You often dreamt of your life before the Winchesters came and found you. You shudder a bit at the memory that replayed in your head as you sat up against the bed. The last years of foster care had managed to be the worse before you managed to escape, right into Sam and Dean's hands.

"Dean, they're just a kid, put the gun away-" Sam held his hand out to Dean, trying to deescalate the fear running through everyone's beings.

"They're a witch, Sam. They're old enough to know how to kill people with their powers."

"I've never hurt anyone..." You had quietly tried.

"We're doin' the talkin' here, kid." Dean harshly quieted you as you shrunk back.

You never had hurt anyone, really. You might've casted a little eye for an eye magic on your foster parents, and that was what caught Sam and Dean's attention while they were in town for a case, interviewing those in the neighborhood. Luckily, Sam's empathy had given you a home.

"Dean, we can show them how to use magic for good. They could be a real asset..."

"What the hell are you thinking? We're not babysitters, Sam!"

Dean did ended up caving, and you've been with them ever since.

Even with his disdain for Sam's insistence of you joining them, you grew fond of the older Winchester. Dean didn't understand it. While eventually he allowed some trust in you, he wondered why you laughed at all his jokes, or you why you asked to sit up front with him, or go on a supply run together. He questioned your presence at first, but now, he's grown accustomed to his shadow.

Which brings you now to his bedroom door of the bunker. You bring a fist up to the door, but hesitate. You can see the light casting underneath his door, but you didn't know if you would be a bother. Inhaling for courage, you lightly rap your fist on his door.

"Sam?" Dean guesses wearily.

You clear your throat, taking a moment to find your voice, "No, it's me."

Footsteps sound and you back up slightly from the door as it opens. Dean's brows furrow, "What's the matter, kid?"