Patrick Stump Imagines

Burn, Baby, Burn

The bloodied machetes thudded against the trunk of a black '67 Chevy Impala and you swing your left arm in a circular motion to cure its soreness. Dean removed his blood-stained jacket and tossed it beside the machetes.

"Thought we'd never end," you commented. "They just kept coming like zombies."

"Tell me about it," Dean scoffed in agreement.

"So, have you heard from your dad yet?" you asked the elder Winchester brother.

"Now that I think about it, I haven't. I can't even remember the last time he called me or picked up the phone," Dean replied, squinting his eyes. "I'm kind of worried."

"Listen, if you don't hear from him tomorrow night, you should start looking for him," you advised.

"I probably should. It's not like him to drop off the radar for so long," Dean agreed. "Tell me, how are you and your boyfriend?"

"By that you mean if I've told him yet? I have not told him," you respond.

"You haven't told him yet?!"

"Telling Patrick I kill monsters for a non-living isn't exactly an ice I'd like to break."

"You gotta tell him sometime."

"Yeah, when one of us is on our deathbed."

"Alright, but don't say I didn't tell you," Dean sang.

"I'll tell him tomorrow night, okay?" you negotiated.

"You better," he said. "Thanks for your help though."

"Yeah, no problem, Dean-o. Anytime," you smile.

"See you around, kid. Take care of yourself," he smiled back. "And use protection!"

"Okay, Dad," you sassed. "Bye, Dean."

You drive away in your vehicle back to your place. You didn't waste a second getting into your pajamas and into bed. Fighting and beheading those vampires seriously wore you out because you instantly fell asleep.

Drops of liquid fell on your cheek and eye, disturbing your sleep. You wiped it off your cheek and groaned loudly. It couldn't have been a leak in your roof because it hasn't been raining lately. In the dim moonlight, you try to identify what the liquid is. Unsure if your mind was playing tricks on you, you rubbed your eyes to make sure it wasn't blood. Another drop of the crimson liquid hit your face. You immediately look up.

"No," you mutter in horror.

There he was. Patrick on the ceiling, looking down at you with fear in his eyes and his mouth gaped open. His white shirt had a blood stain running across his abdomen. Suddenly, he caught fire and you screamed in horror.

"Patrick, no!" you bawled and fell to the ground.

Dean sprinted inside your room. He found you sobbing your eyes out as your love burned on the ceiling like his mother did. Dean told you what had happened to his mother and here you are, going through the same thing. Noticing the rest of the room catching fire, he grabbed ahold of you and dragged you out to safety.

Dean held you firmly as you sobbed in his arms, watching your house go down in flames. His heart wrenched with empathy and sorrow. The flames crackled in the air as sirens could be heard in the distance.

"There, there, kid," he whispered in your ear.