Supernatural Imagines & One Shots

Downward Spiral Part II (Dean imagine)

     You've been dead for about a month now, after a hunting accident took your life. That's if you want to call a shapeshifter shooting you, an accident. You've been hanging around the bunker, and occasionally going wherever Dean goes, which means that your spirit is still bound to something that Dean carries with him. If you had to pick the worst part about being trapped, it would be watching Dean. He spent the last four weeks torturing himself for letting you die. He drinks for most of the day, and has nightmares every night. There are even times that he spends the whole night pacing, or down in the gun range, emptying clip after clip into the targets. You wish more than anything to help him, but being a ghost, there's nothing you can do. You even call out to him multiple times, but you're never heard. There are days when you hope that he might feel your presence, but he never does, at least not that he lets on. Perhaps the thought of you roaming around is too much to believe, or he doesn't want to get his hopes up.
     Tonight, you're in his room—just like every other night—keeping an eye on him. He's sitting on his bed, with a beer in his hand, looking down at a picture of you. No one knows, but you, that he takes it out every night and looks at it. He can never admit to anyone how much he loved you, not even Sam. He doesn't even like to admit it to himself. Dean always kept up an emotional wall, protecting his heart from love, and not being willing to let anyone in. Somehow maybe you were different, maybe he unknowingly let his guard down. Either way, he loved you, and you loved him. He slowly brings the picture to his lips and kisses it, and you can see his eyes fill with tears."I'm so sorry, Y/N." He whispers before sticking the photo under his pillow. Seeing him like this hurts way more than it did when you were shot. All you want to do right now is climb in that bed next to him and give him comfort, but you can't do that anymore. Never again will you feel his lips on your lips, or feel his arms wrapped around you. You're forced to watch him tear himself apart, knowing that there's nothing you can do to help. He sets his drink on the side table next to his bed and lies down. Shortly after falling asleep, it isn't long before he starts to toss and turn. From where you're standing next to his bed, you can see the sweat trickling down his temple. He jerks awake, and sits up, his breathing rapid. He closes his eyes, and rubs his hand down his face. You wish you could appear to him, but you can't figure out how to do it. It isn't like there's a "How-To" ghost handbook.
   You reach your hand out and lightly touch his shoulder. He starts at this and turns his head, looking at his shoulder, and then around the room. Seeing no one, he shakes his head and rubs his eyes, no doubt assuming that he's just imagining things. The night seems longer than normal, and Dean doesn't get back to sleep. After some pacing, he ends up spending the rest of the night cleaning his guns.
    The next morning, when you're in the library with Dean, Sam comes in and sits across from him. Dean doesn't really decide to acknowledge his brother's presence. He just sits there looking at a whiskey bottle, and turning back and forth on the table.
"Dean, it's been a month."  Sam says with a voice fill with concern.
"And?"  Dean takes a sip.
"Don't you think it's been long enough? I know losing her was tough, but you can't keep doing this."
"Doing what?"
"You're falling apart, Dean. You drink too much, more than you normally did, you hardly eat, you're more belligerent, which is saying something, and it doesn't seem like you get much sleep. Not to mention that, the only time you leave the bunker, is to go to the liquor store. Let me help you, man. Talk to me."
"What the hell is talking supposed to do, Sam?" Dean raised his voice
"It'll help to get the load off. You really don't need to bear this alone."
This received an eye roll from Dean, but Sam continued.
"I know what it's like to lose someone I love, Dean. I lost Jess remember?"
"Is that supposed to make me feel better or something?" Dean shoots back as he gives Sam an annoyed look, and takes another sip.  "And I never said I loved her."
Sam sighs. "You never had to say it. Look, man, all I'm saying is that I want to help you carry this."
"You can't help me carry anything, Sam. If Y/N never met me, she'd still be alive. Her death is on my hands, and my hands alone, and "talking about it," isn't going to change a damn thing."
Sam sighs in defeat, and rakes his hand through his hair. Dean gets up and walks toward his room, taking the whiskey with him. Sam tries to coax him into staying and eating something, but he refuses. You follow him down the hall, hoping that he's not going to do anything stupid. Not that he would, but with Dean sometimes you never know, especially when he's in a state like this. The last thing anyone needs is for Dean to sell his soul again. He approaches his room and opens his door, shutting it behind him. You follow close behind him, not wanting to leave him alone. He sits down on his bed and takes another sip of whiskey. There's no way that you can just stand by and watch him fall apart. You need to do something, and fast. Now may be a good time to try and make yourself visible to him. The lights begin to flicker, and you can see Dean's breath as a chill fills the room. Dean sits up straight and looks around. "What the hell?" He asks to himself. He stands up and grabs a shotgun off of the wall, checking to make sure it's loaded. He gives the room another once over, and when the lights flicker a second time, you appear. Dean turns around and aims his gun directly at you, but upon seeing your face, his green eyes widen and he lowers the weapon.
"Y/N?" He asks in a low voice.
Relieved that he can finally see you, you give him a sad smile. "Hi, Dean."