Random Fandom Imagines 2

Dean Winchester

A harsh groan left your lips as you pulled yourself across the concrete floors, blurring a trail of blood in your wake. It was senseless, really. You knew your time was closing in and the likelihood that you would remain conscious long enough to reach your phone and dial his number before the darkness swallowed you whole was becoming less plausible with each passing minute.
Your hands were shaking violently. You felt a thick liquid building your mouth as you struggled to lean yourself up against the frame of an old wooden crate. The leg of the demon who carved into your stomach caught your eye in the distance; his back against the floor and his eyes staring blankly at you. At least you were able to kill him before your body gave out and you succumbed to the same fate.
Bastard.
Your victory wouldn't last long, that much you knew for sure.
Your right hand gripped the side of your torso where the knife tore at your skin as a splintering burn ripped through the wound. With clenched teeth and shaky breaths, you extended your arm to the phone lying just a few feet from you upon the floor. Your fingers grasped the old track phone, sliding it towards you.
You carefully grasped the phone in your hand, sighing and leaning back against the crate. Whatever remaining energy you had left was draining away quickly, even the smallest of motions required more determination than you were able to provide.
The phone sat delicately in your lap, your own blood smeared against the tiny screen. You closed your eyes, contemplating whether or not you should call him.
His voice was the only thing you wanted to hear. You knew, with undying certainty, that just hearing the low gravel of his vocal chords simply saying your name would take an enormous weight off of you. Just knowing that he was breathing on the other end of that phone would make taking your own last breaths that much easier. There was a contagious peacefulness that came along with knowing that he was still out there... even if you weren't.
You knew he still cared about you, even after all you did to him. You knew that he would race to you in a second's notice if you asked him to, but you had grown used to stopping yourself just before you were able to press call every single time.
It wasn't that you didn't want to see him because, God, you did. You ached for him since the moment you walked out of his life, every instinct in your body arguing against it. There was no other choice. Staying with Dean wasn't an option.
John had made sure of that.
You watched as Dean's face lit up as he laughed, the smile spreading up through his eyes and leaving generous crinkles in its wake. He brushed his lips with the back of his hand in an attempt to compose himself. You didn't even know what started the outburst, but with Sam struggling to contain his grin, it didn't seem to matter.
It wasn't an unusual occurrence for you to completely lose track of the present, simply lost in nothing but pure adoration as you watched Dean. You hadn't expected to feel this way about him, but spending the last six years traveling the country with his family and one too many close calls under the threat of monsters, priorities get organized real quick. It wasn't long until you learned that Dean Winchester was yours.
You could see John glaring at you from across the motel room before he hid his hooded eyes behind a newspaper. You quickly dropped the smile from your face, maneuvering anxiously in your chair.
You started hunting exclusively with the Winchesters six years ago, when you were fresh out of high school. They took you in when both your parents were murdered by the demon they were hunting alongside John. They were old friends; your parents and John. He didn't seem to think twice about bringing you in at the time, but now there was an uncomfortable energy about him that made you question why he did it at all.
Dean was the one who held you back from the brink of depression and recklessness. He was the one who grounded you when you craved vengeance like it was a basic human instinct, a human right. He woke you from your nightmares and held you until you felt safe enough to close your eyes again. He was your best friend. He was everything.
You were there the day Sam left for college; the day Dean nearly lost himself in a misplaced sense of betrayal and shame. You stayed with him even though you were old enough at 22 and skilled enough to hunt on your own because, frankly, you didn't have it in you to leave him. You never wanted to.
You were there when Sam came back after Jess died. You were there when Dean struggled to forgive his brother for walking out on his family and you were the one to convince him to let it go. You were the one constant in his life and he relied on you for that. You were Dean's rock, his stability, his home, but more than that... he was yous.
After a few years, John grew cold to you. You could see his distant stares whenever you unconsciously placed your hand on Dean's shoulder, or ran to him like an involuntary response when something went wrong on a hunt. There was always a snarl hidden behind his mouth when he walked into the motel room earlier than expected only to find Dean sleeping in your bed after a bad night.
You could tell he sensed your feelings for his son. He wasn't blind, while Dean seemed to be. It was the single factor that transformed him from a father figure to the man you cowered away from in fear.
Still, you stayed. No matter what John thought, Dean wanted you here. You knew that with absolute certainty and it was the only thing keeping you strong against John's looming glares.
"(Y/n)?" Dean asked again, waving his hand just in front of your eyes. You snapped back in your chair, blinking until your vision focused. Dean grinned, exchanging a laugh with Sam. "You alright in there, Sweetheart?"
You nodded, allowing a small smile to pass your lips. John's scowl from the opposite side of the room didn't pass your notice.
"Don't go zoning out on me tomorrow when we're facing that demon." Dean teased playfully as he reached for your forearm, letting his hand lay effortlessly on you. He squeezed you lightly. "I need you out there."
"I'm good." You promised, trying to laugh off the unnerving feeling of daggers drilling into you from John's stare. "I'll have your back, Dean."
"I know. You always do." Dean grinned, letting go of your arm.
You missed the warm contact instantly.