Warnings: Mentions of depression and self harm. Nothing graphic
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Tugging on your long sleeves, you sat in the backseat of the Impala, watching as your brothers argued animatedly between themselves. Not even glancing back to you, they were completely immersed in whatever had started it.
Sighing, you stared out the window, your eyes tearing up as you tried to keep all these empty thoughts away. You had been doing so much better. Smiling had become easier, laughter spilled from your lips easily now. Your brothers had noticed the change, not knowing why or how, but glad that you were once again the happy little sister they had always known.
Little did they know it was hard for you to constantly act like this. That when you were alone in your room in the bunker, tears often filled your eyes as you curled in on yourself. That sometimes, when nothing else seemed to work, you would lock yourself in your bathroom, escaping the only way you knew how.
But for the past two weeks you had gotten past that. The need to cut to make yourself better. The constant down spiraling mood that had you quiet and withdrawn more often than you cared to admit. You wanted to participate in your brother's conversations, even if the effort was too much sometimes.
That's why they brought you on this hunt. While they never really knew how bad your depression, or self-harming had gotten, they had always been able to read you better than you wanted. So, when you started staying out of your room a little more often, sitting with them as they shared beers, they had smiled between themselves.
"So Y/N, you ready to act the part of FBI?" Dean asked, glancing in the rear-view mirror to look at you.
"Not really." You grumbled. You were sure you looked much too young to be an Agent, and you didn't want the three of you getting caught.
"Well, suck it up cuz it's happening." He argued, and your other brother Sam just shrugged his shoulder at you.
Before you could argue, Dean was pulling over to a hotel, and you climbed out of the car, stretching your back. Sam went in to get the room, while Dean began pulling the bags out of the trunk. Sam came out smiling, holding two room keys. "Y/N, thought you might like your own room." He told you, handing you over the key.
"Hey, what about me? I'm the oldest, shouldn't I get my own room?" Dean grumbled halfheartedly.
Heading into your room, you quickly changed into the new FBI gear they had bought you a couple of weeks ago. You had insisted on the long sleeves and blazer, knowing they would cover the scars you tried to hide from your brothers. Placing your hair in a simple French twist, you met them at the Impala.
"Y/N, I want you to go with Sam, talk to the families of the victims. I'm gonna head to the morgue. Try to get some more information on this.
After dropping Dean off at the morgue, you slid into the front seat, while Sam took over driving. "Sure you're okay with this?" He asked you, and you nodded.
