Supernatural Imagines and One-shots (Requests Closed)

Just Whistle - Crowley

A/N: I'm back and posting. Reader is a Sister!Winchester

***

"Y/N/N, you've got a package," Dean yelled from the other room.

You hopped off your bed and hurried toward the library where he'd called from. Sammy held the large padded envelope out to you and you snatched it from his grip.

"So, what is it this time?" Dean, your twin, asked as he sipped his beer. "Holy undergarments? Cursed dryer lint?"

You rolled your eyes. "Hey, you guys have your thing, I have mine. Besides, I thought you weren't going to make fun of me any more after the doll?"

Sam grimaced. "Let's not bring that up. Ever again."

Dean rolled his eyes and you gave them a little wave as you left the library to return to your own room. A couple of years ago you had started buying 'weird' items off the internet. Ghosts in a jar, haunted paintings, cursed amulets and whatever else tripped your fancy. You did what research you could and bought the items you felt had at least a chance of being genuine.

When you'd started doing this a couple of years ago, your brothers had teased you relentlessly. Then you'd purchased a rag doll that moved by itself while all three of you watched. After that they agreed it was best if some items were out of the hands of the uninformed. That didn't keep them from teasing you on occasion as more than half the things you bought were just normal everyday objects that someone made up a story for.

You dropped onto your bed and ripped open the envelope. You shook it over the bed and out came a dog whistle and a wrinkled sheet of paper, the writing on it thin and crooked.

This whistle is your problem now. Don't try to return it. The old man that gave it to me called it the Whistle of the Damned. He said it was travelling, looking for its owner. Whatever the hell that means. He told me to use it on damned creatures. That the whistle made me their god. All it's done is bring me a crap ton of misery and bad luck. If I were you, I'd send it on as quick as possible.

You arched a brow as you read over the words again before setting the paper aside. You picked up the tarnished golden whistle and turned it in your fingers. It didn't look like anything other than an old, dirty dog whistle. Maybe it worked on hellhounds? You shrugged.

The surface of the metal was rough under your fingertips and you tilted it to examine it more closely under the light. It was apparent that at one time something was etched along the side, but the years had faded it and made it impossible to read. You carried it into your bathroom and dug around under the counter until you found some anti-bacterial wipes.

Only after cleaning it as thoroughly as you could did you take a chance and blow the whistle. Nothing happened and you realized you had no way of even knowing if it worked as a dog whistle. It wasn't like you could hear it.

A shout from the other room caught your attention and you dropped the whistle, grabbed your gun and hurried into the hall to track the disturbance.

"What the bloody hell are you two playing at?"

A shiver ran through you with the familiar voice. You would recognize that British accent anywhere. You lowered your weapon and stepped into the room to find your brothers gaping at the king of hell. All three of them looked completely confused yet angry at the same time.

"What did you two do to piss him off this time?" you asked as you leaned against the doorframe.

Crowley spun to face you, the scowl on his face transforming into a smile. "Ah, there she is. The only Winchester worth talking to. Hello, love."