SPN Imagines

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3. Without You - Misha Collins

It seemed like years ago when Y/N got the phone call, using her freshly painted red nails to click the green accept button. Placing the white cased phone to her ear, confused by the seemingly unexpected call. The conversation that followed left her voice hoarse, salty tears streaming down her face while shaky hands struggled to wipe them away. She slid down the wall, her legs failing to hold her up any longer, as her phone dropped from her grip and landed softly on the floor.


She stared down at her nails now, the red paint chipped by the anxious biting of her teeth. In reality, the heart shattering call was received only hours ago, but the light-coloured waiting room made it feel like a lifetime to her.


Her husband, her soulmate, her other half, was lying in another room, fighting for his life. Four broken rips, one pierced lung, a broken leg and a head injury. All caused by a woman who should have stayed at her friends, but got behind a wheel with more liquor in her veins than blood itself.


The hand placed delicately on Y/Ns shoulder pulled her out of the outraged thoughts, her fist tightly clenched, trembling slightly.


She turned her head to look at the person, seeing a middle-aged man in green doctor scrubs.

 

“Y/N Collins?”


Unable to trust her voice, she merely nodded in response. The doctors frown seemed to deepen, as he kneeled in front of her, taking her hands in his. He started by explaining what happened, how it all came up to this and what to do next, but the only thing that she seemed to hear was “Misha Collins is dead.”

 

 Muted by sorrow, her tears spoke for her, as they violently streamed down her cheeks and dropped onto her white shirt, making a growing wet patch appear.  They were quickly followed by a string of sobs, erupting from her throat and escaping into the silent air. She bowed her head down, placing her hands on either side of it and closing her eyes.


Her eyes focused on the white roof of her bedroom as she opened them, joy flooding through her heart as she realised it was just a dream. Turning her head to face her husband, she drew her eyes to the empty spot where he usually laid. Her hand instantly came up, lying on the side of the bed and feeling the icy coldness. And then she remembered. Remembered the phone call she received only four months ago, whimpers escaping her mouth as she shoved her face into his pillow searching for his comforting scent. But she never did, and she never would again. As Misha Collins was dead, and she’d have to find out what life was like without him.
 

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