Sweet Child of Mine

Characters: Dean, Reader
Warnings: OC death 
Summary: After the passing of her mother, the reader decides to finally time to find her father. 

Request: 1949

A/N: Thank you sweet, Anon! I hope you like it!


You sit in your parked car, just staring out unto the graveyard. 

The ceremony had ended over an hour ago, but you wren’t ready to leave just yet.

You had know this was coming from the moment the doctor called. You had been preparing yourself since you held your mother’s hand tight when the doctor spoke the word “terminal” with a grime look on his face.

But now that it was here, you felt like a ferrel animal tossed into an arena, panicked with no where to go. Except, you did know where to go. Sort of. It was more you knew where you were going to go.

It was never a secret to you who your father was. His name was written in your mother’s messy scribble on your birth certificate. But it was a secret to him that you existed. Mom just never got a chance to tell him before he left that she was pregnant, and when she tried to call him, the number had been disconnected. She always figured he was dead—apparently it wouldn’t be a surprise if he was, though you had no idea why, but you were ready to find out.

You never felt the need to know your father; your mother and you were always well off, and it just being the two of you made you best friends. You recognized the missing component of your family, but you never yearned for it.

But with your grandparents long gone, and your mother now passed, your family was gone, and you weren’t ready to be alone. 

You mother mentioned your father was from a city about a day’s drive from where you were now. 

You didn’t have much to go on; just a name and a picture your mother had snapped of him when she was going through a photography phase when she was 19 and unknowingly knocked up. 

You turn the key and jumpstart your engine. You put the car in drive and begin your journey to Lawrence, Kansas to find Dean Winchester. 


Three days laters, you’ve found your father’s childhood home that apparently burned down with his mother inside when he was just 4. You found his mother’s—your grandmother’s—tombstone, where you left lilies. 

You also found that your father had quiet the past. 

As you dreaded through news archives at the local library, where you found his old home address and learned that his father’s name is John, and he has a younger brother named Sam, you also found his arrest records; breaking and entering, assault, impersonating an officer, tax evasion, tax fraud, credit card fraud, and one that made your heart stop: murder. 

"What kind of men were you into, mom?" You whisper to yourself as you stare at the mugshot of a man who shared your eyes and nose.

But it turned out, your mom was right in her assumption; he was dead. Apparently he was killed in St. Louis while fleeing from the police after kidnapping some woman and trying to kill her.

That was 13 years ago. He was 26, you were 7. 

You looked for a death certificate or obituary for John or Sam, but found none. 

Your father may be dead, but maybe you had a chance to find your grandfather and uncle. 

The problem was, you weren’t able to find anything recent on John or Sam. It was like they had fallen off the face of the planet.

No news, no facebooks.

You managed to find a picture of a floppy haired man labeled “Sam Winchester,” from an archived issue of the Stamford Daily, but nothing on John. 

With the picture printed, you headed out to explore the city to see what you could find. 


Hours after leaving the Lawrence Memorial cemetery, you had made your way downtown to ask around if anyone knew Sam or John Winchester. A few older citizens recalled them from years ago, before the fire, but no one had seen them since then.

You tried asking at the grocery stores, barber shops, and bars, but no one seemed to know who they were.

After four hours of useless searching, you decide to head to a nearby diner for some lunch.

"What can I get ya sweetheart?" The waitress who has to be in her early 50’s asks.

"Coffee, black, and an omelette with a side of hash browns. Thanks." You hand her back the menu and wait for your food.

You look around the diner, taking in the small amount of customers; an old couple having an early lunch, a few lone stragglers at the counter, each with a coffee and newspaper, and a young girl and boy who are probably skipping class.  

The waitress returns with your food, and as she puts it on the table, you pull the picture of Sam out of your pocket.

"Excuse me," you catch her before she leaves.


"By any chance do you know this man?" You show her the picture. "I know it’s old, but his name is Sam Winchester. Or maybe his father, John?"

She brings it to the tip of her nose, squinting as she examines it.

"Sorry hun, can’t say I do." She hands it back to you.

You’re not even disappointed, at this point, you’re not surprised.

"Thanks." She gives you a smile and turns away. 

Once you’re done, you drop your cash on the table and head out to the parking lot to your car. You don’t really know where you’re going next, but you figure you can head back to your motel room to regroup. 

As you put your key into the door lock, someone slams your body against the door, and you can feel something cold pressing against the back of your neck.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. I’m being mugged.

You close your eyes as you’re pressed even harder against the car.

"My wallet is in my right coat pocket. You can have it. Please just don’t hurt me." You plead.

The person behind you doesn’t say anything.

Rather than reach for your pocket, his hand goes to your shoulder and he pulls you around, facing him. 

"Why are you asking about the Winchesters?" He demands.

You squint your eyes, the sun too bright from this angle.

He’s tall, but not much taller than you. His broad shoulders are covered in a worn leather jacket, one you had seen in the diner, and you can see the butt of a gun hiding inside. 

The blade goes to your throat, and he steps even closer, blocking the sun.

Your eyes go wide.

"Holy shit." You gasp. His eyes narrow a bit.

"You’re suppose to be dead!" You yell at him. Now his entire face scrunches up and he starts looking around the parking lot to see if anyone heard your outburst.

"Listen lady, who the hell are you, and what do you want with my family? And why am I suppose to be dead?" His fingers tighten their grip around your shoulder. 

"Well this isn’t really how I wanted to do this, but the knife at my throat doesn’t give me much of a choice now does it?" He looks at the blade, and lowers it away from your neck, but keeps it poised as if he needs to attack at any minute. 

Paranoid much?

"Do what?" He grunts.

"You’re Dean Winchester, yes?" He stares you down, his green eyes scanning your face for the motive he has yet to figure out. 

You take his lack of response as a yes.

"I’m your daughter." 

His body recoils from you and his eyes quickly look around the area as his head cocks to the side, like maybe he’s heard you wrong. 

"Excuse me?" He spits. "I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to pull, but it ain’t funny, kid." 

You huff.

"I’m not pulling anything!" You yell in defense. "My mother’s name is Cindy Brackman. She lived in Hamilton, Idaho and the two of you met when you were 19. Apparently you and your dad were on vacation or something there that summer and you met my mom. She was a photographer. You left before she had a chance to tell you she was pregnant. And she tried to call but your phone was disconnected."

His face goes blank as he listens to your story, and his eyes seem to be looking over your shoulder. You could tell right away that he recognized your mother’s name as his face seemed surprised at her mention, but he had yet to actually say anything.

"Look, I know this is hard to believe, but I’m not here for money or anything like that." His gaze snaps back to yours. "I’m just trying to find my family is all."

His eyes look you up and down, and you can tell he’s sizing you up.

Someone’s got major trust issues.

"So why now? Why after, what? Twenty years, you come looking for me?" 

Your shoulders fall and a lump in your throat that keeps you from swallowing makes it harder to breathe. 

"Um," you swallow and shut your eyes, your teeth biting the inside of your cheek. "She passed away." You say quietly. "About a week ago."

His hand falls away from your shoulder and you open your eyes. The knife is no longer pointed at you, but hanging at his side. 

"I have no one left. I’m just looking for my family." You shrug. You can hear the pain in your voice, and you don’t him to think you’re trying to guilt him letting you into his life.

"Look, I know this is a total shocker and confusing as hell, but I don’t want you be okay with this if you’re not. I just want you to be honest about it. If you want me to stay, I will, but otherwise I’ll head back to my motel and head home. I’m a big girl. I haven’t had a father for the last 20 years, not having one at all won’t be that big of a deal."

Though you really do want to get to know him, if you’re going to be nothing but a burden to him, you don’t want to waste your time. 

He’s silent for a moment, just staring at you.

"You look just like my mother when she was younger." He finally says, a small smile on his lips.

You duck your head and smile. 

You never really looked like your mom or her family, and people always found it hard to believe you were related. 

"I’m sorry she’s dead." You say earnestly.

His lips part and his eyes scrunch again. 

"How’d you know that?"

You shrug. 

"I did my research. That’s how I knew about John and Sam." You pause and bite your lips, not sure if you should ask, but do anyways. "Are they—"

"My dad died years ago." He finishes for you. "But Sammy’s still around. It’s just me and him." 

You were curious if he had any other kids. Maybe you had a brother too.

"I don’t have any siblings, do I?"

Dean laughs and shakes his head.

"God I hope not. I have a feeling you’re going to be more than enough." 

You laugh and smile up at him.

"Let’s go get your stuff. Family doesn’t stay in motels." He puts a hand on your shoulder. 

"Thanks…dad." You try with hesitancy and a big smile hoping he’ll be okay with it.

His eyes go wide and he looks like he might have had a mini aneurysm. 

"Sorry, just trying it out."

He laughs with a sigh.

"Don’t be. It’s just gonna take some time getting use to." 

When Clock Hands Freeze (37741 words) by ElizaStyx
Chapters: 20/20
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Characters: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Gabriel, Benny Lafitte, Hannah, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Mr. Fizzles, Sam Winchester, Michael (Supernatural), Ruby, Lucifer (Supernatural), Uriel (Supernatural), Zachariah (Supernatural)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Rebellion, chemist!Cas, leader!Dean, Hate to Love, Secrets, Intrigue, Politics, Minor Character Death, mafia, Punk Castiel, Tattoos, Humour, Misunderstandings, Plot, A Lot of Plot, Organized Crime, a bit of crack, heavy on plot, dark at times, Hurting each other, Slow Build, slight angst, Twins, Fluff, Falling In Love

When Castiel arrives to an abandoned factory to join a group of anti-fate rebeliants led by Dean Winchester, he doesn’t expect this much of crap that he avoided dealing with to finally catch up with him, major part of it being the fact that his timer would be very soon flashing a grand deal of zeros at him, if not cautiously thrown into the deep dark water half a year before.
Little did he know that clocks still tick at the bottom of the sea…