Supernatural Sister Imagines

Imagine #86: The Ties That Bind (Pt. 2)

Imagine: You are fatally wounded on a hunt and know you won't survive, so you call Sam and Dean to talk to them one more time.

Age: 16

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

"Sam, did she answer?" Dean opened the door to the bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel before tossing the towel on the end of his bed.

Sam pursed his lips and shook his head. "I've tried her four times, Dean. Nothing."

"Something's wrong--" Dean's heartbeat quickened at just the thought that something had happened to his little sister-- "She always answers the phone. We've gotta go."

"I'm already packing," Sam said.

"Pack faster."

_*_

Sam looked up the empty warehouse building, a look of anxiousness crossing his face. "This is it?"

"This is where the GPS on her phone pointed me to," Dean said.

Sam bit his lip. "The longer this goes on, the worse I feel about it. Come on."

Dean followed his brother as he headed inside, creeping forth with guns drawn, searching for a threat in the silent building. Their boots left small clicks echoing around the vast walls as they checked around every corner and behind every door for their sister.

"Maybe she lost her phone," Sam murmured, more as a reassurance to himself than to his brother.

Dean glanced at Sam and tossed his head to the side, rolling his shoulders the way he did when he was fighting emotions. "God, I hope so."

They continued through the building, guns drawn and lips taut, expecting everything.

But nothing in the world prepared them for what they found.

They entered a storage room and found the first body, that of a witch with a shiny katana. Much to their dismay, they saw that the length was coated in long-dried blood, the dark crimson like a blanket, blocking the sword from the light beyond.

But it was when they looked beyond the witch's body and saw her that the tears began.

Encircled in a scarlet embrace that extended around her like Hell's halo, eyes glistening with the glaze of a long-gone soul, phone laying beside her, dabbled with red fingerprints. It was the most horrifying thing either man had ever seen.

And they were brought to their knees by the utmost force of despair, eyes shedding waterfalls as hands grabbed at skin and touched hair and stroked cheeks and tried to coax her back. Heads pounded and vision blurred as the minds of broken men tried to stare through the red haze of grief, injecting itself into them like a poison that encased their minds and squeezed with a bloodlust like no other. Foreheads pressed to the cold concrete, welcoming the icy touch that was still warmer than her.

And in that moment, they realized why she'd called, so many days before. They saw through the haze a dying girl, dialing to silently wish her big brothers farewell, a smile on her crimson lips as those eyes glazed and her hands fell to the floor. They saw a toddler, a child, the little girl they'd loved so hard and lost so quick. The ties that bind, cut by the knife's edge of death; separated, on opposite sides of their world.

They saw those ties break like twine before their eyes, all without a single thing they could do to string them back together again.