Supernatural Imagines/One Shots

Part Two (Sequel to "Untitled")

The air conditioner was way too cold.

The bed of the motel creaked as you shifted uncomfortably, pulling the rough blankets tighter around your body and curling your legs closer to you. Even though you were wearing two pairs of socks, you could still feel the cold creeping from underneath the door and into the room, slowly wrapping around the metal legs of the bed and climbing to the mattress. It made you shiver and regret choosing the cheap motel instead of the one across the street that surely had more than one bed sheet and a thin quilt. Not to mention more than just a bed and a tiny bathroom with barely enough space for you to shower.

You sighed, rolling around to face the side of the bedroom with the door that led to the even colder night outside. A small whisper of light surrounded the framework of the wood, similar to the glowing halo of saints or holy figures in paintings. It was faint, but just bright enough so that you could at least focus on the multiple bags that laid on the side of the door. You weren't foolish enough to just leave them outside in your car. But then again, lately you didn't even believe that you really understood the meaning of the word foolish.

Putting water on the stove and taking a nap was foolish; chewing gum and eating at the same time was foolish; running in to a pool of water with socks on and not taking them off afterwards was foolish–that you knew. But falling in love with someone only to find out they didn't love you anymore, and not even trying to get over them...it sounded foolish, yet somehow you found yourself in that limbo of pain.

Tears prickled at your eyes every time you even thought of his name, and though you tried to avoid thinking about him even further, it always proved to be impossible. Everything reminded you of him...of Dean.

It had barely been a month since you'd driven away from the Bunker, and yet it felt as if an eternity had passed. For the first few days you would obliviate yourself from your problems and thoughts with fiery liquid running down your throat and leaving your mind at least away from the stabbing thoughts of a man you couldn't think of without crumbling to your knees. But even that proved to insert more poison into your veins, as the countless times you had spent in bars with Dean came rushing in the next morning along with the contents of your stomach.

No matter how many times you washed your mouth or wiped your face free of tears, you couldn't get him out of your head; Dean joking with you and Sam as he claimed he could take more shots than you under twenty seconds; Dean holding you closer than ever on a night he had gotten too drunk, his arms snaked around your waist and his head pressed against the crook of your neck as he confessed his feelings for you; Dean, a stranger, rushing to you through the bar after you had gotten pushed to the ground by an ordinary man who turned out to be a demon. You remembered that night clearly, and you would give everything you could to reverse the clock and prevent it from ever happening.

And now you felt something pushing at your heartstrings with just a whiff of tequila, the familiar smell reminding you of the sloppy kisses and drunken nights spent entangled in Dean's arms. It reminded you of the sheets that would barely cover your body when you woke up the next morning, a pair of arms wrapped around you securely and holding you in a warm embrace.

It reminded you of the Impala, and the nights in which you would travel around with Dean for up to various hours, although rarely with a clear destination in mind.

You made sure to never stray too far away from Lebanon, so sometimes you would just ride in circles until Dean finally stopped at a different place than all the other times. Then he would get a case of beer from the back of the Impala, grab a blanket or two, and sit down with you to watch the stars. He would point out constellations to you, and you would do the same, but always managing to identify more than him–at least until the night in which he ended up out of breath from all the heavenly words that had fallen from his lips. Later, Dean would confess that he had memorized as many names and forms as he had to impress you.