Welcome To The Evil Within (Imagines)

True Loves Kiss

“So run me over the plan again?” You asked into the phone.

“She’s a witch, but not the satanic kind.” Dean answered statically over the phone speaker.

Sam and Dean had called you as you were on your way back from a solo hunt, asking you to meet them in Chattanooga, Tennessee for a case since it was relatively close to yours in Huntsville, Alabama.

“What to you mean ‘not the satanic kind,’ that’s the only kind.”

"Do you remember a year or two back when Sammy and I had that case where the little boy was making all those toys become real? - Like the handshake shocker?”

“So you’re saying this kid is an Antichrist?”

“Yes! Well it’s weird. She’s not the Antichrist, or a cambion.” Dean sounded excited, “That’s what we think, at least.”

"But I don’t get what this has to do with a witch, Dean.”

“That’s the case, though. Instead of a little boy, it’s a little girl; instead of making toys come to life, she’s making fairy tales come to life.”

“This case right up your alley,” You joked, and Dean chuckled.

“Sammy sent you coordinates, see you there, Mykie.”

An hour later, you found yourself parking your 56’ Chevy Bel Air beside Dean’s Impala in a mill parking lot. You stepped out of the car and he greeted you with a wave as he sat on the hood.

“Where’s Sammy?” You asked him.

“Well hello to you too, Mykie.” You punched him in the shoulder. “Sam is trying to talk to the kid, you know he has that connection with children and all.”

“Dean, that’s you.”

“Whatever, let’s just go in.”

You both got your guns and flashlights and cautiously entered the mill, which as basically all blasted away into one big open area; in the center, facing away from you, was a witch. She wasn’t like the others, even from the back. Instead of ratty, knotted hair, she had long, silky black hair. She wasn’t old either, you could tell by her posture and skin; she must be beautiful. And when she turned around, you saw that she was.

“Who are you?” She crossed her arms, her long black dress shifting with her arms.

“You’re the one at gun point, who are you?” Dean asked, walking closer to the woman.

"You can call me Mel. But please, are the firearms really necessary?” With a flick of her wrist Dean’s gun was across the room, twenty feet away.

You stepped in front of Dean, “Listen, lady. I don’t know what your deal is, but you need to come with us. We’ll put you back where you belong, okay?”

She glared coldly at you, her fluorescent eyes piercing your own; you could feel Dean reaching into your waistband for your spare gun.

“I belong here. I’m superior. You need to be put back in your place,” She flicked her wrist again and you flew into the nearest wall, head cracking on the hard block.

You reached back and could feel blood running down your neck slowly, you groggily looked at Dean, whom she had magically pinned to the wall a foot off the ground.

Her green eyes glowed and she placed her hand on his cheek and whispered something in his ear; Dean’s eyes widened and then he struggled for a moment before his body went slack and he slumped to the floor.

“No!” You leaned forward on your knees and grabbed your gun, shooting blindly in the direction of the woman. You must’ve made contact because you heard the bitch scream. That was the last thing you heard before you blacked out.