You steered your dark, green 2003 VW Passat into the rundown driveway of a farmhouse. You put your baby into park and took the key out, shoving it into the pocket of your jeans. Wielding your .45, you carefully checked out the place and made sure it was safe to hang out for a while. You found nothing but grass and a worn down house with the windows broken out. You looked up at the beautiful stars.
Life was hard since you had dropped out of college. Your brother was killed by a vengeful spirit who blamed him for her death in a car accident five years ago, but you still mourned him like it was five minutes ago. You cut off your connections with family to ward off demons and spirits in revenge for his death. Though your face was plastered in the entrance of every Walmart on the missing board, you had a couple of current connections with people who helped keep you hidden.
After the coast was clear, you got your duffel bag and sleeping bag out of the back seat. You gently closed the car door and went inside the house. You dropped the bags in the center of the empty main parlor and took out the can of salt. Making sure to get every window and door, you sprinkled the salt across the worn down shack.
Once the can was empty, you launched it out one of the broken windows and got out your red spray paint. You sprayed demon traps in front of every doorway to make sure you were safe. You lazily dropped the spray paint can on the ground near your duffel bag.
You squatted next to your sleeping bag and picked it up. You unraveled the deep blue bag next to your duffel bag and flopped onto it. You snuggled into the familiar smell of the worn fabric. The musty smell reminded you of your late brother's scent. He had always smelled like the leaves on a foggy September morning in the forest. You hugged the sleeping bag like it was your brother who you had promised to protect, only to have his life slip between your fingers.
You painfully remembered the dreadful moment when your twin brother, James, looked up at you with his blue eyes full of blood and pain. Then, the shard of glass from a broken mirror flew threw the air at the both of you. You tried to push him out of the way, but you couldn't do it in time. His heart was hit, directly and his left lung was punctured. You remembered the blood-curdling scream you let out, as you held his lifeless body in your trembling arms. You remembered how you burned his body miles deep into the woods, and carrying the bundle that his body was wrapped in. A tear dripped from your face onto the sleeping bag, slowly seeping into the woven fabric. "I'm sorry, James," you whispered, every inch of you trembled out of fear, sorrow, and yearning for your brother's company.
A loud bang on the front door made you leap from your position. You quickly wrapped your fingers around your .45 and pointed it toward the door. "I got it, Sammy," you heard a rough voice say behind the door. You're breathing became deeper and quicker. Suddenly, the door was kicked inward, displacing the salt you had laid out. You quickly raised the gun to the large figures that stepped in.
"Woah, easy," the larger man said, slowly placing his knife on the ground in front of him. The shorter man looked at the larger man, annoyed. "Dean," the larger one said firmly. The shorter one, Dean, rolled his eyes then slowly placed his gun on the worn, wooden floor. The taller one quickly unscrewed a water bottle and splashed some on your exposed wrists.
"She's clean," the taller one whispered.
"Who the hell are you?" you asked, you're voice quivering.
"Calm down, we're not going to hurt you. Just put the gun down, and don't shoot us," The taller one said. He looked around and saw your set up, he then brought his gaze down to meet yours. "Please," he pleaded, "I'm Sam Winchester, and that's Dean Winchester. We can help." You slowly obliged, and put the gun down beside you.
"Are you crying?" Dean asked, narrowing his gaze on yours.
"No," you whispered, wiping your face. "I'm (Y/N) (Y/L/N)," You held out a hand for them to shake.
"Are you sure, (Y/N)? I know you're lying," Dean asked, taking your hand and shaking it.
"Yeah, I'm sure," you insisted, straightening your back. Dean just rolled his eyes. You let Sam shake your hand next. He took it, politely.
"Well, what are you doing here? Squatting?" Sam asked you.
"I guess so. I just needed a place to stay; I can't afford a motel and the car heats up overnight," you explained. Sam nodded.
"We were just looking for something, that's all. Uh... if you want you can stay with us," Sam offered. Dean looked at Sam with a look of disagreement. He grabbed Sam by the shoulder pulled him to the side.
"Excuse us, (Y/N)," Dean said with a sarcastic smile. "We don't know her! We don't know what she'll do. She has salt and demon traps everywhere," you overheard Dean whisper angrily.
"Calm down. She's clearly afraid, just look at her face! She says she needs a place to stay, and we can keep an eye on her. Please, Dean. Just give her a chance," Sam pleaded. Dean rolled his eyes and nodded.
"Fine, just a couple nights, then we send her off!" Dean compromised. "I don't want to risk losing anyone else! Not after Charlie..."
Sam sighed and turned towards you. You forcefully looked him in the eye. "C'mon. We'll bring you to the bunker for a few nights to figure out what to do with you," Sam sighed. You nodded, and rolled your sleeping bag back up.
"Uhm... Do you two hunt," you asked, moving your eyes back and forth between the men and the demon trap beneath your feet.
"Yes," Dean said as he held out a regular hunting knife. You looked closer and found many symbols on it. A demon-killing knife.
"Where'd you get that?" you hesitantly asked.
"Demon gave it to me," he said flatly. You slowly nodded.
"Look, you guys don't have to-"
"Yes, I do," Sam interrupted. "Living like this isn't safe, even for a hunter," Sam continued.
"One night, then I'll be gone," you reasoned.
"One night, sounds great!" Dean clapped his hands together.
"Dean," Sam scolded. Dean just rolled his eyes.
"I'll follow you in my car," you said as you bent down to roll up your sleeping bag.
You picked up the tight bundle and your duffel bag and carried it back to the trunk of the Passat. You examined the car that was parked next to yours. It's sleek black paint, and we'll taken care of interior made you giddy inside. It had to be '67 Chevy Impala. You've always wanted one of those, especially a '67, the color doesn't matter, as long as isn't something stupid, like pink.
"Sweet wheels," you told Sam and Dean as the came out of the house.
"Thanks, you too," Dean complimented.
"Thanks, it was my brother's," You thanked.
"Where's your brother?" Dean asked as you opened your car door.
"Uhm, he-he's, uhm," you stuttered. You quickly got into your car and slammed the door. You put your forehead on the steering wheel and lost control of your tears. Dean knocked on the window repeatedly, probably to see if you were okay. You locked the door and turned on the ignition.
Dean finally gave up and got into the Impala and turned it on. With Sam already in the passenger seat, he drove off. You followed suit in the Passat. As you pulled into your destination, you quickly mopped up your uncontrollable tears and unlocked the Passat. You gathered the strength to get out of the car and face the Winchesters. You slowly stepped out of the Passat and was greeted by them. The night sky shone with stars sprinkled like glitter across the deep purple sky.
"Are you okay? I didn't mean to hurt you-" Dean began.
"It's fine," you sighed, "James was murdered five years ago by a vengeful spirit. I promised I'd protect him, and I let his life slip through my fingers. I just wasn't... I wasn't fast enough." Tears began to fall from your face like a heavy rainfall. Sam suddenly grabbed you and pulled you into a deep embrace between the three of you.
Dean suddenly let go and knelt down to your level. "You can stay as long as you need to," he said as looked into your eyes, revealing his softer side. You smiled at him. He grabbed your should and lead you inside, with Sam silently following you.
They showed you to an unused bedroom and you collapsed on the bed. Memory foam. You closed your eyes and quickly drifted off without even taking in your surroundings.
You woke up early the next morning. You quickly got out of bed and made the the bed as best as you could. You quietly stepped down stairs and found a notepad on a long table with desk lights at every other seat. You quickly wrote a note for the Winchesters to leave behind.
Thanks for everything. The warm bed, the comfortable the air conditioning, everything. I can't stay. I'm worried that if I stay, something will happen to you too. Thank you.
- (Y/N)
You quickly singed the letter and left it on the notepad. You quietly walked out and found the Passat. You got in and turned on the ignition. You drove into the sunrise, leaving behind the Winchesters to probably never see them again.
A/N:
What's up? So I'm thinking that I'll write oneshots or imagines about once a week by Sunday (no promises, school is nuts). If you want to request you can, I'll do anything but smit and Wincest. I'm also not against sickfics if you want to send them in too. Just give me a brief summary of what you want written and if there are any ships involved. If you don't want to be tagged, tell me and I won't tag you. Anyway, see ya'll next week.