Supernatural Imagines

Peace Sam Winchester X Reader

It was just after a hunt, just you, Dean and Sam. Only this time you occupied the passenger seat in the front. Sam was too tired to even stay up right, so Dean laid him down the back seat. The older brother took a dirty and worn blue blanket and tossed it on his baby brother, making sure his body was comfortable. It was weird, sitting in the front seat. You always wanted to, but maybe while everyone was still conscious. With the music blasting, Dean drumming on the steering wheel and Sam grumbling as to why he got put in the back seat. You would constantly turn around to rub it in his face that for once, he was denied the front seat. But today, no music was playing, the roads and skies were dark, and it was too quiet for comfort. No one would speak a word, otherwise you feared too much would be said and more pain would be caused.

The hunt had taken a rather big bite out of Sam's energy, so much in fact that he had passed out before the monster had been taken down. He laid there, as peacefully as ever, Dean might say that it was the best sleep since he was a kid. And you believed it.

Dean pulled up to the bunker, he put the Impala in park, yet didn't shut it down. He gripped the wheel a little harder. He clenched his jaw, you could hear his teeth grinding. Dean hastily pulled the key out of the ignition, opened his door and slammed it. Dean was more than pissed at himself for letting down his little brother. For allowing him to get hurt to the point his body said that it was time to call it quits.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you heard the back seat door open harshly. Dean quietly talked to his brother, coaxing him out of the back seat. Sam's eyes seemed to flicker open for a brief second, then went back to their closed position. Dean hauled his brother over his shoulders, you quickly picked up the right side of Sam and threw his arm over your shoulders. His feet dragged on the cement floors of the garage.

"Put him in his bed?" You asked softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from the man's face.

"I don't know why we wouldn't." He replied.

So you put Sam down on his bed. You left the room, knowing Dean had to take some time to apologize to his brother, even if he wasn't awake to hear it. You knew Dean was terrible when it came to apologies, no matter how many he has said. Sam didn't stir, just like the time he was in the hospital room when Dean made the angel deal with Gadreel. You and Dean were beaten up like hell, but Dean didn't care. Sam was more important. Dean impulsively covered him up with the sheets, tucking him in just like it was a flashback to their terrible childhoods.

***

Morning came all too quickly, and so came the preparations. Dean made sure Sam was in fresh, non-bloody flannels. Then he left you to caring for his wounds and you even washed his hair. A big chunk was taken out of his side, in which you cleaned, anti-bacterialised, and stitched them back up. You rather do the painful work while he was still out and not alive in more pain.

Sam was so peaceful. It was like a dream. His face wasn't permanently tense with all the worries of the world etched on his face. Light stubble on his face you knew he wanted to shave off himself once he woke up. His hair was soft since the crusty blood got washed off. You had made sure that every cut and scrape was cleaned, every drop of blood spilled on him was picked up by a cloth. You knew Sam would get at you for treating him like a baby, but you just wanted to do it just once.

Dean wanted to change the sheets, since the white ones from the night before were bloodstained and gross.

"Help me bring him out?" Dean asked, not daring to look you in the eye, afraid of disappointment.

"Yeah, sure."

Both sets of eyes were planted on Sam as you two carried him down and out, laying him on the new resting spot.

Except this spot wasn't a couch or a bed.

It was a wooden platform.

Wood piled high enough to easily place something or someone. With sharpened, thick tree branches surrounding it.

It was hard getting Sam outside. His body was big enough to begin with, but it wasn't just his weight that crushed both you and Dean. You carefully placed him on the platform. It was damn near freezing outside, and building a fire was just what you planned.

"You have the lighter right?" Dean asked, his voice cracking as he took a big swig of whiskey.

"Just as you brought the gasoline." You replied, you're breathing hitching.

Dean moved Sam's limbs so they rested comfortably at his side. You brushed the hair once more from his face, tears dripped from your cheeks to his.

"Be good up there okay?" You cried, a small pained smile on your lips. "Play nice with the angels and tell Bobby I said hi, okay? I'm gonna miss ya Sammy." You patted his cheek and stepped back.

Dean walked forward. His knuckles white from gripping the glass bottle that was almost empty. Another swig. Another tear. Dean didn't have his partner in crime anymore. No one to make fun of him for his taste of music. No one to call him a jerk. No on who could ever replace his  Sammy. His baby brother than he had failed again, this time fatal. Dean's eyes bloodshot, crying and lack of sleep probably. Dean whispered a few more things and then grabbed the thing of gasoline.

You wanted to wrap Sam up like Charlie, to make the burning less painful. Dean refused. So you used the bit of make up you owned to make the body seemed like it was unharmed.

The body.

Something no one ever wants to say about a loved one.

But to the Winchesters it only seemed normal, even if it was your only brother who got named "The body".

Sam was covered in gas and you pulled out the lighter. But it was roughly taken from your grip and was lit.

"This was my fault, and I can do it." That's all that Dean said as he tossed the lighter, Sam going up in flames.

Dean took another swig and your tears kept rolling. You looked over at Dean, who was trying hard to keep his composure.

"I don't need your looks of pity." He said, wavering. "I don't need your sadness."

The crackling of the fire consumed the silence. You left because you couldn't handle it anymore. Sam was gone, and a hunter's funeral almost assured him to stay gone. You wanted to bury him so that maybe he would have the chance to come back and the only response you got was "If something is dead, it should stay dead."

Dean stayed until the body was charred and reduced to rubble.

Until his brother was charred and reduced to rubble.

Dean knew they would end early, but he never thought that he would be the one to do it. He blamed himself for the misfiring gun, for the monster that chowed down on Sam's side, for the blood loss that ended his life.

Dean blamed himself for his brother's death. He hopped into the Impala and drove away from his problems. The burnt mess that was Sam's body, the grieving (Y/N). He didn't care. He didn't care that maybe the Impala took a wrong turn and crashed. He didn't care that he was too drunk to be driving.

He just wanted his Sammy back.

Author's Note

Hey guys! HAVE SOME FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLSSSSSSSSSSSSS HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH SORRY NOT SORRY

Guys please talk to me I'm bored and i feel disconnected from you all. Message me, ask me questions! Add me on social media! Snap me, kik me, I love you all!

Basketball starts tomorrow I'm so excited! I can't wait! I mean sure I got 3 hour practices, but hey, all in a days work, right? Hahahahah I'm going to die hahahahaha help me pls.

I'll keep ya posted on my bball because I really like bball as you can tell and yeah you know something personal to write about.

So how have you been? You can actually answer this in the comments if you like. What have you been up to? How's life?

I don't know what else to say. uhhh yeah.

Until next oneshot,

AvengingSupernatural