Dribs and Drabs of One Shots

Sam Winchester - Peachy Dreams

Based off the imagine from imaginingsupernatural on tumblr:

Imagine struggling with insomnia and one night, it hits home really hard but then feeling a strong pair off arms wrap around you and Sam telling you that you'll be okay.

Warnings: language, fluff, possible angst

(gif not mine!)

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Working on the road was a bitch to say the least. Especially when you did it alone. Thankfully though, it didn't last for very long. It was a hunt where I first met the Winchester's, but I'll get to that part later. 

It was supposed to be easy. Simple. I mean, that's how it usually works; you get word of a case in some creepy town that no one even knows exists, you drive there, truck packed to the top with guns and other equipment, ready for anything. Then you wonder round the town meeting some of the creepy locals who tell you all about the mysterious goings on in the past year that only happen around a full moon. After collecting info, you pack a bag and go out into the forest and wait. It should have been a quick kill and disappear case, but it was definitely not. Hence why I was in the position I was in. Chained to the roof of some old, abandoned cave in the middle of a forest on the night of a full moon. 

'Fucking assholes,' I breathed as I stood higher on my toes, trying to release the pressure of my weight on the rope that was wrapped tightly around my wrists. I had only figured out after I was whacked over the head that the locals had known exactly what was going on. If I had known that I was hunting a wendigo, I wouldn't have come alone. Scratch that, yes I would. Not only for the fact that hunters didn't like working with me and vice versa, something about me being too 'shoot first, ask questions later' but the fact that I didn't rest. At all. Sure, there would be moments where I checked into a motel, took a quick shower and rested my eyes for an hour, but that was it. Despite all hunters being on a four hour sleep period, they wanted to keep it that way and not lessen it. 

Yet, despite my crappy insomnia, the small incision that the wendigo had made on my stomach had someone drained all my strength, making me feel more tired that usual. Guess that was my own damn fault and that of the local ranger who could have sworn he saw a wolf up in the forest last month. Little did I know that the whole town worshipped the beast and offered it tourists every month to save their own. Bastards. 

'I don't see why they didn't let me kill you,' I said aloud to the empty, damp cave, not really caring whether or not my words would draw attention to me and would end up killing me even more quickly. 'I mean, it's not like you actually help them in any way. If they just let me kill you, then everything would be peachy. But, no. They had to trick me into thinking that you were a frickin werewolf!' 

I let my words echo through the cave, waiting for a sign of movement, yet nothing came. Clever little buggers' wendigos are. Pesky beast got rid of the knife in my left boot and the gun strapped to my leg. Not that they would help in a fight against one but they'd do better than bare hands. 

I couldn't even remember how long I had been in that cave. Probably a day, maybe two, and in all that time, I had only ever seen the beast twice. Firstly to cut my stomach and the second to have a drink from it which was beyond disgusting. Not as bad as Saw but close. 

I had pretty much given up hope, residing myself to letting the lack of strength take over as well as falling in and out of consciousness. I almost thought that the gunshots I heard were in my imagination, that is until I heard the shrill scream of the wendigo before feeling a pair of warm hands on my wrists, carefully cutting the rope that held me before pulling me into their arms. I think I tried to say something, probably something sarcastic knowing me, but I couldn't remember. The only thing that I did recall was the musky scent that filled my senses as well as the warm arms around me.