Chapter Text
You sat patiently at the end of the road by the bunker, the place that you were told your father lived. Your mom had done her best to keep up to date with where he was, and this seemed to be the place that he visited most often in recent years, so you figured it would be the best place to find him.
You’d walked right down to the garage entrance when you first got there, but once you realised that you weren’t getting in, you made your way five or so minutes back up the path to sit and wait.
You’d been there for two hours already, but it was a warm Kansas day so you didn’t mind much.
A low, rumbling engine alerted you to the gorgeous old car that was coming towards you, and you stood up, smoothing down your clothes.
The car came to a stop beside you, and two tall men got out, eying you warily.
You noticed which one was your father instantly. The green eyes, the freckles, the resemblance was uncanny.
“Who are you?” the other asked, gruffly, “And how did you find this place.”
“Sorry,” you said, smiling awkwardly, “Um, I’m Y/N.”
Dean still hadn’t said anything, but you saw the way he studied your face - he noticed the similarities too.
“I’m Y/N Winchester,” you continued, looking straight at him, “And I’ve come to meet my father.”
Sam’s eyes bugged out of his head, and Dean’s jaw clenched involuntarily.
“You’re my kid?” he asked, his eyes still studying your face, obviously still noticing all of his familiar features in you.
You nodded, shrugging your backpack up your shoulder, “If you’re the mighty Dean Winchester that my mom told me about, then yeah.”
“Shit,” Sam mumbled, and you looked up at him.
“You must be Uncle Sammy.”
Dean frowned at you, “Your mom called him Sammy?”
You nodded, “Yeah. She said you always referred to him as ‘my little brother Sammy’. Guess he outgrew that…”
“How old are you?” Sam asked, clearly still wary of you.
“Nineteen,” you told him, before looking back at your father.
“I’ve had a kid for more than half my life and nobody thought to tell me?” Dean seethed, outraged, “I would have provided for you. Sent money or something.”
You rolled your eyes, “We had enough. And giving us money you got from fake credit cards probably wouldn’t have been the best idea. Hunting doesn’t exactly pay the bills now, does it?”
You watched as both of their faces moulded into ones of shock and confusion.
Sam cleared his throat, “You… you know… what we do?”
“How could I not?” you laughed slightly, “I do it too.”
You could sense what his reaction was going to be before it even happened, so you hid the smile from your face and waited patiently.
“I’m sorry, you what?” Dean asked, eyebrows raised.
You looked up at your father and shrugged, “I hunt. It’s the family business, after all.”
“You’re nineteen years old! How long have you been doing this for?”
“A few years,” you told him, “I don’t know. Something came after us, so Mom had to tell me about what you did,” you paused as he sighed, rubbing at his temples with his fingers, “And I took care of it. It was a shifter. Since then… I guess I’ve picked up on a few tricks of the trade.”
“You took on a shifter?” Sam questioned, “When you were, what, sixteen?”
“Fourteen,” you corrected, and Dean threw his head back in disbelief.
“Maybe… maybe we should go inside?” Sam suggested, sensing that this was going to be a long conversation, “Do this somewhere more comfortable?”
Dean nodded tensely, walking back to the driver’s side and barking out, “Get in the car, Y/N.”
His tone shocked you, so you did as he said without complaint, “Yes sir.”
They led you down to the kitchen, and you took a seat at the table while Dean went to his room to deposit his bags.
“You’re seriously my niece?” Sam asked, leaning against the counter.
“Yep,” you told him, smiling awkwardly.
He shook his head in fond confusion, “This is so weird. Would you like a drink, Y/N?” he asked, walking to the fridge, “We’ve got water, orange juice, cranberry juice, beer-”
“She’s not having beer,” Dean announced, entering the room and sitting opposite you, “She’s nineteen, Sammy.”
Sam rolled his eyes, “You and I both had our fair share of beer from when we were like sixteen.”
Dean turned to glare at his brother, “Maybe I don’t want to make the same mistakes with my daughter as Dad made with us.”
You felt the tension build in the room as they continued to stare at each other.
“Water’s fine,” you blurted, wanting them to stop having this silent argument, “Thanks Uncle Sammy.”
Sam nodded, bringing you a bottle of water and your father a beer.
“Thanks,” Dean sighed, popping the cap and taking a long swig.
“No problem,” Sam told both of you, “And seriously, Y/N, Sam is fine.”
“Okay,” you nodded, “Uncle Sam.”
“Or just Sam,” Sam sighed, “Uncle Sam makes me feel old.”
Dean rolled his eyes, “Sammy, I’m the one with the nineteen year old daughter. I think I’m the old one here.”
“Jesus, neither of you are old,” you snapped, already growing tired of their bickering, “You’re, what, thirty-six and thirty-two? That’s hardly old. Stop feeling sorry for yourselves.”
Dean looked at you, a slight glint in his eye, “You certainly inherited your mom’s feistiness.”
Your mouth went slack as you gaped at him, “Uh… you… you know who my mom is?”
Dean nodded, a fond smile crossing his face.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Sam said, smiling kindly at you as he left the room.
“How do you know?” you asked, trying to keep your emotions in check
Dean bit his lip and shook his head softly, “Around that time… when I was sixteen, seventeen… there was only one girl who I was honest with. The only girl I ever told about hunting, talked to about Sam, until later when Sam was at college and I met someone else. But, your mom… God, Y/N, I really liked her. I really cared about her. She has to know that, right?”
You nodded, and coughed back the tears that were threatening to spill over, “Yeah. She did. She knew. And for the record, she felt the same.”
“She’s gone, isn’t she?” Dean whispered, after a long moment of silence, “That’s why you’re here.”
You nodded, coughing a little, “Yeah. A few months ago. I’ve been hitchhiking since. Slowly making my way here.”
“Is that bag everything you have?” your father asked, concern crossing his features.
“No,” you told him, “I’ve got some stuff in a motel in Lebanon.”
Dean stood up and made for the door, turning back to you when he got there.
“You coming?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Where?”
“To get your stuff,” he told you once you were next to him, “You’re staying here.”