SPN Imagines

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4. Time - Dean Winchester

Time is a concept, created by our minds to measure moments we’ve spent doing something. We’ve celebrated gaining time, cried about losing it and used what we are given on an array of things. I’d like to think that I’ve carefully distributed my time, using it for good, bad and everything in-between. The hours I’ve wasted on gossip, spreading rumours, and saying hurtful things, balancing out the time I’ve spent picking up rubbish, helping and sharing.

Now, I look back on the time I’ve wasted by putting other people down, instead of bringing them up. It was never my intention to be mean, but I guess we all make mistakes. I just wished I learned from mine, instead of repeating them.

My breath gets caught in my throat, as searing pain flows through my body. The tears escaping the corners of my closed eyes and creating a trail of salt down my cheek, before falling onto the Demin next to my head. I can’t see it, but I assume that a puddle is staining the fabric, allowing it to become damp and stick to the skin of its occupant.  The pain is met by regret, mixing together and flowing through my blood. It’s like the opposite of life support, tearing down the walls around my heart, leaving it damaged and struggling to beat.  I only meant to do good, and I failed at even that.

The rain bouncing off the roof of the Impala created a soft pitter patter, begging for my attention. Rainy days were always my favourite, it seemed fit that I would die on one. Slowly, I opened my eyes, starring up to the beautiful green ones of my significant other. My hand shakily reach up and cupped his cheek, while my thumb swiped under his eye and caught his tears. His skin is rough beneath my own, with scars and bumps scattered along it. I didn’t want my last sight to be his tear stained face, starring down at me with a frown and chocking back sobs.

“I love you,” I softly stated.

He shook his head, more tears rolling from his eye and on to my finger. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Like what?” I whispered, making patterns on the rough skin of his cheek.

“Like you’re going to die.”

His hands pressed harder against my abdomen, pushing his army green jacket into my wound and attempting to stop, or at least slow, the bleeding. It was a simple salt and burn, in and out an hour at most. It was just the matter of finding the bones, a mystery that would easily be solved. Everything was going well, until I was pushed forward, causing me to fall face first onto the ground and get impaled in the stomach by a sharp branch.

Now I’m here, laying in Deans lap with blood spilling out of me at an alarming rate, with Sam driving to the hospital. I’ve faced wendigos, vampires, werewolf’s, djinns, demons, angels and even Lucifer himself, but it’s a third-class ghost that will end my life. How depressing.

It feels like there is someone sitting on my chest, making it ten times harder to breathe. I put more effort into heaving my chest up and down, holding on to the last inch of life left. My hand falls from Deans face, reaching for one of his hands and pulling it away from his jacket. I intertwine our fingers, pulling then up to my chest and laying them there. I want him to be the last thing I hear, last thing I see, last thing I smell and the last thing I feel. I just want him.

As if reading my mind, he pulls me into an awkward hug, wrapping his long arms around me while keeping the clothe in place. His warmth engulfs me, putting my mind and body at ease.

“Hey, Sam?”  I called gently.

Sam turned around and faced me, a frown set into his face and eyes splashed with worry. “Yes Jess?”

“Can you put my song on please?”

He merely nods, before turning back around and flicking on the stereo. ‘19-2000’ by Gorillaz starts blaring, causing a sloppy smile to erupt onto my face. My fingers automatically drumming along to the beat, using Deans hand as my instrument. I know he doesn’t want to cry, he knows that I don’t want him to, but I still hear his chocked back sobs, see them getting stuck in his throat as I stare up at him. I’ll happily spend the last of my time with him, sitting in the back seat of his car and listening to my favourite song. Time may be an illusion, but it is a valuable one, and I’ll give as much of it to him as possible.

“Sing along with me, please?” I request, squeezing his hand.

“The world is spinning too fast. I'm buying lead Nike shoes. To keep myself tethered. To the days, I've tried to lose…”

We sing most of the song together, taking both of our minds away from the current crisis. I can even hear Sam singing along in the front, still speeding to the nearest hospital. Diming away, I stop singing, but Dean doesn’t notice, as he stares out the window and continues. I take my time to study him, his amazing green eyes, his adorable dimples, his spiked-up hair, just him in general. I try and ignore the trail of tears stained on his cheeks, and the red puffiness of his eyes, and somehow, it works. I remember how he looked the first time I met him, still young and filled with hope. Then I imagine him yesterday, tapping along to Kansa on the leather steering wheel as he drove. Before I can help myself, I let out a happy sigh.

I know death is here, and I welcome him.

Checking on Dean one more time, I slowly close my eyes and fade away into the darkness. The pain, regret and fear leaves my body, leaving me in a comfortable peace. What a beautiful last sight. 

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