A/N: Hey guys!
Sorry I haven't updated for a little while, but I've been so busy :) I've officially been in America for one week, and I love it so much!
Anyway, I'm not going to ramble today haha Just so everyone knows, for these oneshot things, I'll always post the prompt in the A/N, unless it will ruin it to know in advance of reading; in which case, I'll just post it at the bottom :) This prompt was 'Write about yourself when you were seven'
Let me know what you think!
xoloveJBox
Seven
Write about yourself when you were seven.
Lena stared down at the assignment question for a long time.
It was late, and she could barely keep up with the towns they found themselves in. Sam and Dean were both snoring lightly in their beds. Unable to sleep, Lena had slipped out from beneath the sheets and decided to crack open some long neglected school work.
Now, however, she wished she hadn't.
She knew that the essay was being marked on writing style and structure, not creativity, but who was going to believe that at the age of seven, she'd almost been killed by a shape-shifter in the form of her brother, or that she was finding out that all the monsters in the stories the same brother read to her every night were all real?
No one, that's who, and Lena knew it.
She rubbed at her eyes tiredly, and pulled her knees up to her chest as she started to think about what the other kids in her class might write.
She imagined white picket fences and packed lunches, and smiling at the neighbours who'd known you since the day you were born. Family vacations and waiting for the school bus every day and playing jump rope with friends you'd met in kindergarten.
Home videos. Family traditions. Normal.
The closest thing to home Lena had was the familiar feel of the impala's worn, leather interior.
Dean shifted in the bed behind her, and Lena turned to make sure she hadn't woke him up.
She watched him for a minute as he made himself comfortable and settled down again.
This was her normal. Forgettable motels in sleepy towns; never staying in one place long enough to make friends or feel any sense of familiarity.
Except for Sam and Dean.
Lena gathered up her books and pen and clambered back into bed with Dean. She draped the sheets over her legs and pulled up her knees to prop the book up. Sam was sprawled haphazardly across his bed, but Dean always made room for her. It wasn't that Sam wouldn't, but she'd always shared with Dean. In a way, she thought, that was kind of like a family tradition.
Lena smiled and wrote it down on her so-far blank page that she'd reserved for notes. Not necessarily that she still shared with her brother now, because to normal people, that was probably weird, but certainly that she used to wake her brother up when she had a bad dream or if she couldn't sleep. Then she wrote about Dean teaching her to ride a bike that he'd found in the dumpster around an empty parking lot, and Sam patiently showing her an easier way to remember her multiplication tables so she wouldn't feel so behind when she started yet another school. Hours spent trawling around countless libraries, drinking in endless books that may have peaked her interest, with Sammy grabbing the ones she couldn't reach for her, while Dean spent the time trying to pick up girls trying to do their homework.
There was an abundance of fond memories from that age and soon, she wasn't simply scrawling notes, but writing great chunks of essay until the pieces finally clicked together.
She dotted the final period as the weak, early morning sun started to spill in through the thin, cheap motel curtains.
Lena stifled a yawn as she got up and took her now completed school work back over the rickety desk. As she straightened it all away, ready to pack into the impala's trunk, Lena heard a mattress creak, and Dean's voice filtered across to her in a croaky whisper.
"What are you doing, Le?" he asked sleepily, and Lena glanced around to see her brother leaning up on his elbow, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
"School work," she answered quietly "I'm done now though. Go back to sleep."
"You're a little weirdo." Dean muttered, lifting up the blankets while he watched his sister pad back across the room towards him.
"Oh wow," Lena retorted sarcastically "You've got such a lovely way with words, asshat."
"You too kid," Dean smirked as Lena slipped next to him.
Once they were both settled again, it didn't take long for Dean's breathing to slow comfortably, and Lena knew that it didn't matter how dysfunctional her life could be. It was all the craziness she'd experienced, mixed with the blissful simplicity, that had made her the person she was, and Lena didn't think she was too bad, if she did say so herself.