Supernatural Preferences and Imagines

03 | Jack Kline

I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while! Life has gotten so busy. Please, forgive me! I hope you enjoy!

😊

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HE MAY HAVE BEEN LUCIFER'S SON, but Jack was nothing like his father. Ever since his arrival, the atmosphere of the bunker had been shaken to its core—most of it good, yet there was still some resistance from certain people. Your oldest brother, Dean, still held his doubts and was cautious when it came to him. Being the overprotective sibling that he was, he gave you specific instructions to stay away from the Nephilim. Regularly, you would obey, but something about Jack kept you rebellious.

It was like any other ordinary night at the bunker—as ordinary as things got for the Winchester family—when you found yourself becoming hungry. You tossed and turned in your bed, the soft sound of your television slowly bringing you back to reality. You huff a little when you open your eyes, noticing the late hour shown on your alarm clock. Like always your stomach had awoken you before the morning could come, leaving you with no choice other than to feed yourself or go without sleep for the rest of the night.

You chose the ladder, making your way out of your room and down the hallway quietly. You stumbled down the dimly lit corridor in a half drowsy state—your body still not completely alive yet. With the back of your hand, you wipe away the sleepy-seeds in your eyes, trying to brush away the exhaustion. You yawn as you passed the living room, taking a quick glance into the room.

Dean was spread out on the couch—beer still in hand—as he slept. Mocking his brother, Sam was passed out over a pile of books, drooling all over the pages. In the corner, Castiel sat comfortably, reading silently to himself. When he noticed you standing there, he gave you a look of confusion, his head tilting like a puppy. You give him a reassuring smile, pointing your index finger towards the kitchen. He nods in understanding, a small smirk trailing his lips as his eyes shifted back to his book.

You continued walking until you saw the doorway to the kitchen. Halting your footsteps, a look of uncertainty crossed your face as you heard a crunching sound followed by a soft moan echo down the hallway. Suddenly, you become more aware of your surroundings, your brain using process of elimination to come to the conclusion that it had to be Jack. Your stomach groaned once more, motivating you to step into the room, your hand searching for the light, flipping it on once you found it. What you found lurking in the darkness didn't exactly surprise you—more like amused you.

Jack—or Satan's "love-spawn" as Dean liked to call him—was hunched over a bowl of Cookie Crunches, his mouth still full with the sugary cereal and milk steadily dripping out the corners of his lips. His blue eyes widen as he saw you, guilt covering his face as he swallowed.

"Don't. Tell. Sam."

You try to hold back a laugh, but it's nearly impossible. He just looked so adorable. Shaking your head, you walked towards the table, taking a seat across from him.

"I won't, but did you at least save some for me?"

He nodded happily, handing you the box. You stand to your feet again, walking over to the cabinet and grabbed a bowl and a spoon. You then made your way to the refrigerator, looking for the milk. Your smile drops suddenly, as you realized Jack had used the last of the milk. As you turned around, you spot Jack already trying to make his way out of the kitchen, taking his bowl with him.

"How dare you," you whisper-yelled. "I trusted you!"

"I'm sorry," he tried to remain serious, but there was hint of amusement in his voice. He found you really cute when you were mad. "I was hungry."

"And so am I," you snapped, "You better hope there's still some of Sam's almond milk left!"

As you turn back around to look in the refrigerator, you could see Jack getting ready to run in your peripherals. You sigh once you saw that he had used the discussing substitute as well. You whipped back around, but by that time he was already halfway out the kitchen.

"Oh yeah, you better run," you chuckle, chasing him down the hallway.

"Castiel! Help!"

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