Supernatural Imagines

Homesick Hungry

This is a short and sweet kind of angsty one. Figured it would be good for a first chapter. Just here testing the waters. Love ya.

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Stanford... I never actually thought that I would make it here, but look at me now, mom! Screw you, and everyone that thought I couldn't. I've wanted to be an artist for as long as I can remember but I always thought that meant drawing, painting, and music with voice and instruments, and that, I could do, it kind of came naturally, but as I grew older I realized there was another talent of mine that I thought just kind of came naturally to everyone. Writing. I came here with the hopes of studying English literature, with a minor in philosophy, wanting to study the works of Socrates and Plato. Maybe with the help and newfound perspective, my writing can only get better, right?

I drop my suitcase down onto my new bed, finding that I've been left in a room with one bed, so no roommate. And as much as that sounds absolutely wonderful, it does sound a little lonely. A loud thud came from behind me, and a few swears under their breath. I look around to see my friend Violet huffing and puffing. "You lucky fuckin' bitch," she states looking around the room.

"Hey, at least you got company in yours," I say turning around with my hands in the air as I walk over to the already open window.

That was the last of the boxes we brought up, and I've made a huge dent trying to put it all away after only a few hours. I've been blasting music in my headphones, some playlist I've made and kept near and dear to my heart that was mainly the music I can easily drown out if needed but it kept great company for the many voices I've needed to soothe over the years. Everything was fine. I've put up lights, and some old pictures of back home, unpacked my clothes into the provided dresser and closet, and put everything where I needed. Books, papers, pens, pencils. I've gotten my bag ready for when classes start in the next week. I've done a lot, and it's only 5:30 in the evening. I started at 10:30. I'd say that's a good time for how much I needed to do. But there's one box left.

My brows furrow at the box, not knowing what's in it. I take the box cutter out of my back pocket and cut away at the tape, slicing down the middle and sides of the top. I pull one of the edges back, my breath hitching at the smallest glimpse of a picture's edge. I fold back the other flap and reach down into the box, my heart pounding against my chest, harder and harder to breathe without tears shedding as I pull the frame out. My fingers traced over the now very well-known stranger's face. A grin plastered on his face laughing at the moment with eyes closed tight, arms around my shoulders, with my lips pressing to his cheek. I can remember the moment as clear as day, almost as if it happened yesterday.

We were at his house with his brother and father. His brother Dean was teaching me about the car he had, pointing to things and telling me what did what, and why. Telling me I'd better know what to do in case I'm stuck on the road somewhere without a way to contact him or anyone. He was always sweet and treated me like his little sister. He and I found a love for music together and he was always excited when I was around so he could show me the new cassettes he'd gotten for his car. Whenever I hear Led Zepplin now, I will forever think of him. When Sam and I would get into small arguments he'd always side with me just to give his brother a hard time. Hellboy was my favorite superhero so Dean got me the comics that day for my birthday and for the ones he couldn't find, he ended up giving me his copy. Sam came up behind me, surprising me with a bouquet of roses and a teddy bear with his name on it. I placed them down on the nearest workbench and wrapped my arms around him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His brother took the picture to capture the moment.

I place the picture next to me and start digging through the rest of the small box. One hour and many ugly sobs later, I am surrounded by all of the beautiful things that once graced my presence peacefully. Five dried-up bouquets of roses and daisies, a million pictures of me with him and his family, and him with me and mine, bracelets, necklaces, old comics, and cassettes his brother made me, and a teddy bear with his name on it is what came out of the box last.