The Runt of the Litter

The Straw Girl

Note: Thank you for the reads, votes, and comments. I will never get tired of seeing people read and enjoy this story!

This is the conversation that never happened in the chapter Chaos as Therapy. I wasn't going to write it, because Winchesters avoid things, especially when they're hard to discuss. Something happened since I posted that chapter, though, that made me really hate the idea of Anna not having this conversation with her brothers. Hard conversations are where growth comes from.

Don't expect immediate resolution. This turned out long and Anna is in the same negative headspace as in Chaos as Therapy for a lot of it. But do expect a happy ending! As in Chaos as Therapy, Anna is sixteen.

The Straw Girl

"Did you hear what I just said to you?"

"Yeah," Anna said. "So?"

"Are you kidding me? So?" Dean had his arms crossed over his chest, and on the other side of the table, Sam looked deeply uncomfortable. "Give it to me." She didn't move, and Dean fixed her with a deadly and serious look. "Now."

Anna stared dully at her older brother and tried to wait him out. Like usual, it didn't work. He was steadfast and determined, and she was just grumpy and didn't feel like doing anything. She was no match. She flicked her phone into silent mode, turned it off, and passed it begrudgingly to Dean, being sure to slap it into his palm a little harder than necessary.

"Stow the attitude," he added sternly and pocketed her phone. "You know you deserve this."

"Yeah, totally. Why would I deserve to have any semblance of a social life?" Anna griped and rolled her eyes without even trying to hide it.

"Don't be so dramatic."

"Don't be so annoying."

"Don't be such a little-" Dean cut himself off just before Sam did.

"Dean," Sam said and shook his head.

Anna took the opportunity Sam had, however inadvertently, provided her with and got up from the table in the library to go to her room and stew in her anger. She had no idea how she would occupy herself without her phone while trapped in the bunker. She couldn't even play music or watch anything without her phone. Netflix and her right to leave the bunker for anything non-school related had both been confiscated after the party on Friday, four days ago now.

"Don't even think about walking away right now," Dean said, following her just a few steps before he stopped and crossed his arms again. "We are not done talking. Anna."

Except they hadn't been having a conversation. She turned on her heel and put her hands on her hips, a stance she'd learned subconsciously from Dean and was now using on Dean. "No," she said. "You're not done. And you don't need an audience to run your mouth."

"Woah," Dean exclaimed, his head pulled back as if she'd crossed some kind of invisible but sacred line. "How about a little respect," he reminded her, equal amounts of hurt and anger in his face.

His expression hardened, and Anna sighed as he snapped his fingers and pointed at the chair she'd just vacated, facial muscles locked tensely in place. He didn't say anything until she'd followed his unspoken instructions and sat back down.

In his seat, Sam had a dreadful look on his face and was switching between staring purposefully at his laptop and stealing glances at the exchange between his siblings.

In an intimidating pose he'd perfected since Anna's thirteenth birthday, Dean placed one hand on the table and leaned down ever so slightly, putting himself not only at a level twice her height, but also positioning himself so that he was literally directly above her. She hated it, and he knew it.