Supernatural One-Shots // Imagines // Drabbles

#23 Whispered to the Wind (Winchesters x Sister!Reader)

Summary: John treated her better, and when he died, she was left with two brothers who loathed because of it. She endured the torturous hate from her brothers for years, yet she still loved them unconditionally, something that proves to be a weakness when in a dire situation.  

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Y/N Winchester didn't have many friends. One of the many downsides of being a hunter. But because of this, her secrets would pile up. Inside her mind, memories of bad days or hunts, or feelings that left her in the dark, would stay inside her mind, going unheard of.

Except, she had one way of letting things out. One body who she trusted with everything. Who she would lay down with, feeling the soft strokes of them against her skin.

She would turn her face up to the sky, and whisper to the wind, letting it carry her secrets with her. Her words would eventually fade, but the wind kept every tone, rolling it this way and that way as it moved, carrying her darkest secrets to the lightest parts of the Earth.

The wind would whisper back; soft howls in the night, whistles through the trees. It was a way of communication. Y/N's way of knowing she was never truly alone. That the wind carried much more than the leaves and scattered promises, but the souls of those before her. Spirits who floated about the Earth, allowing the wind to move them as it may.

No matter what happened, Y/N would always lean on the current outside. And whether or not she could hear it, she still whispered to the wind, letting her secrets float along with it.

***

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Dean growls. Y/N flinches at his tone. Dean rarely talks to her, and if he does, it's usually in an accusatory voice or one of anger and disgust. But she will never get used to it, not coming from her older brother.

"I'm sorry, Dean," she murmurs. "Really. I didn't mean to."

"Take it easy on her, Dean," Sam says, placing a hand on his older brother's shoulder. Dean shrugs him off, his emerald eyes trained on her with fury.

"You need to grow up. Stop acting like an immature spaz. You could have blown our cover and gotten us all killed with how much noise you made," Dean says. She frowns.

"I was pushed down the stairs, Dean," she tells him. "It wasn't exactly my fault. And we're all alive, aren't we?"

"Yeah, we're all alive. But is the victim alive? Is little fourteen year old Courtenay alive? No!" He yelled, he shoved her, making her stumble back a few paces. She winces at the throb in her shoulder from her fall, but held her tongue. She's used to the shoves, now. And she's used to his words. "She's dead because you're a fucking spaz who can't even handle a goddamn spirit."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"Like I said-" He pushes her back. Hard. She topples over his bag and falls onto her back with a grunt- "Spaz."

He stalks off, leaving his things in the library. She picks herself up, blowing cool air on her scuffed and stinging hands. She sighs, shoulders slumping as she looks over at Sam. He stares at her, a torn look on his face.

She bites her lip before trudging away from him, slipping her bag back over her shoulder and walking towards her room. Sam frowns as he watches her go.

Dean has always been cruel towards her. He'd pick fights with her and constantly nip and nag. She was their younger half sister, John becoming soul caretaker of her when she was four. She was his little girl. He showered her with love and affection, bringing her gifts from when he traveled across the country, with or without the boys. She stayed with Bobby usually, but that didn't stop John from letting her choose her bed in the motel room when she did tag along, or let her sit up front even though she wasn't old enough. He let her have the extra food, or the extra blanket, let Y/N choose where they ate. Sam was jealous of her for a long time. She had so much more attention than he and Dean combined, even though she hadn't known him for as long. When John died, Y/N was ten, and that's when her life turned around drastically. She no longer was allowed to sit in the passenger seat, or choose her bed (usually being forced to sleep on the floor if there wasn't a couch), she had no say in the restaurants. The brothers thought she'd be a brat about it, that they'd be able to rub it in her face that now John was no longer alive, she had to suffer how they did.