SPN Brother!Reader Imagines

Have You Ever Seen the Rain?

Beads of rain spat at the motel windows, sounding faintly like disturbed bees. The lights had been flickering on and off throughout the night, not fazing you, it hadn't yet messed with the 32-inch Box Television sitting across the room.

You were half-watching some black and white western show with a bag of chips in your lap, patiently waiting for the Winchester's arrival. You usually waited up for your brothers when they went out on hunts. Even if you did try to fall asleep at some point they would come stumbling in, probably bleeding, in need of your assistance—even though you knew you'd be much useful if you could actually go with them. It was a mystery to you how they still saw you as their five-year-old kid brother who can't manage to pick up a gun. Hell, they started hunting when they were far younger then you!

Shifting uncomfortably on the back-stiffening pullout mattress, (which you always got stuck with at motels), you glanced at the old digital clock sitting on Dean's nightstand. It read 1:47 AM. You sighed and grabbed a book sitting in arm's reach and start thumbing though it. The only hunting skill you were rusty with was Latin. You had gotten a first form Latin workbook at a bookstore not too long ago and had been doing the worksheets daily—and of course having Sam check it for conformation.

As you turned to unit five in your book, (that was on nouns third and fifth declensions), two dark figures shouldered through the narrow door and into the room. Even though it was hard to make-out their faces it was clear to you it was Sam and Dean. They came limping in, leaned against each other so they didn't stumble over, and dropped to the closest twin bed. Mildly alerted, (for this was a normal occurrence), you got to your feet and grabbed the first aid kit. Jogging over you sat across your panting brothers.

Dean looked upward at you, "Test," he breathed, "you gotta do the test." he looked to the salt and holy water sitting across the room.

"I believe you." you responded, snapping open the first aid kit.

"Y/N, do the test." he repeated a bit more stern. You sighed and grabbed the salt and jug. Dean and Sam in unison stuck out their arms. You poured holy water on each after sprinkling on salt. You then took out your fold in pocket knife and made a small incision on each forearm. It all checked out.

"Happy?" you asked as you grabbed some hydrogen peroxide from the kit.

"Very." he replied dully.

"Here, put this on any open wounds, I'll check Sam." you said as you looked over to the younger brother, who was tightly clasping the large gnash on his arm.

His long dark hair was plastered to his forehead with cold sweat and rain. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing the wound, "Jesus, Sam. This thing's gonna need some stitches." you said after further inspection.

Sam exhaled in annoyance, "Alright, do we have the stuff for it?" you nodded and pulled out the cotton and sewing needle. You had been doing your research on medical treatment. You had quickly become the Winchester male nurse.

After sterilizing the tools and cleaning Sam's wound you began stitching him up. He winced and looked down to the uneven stitches, "You know you could try to do it a little neater."

"Really Sam?" you laughed in an aggravated tone, "You know what? How 'bout instead you two just try not getting your asses handed to you every hunt? Sound good?" Dean rolled his head back and cackled.

"Alright, touché." Sam smiled.

Dean had got some towels from the bathroom and tossed one to Sam, "Try not to get any of your blood on it, will ya?"

"Well, gee Dean, I'm sorry for bleeding!" Sam replied sarcastically before flinching again. He used his free hand to dry his wet hair and clothing.

"So did you guys gank the son of a bitch?" you asked. The damn thing had been going after people for months.

"You bet your ass. Of course Sammy was down for the count pretty quick." Dean laughed, alerting Sam.

"Shut up."

it didn't take long before you finished up Sam's stitches and wrapped up the wound. After that the boys cleaned their cuts and dried most of themselves.

There was a moment of silence before Dean eyed your bag of chips. He grabbed them and plopped on to your pull-out mattress.

"What are we watchin'?" Dean asked through a mouth full of salt and vinegar chips.

You snapped your attention over to him, "Hey! Don't get my bed soaked!"

Dean realized he was still damp and got to his feet, "It was uncomfortable anyway." he shrugged, chips still in hand.

You smiled, "I have no idea what's on, some old western show."

Realization light up Dean's eyes once catching a glimpse of the program. He shot you a look, "This isn't any old western show, this is The Rifleman! Sammy, you remember watching the re-runs on Sunday mornings when we were little?" Dean's tone was excited, he was like a little kid.

Sam laughed, "I remember, Dean."

"Never heard of it." you shrugged.

Dean raised a brow, "Well, that's just not right." he threw the bag and grabbed you by the shoulders, turning you toward the TV. "Watch."

You all settled down and watched the show, and for that short time you didn't have a care in the world. You didn't think about Dad, or the Latin worksheets, or the monsters going bump in the night. All you focused on was your brothers and Lucas McCain with his customized rapid fire rifle. And even as you watched the black and white show, feeling yourself drifting off, with your eyelids getting heavier, your big brothers by your side, you knew you would never forget these moments. The little moments that make it all worth it.