Supernatural Imagines

Sam x Reader // I See Blood

May 8, 2026
6:39pm
"You're home!" You exclaimed excitedly, immediately placing your book on the coffee table in front of you while getting up from your lonely seat.

"I missed you," Sam replied, wrapping his arms around you in a warm hug.

It had been a week and a half since you got married; and you used up every penny you had to buy a small single bedroom/bathroom/kitchen house to call your own. Needless to say, your wedding was quite small but of course that didn't take away the meaning. Dean, Castiel, Charlie, (and you even managed to arrange for Garth to attend), were the only guests. It was an estimated 2% of hunters end up in a happily ever after, but just by wonderful circumstances you were in that very small group of people.

"Are you working tonight?" He questioned, after placing a small kiss on your forehead and letting go of the substantial hug that enveloped you.

You nodded in response. "Only for a couple of hours. I'm nearly finished cooking dinner and then I promise I'll be back by quarter past ten." You assured, leading Sam into the kitchen.

"You could've asked me to," he offered, pointing to the pot of food cooking on the stovetop.

"Don't be stupid. You've just come back from a hunt, you've done enough service for the day." You smiled, giving the pot a firm stirring.

"I love you," Sam said, placing his hands around your waist, smiling in the process. You proceeded to slowly wrap your arms around his neck, attention directly diverted to each other.

"I love you too," you spoke so softly, barely a whisper. "That's why I married you." You added with a laugh, cut off by his lips launching into yours.

10:34pm

Sam walked down the narrow, tiny hallway, worries eased about your whereabouts after watching a statement on the news explaining the traffic around your area was extremely congested. He knew you were too smart to attempt to talk on the phone while driving, so he took it upon himself to know that you were okay at this point.

As he laid down in a tired heap, he began to close his eyes ever so slowly without even pulling the sheets over himself. Ever so softly, and ever so lightly, he felt a liquid drop onto his forehead. Again. And again. And again. Without thinking, through pure irritation, he opened his eyes.

Never again would he make that mistake, at the sight of you attached to the wall, the white paint stained with your blood that gushed from the fatal, open wound in your stomach. Your eyes remained open, pained and almost lifeless, just before the fire.