Hey, so this is the first fanfic I've published do I apologize if I made any mistakes. This is a Supernatural fanfic in which Sam and Dean have a little sister named Holland Winchester. I made changes from the show, such as Mary died when Sam was six; Dean was ten, and Holly was a baby. Please leave reviews. I welcome constructive criticism, tell me what you like/dislike tell me what to improve, and ill try to incorporate as many suggestions as possible.

Holly:15 Dean:26 Sam:22

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Holly and my OC's

CHAPTER ONE-

It is late, I'm not one-hundred percent sure what time it is, but the sun isn't up yet, so there's that.

I shift my eyes to the dash clock. It's just past four am. Time, it's easy enough to think about, and easier to drown your thoughts in. 'Time keeps on slippin' slippin' slippin' into the future' I hum to myself. The Steve Miller Band was on to something with that song.

Thinking about time 'slippin' away is a helluva lot easier than thinking about tonight's earlier complications.

To give a quick recap, a game highlight, if you will.

I went on a hunt tonight, and no, not hunt like Bambi or those poor little quail birds. My eldest brother Dean and I were tracking a werewolf, for like, three months now.

Yup, shocker! Werewolves are real and so are ghosts and demons, almost everything from your worst nightmares walks the streets, and you people have no idea, at least bigfoot isn't real...I think? The closest thing to a sasquatch I've ever tangled with is my brother Sam. He's got the shaggy hair and all...

Anyways where was I? Oh right, fast-forwarding a little, we found our Wolf Man, and per usual, I was told with a not so thinly veiled threat, to stay in the car.

But me being utterly me, complicates things.

I couldn't just sit back through the turn of events. Not this time, not ever.

Everything was going according to plan, Aces. actually

We didn't plan on a third wolf. In hindsight, it should've been obvious, packs animals and all that jazz, but semantics.

Faster than I could blink, the wolf was on top of Dean, jaws snapping dangerously close to his throat.

I emerged from my 'observation' point and unloaded my clip into it, hoping by a strange twist of fate that at least one bullet made it to the heart.

But with my luck, no dice.

The fugly overgrown dog lunged at me, but firing my gun had managed to distract it long enough for Dean to get up and recover, shooting it straight in the heart. As always, right on the mark, Daddy's perfect little solider. I roll my eyes at the thought and bite back my smartass remarks; they're not going to help me.

The ride back to the motel was enveloped in pure silence. Not even the radio could ease the tension.

Ever since the day my other brother, Sam, had left for college, I had become Dean's new hunting partner for the past four years. Yay me.

Although Dean's perspective on the matter is much more begrudging, he would much rather have Sam hunting with him.

Part of me understands completely, I'm only fifteen, but I've been training since I was eight, and I'm pretty damn good if I had to say so myself,

I think I'm the best option to watch his back. I mean, I learned everything from him, from tying shoes to handling a sawed-off.

Regardless, Dean is pissed, which, by default, pisses me off. I just saved his ass!

So...here we are another day, another sketchy motel.

I'm currently waiting for the inevitable fight to happen, which isn't so uncommon.

I'll never say it out loud, but I'm just like Dean in the departments of sarcasm, stubbornness, devastatingly good looks, and refusal to back down from a fight.

Plus, throw a bit of Sam's rebelliousness in me, and I'm a lethal personality cocktail of both my brothers.

While this comes in handy at times, it also makes fights a hundred times more complicated then they need to be. I'm pure Winchester, it comes with the territory.

I follow' his tallness' into our room.

I drop my duffel of all my life's belongings on the bed and sit down waiting for what I, my friends, like to call 'hurricane' Deanna.'

I peak to where he's standing. He's glaring and not saying a word as he takes off his worn-in brown leather jacket and tosses it on the back of a chair.

I observe him closely, trying to get a read on his mood.

His jaw is clenched, and he crosses his arms across his chest, sending me the complete "dad" look. Yeah, he's pissed.

I return the glare and mirror him, crossing my arms as well.

For a moment, we stare, little sister to big brother, my light green eyes into his emerald green eyes, one waiting for the other to inevitably cave.

It stays dead silent. The tension is thick enough to cut.

I'm the first to break. "Are you just going to glare a hole into my head all night? Or can we get a move on with this?" I ask, bored, raising a brow in question.

I instantly regret it. Dean sends me a look that almost replicates our father perfectly, a look that makes me feel like I'm five, not fifteen.

"Alright kiddo, you wanna get this over with?" he says in an eerily calm voice, the kind he uses when he's furious...oh, goodie for me.

"Let's start with what the hell you were thinking! You could've gotten yourself killed!" He yells, taking a few steps closer to the bed, but he knows to keep his distance.

"What was I thinking, Dean? Hmm? What did I think when I saw a werewolf pin you down and try to make bite-sized kibble out of you? I didn't think, Dean. I didn't WASTE TIME to think! I acted! Why are you so mad? We're both alive!" I counter

"Why am I mad?" He scoffs.

"Yeah," I nod. "What did I do to tick off the almighty Dean this time! Besides, keeping you from being killed!" I yell exasperated

"THAT'S THE PROBLEM, HOLLAND! YOU DIDN'T THINK! YOU NEVER THINK! What would have happened to you?! What if I didn't recover quick enough?"

"I-" I start at a loss, my voice falling. It never crossed my mind.

"I trusted that you would." I shrug helplessly. It's true. I wasn't worried about me because I trust Dean in his capabilities one-hundred percent. But obviously, that trust doesn't go both ways.

"Well, don't! Don't put that much trust in me! If I didn't get to my gun when I did, that-" His voice cracks.

"Dean-"

"That would've been on me, and I-I couldn't live with that." He shakes his head.

"It wouldn't have been your fault," I try to appease him. It was the wrong thing to say. I can see the near tears turn to anger in a flash.

"You have no self-preservation! You talk about me getting torn to pieces, what do you think would've happened to you, Holland! That was a rookie move, and you know it! With what you pulled tonight, I don't want you watching my back!" He yells

His words hurt. We're both hurt. I should leave it alone, but I can't.

I push off the bed, walking over to him, slowly. I stand toe to toe with him, and I look up. I'm not necessarily short at 5'7; he's freakishly tall.

"If Sam were here, he would've done the same thing, and you wouldn't have said a damn word to him about it. Like it or not, Sam's off in bumfucking Normalville living the apple pie life, and Dad is god knows where! You're a little short on options." I point out.

"Yeah, well, he's gone and never coming back. Stop trying to be him!" Dean yells.

"Well, you're not, Dad! You never will be. My actions are my own damn fault! Stop being so controling" As soon as the words leave my mouth, instant regret slams into me.

Dean practically raised me along with Sam. He was there more than Dad ever was.

I instantly slap my hand over my mouth, like it would take the words back.

I know that stung. I just ripped the scab off a deep down, never healing wound. Fuck, I practically rubbed salt in it.

He finally makes a move to grab his jacket and keys and strides towards the door.

"Dean..." I call, he pauses in the open doorway. "I'm sorry," I whisper. He waits for a slight second before harshly slamming the door behind him.

I flop down on the lumpy bed letting out a frustrated scream into my pillow.

God, that was so stupid of me. I know his guilt complex. I know what Dad put him through. Why Dean always tries to do the best he can and always feels rejected like he's never good enough. I can't believe I said that to him.

I gnaw away at my thoughts. It's been hours, all my calls to Dean and text messages unanswered have been unanswered. It's straight to voicemail. He turned his phone off.

I'm way passed worried. I'm yet again pissed. Fuck it. I decide to stop pacing like a maniac and go to bed. Dean should be back with a major hangover in the morning. He always is.