glad Sam was coming with them now was muted by the empty look in his eyes, the grief on his face, the lingering tear tracks on his cheeks.
It wasn't fair, she thought crossly. Sam loved Jess. They'd seen her only three days ago. How could someone be gone so quickly?
Meg had tried to comfort Sam. But she didn't really know what to do or say. So she had stayed quiet while Dean held their brother, extending one hand to rest on Sam's knee, her own tears snaking down her face as she watched one of her heroes cry.
She knew enough about her brother's mom, her father's mission, to know Mary Winchester died similarly. That's what scared them the most. The monster was still out there, and the Winchester's weren't safe yet. Maybe they never would be.
Sam's grief began to give way to anger. His eyes hardened, body straightening, as he rifled through the Impala's trunk, surveying the weapons. His voice was sharp as he looked at Dean.
"We got work to do."
Thank you for reading!
Taglist - @podado-t-memes @ariesandwolves
(P.S. - I posted the first part to @/winchesterdefender first, then moved my writing onto this blog. If you requested to be tagged on winchesterdefender I have added you here - please message if I have missed you!)
˗ˏˋThe (Mis)Adventures of Meg Winchester | Masterlist ˎˊ˗
*n.b. - I will not be publishing these in chronological order of the canon timeline/when the events take place, but I will put them chronologically in this masterlist so you can read them in order if you want.
˗ˏˋ start here ˎˊ˗
˗ˏˋ timeline ˎˊ˗ [coming soon]
parts -
And Then There Were Three | The (Mis)Adventures of Meg Winchester i
Balls | The (Mis)Adventures Drabble
Pilot | The (Mis)Adventures of Meg Winchester ii
Shifter | The (Mis)Adventures of Meg Winchester iii
November 2nd | The (Mis)Adventures Drabble
p.s. this is not a series rewrite! but many of the one-shots/drabbles will take place in episodes/canon events, and many will be set pre-series or in-between episodes.
