Supernatural Sister Imagines

Imagine #109: Knittings of Mittens

Imagine: This imagine is kinda weird but imagine if you knitted some sturf for them dumb giants and Dean thought you were playing a prank on him and he gets like offended and shit. So yeah. It's weird.

Age: 16

Warnings: 🤷‍♀️

Also this one was co-written by me and Grace so yeet

_*_

The Winchester trio had never been one to care about fashion. In their world, the need for practicality and usefulness in their clothing stumped any and all want for matching palettes or fanciful materials.

She watched the leaves slowly break from the trees' hold and float down to the awaiting earth. Her finger grazed against the frost that had formed on the glass window, causing a chill to travel down her spine, and rest itself within her bones.

Years of hunting, years of running and blood loss and growing up too fast had left her anemic, easily susceptible to the chill that waited for her outside, so she took precautions, and learned how to knit her own winter garments.

It took away the boredom in the thin breaks between hunts, and the fulfilment that would rise within her once she actually put on something that she had made; it was something she couldn't let go of.

And it occurred to her that, if she got so much satisfaction out of her knitting, then how would she feel to see Sam and Dean wear what she made?

At first she struggled to decide what might befit her brothers enough to warrant them wearing anything she made. She knew well and good that knitted garments were often seen as something inmasculine by men unless professionally tailored by a company, and she pondered what she could make that wouldn't be ill-tasting in the eyes of her macho brothers. She knew Sam would be more accepting of different offers than would Dean, but she wanted to find something that they'd both enjoy, even if only somewhat.

She eventually decided that simple neutral tone beanies and scarves would be best, a nice olive green set for Dean, and a gentle gray for Sam. It was masculine enough that maybe even Dean would wear it out in public, but still had a hominess within it to suggest that it was made with love.

She spent hours cooped up in her room, sitting on the window seat that provided just enough light to formulate a stitch, (Btw yeah I know there's no windows is the bunker cause it's a bunker but go with me here) and knitting in the company of the sun and moon.

It became almost therapeutic for her, so much so that Sam began to wonder what she was doing with her spare time, constantly trapped in her room.

He saw the elongated shadow that the moon casted beneath her door long before he heard the soft melody of music stream through his ears. His curiosity got the best of him, and he couldn't help but inch the door open as quietly as he could, and quell his interest.

There she sat, long bamboo knitting needles grasped in each hand, weaving stitches into fabric as she droned out from the world. Her lips moved slightly as she sang to herself, her voice ethereal and seeming as though it weren't even coming from her. It was a picturesque-moment of peace that Sam captured with a simple click of a button. He gave one last glance at his little sister, the hints of a smile lighting his cheeks, before making his way down the hallway and into his own room.

~~~

She was just finishing up the last of Sam's set when the moose himself went unnoticed by her door. She held the clothes up to the light, twisting them in her hands. She pulled Sam's large hat over her head only to laugh when it covered her eyes and went all the way to her nose. She smiled pridefully to herself and set them down, standing from her seat and cracking her back with a grunt, shaking out her stiff joints.