Supernatural Imagines

Imagine #109

Imagine: Getting in a fight with Dean and going to the bar to cool off. While you're there, a guy buys you a drink. Little did you know that he is the monster you and Dean were looking for.

   ***

     In our motel room, I sat at the table by the window, Dean sat on the foot of his bed. I stared at my computer screen, thinking about our victims. Three women disappearing from bars and then being found murdered in their homes days later, no sign of breaking and entering from any of them. It was probably the strangest case I've ever stumbled upon. It was supposed to be a good distraction for me and Dean while searching for Sam and John, who had been missing for weeks.

"This is stupid," Dean ended the silence, and I looked over at him. "This is such a stretch. We should be doing more important things."

"More important things than saving lives?" I asked him, wondering what he was getting at.

"This doesn't look like our kind of gig, Y/N," he scoffed, and I sighed. "Nothing here is even remotely close to our kind of thing. We should be out there, looking for Dad and Sammy."

"Dean, we'll find them," I tried to reassure him. "We will. But right now, we need to work this case. Save some lives. It's what they would want."

"First of all, it's not a case!" he raised his voice, and my eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Second of all, don't talk about them like they're dead. They're not dead."

"I didn't say they were," I said. "I never said that. God, you always make me the bad guy."

I slammed my laptop shut, burying my face in my hands for a minute. My foot started to bounce with anxiety. His footsteps approached me as he got closer.

"Look, I'm just saying, you get frustrated and then you take it out on me," I said, looking up at him, where he was no standing by the table. "It's not fair."

"Really? A therapy session right now?" he mocked me.

"Alright," I chuckled angrily, standing up and looking him in the eyes. "What do you want me to do? Huh? You want me to snap my fingers and make your dad and Sam magically appear? Think about it, Dean. It's been weeks. They're not getting anymore found. We might as well do what your dad would want us to do -- work."

"I don't give a damn what my dad wants!" Dean shouted. "They could be in danger! We can't just stop looking!"

"We're not done looking!" I reminded him, shouting now as well. "We're gonna find them. But right now, we've gotta go figure out why these women are dying."

"A serial killer!" Dean suggested. "It's not our job! Let the cops handle it!"

"It is our job!" I yelled. "It's our job to save people! If there's even a small chance that it could be something supernatural, we have to do something about it!"

"Fine!" he yelled. "You got two choices. Come with me to look for Dad and Sam, or I leave your ass here."

"You're so selfish!" I said, anger building in me.

"And you're a bitch!" Dean returned.

My heart almost ripped in two. I couldn't say anything else. I nodded, licking my lips and turning away from him. I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair I was sitting in, heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Dean wondered.

"Out," I growled, leaving and slamming the door behind me.

At the bar in town, I had a few drinks, tequila and whiskey and whatever else they gave me. The bartender approached me, looking at my once-again empty glass. She sighed, and I grinned, slightly embarrassed.

"Another?" she asked, and I nodded, so she took my glass. "Alright, I'll have to have your keys, though."

"Oh, I-I didn't drive," I reassured her as she refilled my glass.

"I'll have to call you a cab," she said.

"I can take you home."

I looked on my right, watching a man sit next to me. He had long brown hair and very blue eyes, like the ocean. He wore a leather jacket and an old, faded Nirvana shirt underneath. I scoffed, smiling slightly, finding it funny. Maybe I was just giggly from the alcohol, I thought.

"Thanks, but a cab will suffice," I said, turning him down.

"Here you go," the bartender said, walking away.

The man next to me grabbed my glass from the top and slid it over to me, each of his fingers had a ring on it except for, ironically, his ring finger. I took it from him, looking at him suspiciously.

"Rough night?" he asked me.

"You could say that," I shrugged, sipping my drink.

"Well, drinking like that, I don't imagine it's just for the fun of it," he said.

"You're very observant," I told him. "...Actually, it's been a rough couple of months."

"So you shove it down with whiskey and tequila?" he joked, teasing me.

"Usually, yeah," I chuckled. "...I'm Y/N."

"Jace," he introduced himself, shaking my hand. "You from around here?"

"No, no," I shook my head, finding that my eyelids started to get heavy. "I'm, uh...just passing through."

My head was heavy and I started to get dizzy. I set my glass down, confused. It was very abrupt. I had no idea why I felt that way. A hand grabbed my arm, and I looked up at Jace.

"You should be careful drinking like that around here, Y/N," he told me, getting closer to me. "There's some dangerous people in this town."

Suddenly, his eyes seemed to flicker a bright color of white. A shifter. I knew it. This was a case. But I had become his next victim. It all made sense. He put something in my drink.

My hand reached down, trying to find the pocket in my jacket, but my hand kept missing it. The roofie was kicking in fast. I couldn't even get my silver knife out of my jacket. But at that point, I didn't know where I was, what I was doing, or anything. I stood up, but immediately fell to the floor. I knocked myself into a table, knocking a glass or two off and they hit the floor, shattering. My head was so heavy, I couldn't hardly move. I tried to push myself up, but Jace swept me up, trying to play the hero.

"Don't worry, Y/N," he told me, standing up. "I'll take you home."

Before I could react, my eyelids shut, and they were too heavy to open again.