Supernatural Sister Imagines

Imagine #89: Come Back For Me (Pt. 2)

Imagine: You are injured on a hunt and the brothers must decide whether to leave or take you.

Age: 16

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Their world seemed so happy to burn. So happy to crumble because it had lost the one thing that kept it together. Kept them together.

     And without it, they fell apart.

                            _*_

     A girl.

     A cabin.

     Pale skin.

     The woods.

    Still hearts.

     Still fingers.

     Still eyes.

    Silence.
     .
     .
     .
     .
     But then...

     A breath.

     Soft. Gentle. A whispering cry that pierced the air with a quiet intensity.

     A flutter. Her eyes, dancing like butterflies, flickering like stars.

    A twitch. Her fingers, pushing, pulling, curling, uncurling, reaching for the touch of a family that wasn't there. A brother that wasn't there.

     A gasp, a cough, shining eyes, a beating heart.
     .
     .
     .
     A life.

                            _*_

     My throat. Why does my throat hurt so bad? I raised my head off the floor and my eyes scanned the cabin, heart beating a bit faster when I realized that neither of my boys were there.

     I slowly forced myself up, groaning as my back creaked, feeling as though I was hundreds of years old. My neck cracked as I looked about, one hand unconsciously reaching up to rub my throat gently.

     "Boys?" Oh god, my voice was like sandpaper on concrete, but worse than the noise was the pain, the scalding sting of a swollen, irritated windpipe. I refrained from speaking much after that.

     I forced myself upward and shifted onto my feet, an immensely slow process as I pushed on my knees and rose from my squat, legs shaking with the threat of giving out once again.

     I stumbled my way forward, looking around and trying to find where my brothers had gone; how I'd ended up alone on the floor. I found my way into a bathroom and met the eyes of myself in a cracked and dirty mirror.

     Fingerprints; fingerprints decorated every shade of black and blue crisscrossed the base of my neck like some sort of painting as everything flowed back into my mind; Christopher, his hands encasing my throat, the wolves hot on our tail, everything.

     I touched two fingers to my skin, feeling the heat radiate off the dark bruises as I traced the outline of his hands; traced the outline of his grip; traced the outline of my death.

     He killed me, I thought to myself, slowing piecing my memories together, He killed me so Sam and Dean would leave me behind. Killed me so he could save his wife. Or I guess, he thought he killed me.