Sam Winchester Imagines

Babysitting

"Thank you, again, Sam.  We'll be back tomorrow morning," you can hear the fake smile plastered of your mother's face. 

"Any time, ma'am," You heard Sam say happily.

You were sitting in the living room.  You didn't understand why you needed a babysitter.  You were 15 and the neighbor was only two years older than you. 

You felt bad for him.  You heard that his mother died in a house fire in Kansas.  His father went crazy after that and was put in a mental ward.  His father was blaming monsters for his wife's death.  And his brother was in a coma, he got drunk a year or two back and got in a bar fight.  His father brainwashed him to believe in monsters. Dean, his brother, claimed that the guy was a vampire.  The man hit him hard enough to knock him into a coma.

You heard the door shut and Sam, your neighbor, walk into the livingroom.

"Hey," Sam smiled at you.

"Hi," you smile fakely.  You didn't need a babysitter.  It was a pain for everyone. 

He sits down next to you.

"You can leave, you know," you tell him. "I'll be fine on my own."

"I told your parents I'd watch you.  I also told them I'd make sure you took these," he said and held up your medication.

"I don't need them," you mutter under your breath. 

He handed them to you anyway and tilted your head back, swallowing them.  "Wouldn't you rather be out with friends or doing something without some stupid kid around?" You ask him.

"No," he smiles. "I happen to like the stupid kid."

You blush a little.  "I'm thirsty," you say as you stand up. "Want anything?"

He shakes his head and you walk into the kitchen.  You take a quick sip of vodka.  You cough as it slides down your throat, burning it.  You wash it down with some water. 

"See, mom? I do bad things whether or not there's someone watching me," you think to yourself.

Sam appears in the doorway.  "Aren't you a little young to start drinking?" He asks.

You jump, "Isn't drinking a necessity?" You ask.

"Not that kind," he responds.

"Well," you pull the bottle down again, "No use in hiding it now."

You take a long sip and cough,  "Damn," you mutter.

"Hey, hey.  Easy now," he grabs the bottle from you and you giggle. 

"You're really hot," you say.  You don't drink much, so that last sip nearly put you over the edge.  You take the bottle from him and take another sip.  Now, You're drunk.

"Shit," Sam mutters.  He opens a cabinet and pulls out crackers.

"No," you say, pushing away the crackers.  "I'm fine."

"Right," he says sarcastically.

"I'm fine," you whisper and go back into the living room. 

He follows you, "Is something wrong?" He cocks his head to the side.

"Yes," you say, but you won't tell him what.  No matter how much he asks.  He knows he'll have to give you more to drink if he wants you to tell him.  He's not willing to get in that much trouble just so he could find out what was wrong.

He turns on the tv.  You lean over and kiss his lips. 

He pushes you back and pulls away.  "Y/N, you're drunk," he says, stating the obvious.

"And you're hot," you repeat.

Sam sighs.  "I think you should go to bed," he tells you. 

"I think we should have sex," you say, your voice slurring.

He just stutters, he can't seem to form a real sentence.  "You're really drunk," he manages to say.  "I don't think it's a very good idea."

"It's not illegal," you say.  "You're only 17.  I'm 15, that's- two years."

"And you're drunk," he repeats for the third time.

"I know.  But it's something that I've wanted to do for a while."

"Too bad."

You get up and walk to your room.  You're very sad. 

"Y/N, wait," he shouts after you.

You walk into your room and lie down on your bed.  He opens the door after a couple seconds. 

"What?" You say.

"I'm sorry," he says and lies down next to you. 

You turn to face him and he kisses your lips gently.  You open your mouth just enough to let his tongue slip past your lips. 

He slowly snakes his hand around your waist and puts it in your lower back, pulling you closer to him.  He was warm and smelled really good. 

He pulls away for a moment.  "You're sure you won't regret this?" Sam asks.

"Don't ruin the moment," you say and kiss him again.

His lips taste like alcohol due to your previous kiss with him.

He starts to pull off your shirt as you run your fingers through his hair and unbutton his shirt.

-The next morning-

"Ugh, my head," you mutter.

Sam was still in your bed. 

"Sam?" You ask.  You don't remember last night. The last thing you remember was him trying to hand you crackers.

"Hmm..." he says and rolls over to face you.  You realized he wasn't wearing a shirt and neither were you.

"What happened last night?" You ask, your voice still groggy from sleep.

"You don't remember?" He asked starting to wake up.

"That's why I asked, smartass."

"We had sex."

"Oh," you mumble.  

"It wasn't bad..." he said, he figured that you regretted it.  He got up and put on the extra clothes he brought.

You found a pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt. 

You heard a knock on the door and Sam went downstairs. 

"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs.  (Your last name)," he said without missing a beat. 

You got it off bed and went downstairs. 

"See? Now that wasn't so bad, right, hunny?" Your mom said to you. 

You shook your head.

You wouldn't be complaining about a babysitter anymore.