Supernatural imagines

Winchesters special delivery

Written by both me and my bestie Charmaine. ❤️❤️
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As the thick dark wooden door creaked open quietly, the dangled sound of keys tapped and tinkled together. The male figure stepping into a main room of the house. His clean black formal work shoes pattering along the hard wood floor towards the kitchen bench. The figure quietly places his keys and black leather satchel on the kitchen bench before slipping his shoes off and heading down the hall and up the small flight of stairs. His formal but casual suit being slowly stripped away as he climbed the stairs. By the time he reached the second floor he was just in his white shirt and pants. His short scruffy hair hung about his face. He passes a white door and stops at it before taking a small step into the room leaning on the door frame. He stares happily into what was a nursery, a nice crib, changing table, rocking chair and a toy box. His smile brightens staring around the room before he exits and heads down to the next door. He silently walks into the master bedroom where a female figure was under the covers asleep. The male figure quickly changes into an old shirt before sliding in beside her. As he goes to sleep he kisses her head and wraps his arms around her waist resting on a large bump on her stomach. He falls asleep peacefully with a smile on his face. When he wakes the next morning his glossy morning eyes blink heavily as he faced his alarm clock. He yawns then turns over to face his wife. Her face was completely white like snow, her eyes open and blood shot. His eyes widen in horror as he jumped to his knees pulling the blanket off revealing her flat no longer pregnant stomach. His heart stops before screaming at the top of his lungs and crying heavily falling off the bed.

-------------------- day later-----------

The chilled, fierce wind blew across the night sky, the glowing stars twinkling in the heavens above. The silent night was blissful if only for a moment, before the roaring engine of a black, '67 Chevy impala raced down the road.
"I'm telling you, Dean. I haven't seen anything like this before." The taller, younger brother reaffirmed from the passenger seat. His dark hair fell about his face and into his compassionate hazel eyes which crinkled when he laughed, and hardened when he was angry. His tongue flicked up, licking his dry, cracked, pink lips that were still oddly smooth despite their weathered condition as his eyes quickly flicked across the pages of the crinkled newspaper resting upon his knee.
Beside him, his older brother kept a sharp, alert gaze at the road ahead of him, distractedly listening to Sam. Dean, whilst considerably shorter than his younger brother was intensely more protective of him. Dean was the kind of man to quip and smirk under interrogation and torture, but if it was Sam in his position, he would enter a murderous rage and nothing on hell, heaven, or earth could stop him from getting to and saving his Sam. His hair was short and flicked up at the front, adding to his irresistible charm. The features of his face all seemed to fit in perfection; his dazzling green eyes were the perfect distance a part, his nose wasn't too long or too wide, and with a prominent, sharp jawline his lips were flawlessly shaped, as freckles dusted across his countenance.
"Like what? You found a case?" Dean asks, furrowing his eyebrows and tearing his gaze from the road to glance at his younger brother.
"Yeah." Sam responds, holding up the article. "Lydia Rose was found dead last week, there was no sign of break in, and neighbours reported hearing a ticking noise when it happened."
"Ticking? That's new." Dean replied, raising his eyebrows slightly.
"Yeah, and get this, Lydia was eight months pregnant at the time, and now, the unborn baby has completely vanished."
"Vanished?" Dean repeated, raising his eyebrows in astonishment. "This is definitely our kind of thing."
Sam nodded in agreement, several strands of dark hair cascading into his eyes as he felt the impala accelerate into the night.

A jolted rough hand is shoved into the younger brother's shoulder, abruptly raising him from his vital slumber. His head shoots up and his hands raise before him protectively, wary of danger, forgetting for a moment he was in the car. His dark, now scruffy hair draped over his drowsy countenance and his fearful eyes skim over the room, alert and calculating. Relief washes over him, however, at the sight of his older brother standing out the front of the driver's seat.
"Rise and shine, Sammy!" Dean chuckles at the sight of Sam's unamused glare.
"It's Sam!"
He opens the door with a click and a metal creek. As he stepped out and slammed the door, he perceived in his shining reflection that his hair was noticeably messy, and with one quick comb with his long, slim fingertips, his hair was shaped flawlessly. Dean looked on enviously, such a result could take him hours to perfect, before reaching into his back pocket and slightly pulled out his hunting knife.
"Dude, just a trim is all I'm askin'." Dean pleaded, sheepishly taking a step towards Sam.
"Cut it out, Dean!" Sam whispered loudly, flashing his brother a stern, disapproving look.
Dean's grin grew wider, stepping even closer and withdrawing the blade ever more slightly, his short hair flickering in the cool breeze as the sunlight captured his angular cheekbones and sturdy jawline, and made his green eyes appear as a silvery leaf obscured by a mist in an early morning forest.
"Alright then, I will." He quipped, making a cutting motion with the knife, only for Sam to slap it out of his hand and dance along the gutter.
"I mean it, Dean!" His bitch face visible, arms crossed and pressed firmly against his chest, he looked down at his older brother who quickly swept down and picked up the knife.
"You're such a prude!" Dean pouted childishly before following Sam towards a string of Police tape surrounding a suburban home. There were Policemen scattered over the lawn and an ambulance with a stretcher draped with a white sheet in the shape of a person. Dressed in their suits, and with their badges at the ready, they approached the lead officer standing by the tape.
"I'm Agent Murphy, this is my partner, Agent Gesslein." Dean introduced, both brothers flashing their FBI badges.
"Right this way." The officer replied, shifting the tape so that the pair could duck under.The two brothers are lead into the house to a small living space where a man was standing by an old rustic fireplace, his arms wrapped around himself before slowly and shakily picking up what looked like a wedding photo from the mantle. His lightly stubbled, well defined cheeks were evident of tears, his eyes still glossy and red, His long bent fingers gently caress the female figure behind the dusty fingerprint covered glass with a lost, longing depiction. As he lets out a pained sigh he notices two figures out the corner of his eyes and turns around to face them, without looking he fumbles the frame planting it back on the mantle before wiping his face trying to keep up his manly charisma along with his physique