Always With You - Father Dean Imagine

Always With You - Father Dean Imagine

Status: Not Requested

Word Count: 1,778

Warnings: parent death, drunk driving, mention of social services, parent losing custody of a child

Music Suggestion: Safe & Sound (From the Hunger Games) - Taylor Swift, The Civil Wars

After your mother had died in a horrid hit and run, your father Dean and uncle Sam did everything that they possibly could to keep you in their custody. They were unprepared for the wrath of your mothers parents back in Italy. 

You were six years old and the light of your fathers life. You helped to keep his head in line and you were the final thread of his sanity. Even your uncle Sam benefited from the love you shared. You were their hope and everything more.

It was not to last.

—

Your dad knew your mother well, besides the one night stand. She had kept him in your life from the moment that she was made aware of her pregnancy. He’d always told himself he’d be unable to be a father but the second he laid his eyes on you, he experienced a love like no other. 

Your uncle Sam was primarily angry about the whole situation. Being the former black sheep of the family, he recognised the draw backs of having a hunter for a parent and didn’t want you to feel left behind or forgotten, even if it meant never having a father. Yet, when Dean brought you home for the first time, Sam’s only instinct was to hold you close and kiss your rosey cheeks. 

Of course, when your mother became aware of the Winchester lifestyle, she wanted to place your under her wing and you protect you from whatever was out there until your final breath. But, as she recognised the fact that monsters weren’t the only dangers in life and that a threat could be a person walking by in the street, she reluctantly opened up to the idea of occasional weekend visits. 

They were not to be forever.

—

Years had now passed since your first ‘sleepover at daddy’s house’ when you were eight months, and now you were dropped off every Friday that your dad could take you and picked up on the Sunday night. It was in most cases, the light of your week. 

“Daddy!” You squealed, running into the arms of your bear of a father. 

“(Y/N)” He squealed back in the same tone, spinning you round. 

Once he placed you down you tackled Sam’s leg, still not being able to reach his waist. “How are you still so tiny at six?” Sam would joke, ruffling your hair.

“You’re too big.” You’d cutely defend yourself, poking him in the knee. 

Cas was an odd one to you. You knew he wasn’t the same as your mum, dad or uncle but you strongly aware of the fact that he was the same as family. 

“Hello Cassie.” You’d say in his voice, mimicking the gravel sound he made. 

“Hello (Y/N)” Cas would say in a formal voice, oblivious to the fact that you were six and your manners came from your father (so they were non-existent).

A majority of your weekend consisted of playing hide and seek with your dad and uncle, confusing Castiel with board games your mum had packed in your suitcase, cooking with Sam and dancing to rock music with your dad. 

It was the most fun you had. Yes, your mother made you laugh and giggle with her tickle attacks but to you, nothing beat at weekend at Dad’s.

That was until your mothers death.

—

You were playing in your bedroom while your mother watched reality TV in the living room. She yawned and stretched her stiff bones; working three jobs often wore her out and brought her to her tether but seeing you waiting at the school gates to be picked up and talk about your day made everything worth it. 

That day, she planed on finally buying you the purple trainers you’d wanted for god knows how long. When your mothers best friend came round to watch you for a couple of hours, your mum came into your bunny-decorated room and placed a kiss on your forehead. 

“Be good.” She said, before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“You too.” You responded, sharing a toothy grin at the sight of her smile. 

That would be the last ever moment you shared with your mother. 

— 

She’d been crossing the road when the local drunk decided to swerve to the other side of the road to avoid the traffic lights, knocking your mother off her path. 

When Dean received the call from your mother’s best friend to rush to the hospital, he felt a weight of guilt as he was unable to as he was on the other side of the country, following up on a case. 

Sadly, your mother’s best friend had to explain that your mum had passed and it wasn’t until two nights after that you became wrapped up in your father’s arms. 

“I’m so sorry baby.” Your dad said softly, tucking you as close as he could into his chest as he laid down in your bed in the bunker. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” 

“It’s ok daddy.” You whispered out through tears and snuggling into your dad, not truly understanding why your dad was apologising. Your innocence often warmed your fathers soul, but tonight, it only layered the guilt. 

He’d let you down, and not for the last time.

—

When it came to custody, your uncle and father thought that there was no doubt about it and that even though their lifestyle was dangerous, they’d have no worries about having to suffer the loss of you been taking away. They could not have been more wrong.  

When your grandparents came from Italy to attend the funeral of your mother, the looks and comments they gave your father and uncle set out the path for a bitter battle for you.

It began withe small acts - asking who you preferred staying with (grandma and grandad or dad and sam), questioning you on what time dad put you to bed or what he put in your school lunches. It quickly escalated to your grandmother keeping a record of when your dad was late to pick you up or when your uncle lost track of you as you played in the park. 

After a while, you father and uncle were told by social services that you could no longer stay in the bunker and that you had to stay with your grandparents for five out of the seven days of the week as Dean’s parenting style was deemed unsuitable ‘during a period of grief for a child’.

“But she’s mine.” Your father would growl every time your grandfather came to pick you up on the Sunday night.

“No, she was our daughters.” Your grandfather would always respond, luring you out of the bunker.

Like normal, your father would bite back his words and tears as his hugged you goodbye, the separation hurting him more and more with each end to each visit. However, one day, an argument broke out and compared to normal, Sam was not able to prevent Dean from lashing out and pushing your grandfather, thus causing his hip to give out and the police to be called.

Then, the four were summoned for the court date.

—

During the wait, you’d being staying with your grandparents for over a month and when you saw your father and uncle, you attempted to run towards them and be picked up and span round as you usually would be when they saw you. Sadly, your grandmother pulled you back and into the court room, your fathers smile fading from his face. 

The court trial dragged on for several hours as each guardian involved recited their reasons to have custody over you. When it was your turn to recite what it was like staying at your dads on a podium which was far to high for you, you glanced at your dad and uncle and sent them the biggest smile you could. They responded with even larger ones.

“So, (Y/N), what’s it like staying at daddy’s?” Your grandparents lawyer asked you as sweetly as possible. You didn’t like her.

“Awesome.” You simply responded, earning a chuckle on your uncle’s behalf.

“I mean, what do you guys do to have fun?” That question would lead to the ban on your father and uncle ever seeing you again.

All you had done was answer honestly. 

—

“I don’t understand why I can’t see my daddy!” You cried, pushing your grandmother away from you.

“You know why my sweetie! Taking you out shooting, making up all the nonsense about Castiel being an angel and the moving around - oh my goodness - what kind of parent does that!” She’d cry in answer to your question, throwing up her arms to be dramatic. 

The final time in which your father was given permission to see you was at the airport before your flight to your new life in Italy. You didn’t quite comprehend the fact that you were never going to see them again and as far as you were concerned, you were simply going on holiday.

So, when your grandmother and grandfather watched like hawks as your father and uncle approached you, tears dwelling in their eyes, you only wanted to comfort them.

Sam gave you the best and biggest hug he could manage, never wanting to let you go. You returned it as well as you could, anything to make them feel better. “It’s only a holiday Sammy.” You sweetly explained, playing with the ends of his hair as he brought himself down to your level, hands running over your cheeks. “I know. Promise you’ll be good and wont forget me?” Sam asked. “Of course I wont silly!” You stated. He returned with an emotional but weak smile.

When your father kneeled down, you could recognise the pain in his eyes. “What’s wrong daddy?” You asked, becoming upset at the sight of his tears. “Nothing baby, I just don’t like it when you go away.” He barely managed to choke out, running his fingers through your short locks as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “I’m always with you.” You comforted him, placing a kiss to his cheek. 

Just like the first time he met you, he placed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you.” He uttered, sitting up as your grandmother moved forward to take you away.

“Right back at you!” You yelled out through a laugh as your grandmother took your hand and pulled you towards the terminal. 

As you waved and turned around, not realising that you’d never see your father or uncle again, Dean replayed the words in his head as much as he could.

“I’m always with you.”