The Winchester Sister (COMPLETED)

Chapter 1

You've heard of my brothers, yes? Sam and Dean Winchester. Ahh, they think they're so special. The 'Best Hunters', they're called.

Only because I'm not recognized by anyone.

My name is Asaya (a-sigh-a) Winchester. I make my brothers look like amateurs. They've been hunting since Sam was twelve and Dean was sixteen. Well, since Dean and I were sixteen.

We're twins, you see.

Except I was raised separately. John, my father, though I refuse to call him that, didn't want his precious sons to know there were better hunters out there. So he locked me up. I live with Bobby Singer, whom I call Uncle Bobby.

With Uncle Bobby, I've been hunting since I was four.

I know ways to kill almost everything out there, and much more creative ways to keep demons out. Like, please, watching them hunt is ridiculous. If you want to keep something out, you don't put the salt right in front of the damn door. You put it a few feet back so the movement of the door doesn't move it out of place. And you should always glue it down. That way they can't simply blow it away.

Right now Bobby won't let me hunt. Why? Because, well, I broke my leg (no thanks to the damn werewolves). And ' it needs time to heal', apparently. Even though it's been three weeks and I can almost walk, he won't let me hunt again. I'm going mad.

So I spend all day in my room. The door is hidden behind a bookcase, so the boys have never found me.

One thing I do to waste time is call my brothers. They have my number saved in their phones. That's how often I call them. But they don't know the girl calling them is their sister. They've threatened to hunt me several times, which results in me laughing my ass off as they follow the trail I leave them to the most ridiculous places. For instance, Sam is terrified of clowns, so I fed them a trail to a clown school. It was hilarious.

They call me from time to time, demanding to know who I am. I always say 'oh dear boys. You should know. I was with you until my twin and I were four. He, at least, should remember me.'

And I think Dean does. Up until we were three, we spent all our time together. We both slept in the same bed, as I had nightmares every night and couldn't sleep unless he was there. That hasn't gone away. I get 1-4 hours of sleep per night, and those are never restful. I basically run on caffeine. Dean and I would play together with Mom, Monopoly and Sorry and Uno and Phase Ten, my personal favorite, and more. We had a swing set in the backyard, with two swings next to each other, so we'd spend a lot of time talking and swinging. I loved art. Still do, but I don't paint or draw as much anymore. I painted all over the dining room table when I was two, and I painted Dean when we were three. Dean used to love knitting. He would never admit it now, but I still have some hats he made me, despite the fact they don't fit. If we ever meet, I'll definitely tease him about that.

I sit up and shake my head. This is no time to get emotional.

I grab my crutches and walk to my door, opening the knob and pushing the bookcase away easily, as I've been doing for what, twenty one? Twenty one years now.

I limp my way to the kitchen, opening the fridge while balancing on one leg, and grab two pieces of turkey. I carry them to the counter where I snatch two pieces of bread.

Just than, the doorbell rings. Bobby's hunting, and I'm not supposed to answer the door, but it could be him. I suppose it's been long enough.

So I limp my way over to the door, sandwich in my mouth, and open it. To people I wasn't expecting.