Supernatural Imagines

Flight of Fancy

You'd met Sam a while ago – by a while, you mean nearly fifteen years. Your parents had hunted together, just for a little while, and in that time – as a pair of seven year olds – you'd become good friends. It hadn't been for long, however, as in the ill-fated career of hunting, your parents and his father had split apart.

The fact that you'd met again in the same college, on the same course, had made you think about fate. You'd left your parents and he his dad and brother, only to run right back into each other. You'd quickly rekindled your friendship and within a matter of weeks, it had become something more. 

You'd loved every facet of your relationship – from the sitting together in classes, passing notes to one another, and writing papers while playing footsie under the library table. It seemed to give you a sense of normality within your otherwise turbulent life.

Alas, it was not to last. The life you'd chosen together quickly dissolved after someone else caught Sam's eye. You didn't know her particularly well – apart from seeing her around campus. You knew her name was Jess and she was entirely normal. Totally, utterly, normal. No crazy life, no hunting, no monsters, nothing out of the ordinary.

You remember the conversation as clear as day. He'd gone out with a random friend and you'd been doing homework in your dorm. You'd gotten a text asking to meet you by the fountain – which you did.

"Oh, hey, Y/N." He was late. You remember that. His hair was messy and a small part of you just knew.

"Sam." You'd quickly realised something was wrong, "What's up?"

"We need to talk."

"Sure." Ever the optimist, 22-year-old Y/N had desperately tried to stay positive.

"We..." He swallowed, "We can't do this anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Us. Together. It's not working, Y/N. I'm sorry. I am."

"Sam, don't-"

"Stop. Don't make this worse, please." He'd whispered, "But I need normal. And as much as I... as much as I love you, you can't do that. You just know, if we're together, it'll be a miracle if we even make it through college before we start hunting again." 

"That's not true."

"It is, Y/N. It is and I need you to see that. I need to get as far away from hunting as possible if I want to be happy." And then, the sneaky, manipulative, conniving bastard had the audacity to pull the, "You do want me to be happy, right?" Card. And you caved instantly, because you were a weak 22-year-old who didn't have the guts to say otherwise.

"Of course I do, Sam." You'd said softly, "You go do what it takes to make you happy."

You'd quickly turned away from him before you did something stupid like cry, and walked away. It hadn't taken long for you to run away from college, either, and straight back into the clutches of the hunting life. Your parents had welcomed you back with open arms and it had been like nothing had ever happened.

You don't know why those memories chose to resurface tonight, over an obviously watered-down whiskey in a questionable bar where the music is too loud and the patrons too obnoxious. The crowded, cigar-smelling room has an aura of discomfort – no-one really wants to complain, but no-one's having fun.

Which is why, in particular, you're surprised when someone slides into the seat beside you.

"What's someone like you doing in a place like this?" He asks with a smile. You turn to him slowly, drinking in his features – a sharp jawline, matched by a strong nose. Plump lips, and the most beautiful green eyes that only seem to be amplified by the dirty yellow lights of the bar.