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It was an early morning in the Pennsylvania motel John had dropped them off at three days prior. Deanna stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing her mid-length, blonde-ish, utterly girly hair.
A multitude of spaghetti straps on her skinny shoulders—two from her tank top and two from her bra, plus some string from the amulet around her neck—and Sammy’s old flannel pants made her look small. She hated being small.
Sammy entered the bathroom, yawning. His hair was sticking up all over the place, and his shirt was too big for him because somehow both siblings were victims of hand-me-downs.
He’d recently grown taller than Deanna, which she found bittersweet. She felt proud of him, but she also felt like it wasn’t right. Sammy was supposed to be a little boy, not a 15 year old with a deep voice. He was supposed to be Sammy, not Sam. He was supposed to need Deanna to make him grilled cheese, and she was supposed to be able to pick him up.
He was supposed to slip up and call her ‘Mama’ from time to time, like he used to, because that’s who she really was to him. That’s who she’d been since she was just a child.
And she was damn good at it, too. She knew how important affection was for young children (especially because all hers got cut off at age four, and look how fucked up that made her), so she made sure to dish out a ton to Sammy, even though it wasn’t really her style.
John never approved of that; he thought Deanna was making him soft. He wanted him to be big and mean and a killer, to follow in his footsteps.
But John didn’t get a say as far as she was concerned, because he was the one who left Sammy in her care. Women belong in the home and all that. Sammy was her job, not John’s. John and Deanna both were adamant about that.
And John gave enough tough love (read: aggression) to last two lifetimes, so Deanna had to cancel it out somehow (read: with affection in the form of cuddles and kisses and encouragement).
A side effect of that, though, was that Sammy always wanted attention from her. So, when he entered the bathroom, he beelined it to Deanna. He kept his arms at his sides as he came up behind her and crouched down to rest his chin on her shoulder.
Deanna continued brushing her hair as she said, “Mornin’, Sam.” She finished the second half of his name—my, which really had a double meaning if you think about it—in her mind.
“Morning, Deanna,” Sammy mumbled, eyes closed. Maybe he was still the sweet boy from their childhood. He was certainly still the respectful one, as his hands remained down at his sides.
“Sleep okay?”
“Mm,” Sammy hummed, opening his eyes. They moved up and down with Deanna’s hairbrush, tracking her every movement like the clingy little guy he was.
A few strokes later, Deanna set the brush down on the counter, her hair as tamed as it was gonna get, and took in the sight of her and her baby brother in the mirror. It put a smile on her face. “You in here to just cling, or you need to use the bathroom?”
Sammy smiled back. “I don’t cling,” he said. “But… Can I? Cling?”
Deanna thought that was obvious. “Yeah,” she said.
It was only then that Sammy brought his arms up to wrap around her waist. He turned his face down to hide in the back of her neck and just stood there, hugging her. Deanna wasn’t scared that something was wrong because this was how Sammy always acted with her. It was how she’d raised him, whether that was on purpose or not.
Deanna liked that they were standing in the bathroom today, though, because it meant she could see them in the mirror as they hugged. It was cute.
Deanna didn’t like cute shit. She was a tough bitch who drank beer and cleaned guns.
She made an exception for Sammy, though. She made all the exceptions, for Sammy. She called him the name he wanted to be called and she gave him all the attention and affection he could ever need.
“You’re the sweetest,” Deanna murmured, a soft and uncharacteristically gooey smile on her face.
Sammy just squeezed her tight and swayed their bodies from side to side.
A few minutes later, he emerged from her neck to hook his chin over the edge of her shoulder. He was seriously bending down to accomplish that task. “You know when Dad’s comin’ home?” he asked, still hugging her but having quit his swaying.
“Mm, not for a few days, kiddo. Why?”
“Jus’ wonderin’.”
“Thinking about throwing an awesome rager while he’s gone?” Deanna joked.
“Oh, totally,” Sammy agreed, a big smile on his face. He stood up to his full height then—he had a good few inches on Deanna now, and he was still, tragically, growing—as he slowly unwrapped his arms from her waist. “Okay, I actually hafta piss, though.”
Deanna laughed and left the bathroom to let him do his business. She was completely whipped, she thought, as she moved to the kitchenette to start breakfast. She had been for a long, long time.
Deanna had accidentally raised up a little feminist. Sammy stood up for her to John when he made little comments about how she was dressed or how she couldn’t possibly come on a hunt with the two of them. He spoke to her and touched her respectfully, always.
He touched her so respectfully, in fact, that she didn’t realize how strong he’d become until she helped him practice sparring one day. He, at the ripe age of almost-16, managed to pin her down and keep her there easily.
Breathlessly, she said, “Damn, Sam. Nice work.”
Sammy smiled down at her, still sitting on her hips. Did he not realize she couldn’t get up if she wanted to? Did he not realize his own strength either?
“I know, right?” Sammy said. “I think I’m getting good at this. Much as I hate it, I could be a real hunter.” He looked so proud and innocent. “You could too, I think,” he continued on, still pinning her down. “If you wanted. No matter what Dad says.”
Of course he believed in equal rights. Women could be hunters too. God, he was the cutest.
“Thanks, kid,” Deanna said. “Uh, can you get off me? I can't move.”
Surprise lit up in Sammy’s eyes. “Oh! I’m sorry,” he said, immediately getting off her and helping her to her feet. He must’ve been an entire head taller than her now. That would’ve been scary if it were anyone else (read: John Winchester), but Sammy was Sammy. Still sweet and smart Sammy. He wouldn’t take advantage of his size and strength, Deanna knew.
They stood there together, taking a breather before going for another round. Before that, though, Sammy spoke up.
“Deanna?”
“Yeah?”
“Could you… really not move?” Sammy asked. His posture was horrid as he tried to get closer to her eye level.
Deanna narrowed her eyes. “No need to rub it in, Sam.”
“I’m not,” Sammy said. “Just… that’s kinda scary, right? What if someone else pins you down? With bad intentions? And you can’t defend yourself?” He was actually nervous, wringing his hands at the prospect of that.
Deanna made a face. He had a really good point. She got down on the floor. “Pin me again. I’ll try to get you off.”
Sammy obeyed without fuss. They spent the rest of the training session figuring out a way for her to successfully get free. She, terrifyingly, discovered that she actually couldn’t overpower him in terms of strength, so they had to find another way.
A successful day of training later, and Deanna was a pro at self defense. She made a mental note to make sure Sammy got in a lot of training next time, since he was the one who, terrifyingly, was going out on hunts.
Deanna never had the privilege of high heels. She swiped a pair from Walmart the other day, though, because Sammy was getting some nerdy award at school, and attire for guests was semi-formal, and Deanna didn’t want to embarrass him.
She was going to embarrass him anyway if she didn’t learn how to walk in these stupid things though. The ceremony was in a few hours, and Deanna was wobbling around the motel room like a baby deer on ice. She was going to embarrass herself too.
They’d been in this town for longer than normal—long enough for Sammy to have made a few friends and to get along with his teachers. The school year was coming to an end, and this award he was getting was apparently a big deal. Something to do with his stellar grades—he was in the top 20 students, or something? Deanna didn’t want to mess this up for him.
The man of the hour himself, looking adorable in his suit jacket, emerged from the bathroom. He stared as Deanna continued practicing her walk.
“I’m trying,” Deanna said, preemptively defending herself from Sammy’s bitching.
Sammy shook his head. He was more amused than annoyed, Deanna realized. He walked closer, and he was still taller than her even with the heels. He held out his hands, which Deanna took. Sammy started slowly walking backwards, letting Deanna use him as support as she walked.
“This is like when I taught you how to ride a bike,” Deanna said with a small chuckle, starting to get the hang of it now.
Sammy just smiled at her, dimples and all, and continued walking her around the motel. “Hey, thanks for doing this,” he eventually said.
Deanna looked up at him. “What, learning to walk in high heels?”
“Yeah. And, I dunno. Showing up for me.” Sammy ducked his head, bashful. He stopped walking, but held onto Deanna’s hands.
Deanna gave his a squeeze. “Of course, Sam. You don’t have to thank me for that. I’m your family.”
Sammy met her eyes. “Dad’s not here,” he said, the words simple and sad.
Before Deanna could respond to that, Sammy let go of her hands.
“I think you’re ready to try on your own,” he said.
He took a step back and watched as she took a few forward, significantly less wobbly. She took a hesitant, but successful, spin and grinned at him. “Looks like we both have accomplishments to be proud of today.”
Sammy just chuckled and shook his head. “I wanna get there early; are we ready?”
“Ready, kiddo,” Deanna responded. She grabbed the keys and led him out to the car on expert feet.
The ceremony was boring as fuck—kids get their names called, walk across the stage, blah, blah, blah—but Deanna whooped and cheered when it was Sammy’s turn.
Sammy was tall as hell at this point—17 and over 6 foot. But he still, endearingly, sat as close as possible to Deanna on the couch.
Right now, his arm was looped around hers and he was leaning heavily into her side. One of the blankets they dragged around with them everywhere they went was over their laps, their pajama-clad thighs touching underneath it. They were watching a Scooby-Doo rerun, but Deanna was mostly enjoying the feeling of Sammy beside her.
She didn’t regret raising him to be so clingy, and she absolutely didn't regret raising him to be so respectful about it either. He’d asked if she was comfortable with how much they were touching twice tonight. The answer was always yes when it came to Sammy, but it was nice of him to ask anyway. Plus, other girls would find that hot.
Not that other girls should be looking at Sammy. He was only… Actually, he was an adequate age now. Why weren’t girls looking at Sammy? Deanna had had multiple boyfriends and hook-ups by the time she was Sammy’s age. Granted, she was a bit of a, in the least derogatory way possible, slut, but still. Sammy should’ve gotten at least some action by now.
“Sam, you like girls, right?” Deanna asked during the commercial break.
“Uh, yeah,” Sammy, who’d been sinking deeper and deeper into Deanna as the night went on, answered.
“And they like you?”
Sammy hesitated. He rubbed his hand up and down Deanna’s arm in a slightly nervous gesture. “I dunno. I’ve never picked up on anything like that.”
Deanna realized that her brother wasn’t unfuckable, he was just clueless. She snorted out a laugh. “Dumbass. Pay more attention and you’ll see the signs,” she said. Realistically, there had to have been countless girls interested in him by now—girls he would’ve noticed if he took his nose out of his textbooks for once.
Sammy didn’t stop rubbing her arm, the soft and repetitive motion soothing both of them. “Why?” he eventually asked.
“Why what?” Deanna asked. The show had returned, but they’d both seen this episode already.
“Why do I wanna see the signs?”
“So you can get a girlfriend?” Deanna answered, but she said it like a question because she was sort of confused at what Sammy was asking. “You do want a girlfriend, right?” she asked softly. Maybe he was lying earlier when he said he liked girls, which Deanna didn’t want to make him do.
“I mean… Not really. What’s the point if we’re gonna move away, and I’m never gonna see them again?”
Oh. Deanna rested the side of her head against Sammy’s. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s okay,” Sammy said back, never ceasing his slow stroking of her arm. “And it’s not your fault.”
It was John’s.
Really, everything was his fault. The fact that Deanna became a mother before she even started her period. The fact that she was the only consistent presence, let alone female presence, in poor Sammy’s life. The fact that Sammy had to go on dangerous hunts when he really just wanted to cuddle with his big sister and study for calculus. The fact that Sammy wanted to cuddle at all. If it weren’t for John, Sammy wouldn't have ended up so clingy and dependent on Deanna.
Deanna stopped calling John Dad when she was 12 and Sammy gave her the amulet.
Sammy had waited for him that night. He still did, all the time. Deanna wished he’d just give up already, but she also wished he’d never lose that faith and innocence.
Stay gold, Sammyboy, Deanna thought. The Outsiders was one of many books assigned to Deanna that Sammy got his grubby little fingers on 4 years early and read. He yapped about it a ton to her that year, meaning that much of her knowledge came from him, considering she mostly skimmed the book and got a C on the quiz for it. The class and, more importantly, literary genius Sammy had heavily emphasized that particular quote, though, so it had stuck in her mind.
“I’m still sorry,” Deanna said.
“Yeah,” Sammy said. “Me too.”
They watched the rest of the episode in silence, still cuddled up. At least there was that.
Of course the first time Deanna would be allowed on a hunt was when the victims were all blonde girls in their early 20s. Deanna was hardly even blonde anymore—her hair had been steadily getting darker with age. But still.
Bait. That’s all she was to John.
Sammy was nervous, like he always was these days, but he didn’t argue with John, mostly because Deanna told him it was fine.
That’s because it was fine. In fact, she was kind of looking forward to it. She’d gone through the same training—minus the field training—that Sammy had, and she had this fantasy in her mind of showing John what she could do and proving him wrong.
Before getting into their positions—Deanna standing in the forest clearing and looking appealing, John and Sammy hiding out in the bushes—Sammy took Deanna by the shoulders and said, “Be safe.”
“Don’t worry,” Deanna said, bending her arms to hold Sammy’s elbows. “I won’t go making you an orphan just yet, Sammy.”
Sammy smiled. “It’s Sam,” he gently corrected.
“Right. Sorry.” Deanna got up on her tip-toes and kissed Sammy’s cheek, hoping to sooth his anxieties a tad.
They were forced to let go of each other when John rolled his eyes and barked out an order to get into their places. Not in the mood to argue, Sammy and Deanna obeyed, sparing each other one last glance.
Deanna stood in the forest clearing, silver bullets loaded into her gun. John hadn’t even wanted to let her have a gun (she’s not gonna shoot the thing, we’ll sweep in and kill it before she’d even get the chance) but her and Sammy had convinced him to give her one “just in case”. Deanna knew she didn’t really mean “just in case”, though. She planned on shooting this thing and showing off her skills.
It’s not that she wanted to impress John. He was nothing to her. She just wanted to see the look on his face when he was proven wrong.
Just as waiting was getting unbearably boring, Deanna heard footsteps. She, having adjusted to the darkness, successfully spotted the werewolf lurking in the shadows and tightened her grip on her gun. She knew John wouldn’t give the command to strike until the werewolf was distracted—in other words, attacking Deanna. She just had to trust that Sammy would wait it out too. She had to believe she’d get the opportunity to prove herself.
The werewolf, realizing it had been detected, dropped its stealth act and came charging at Deanna. With a growl, it immediately tackled her to the ground and pinned her there.
“Now!” John yelled. The sound of rustling bushes and Sammy’s panicked breathing (it wasn’t that loud, Deanna was just all too tuned into it) followed a split second later.
As John and Sammy rushed to their feet and took aim, Deanna used the skills Sammy had helped her train for. She knew how to get out when someone or something had her pinned down. The werewolf was a lot stronger than Sammy, obviously, but that was why her strategy didn’t include overpowering her attacker. All she had to do was outmaneuver it.
The werewolf ripped the front of her shirt open before she successfully escaped, but what was important was that she did escape. She stood up and fired two clean shots to the werewolf’s chest before John and Sammy could even attempt a hit.
Sammy laughed breathily, relieved, and rushed over as the werewolf dropped dead on the ground. He wrapped his arm around Deanna’s shoulders and kissed her temple.
“Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?” John demanded, still standing behind the siblings.
Deanna and Sammy both turned, Deanna using Sammy’s body to cover up her chest because her bra was totally exposed right now since her shirt got ripped, and there was only one person she’d trust to see her like that, and it wasn’t John.
John did not sound nor look proud at all.
“Training,” Deanna answered matter-of-factly.
John’s eye twitched as he clicked the safety back onto his gun. “Those training sessions are for your brother to hone his skills, not for you to learn those ballerina moves you just pulled,” he said through gritted teeth.
That was insulting. Ballerina moves? It was like John saw her as a 12 year old girl.
“Dad, what’s the problem?” Sammy chimed in, mildly annoyed. “Werewolf: dead. Deanna: alive. Hunt: over.”
Acting like a smartass never went well for Sammy.
“I’m talking to your sister, Sammy,” John dismissed, still sounding angry.
Sammy stood up straighter and shifted slightly so that he was entirely covering Deanna. “It’s Sam,” he said unkindly. “And you aren’t talking to her. You’re demeaning her. You know she’s a person, right? You know she’s your daughter?”
Deanna peeked her head out from behind Sammy and saw John’s face go mean. He was completely pissed.
She didn’t have much to add—Sammy had pretty much covered it all—so she just watched.
John didn’t have much to say either. He glowered at the two of them before turning and swiftly walking back to the Impala.
Once he was out of earshot, Deanna lightly said, “Looks like disposing of the body is up to us?”
Sammy’s fists were clenched as he turned back to face Deanna. He quickly schooled his expression. He was freakishly good at only directing his anger at the person he was actually angry at. “Figures,” he said, resigned. He slipped out of his jacket and handed it to Deanna to cover herself up.
After disposing of the body, Sammy and Deanna walked back to where they hoped the car would still be. Deanna was zipped up in Sammy’s jacket, and Sammy was pretending not to shiver in his flannel.
The Impala was still there, which would earn John the Not-The-Worst-Father award. He seemed to be done fuming, and he was sitting in the driver’s seat staring straight ahead. Sammy and Deanna got into the backseat together, and John drove off without a word.
Halfway to the motel, he spoke up. “I’m just worried about you, Deanna. Sam and I—we have to protect you. You can’t go rogue like that and protect yourself.”
Deanna took a moment to breathe, trying to make her voice sound as calm as possible as she said, “‘Cause I’m a woman?”
“Yes,” John answered, without missing a beat. He kept his eyes firmly on the road in front of him the rest of the drive, and nobody said another word because holy shit.
Holy. Shit. At least he owned it? Jesus.
Except for to his face, Sammy quit calling him Dad after that night.
“Hey, Deanna?”
Deanna had her legs thrown over Sammy’s lap on the couch. Sammy was reading something nerdy and Deanna was channel surfing. She was immediately scrolling past the Christmas commercials. “Uh-huh?”
“If I went to college, would you come with me?”
Deanna put the remote down and turned to face Sammy, who had put his book down. “Uh…” Deanna said. This was the first time she was hearing about college from Sammy.
“I mean, the only reason you’re staying here, with John, is ‘cause of me, right? You don’t like him, you don’t get to hunt—there’d be nothing here for you if I left.”
“Yeah, but…” Deanna sat up a little, still keeping her legs in Sammy’s lap. “He’s not gonna let you leave, kiddo. He needs you on hunts.”
Sammy looked away. “I don’t need his permission. I’ll be 18.”
Deanna blew out a breath. “Are you serious about this?” she gently asked.
“Yeah,” Sammy said, turning back to face her. He rested his hands on Deanna’s shins. “I’ve got the grades. And I want to go to school. You know I hate hunting. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, Deanna.”
Deanna nodded. “Okay.” She thought back to his original question. “Do you want me there?”
Sammy looked her straight in the eye. “I want to get you out of here,” he said, determined. He turned a tad bashful then, but remained eye contact. “And, I dunno, it’d be nice to have you. You could get an apartment near my school or something, and we’d get to see each other. I wanna leave John and hunting, not you… Do you also want that?”
Deanna considered it. As terrible as it was, her future had always included Sammy. She never deluded herself into thinking she’d get a husband or a “real” child—not that she even wanted those things. It was always Sammy for her.
She always thought it’d be her and Sammy and that dark figure in the corner that had beer breath and yelled a lot. But Sammy—smart, perfect Sammy—had a plan to get them out. It could be her and Sammy, period. No monsters, literal or figurative.
“Yeah,” Deanna said. “That sounds perfect.”
“Great,” Sammy said. “Because I got into Stanford.”
“What?” Deanna yelled. She shoved Sammy’s shoulder. “Are you serious? Show me your letter, college boy!”
“It’s at Bobby’s,” Sammy said through his laughter. “We don't have a permanent address, y’know, so I set mine as his place.”
Deanna squealed girlyly as Sammy’s news really sunk in. She knew he was smart, but now Stanford thought so too!
She leaned forward, her legs still in Sammy’s lap, to hug him. “I am so unbelievably proud of you, Sam,” she said, face squished up against his. She finished it with my, like she always did. In fact, the urge had never been so strong. My. My my my. Sammy Sammy Sammy.
She wasn’t exactly sitting in his lap, but she was close. She remembered when he was the one who fit in her lap. Now he was going to Stanford. Stanford!
Sammy hugged her back, arms wrapped tight around her middle. Nice boy that he was, he didn’t pull her closer. “Thanks,” he whispered. “I just need to figure out how ‘m gonna tell John…”
“Don’t think about that for now, honey,” Deanna said, using the long-lost nickname that always made her feel even more motherly.
“Okay,” Sammy murmured. “Thank you.”
Deanna wasn’t sure what Sammy was thanking her for. Everything, she guessed. Being his mother. Being his sister. Being his best friend.
“Thank you,” Deanna said back.
For being her everything.
Sammy was the love of her life, her soulmate, her purpose. He was her baby. Her responsibility, her burden.
She wouldn’t have it any other way.