Supernatural Sister Imagines

Imagine #53: Fifteen Years Gone

Imagine: You sell your soul to save Dean's life.

Age: 15

     He looked so small, lying there in that hospital bed-- as if one touch would send him shriveling away into nothing. The arms that usually held you were decorated with enough bruises that someone could mistake him for Barney. The lips that usually kissed you coughed up bubbles of blood that stained them and dripped down his chin. The man that usually loved you was fighting on the the brink of death.

     And all you could do was stand by and watch your big brother die.

     When the monitor flatlined, his heart wasn't the only one that stopped. Yours did too. Tears formed instantaneously in your (e/c) eyes as Sam drew his arm about you and pulled you close. The two of you stood in the doorway with waterfalls of tears as you watched the doctors try everything in their power to get his chest rising and falling again.

     But still he stayed.

     "No," Sam whispered, burying his face in the top of your head with a silent sob, "No!"

     The corners of your eyes crinkled as your nose scrunched up and you cried, reaching for Dean's ominously still body only to be pulled back by Sam.

     "Dean!" You screamed, trying vainly to reach him, "No! Dean, wake up! Wake up, Dean!"

     "Sir, you're going to have to remove her from the room." A nurse spun around and spoke quickly to Sam, who gave a helpless nod and wrapped his arms around your waist, dragging you out the door while you screamed and tried to claw your way back to your brother.

     "Please, no! Sam, let me go! Dean!" Sam continued to pull you back with a grunt before he eventually stopped, stepping around to face you and grasping your shoulders.

     "Y/n, it's no use," His voice was so broken as he pulled you into his arms, chin atop your head. You began to settle and eventually allowed yourself to be embraced, knowing that Sam needed it just as much as you, "He's gone."

     And so you stood in the middle of the hallway, wrapped in your brother's arms and quietly crying into his chest. Bodies bustled by around you, but in your world it was only you and Sam. He held you so tight it was painful, but you didn't notice, simply held him just as tight.

     You stood until you didn't have the strength to stand anymore.

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     Two days had passed since Dean's death when that idea sparked in your brain. You and Sam sat silently in your respective beds in a motel room, the clock ticking at a gentle 7:23 PM, and it wasn't until you'd looked at the empty space beside you for the fifth time that you decided what you were going to do.

     You stood quickly, bustling toward the bed on legs that were almost unsteady, grasping your gun and sliding it into your belt before reaching for your jacket, your movements sloppy with fear.

     "Y/n? What's wrong? Where are you going?" Sam lifted his head at the sound of your movements, eyes rimmed with red but sparking with concern nonetheless.

     You refused to meet his eyes, fearing that if you did you would never make it out the door. So instead you forced your gaze to marry the ground and did not let it leave there.

     "A walk," You said bluntly, bundling your jacket closer to your frame, "I need to clear my head."

     "Okay," Sam wanted to argue, wanted to tell you to stay where he knew you'd be safe, but he wasn't like Dean. Dean would argue, Sam couldn't, "Be safe."