Son of a Bitch -- More SPN Imagines

Sam x Leslie / I Need You Back / Pt. 1

Thwap.

You heard the punch before you felt the pain. Your head jerked in the direction of the punch, and you sank a little lower into the wooden chair, finding it harder to sit up straight.

"Worthless bitch." the demon muttered. It rolled up the sleeves on its vessel's body, which was a young woman with long red hair and light, pretty features - beauty that was the complete opposite of the evil that was inside it.

You laughed, putting on a brave face. "Can't get more creative than that? I've been called worse."

Thwap.

Pain rippled through your skull, your head pounding and blood dripping down your hair. Normally, you would fight back, but the demon had tied you to a chair. You had been working on getting your hands out of the rope ever since you woke up, but you kept getting delayed because of the damn demon punching you and distorting your train of thought.

As you were trying to recover from the latest punch, you felt the cold blade of a knife against your cheek. It was quickly replaced with a sharp, stinging sensation, and then followed by a heavy stream of blood. You winced in pain.

"My, my, how I have wanted to get my hands on you," The demon smirked at the deep cut on your cheek, like it was some sort of sick, twisted artwork of hers. "Well, I would've preferred the Winchesters, but you'll do. The things I would do to that little boyfriend of yours."

Your body reheated with a new wave of anger. "Leave. Sam. Out. Of. This." you say slowly.

The demon laughed loudly. "Don't you understand? Sam is the reason you're in this situation. Every demon in Hell has their sights set on those boys. And, when they are currently unattainable, you're the next best thing. A distraction, if you will, until the main course arrives. Sam and Dean will be bursting through those doors at any second to try and save you. Then, they're mine."

Your body tenses. You can't let the boys get hurt. They're all you got...

You raise your eyes to meet the demon's. "If you even touch them, I swear I'll slice your goddamn throat."

The demon laughs again, placing the blade against your throat. She responds in a mocking tone, "Not if I slice yours first."

The doors burst open, distracting both you and the demon.

Sam and Dean appear in the doorway, guns raised and aimed at the demon. They step carefully towards you two. You're partially relieved at the sight of them, but the demon's threats echo in your head. Your hands work faster to try and loosen the ropes.

"Sam! Dean! So happy you two could join us." The demon smiled gleefully, turning to face them.

"Let her go." Dean says sternly, unamused by her prodding.

The demon takes that as a challenge, and continues, "Now, why would I do that? We've been having such a great time together. Telling each other's darkest secrets, braiding each other's hair, talking about the cutest boys in school-"

"Shut up!" Sam yelled. His face was red with anger, and his chest was heaving with adrenaline and worry. "I'm not playing games here. Let her go, now."

The demon walks behind your chair, pulling your head backwards and placing the knife on your throat again, this time much harder. "I was just getting started with her, Sammy."

Sam pulls the trigger. The demon dodges the bullet, raises the knife, and jabs it into your chest, piercing straight through your heart.

"NO!" You hear Sam yell.

You faintly hear the sound of shots being fired, and hands fumbling to untie you from your chair. Your senses faded. Your mind went blank. Your body relaxed.

You were dead.

-------------------------------------------------------

*One week later*

Sam sat motionless on his motel bed. His mind was racing and blank at the same time. His heart carried the same weight it did a week ago. His eyes were bloodshot and dried out from days of crying. His body was weak from sleep deprivation.

A cloud of guilt and sadness loomed over him constantly. Never fading, never lessening. He blamed himself for your death. He should've watched over you better. He should've been there earlier to protect you. He should've been the one you could trust. Instead, you died under his watch, and he would never forgive himself for that.

The memory of you dying replayed in his head like a broken record. He remembered untying you from the chair, catching your limp body before it hit the floor. He remembered sitting on the ground, pulling your body to his chest so tightly, feeling the blood seep into his clothing, moving the hair out of your face only to see your lifeless eyes and numerous bruises and cuts etched into your skin...

Sam didn't want to believe you were dead, so he avidly refused to allow Dean to burn your body. Dean didn't push too hard, knowing how your death had torn Sam up and, truthfully, wanting to believe you weren't really dead, too.

After a few more hours of sitting on the bed, Sam finally came to a decision. He was going to bring you back, no matter what the cost. He grabbed Dean's keys off the table and raced to the Impala.

(Part two will be up soon!! I hope you like it so far, @WWELeslie_ !!!)