Supernatural Imagines

SANCTUARY:)

A/N: sorry guys i know i haven't updated in a while, but here  it is :)

The song for the  chapter is: Bad day by Daniel Powter

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"Mom, please!" you sobbed, aware that once again you had been reduced to begging. Perhaps she would relent eventually, she had always done before, but then you had never seen her this angry before, not in all your eighteen years.

"I mean it this time. Get out of my house, you little whore!" Her eyes blazed with fury as she hauled you to back to your feet, her steely grip leaving a fresh ring of bruises on your wrist. The contrast between the two parts of your life couldn't be more pronounced- a small proportion of the time you were a strong, determined hunter... seeking revenge for the violent death of your father. Most of the time, however, you were the same cowering child, spending your life tiptoeing on eggshells. Press down too hard, dare to take too big a step, and everything would crack.

"It was a mistake, I'm so sorry..." Your pleas fell on deaf ears, and you closed your eyes and shrunk away as she raised her hand again.

"Just when I thought you were beginning to settle down, to be my good girl again, with no more of this disappearing-off-for-days nonsense," she spat as her palm connected with your face with a resounding crack, "what should I find in the bathroom but a pregnancy test? Oh the shame, knowing my daughter's been slutting around! Who was it, those men you go running off with?"

'Slutting around'. Her words stung almost as much as the slap- you'd never seen yourself as a one night stand kind of person, but you'd been helping Sam and Dean out on a nearby case, and things had gone a bit further than you'd originally intended with a guy you'd met in a bar. He was only the second person you'd ever been with, the first being a long term boyfriend.

"I wasn't... it was negative..." you gasped through the pain, bracing yourself for another blow as her face hardened at the impact of your words.

"Talking back to me now, are we? Trying to justify it to yourself?" she mocked in a syrupy sweet tone, before lowering her voice to a harsh whisper, throwing each word into your face. "You have fifteen minutes to get your stuff, and to get the hell out of my house, you little bitch."

You didn't need telling twice, and you fled upstairs to your small room, grabbing your rucksack from under the bed. At first you grabbed things at random, blinded by tears and logical thought clouded by terror- a picture of your father, your favourite book- but gradually you regained a sense of control and began to pack the necessities. When complete, you paused for a moment, staring at yourself in the mirror. You recognized the broken girl who looked back all too well: her puffy red eyes, her split lip, a hand print on her cheek, the defeat etched into her features. Despite the years of abuse she'd put you through, you couldn't help still loving your mother, but as you looked at what you had become, the realisation that you really had to move on sank into your chest like a blade.

"You've got five minutes!" your mother shouted up the stairs, sounding as natural as if she were calling you down for dinner, or telling you when you were leaving for a trip out. A fresh wave of panic surged up through your chest as you gripped your mobile like a lifeline- where were you going to go? You couldn't just take off and live in a motel!

Grandparents weren't an option, the ones you had been close to were dead, and your mother's parents lived too far away. You kept scrolling through your contacts list. Not Cara, you and she had drifted apart in the past years and you couldn't burden her with something like this. The biggest problems in her life were whether Darren Greer fancied her, or a minor argument with her dad.

Dean Winchester. The number of a man you barely knew- having first met him out on a hunt just six months ago- but who was still the closest thing to a big brother you had. You trusted both him and Sam implicitly, and he'd told you to ring him if there was ever an emergency- but did this really count? Your heart rate picked up a little as you pressed "call", knowing you were out of options if he didn't pick up, or if he refused to help.

"Y/N, is everything ok?" The reception was bad and his voice was crackly, but even so, just hearing it made you feel a little calmer and a little safer.

"Not really... I mean, it's not like a demon thing or anything..." you began, heart sinking as you realised just how pathetic you probably sounded, "but my Mum's thrown me out... and I don't have anywhere to go..." Crap. Your voice broke on the first half of the sentence and you practically sobbed out the second. So much for the 'badass' image you'd always tried to project to him.

"Right, hang on in there Y/N, Sam and I can be with you in about half an hour," he soothed, picking up on your distressed tone. Dean didn't directly know about the abuse, but it was easy for anyone to guess that your home life wasn't exactly smooth sailing... especially when they'd had it rough themselves. "Just get yourself out of there, we'll pick you up from the end of the road."

The call disconnected, the quiet click feeling like a punch to the gut, but you were overwhelmed with relief that somebody was coming for you. You gingerly lifted your bag onto your bruised shoulders and made your way downstairs, taking a good look at your house for what would most probably be the last time. Your mother was already stood by the door, arms folded.

"Don't bother coming back, you hear me?" she muttered, but her tone was half hearted, and for a moment you thought she might be about to change her mind, but then she turned the handle and gestured outside. "Go!"

"Goodbye," you choked out stiffly as you stepped out into the pouring rain. The raindrops mingled with your tears and they slid down your face together as you trudged down the road, quickly becoming drenched- you'd been too preoccupied to notice the inclement weather until now. But it was kind of fitting, you thought to yourself, it matched the mood of the day. You sat on that street corner for what seemed like an eternity, attracting concerned looks from several motorists. A few even offered you a ride, but you politely refused, waiting for the arrival of one particular black Chevy Impala, and slowly getting colder and wetter.

You'd drifted off into a dark daydream by the time they finally arrived, and it was Dean's gentle touch to your shoulder which pulled you back into reality, as you instinctively flinched away.

"Shit. Y/N? What happened?" he asked, his voice loaded with concern and sympathy as he shot a slightly panicked glance at Sam. "Did your Mom do this to you?" he added, gesturing to your face. You nodded, not trusting yourself to reply. He extended a hand to help you to your feet. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

You allowed him to help you into the back seat of the Impala while Sam surveyed your injuries. "I don't think she needs to go the ER, but she's absolutely frozen.," he murmured to Dean, who quickly pulled off his leather jacket and wrapped it around you. Just this small show of kindness was enough to reduce you to tears again.

"I don't know what to do, where am I supposed to go?" you sobbed miserably, your voice shaky and hoarse.

"God knows where you're supposed to go, but I'll tell you where you are going right now. You're coming back to the bunker with us, and she's never going to lay a finger on you again. You're safe now." Dean paused to think for a second before continuing. "A wise man once told me that family don't end in blood... but it sure as hell don't start with it either."