You woke up in yet another shitty hotel room. Your 2 gargantuan brothers sharing one queen size bed, and you having your own, cause you were the oldest and you got what you wanted. You were 27; about 2 years older than Dean. You sat up, ran a hand over your face, standing up with a groan and your back popping. you had gotten thrown around like a little bitch by a poltergeist yesterday. You had bruises and cuts all over your back, legs and arms; making you SORE. You hopped in the shower, blow dried your hair and pulled on some jeans, then a shirt with your jacket on top. When you walked back in, your brothers were both up.

“Morning ya’ young whippersnappers.” you teased them, pretending to sound old as you laced up your boots.

“Good morning.” Sam said, wincing when he saw how messed up your face looked.

“Ew. You’re looking rough.” Dean said with a grimace

“Do we have any new cases?” you asked, looking at your 2 younger brothers as they shook their heads

“No. Which means we can keep trying to track down dad.” Dean said

“Oh perfect.” you said with a groan. You hated John. You practically raised Sam and Dean while he was off, chasing ghosts. You worked your ass off, going hungry so they could have seconds, comforting Sam or Dean when they had horrible nightmares, dealing with your dad when he was home, (which was almost never). You dropped out of school; so you could work, and put Sam through college at Stanford, so when Dean drug him out and back into hunting, you got pissed, but like always, you moved on and kept going

“Just what I want to do, spend my time looking for a dead beat.” you said, scoffing