Supernatural Sister Imagines

Imagine #122: I'm Still Not Sure What This Is

Imagine: Part two to the thing about wolves and shit.

Also some of this won't be really realistic in terms of like physics but whatever. It's Supernatural, not........... natural, I guess.

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     "Wait, did you say she had fed?"

     Dean nearly punched Cas in the face, impatience and concern causing his judgement to falter as he stood outside the door to the dungeon, Sam beside him. "That's what I said, Cas! She ate like four people!"

     "That's not good," Cas glanced at the dungeon door with a worried grimace on his face, "I'm not sure how much I can do if she's fed. Where did you find her?"

     "We found her in that old house we told you about—" Sam jutted in before Dean could sock his best friend in the jaw— "where the wolves were hiding. They baited her with people and they baited us with her. By the time we got there she had already turned and fed."

     "How did you get her here?" Cas asked.

     "—Dean knocked her out with a frying pan, but not before she clawed up my shoulder and damn near tore Dean's throat out with her teeth."

     Cas nodded, looking toward the dungeon where she waited once more. "And she's still out?"

     Sam cleared his throat. "Yeah— Yeah, she should be out for a few more hours."

     "Okay—" Cas backed away from the door— "I'm gonna take Jack with me to talk to some hunters around, see if we can find a way to— to unwolf a werewolf."

     Dean glanced at his friend, his hand on the dungeon door as if he wanted nothing more than to go in and wrap her up in his arms. "There has to be a cure. There has to be."

     "There is," Cas reassured his best friend, nodding determinedly, "We just have to find it. In the meantime, feed her lots of red meat. It may not be what she wants but it will keep her alive and somewhat calm. Calmer than she'd be if she got hungry, at least. We'll fix her."

     Dean scoffed, his voice a grumpy mutter as Cas turned and walked away. "Yeah, and as soon as we do I'm gonna punch her."

Sam grimaced and shot his brother a glare. "Dude, she has no control. This?—" He gestured to the door—" Her? It's all just survival instinct now. And instinct says feed. We just happen to be food."

Dean crossed his arms, shaking his head softly. "I'm still gonna punch her. She almost ripped my head off."

Sam gave a long sigh and shifted on his feet, looking at the door. "What do we do now?"

"Well, she's tied down," Dean pointed out, rubbing his scruff with one hand, probably thinking he needed a trim, "we could go in, try to talk some sense into her."

Sam nodded slowly, sucking in a breath and squaring his shoulders. "I'm not sure how well I'm gonna take it—" There was a pause, almost as though he couldn't bring himself to say the words— "seeing her; seeing those fangs."

"We'll just talk," Dean Winchester had never felt so conflicted in his life. He wanted to trust her; wanted to trust that he could talk and she would listen. But what was in that room wasn't her, and he knew that. And he had no idea how bad it would hurt to see her this way. Watching her die was one thing, one thing that made him want to shrivel up and sink into a blinding, all-consuming nothing, but watching her become the thing she dedicated her life to destroying; watching her smile that evil smile and laugh that evil laugh and lick her lips with hunger anytime she looked upon his skin, somehow it was worse. Somehow it hurt more to see her become something— something monstrous. Somehow it hurt more to see her become a monster, "We'll just sit and talk until everything is okay."