Sister Winchester

Warnings: Mentions of depression and self harm. Nothing graphic

Tugging on your long sleeves, you sat in the backseat of the Impala, watching as your brothers argued animatedly between themselves. Not even glancing back to you, they were completely immersed in whatever had started it.

Sighing, you stared out the window, your eyes tearing up as you tried to keep all these empty thoughts away. You had been doing so much better. Smiling had become easier, laughter spilled from your lips easily now. Your brothers had noticed the change, not knowing why or how, but glad that you were once again the happy little sister they had always known.

Little did they know it was hard for you to constantly act like this. That when you were alone in your room in the bunker, tears often filled your eyes as you curled in on yourself. That sometimes, when nothing else seemed to work, you would lock yourself in your bathroom, escaping the only way you knew how.

But for the past two weeks you had gotten past that. The need to cut to make yourself better. The constant down spiraling mood that had you quiet and withdrawn more often than you cared to admit. You wanted to participate in your brother's conversations, even if the effort was too much sometimes.

That's why they brought you on this hunt. While they never really knew how bad your depression, or self-harming had gotten, they had always been able to read you better than you wanted. So, when you started staying out of your room a little more often, sitting with them as they shared beers, they had smiled between themselves.

"So Y/N, you ready to act the part of FBI?" Dean asked, glancing in the rear-view mirror to look at you.

"Not really." You grumbled. You were sure you looked much too young to be an Agent, and you didn't want the three of you getting caught.

"Well, suck it up cuz it's happening." He argued, and your other brother Sam just shrugged his shoulder at you.

Before you could argue, Dean was pulling over to a hotel, and you climbed out of the car, stretching your back. Sam went in to get the room, while Dean began pulling the bags out of the trunk. Sam came out smiling, holding two room keys. "Y/N, thought you might like your own room." He told you, handing you over the key.

"Hey, what about me? I'm the oldest, shouldn't I get my own room?" Dean grumbled halfheartedly.

Heading into your room, you quickly changed into the new FBI gear they had bought you a couple of weeks ago. You had insisted on the long sleeves and blazer, knowing they would cover the scars you tried to hide from your brothers. Placing your hair in a simple French twist, you met them at the Impala.

"Y/N, I want you to go with Sam, talk to the families of the victims. I'm gonna head to the morgue. Try to get some more information on this.

After dropping Dean off at the morgue, you slid into the front seat, while Sam took over driving. "Sure you're okay with this?" He asked you, and you nodded.

The first house you visited was an older woman, neighbor to the first victim. She spoke at length about the crazy things that happened in the house, calling the young woman who had died all sorts of names. As you left with your brother, you glanced up at him. "I wonder if she's our culprit?"

"She certainly acts like she could be." He agreed, before the two of you made your way to the second victim's house. There, the room-mate still lived, a girl around your age, with dry, frizzy hair and freckles on her nose.

Sitting next to your brother, you watched as she nervously pulled on her shirt sleeves, her eyes never really meeting yours. "So, Miss Rafferty. What can you tell us about your roommate?"

When she spoke, her voice was high pitched, almost grating in its tone. "That she was never happy. That she was always going to end up like this. It was just a matter of time."

Surprised at the girl's attitude, you excused yourself, making your way up the stairs, to the bathroom. Alice, the victim had lived on this floor, and all her stuff was still in place. Making sure that no one was watching, you went into her bedroom, snooping through her items. Running out of time, you finally came across her diary, something that might help you figure out what had killed her.

Tucking it into the inside pocket of your jacket, you went into the bathroom. You could still hear Sam asking questions down below, and you knew you still had a minute or two before you would be missed. Searching through the drawers, you looked for anything that would give you a clue as to why she had been killed.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Medicine and band aids, tampons and toothpaste were the only things you found. About ready to give up, you spotted something shiny hidden deep in the back. Reaching in, you jumped when you knicked your finger on the blade that lay hidden. Understanding dawned, and you quickly shut the door, making your way back down the stairs, trying not to give away the fact that you were shaking. Seeing the blades brought everything back you had tried so hard to hide. To get past. It brought back all the urges, the need to do something to make yourself feel.

Pasting on a smile, you sat back down next to Sam, who stared at you closely. "I think we're finished here." He announced, patting you on the knee and making you jump. Following him as he stood up, you walked to the car with him, hugging your arms tight around your waist. Not saying a word, Sam kept glancing over at you where you sat against the door of the Impala. As soon as you arrived back at the motel room, you raced inside, heading straight for the bathroom.

Sitting down on the edge of the bathtub, you pulled out her diary, the words she wrote so familiar to the ones that ran often through your mind. Thoughts of inadequacy, of feeling too much, or sometimes not feeling anything at all. How she would succumb to cutting as an outlet. It was like reading your own diary, and you had tears in your eyes by the fifth page.

"Y/N, you're beginning to worry me!" Sam called out, but you couldn't move. Everything was weighing down on you, and you wished for a moment that you had taken one of her blades with you. Given yourself that outlet that no one else knew about. One that kept you in long sleeves, that made you often duck your head in shame, knowing if your brothers found out they would be pissed.

You heard mumbling from the other side of the door, and you realized Dean must be back. But you didn't care. Seeing those blades, reading her words, it had opened everything back up, and you were crushed by it.

"Y/N, open the door sweetie, or we're coming in!" Dean called out, but you didn't even attempt to move.

With tears streaming down your cheeks, you watched impassively as the door shuddered, the sound of an arm hitting the wood echoing through the small room.

It only took a couple of hits before the door broke off its hinges, and Dean about fell through the opening. Catching his balance, his eyes widened when he noticed you sitting there, broken.

"Oh sweetie." He muttered. Without warning, he picked you up, and you cuddled against his chest. Carrying you into the main room, he sat on the bed, with you still in his arms.

"It hurts." You whispered, and he glanced up at Sam, silently questioning him.

"What hurts?" He asked.

"Everything. I just don't want to feel anymore." You answered, as Sam reached down and gently grasped your wrist. Too tired to fight, you watched as he pulled up your sleeve, wincing at the marks there.

"Y/N?" He questioned, and fresh tears began to fall once again.

"I'm doing better." You muttered. "I've been in a better place. I even threw my blades away. But the victim, her blades, and her diary. It brought it all back, and I don't know what to do anymore."

Sam went into the bathroom, coming back with the diary. Skimming it, he couldn't contain the frown. "Y/N, you fight." Dean told you. "It's hard, and it hurts. But you continue fighting, and you let Sammy and I know when things get too tough. You don't need to go through this alone."

"I didn't think you guys would..." You started, not knowing exactly what to say. That they wouldn't understand? Or that they would feel pity for her? You should have known better. Your brothers had already gone through so much, that they probably understood better than anyone.

"We're here for you. Do we understand the cutting?" Sam said, sitting down next to you. "No, and I want you to come to us before you do it again. Dean drinks as a way to escape, and me? I read. We all have our vices, and hopefully we can work together to find one that doesn't harm you. But please remember, we will always be there for you."

Nodding, you cuddled deeper into Dean's chest, letting their comfort and love for you soak in. It eased some of the pain and sadness away, and you were actually relieved they finally knew your deepest secret.