Smells Like Teen Drama
Dean x Daughter!Reader
Warnings: Language, bitch teenagers (like me).
Forever Tags: @Freaksforthewin , @thewinhunter, @cambriacaneatnoodles, @brokennoone , @youtubehelpsmesurvive , @chrisevansthedoritobastard , @winchesters-favorite-girl , @we-know-a-little-about-a-lot @godh8salyssa @dean-baby-Winchester @straightasdeanwinchester @animexchocolate @fabulouslycassie @lizbeth-loves-bobear @nicolesyneah25 @lemonadegazeelle
A/n: Fun fact. The part with the itch teenager actually kind of happened to me. The last comeback the reader had I said to the girl who was being a bitch. Lets just say I out bitched her. The bullying thing were things I went through too as a kid.
Your entire life was spent looking up to people who you saw as prettier or of better human quality than you. Having issues with your physical and spiritual appearance was your forte.
There were the kids at school. Who picked and pulled at the little tightly wound curls resting on your head. Saying you were ugly and different because your hair wasn’t straight like there’s. To fix the issue, you asked your single parenting father to straighten your hair.
“I want to be like them daddy.” You’d say while looking in the mirror. Attempting to flat iron your 7 year old hair with a straightener that was off.
In middle school you were one of the few kids who didn’t wear any form of makeup. Uncle Sam and Cas had been building up your confidence over the summer between 5th and 6th grade. But no amount of love could’ve helped with the daily challenges you faced.
Teenagers and pre-teens alike would poke at your face. Making fun of the unruly amount of freckles it held on the surface. The nickname “polka dots” became how people remembered you. As though they need a small reminder of you and the mane of curls wasn’t enough.
It seemed as though everyday of your junior high days was spent with a hood on and a face hanging low. The second Dean noticed this he pulled you out.
“Baby, why didn’t you tell me you were having problems?” Dean was crouched down to your level. Brushing away each crooked tear that fell from your green and brown eyes and simultaneously cleaning the fistful bruising that hugged your eye.
“I thought you would be mad at me.” You looked up into his eyes, watching as they released a tear at the sight of his bruised child. “It’s okay, Daddy.” Reaching up, you wiped his tear away and pulled yourself into his chest.
When high school came around you were far from ready to deal with people. Especially teenagers. They were royal dicks. So rather than sending you to a public school, you and Dean talked about straight homeschool. Which worked out well. You got to attend hunts more often. Of course you weren’t allowed to help too much, overprotective dad and such. Life had been dialing back to normal for you. Well- as normal as it could be for a Winchester. Up until now.
You, your dad, and Uncle Sam pulled up to a house. All of you were going to go inside and do the normal routine. Ask questions. Anything weird.
Blah blah blah.
Three teenage girls sat on the porch. Glaring at you and then talking to one another before smiling happily.
“Dad, I think I’ll stay in the car.” You said, all the while never breaking eye contact with the small bundle of girls.
“What? W-” Sam nudged his brother mid sentence. Directing his attention to the girls who were too judgmental for their own good. “They’re not going to say anything to you.” Your dad sighed out with sympathy.
“They don’t have to…” you broke the eye contact you had with them before turning your head completely away from the window.
“You really think some petty teenage girl is going to say anything even remotely offensive when two big guys with guns are with you?” Your Uncle had his arm drooped over the black leather seat. Making it so he was looking right at your hanging face.
“Teenage girls are mean.” Taking your head, you dramatically laid it back onto the seat. Letting out a deep breath of air as it hit.
“So be mean.” Dean piped up, causing you to lift your head with a furrowed brow. “You’re a teenage girl. So if they want to bitches- just out bitch them.” He smiled at you just as you smiled at him.
“Really?” You took one final glance at the girls who were clearly pointing at you and laughing.
“Really.” They both say at the same time. It honestly freaked you out how they did that on occasion.
There was no need to say anything. The three of you reached for the door handle nearest to you and swung it open. The entire walk up to the front door, you never broke eye contact with one of the girls who seemed to be the culprit behind it all.
The two suited men beside you had no issue getting past the girls. It wasn’t until you tried that one of them stood up and stopped you dead in your tracks.
“Sorry. No trash dressed hoodlums allowed.” She snickered. Feeling proud of herself. Your dad and uncle instantly turned around with their eyebrows raised.
“Guess being a hoodlum would be better than being you.” You tried to push past her but her force drove you down the three steps with a stumble. Driving you to land straight on your ass.
Dean was about to snatch the bitch up by her hair no doubt, but Sam stopped him.
“Don’t talk to me like that lowlife. I had a concussion and can’t take your shit.” The girl spat out. Crossing her arms as though she won.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” You pushed yourself upwards and onto your feet before walking over to her and getting right in her face. “Did you hit your head on the gear shifter?” The girl was more surprised you said that then you were.
Without a problem, you pushed right by the girl and made your way up the stairs for a second time. Stopping before landing in the deck.
“Anything to say lemmings?” You asked with confidence in your voice. Both of the girls shook their heads before moving off the steps completely.
“When I said be a bitch- I didn’t think you’d…you know.” There was a large hint of proud parenting on Dean’s face.
“I think these pigtail braids might be too tight.” You laughed out, causing you both to smile just as Sam knocked on the door.