Y/n was 7 , Dean was 26 and Sam was 24,

A rundown cabin in Montana. The wind howls outside, The bottle hit the table with a thud, amber liquid sloshing over the rim. John Winchester didn’t flinch. He just stared at it, eyes glassy, jaw clenched like he was holding back a war.

Y/N stood frozen in the doorway, her backpack still slung over one shoulder. She’d come looking for comfort. Instead, she found the man who used to tuck her in now drowning in ghosts.

“Dad?” she asked, voice small.

John didn’t answer. He just reached for the bottle again.

Dean appeared behind her in seconds, stepping between them like a shield. “You don’t need to be here for this,” he said, voice low but firm.

Sam followed, placing a gentle hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get some air.”

Y/N hesitated, eyes flicking to John. He didn’t look up. Didn’t even seem to notice her.

Outside, the cold bit at her cheeks, but it was better than the sting inside.

Dean lit a cigarette with shaking hands. “He’s not himself when he drinks. Hell, maybe he never was.”

Sam crouched beside her on the porch steps. “You’re not alone, Y/N. You’ve got us. Always.”

She nodded, tears slipping silently down her face. “I just wanted him to care.”

Dean sat beside her, pulling her into a side hug. “He should. But if he won’t, we will. You’re our sister. That means something.”

Sam smiled softly. “We’ll keep you safe. From monsters. From the world. Even from him.”

Y/N leaned into them, the weight of disappointment slowly replaced by the warmth of something stronger—loyalty, love, and the kind of family that chose her every time.