A TEXT POST

ghostrightsactivist:

cakeandrevolution:

I want to see a reality tv show where straight dudes have to read the shitty messages they send to women to their mothers.

to catch a redditor

Reblogged from
A TEXT POST

fanqueen14 said: I just read your John Winchester Part 1 and 2 Imagine and I have to say that it was absolutely fantastic. I found it scrolling down a page of fics and was instantly captured by it. I've never read anything like it before and it was worth the while! I had to split it into a two-day read because I wanted to pace myself and have it last as long as it could! I am such a fan of this and of yours right now. I love your style! Keep it up you're amazing I can't wait to read more!!

Oh my goodness thank you so much!!! I enjoy writing but I don’t post much. Your encouragement is wonderful and I’ll definitely write more!!! Do you have any requests specifically? I’ll write it up and dedicate it to you!!! :D

A TEXT POST

Imagine John Winchester (your father) hits you… Dean and Sam react badly… PART 2 [FINALE]

 The soothing rumbling of a car woke you up. It wasn’t the Impala, you knew upon instinct, but another car, old and worn down. Prying your eyes opened, you winced and reached towards your bruised face, crust gluing your eyelashes together.

“(Y/N)?”

Groaning and sitting up straight, you craned your neck to see Sam in the driver’s seat, his eyes fixated on you in the rearview mirror. “Hey, kiddo, how you holdin’ up?”

The sun peered over the horizon, and you wondered where Sam was taking you. “M’fine,” you grunted out, although both of you knew that was utter bull. “Where’re we goin’?” Still sleepy, you dragged your body over the consol and into the front passenger seat, looking at your older brother intently. Sam was about to answer, but a low grumble from your stomach silenced him. He smirked sideways at you, reaching into the glove compartment and throwing a Hostess cake at you.

“Bobby’s. I already called ahead. Dean’s meeting us there.”

Your eyes grew wide. “You talked to Dean?”

The atmosphere in the car suddenly grew grave, and Sam fidgeted in his seat. “(Y/N)-”

“What did you tell him?”

Sam licked his lips and looked at you again. “The truth, (Y/N). That you’re hurt and we need to meet up.”

“Why would you tell him that?!”

“Kiddo, we want to help you-”

“NO! No, NO! Now he has to choose, Sam! He can’t- I can’t- It’s my fault, okay?! It’s my fault anyways, so I can’t make you or Dean choose between me and Dad and I-”

The car swirved to the side of the barren highway, and Sam threw open his door. You winced, pulling back into your seat, as your own door was pulled open. A hand reached for your arm, and you began to panic, but when it touched you, the touch was gentle. Kind. And then you were enveloped in Sam’s arms once more, your cheek pressed to his chest as he hugged you and rocked you back and forth.

“Don’t you dare say that,” he whispered in your ear. “It is not your fault. It’s never been your fault. Do you understand, (Y/N)? It’s no one’s fault but his… Please, kiddo, please- I need you to know this. Kiddo…” He kissed your temple, finally pulling you away from him so you could look each other in the eye. “And even if I did have to choose between you two, I would always, always choose you, (Y/N). You’re my baby sister, alright? I will always take care of you… Always.”

You bit back the tears, pulling away from Sam and withdrawing into yourself once more. He frowned pointedly, but went back to the driver’s seat. Sitting for a few moments, he thrummed his fingers against the wheel. “(Y/N), I’m sorry if I- if I scared you-”

I’m not weak!” you hissed at him, instantly regretting it.

Sam swollowed and nodded, starting the car back up and veering back over onto the highway.

N-No! Daddy, p-p-please,” you sobbed, feeling warm blood dripping down your lips from a broken nose. John staggered towards you, an empty bottle of Jack in one hand and a pistol in the other. “Daddy…” The broken cry tumbled from your lips as you clawed at the floor boards, splinters going up beneath your nails and causing blood to bubble forth. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy-”

DON’T CALL ME THAT!” he roared at you, spit flying from his lips. His eyes, a dark charcoal black, peered at you with hatred. “Don’t you dare call me that… I shoulda gotten rid of you when I had the chance… Bastard child… Not nearly as good as Dean or Sam, never gonna be as good as them… You’re nothing to me, (Y/N).”

Da-”

NOTHING TO ME!”

BANG!

“NO!”

You screamed bloody murder, vocal cords shredding against each other as you sat stalk straight, throwing your hands in front of you. “NO! DADDY NO, PLEASE-”

“(Y/N)! (Y/N), kiddo, calm down please!”

The begging slowly brought your vision back, and the taste of blood on your lips made you gasp. Above you leaned Sam, his hands tight on your wrists as your nails clawed into your palms, drawing droplets of red. You had bitten your lip, which was why you tasted blood.

Sam’s eyes were filled with fear and pain, fear for you and pain for seeing you in such distress. “(Y/N), kiddo, please look at me,” he whispered to you, pulling you close. “It was just a nightmare, okay? Just a dream. Just a bad, bad dream…”

It took you a few moments to figure out the simpering whimpers were coming from you, and by then Sam had carried you into the motel room- since when were you guys at a motel?- and deposited you in the bed. He stepped away for a moment to do God knows what when your hand suddenly shot out on its own accord and clutched his hoodie sleeve.

The face he gave you was one of pure sorrow. “Oh, kiddo…”

You cuddled up to your big brother that night, hoping if you held tight enough then the terrible dream wouldn’t return.

By the time you woke up in the morning, you were back in the car and a mere half hour away from Bobby’s house. Yawning and stretching, you rubbed your eyes and winced when you got a sore reminder of the ugly blue marr on your face. Sam said nothing until you two pulled into Singer Salvage, putting the car in park and turning to you. “You ready, kiddo?”

No sooner had the words left his mouth did the front door swing open to reveal a rather tousseled Dean Winchester. It was surprising to see your oldest brother in such a state. His jeans looked days old, covered in muck and blood from his last hunt, and his hair was in such a state of disarray it looked like he had rolled around in a sty. The real kicker, though, was the dark shadows beneath his usual bright green eyes, now dull and cautious with hints of his hidden anger and sadness.

“(Y/N),” came the sigh of relief as he darted over to you, bow legs launching him the full ten yards in under a second. The car door was wretched open and you were pulled into yet another hug as Dean ran his hands up and down your arms, back, and head, looking for injuries. “Where are you hurt, kiddo? Huh? Did Dad gank the bitch?”

You stiffened in his arms, and Sam called something to his brother over your head, but you couldn’t hear it. You were back in that room, black eyes glaring at you and Jack Daniels filling your nose with splinters under your nails and blood in your mouth and-

“Would both you idjits step back and let the girl breathe, f’God sake?”

“Bobby!”

Dean and Sam both pulled away from you, and the bald head of Bobby Singer greeted you like a lighthouse beacon. Wringing his hat in his hands, Bobby smirked at you and put it on your head. “Your hair looks like a rat’s nest, girlie. When’s last time you had a bath?”

You shuffled your feet, thinking back. You and Sam had been on the road for about two days, and the hunt with John had lasted at least four… “Almost a week? I think?”

Bobby’s eyes grew wide, as if he hadn’t really been expecting an answer. “And the last time you ate?”

“…I had a twinkie on the way here…”

Bobby glared at Sam. “You didn’t get her any food?”

“It’s been a rough ride, Bobby,” Sam replied wearily, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “We haven’t really had much time to stop anywhere.”

You turned to look at your brothers, giving a soft smile when you saw Dean embracing Sam. It had been a while, but Dean had been more gung-ho about his little brother going off to college then Sam was! The smile the two shared was sad but happy, a melancholy recognition. “How you doin’, bitch?”

Sam scoffed. “Fine… jerk.”

You giggled despite yourself.

“Go on up and shower, girlie,” Bobby addressed you, patting your head. “Me and your big brother’ve been cookin’ up a storm for you two,” he said, more to Sam than you, “so you two’d better be ready to eat.”

Getting into the shower was painful, your entire body sore from sleeping so long in such close quarters. It was welcomed, though, the hot water almost scalding your skin as you scrubbed away the tears and anger and pain and misery. The scratches the wendigo had left on your side began to bleed again as the scabs were washed off, and you hissed in pain when the water hit them.

WHAT?!”

A crash echoed downstairs, and you gasped, knocking over the towel rack as you stepped out of the shower. “Shit!”

There was a pause, followed by two quick pairs of feet coming up the stairs. “(Y/N)?”

“I-I’m fine, Sam!” you hollared back, feeling the beginnings of a bruise on your right hip. “J-Just knocked over the towel rack… I’ll be out in a second!”

There were muffled voices on the other side of the door, and you could hear Bobby clearing his throat. “Mm’kay, hon, just make your way downstairs when you’re ready, alright? There’s clothes on the bed for ya.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

You waited until you couldn’t hear the men outside the door anymore, then ventured out into the guest room. There on the bed sat a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt of Dean’s. Or at least, you suspected it was Dean’s, seeing as how it was Led Zepplin. After holding the towel to your side, soaking up the blood and letting it clot, you pulled on the clothes and dried your hair, taking baby steps towards the door and peering down the steps. You could hear Sam whispering and Dean not-so-whispering in harsh tones, but you couldn’t make out the words. Creeping down the steps, you leaned in to hear more.

“Did she say Dad actually-”

“No, Dean, but it was obvious-”

How obvious, Sam?!”

“As obvious as the goddamn bruise on her cheek, Dean!”

Tears pricked your eyes, and you rushed a hand to your mouth to keep from crying out protests. That was what had startled you earlier, then. Sam telling Dean that your dad had… had hit you. Hell, you could hardly believe it yourself if it hadn’t happened to you. John Winchester may be a drill seargent and a jerk, but he wasn’t abusive. “He’s not…” you whispered to yourself, eyes screwing shut as you whimpered. “He’s not, he’s not, he’s not! It’s my fault… My fault… All my fault…”

“…(Y/N)?”

You looked up with a sharp gasp, pulling back when a hand touched your bruised wrist. There at the base of the stairs stood Dean, eyes wide and glassy as he took in your appearance. He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again. He looked like a fish out of water, panicking and not knowing what to do. Finally, Dean turned and walked towards the kitchen, back to you as he ran a hand through his hair and crossed his arms, breathing heavily.

“C’mere, girl,” Bobby coaxed you with a gentleness not altogether unknown of the man, but unused for many years. Tentatively, you stepped forward and allowed a blanket to be draped over your shoulders, a mug of something hot and steamy pressed into your hands. “Chicken soup. ‘S good for the soul.”

The elephant in the room was suffocating, pressing down and making all of the oxygen dissipate into thin air. You sat on the couch, side pressed up against Sam’s, and leaned your head against his shoulder, sipping quietly at your soup.

When Dean turned around, he cut straight to the chase. “Kiddo, I know it’s gonna be hard, but… but you need to tell us what happened.” He crouched in front of you, reaching towards your face.

Unbidden, you gasped and flinched backwards, nearly dropping your mug to the floor. Dean’s face fell and your heart cracked. You had never seen him looking so sad or… broken. “Apple-pie…” he whispered, cupping your cheek and pulling you to look him in the eye. His thumb feathered its way across the bruise on your cheek. “We won’t be mad.”

Biting your lip, noting the pain that was there already, you took a deep breath and readied yourself for the monologue.

“We… We went on a hunt- a wendigo… It wasn’t supposed to be that big of a deal, but-” You grew quiet. “I just screw up everything,” you whispered, dropping your chin to your chest. Sam wiped at the tears trailing down your cheeks, nudging you onward. “I- I was supposed to stay hidden, to jump out when Dad got it in the right spot. But I went out too quick and- and it got away…”

“Did it hurt you?” Bobby interrupted, frowning pointedly.

You waited a moment, weighing whether or not you should tell the truth. “Y-Yeah. But just my side! It’s not a big deal-”

But Dean had already pulled up your shirt, his fingers running over the cuts as he scruntinized them. “Sammy, get the first aid kit.”

Without protest, Sam retrieved the kit and Dean began to sanitize the wounds. You didn’t make a noise or a single movement, not wanting to show any more weakness to your brothers than you already had. Dean was wrapping gauze around your torso just as you continued your story.

“Dad was… was furious…” Your blood ran cold at the thought of your furious father. “He- he screamed the whole way home… At first I just took it- I screwed up and I deserved it-” Sam’s face hardened at that. “-so I stayed quiet… But when we got back to the motel-”

You couldn’t finish. The horrors of what had happened was still fresh in your mind, seared into your skin by vivid marks. “(Y/N)…” Dean comforted you, rubbing your knee. “Please… We need to know.”

“… I screamed back at him… He told me- told me I’d never be a hunter like you, or Sam. And I know that! I know I’m not any good and I know I’ll never be as good as you two, but I can’t stand it anymore! Why can’t he- why can’t he just love me for me and not-” You broke off in sniffles, wiping at your nose. “And I yelled at him. I yelled at him and he grabbed me and-…”

“He hit you,” Sam finished, eyes blazing.

“…Yeah…”

Dean’s eyes rolled closed, and you could see the veins in his neck and arms tensing as he tried to remain calm. Sam was pulsating with anger, although he tried to burrow it deep down so you wouldn’t be startled. You trusted your brothers not to harm you, though- then again, you had also trusted your father not to harm you, and look how that had turned out…

Bobby ended up breaking the uncomfortable silence, mumbling something about calling Pastor Jim. You wanted to protest at that, but found yourself suddenly to weary to care much about anything.

Finally, blessed finally, Dean spoke.

“(Y/N), has he… has he hit you before?”

You shook your head no, and the brothers deflated a bit. “This was the only time?”

You nodded.

“And it’ll stay the only time,” Sam affirmed, his voice a deep growl. You expected Dean to say something in defense of your father, but he merely nodded.

“And you’ll be staying with me from now on, girlie.”

Everyone turned to Bobby as he entered the room. “Just got off with Jim. He called me last night after John showed up drunk out of his mind on the footsteps of the church.” You stiffened and Sam rubbed your arms. “Told Jim not to say anything to John, but that you were stayin’ with me for a while.” He smiled. “It’ll do you some good to stay at one school for a while anyways, now won’t it?”

Happiness filled your veins, and you were confused. You should be sad that you couldn’t stay with your father, shouldn’t you? Your mind was buzzing with questions and fears and doubts, uneasiness filling your empty stomach like a pile of rocks.

“Hey.”

You looked at Dean, who was grinning ear-to-ear. “Whaddaya say I take a little vacation, huh? Christmas is just around the corner, anyway. We can hole up here, get a tree…”

Sam smirked. “I’m on winter vacation at college, too. I’ll have to call my roomates, but I think I’ll be good to stay for a while, too.”

A teary smile lit up your face. “Yeah… Thanks, guys.”

There was so much more you wanted to say, but your throat was closing up on itself. So you simply sat there, embraced by your brothers, and watched as snow began to fall outside in little, fluffy clouds. Slowly, slowly, your eyes shut, and you fell asleep…

A TEXT POST

Imagine John Winchester (your father) hits you… Dean and Sam react badly… [REVISED] PART 1

BAM! The motel door slammed behind you as you stormed into the house, depositing your gun and knives on the bed furthest from the wall. BAM! BAM! It slammed open and right back closed again. “(Y/N) Winchester, don’t you dare walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”

“Well I’m done talking to you!” you growled back under your breath as your father rounded the corner of the bed towards you.

“That was stupid, (Y/N)!” John Winchester, your drill seargent of a father, roared at you. His face was red and the veins in his neck were bulging beneath the skin. The hunt had gone wrong that night, as all great nights go, and the wendigo had almost gotten a hold of your dad. You had burst out from your hiding spot too early, taking a blow to the ribs from the beast. John had shot flares at it, but your bloody torso had needed taking care of. The wendigo ran off, lost in the woods once more.

“An ammature mistake!” John roared again, turning his back to you and stalking to the fridge for a beer. He popped the top and took several deep gulps, giving you time to protest.

“Yeah! A mistake! I said I’m sorry a million times! Jeesh, would you let it go?!”

Your father turned and began shouting again. “Let it go? Let it go?! Dean would have never made a mistake like that! Hell, Sam wouldn’t have made a mistake like that!”

“I’m not Dean or Sam!” you shrieked at him, throwing your hands down in front of you.

“Well maybe you should be!”

“I’m not and I’m not ever going to be!! I’m not a frickin’ soldier, Dad! You can’t do this to me! You’ve gotta let it go, let me go-”

That was it for John. With two strides, he was across the room and right in your face. Fear sparked in your belly and you attempted to push him away, but he grabbed your wrist in a death grip, sending chills up your spine and making your mouth dry. “DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I AM YOUR FATHER, YOUNG LADY AND I WILL DO WHAT I SEE FIT!”

By now your anger was completely replaced with fear, its icy tendrils wrapping around your lungs and making it hard to breathe. “D-Daddy, p-please let go-”

“I SAID YOU DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I AM YOUR FATHER AND I WILL GRAB YOU IF I WANT TO!”

“DADDY!” you sobbed as his hold became unbearable, “PLEASE-”

SMACK!

The air left your lungs completely as the back of John’s hand impacted your cheek, making your head swing to the side and sting your skin. Eyes growing wide, you gasped and managed to shove John away, if not just because of his own shock. “(Y-Y/N)…” he stammered, jaw slack and beer bottle dropped to the floor, forgotten. “Oh God, baby, I’m so sorry-” he reached out towards you, and you backed away, clambering over the bed towards the door shrieking, “STAY AWAY FROM ME!”

“(Y/N), baby, I-”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” you screamed at him, opening the door and sliding through it before John could grab you again.

Out on the sidewalk of the motel, you ran. You ran and ran and ran, the fear-fueled adrenaline filling your veins and making your vision blur. You darted across the street, narrowly missed by a car crossing. The driver honked at you and yelled profuse curses, but you couldn’t hear him over the pounding of your heart in your ears.

After running for a solid ten minutes, you came to a panting, shaking stop in front of a sleazy diner. The door chimed as it opened, and you stumbled to sit in a seat in the farthest booth from the door. Your skin was clammy, your heart still racing and the adrenaline replaced by a terrible sting from both your wrist and cheek. The cuts on your side had stopped bleeding, but still hurt like a bitch. You felt ready to collapse into exhausted sobs, but pulled yourself together by the frays when a plump waitress walked over to her.

Her face was concerned, brows furrowed and bright red lips pursed. “Sweetheart, are you alright?” she asked gently, reaching down to touch the table in front of you. Despite yourself, you flinched.

“I-I’m f-f-fine,” you stammered, really not wanting the woman to go away.

The waitress, as if sensing your thoughts, hollared towards the kitchen. “Marty! Gimme a cup of cocoa!” She sat down in front of you and took your shaking hand. “Sweetheart, you’re shakin’ like a leaf!” she exclaimed, her voice taking a motherly tone that reminded you of Missouri. “Is there someone I can call for you, baby?”

When she said that name- baby- you flinched and withdrew your hand, pulling your knees into the seat and hugging them. You only then realized how small you were, even for a young teenager. “C-Can I call my brother?” you asked quietly, sniffling and rubbing at your eye. Your cheek was no longer stinging, but a low, thrumming throb had replaced the earlier sharp pain.

The waitress nodded, giving you a pitying smile that made your stomach churn. “Gimme one second and I’ll get you the phone, doll.”

It really was only a few seconds before the waitress returned, steaming cup of cocoa in one hand and phone in the other. It was a clunky plastic phone that looked archaic, but you could hardly care as you looked at the numbers through a murky vision. You had two options- Sam, or Dean. Sam was at Standford, and the last time you had spoken with him was a few months ago. Dean was off on a hunt with Caleb, probably out of cell range. You called him anyway, and it went straight to voice mail.

I don’t know how you got this number, but unless your last name is Winchester, don’t call again. BEEP.”

“D-Dean,” you stammered into the phone, tears flowing from you now that you were actually speaking. “Dee,” the helpless sob wracked your frame and you dropped your head to your knees. “I-I need you, D-Dee…”

BEEEEEEP.

The dial tone sounded, and you sobbed again, dialing a different number this time. After several rings, a groggy voice answered. It was, to your surprise, a woman.

Hello?” she asked, sounded partially annoyed but partially worried.

“H-Hi,” you mumbled meekly. “I-Is Sam there?”

Yeah, one second,” the woman mumbled. You heard shuffled in the background followed by, “Sam, baby, the phone.”

A groan resounded, and you felt a tiny giggle bubble up desbite yourself. That groan just sounded so much like Sam that you couldn’t help yourself. “’Ello?” came the familiar voice, and your tears returned anew.

“S-Sam,” you sobbed out, unable to help it.

Wha- (Y/N)? (Y/N), kiddo, is that you?”

“Sam,” you managed through the tears, “I- I need- I don’t-”

More rustling came across the line, and you could practically see Sam rolling himself out of bed, training kicking in as he threw on clothes and shoes. “(Y/N), what’s wrong?”

You were unable to answer, throat constricting around itself. The waitress that was hovering around you put a gentle hand on your shoulder, frowning at your flinch, and took the phone from you. “Hello?”

You didn’t hear Sam’s part, but you could barely hear the squat little waitress talking to him in hushed tones as you struggled not to hyperventilate. “Poor thing came in all in a flurry. She’s still shakin’ like a leaf… I dunno what happened, hon, but she’s got a nasty bruise on her cheek… No sir, she’s alone… 1616 Lan- huh? Oh, um, Mound House, Nevada. Where are you again, hon?… Oh, goodness, that’s a drive- No, no! It’s no problem, we’re open 24/7… Okay, honey, I’ll put you back on with her.”

(Y/N)?” came Sam again, and you felt a small warmth just from the sound of your big brother’s voice. “(Y/N), I’m comin’ to get you, kiddo, it’s only a four hour drive so I’ll be there soon- just stay there, alright? Stay with the waitress and I’ll be there really soon, okay kiddo? Just stay there and I’ll be there soon…”

“S-Sam,” you gasped out, tears running down your face freely.

It’s gonna be okay, kiddo, alright? I promise you, it’s gonna be okay.” There was a loud beep, and Sam coughed. “I’ve gotta hang up now and give Jess the phone back, but I’ll be there really soon, okay? I’ve got my cell phone and I’ll call you when I’m close-”

“D-Don’t got my phone,” you told him, and Sam cursed.

Does Dad have his? I’ll call him-”

“NO!” you exclaimed, and the waitress jumped. There was a frightening silence across the line before Sam spoke again.

(Y/N), did Dad… Did he hurt you?”

Having your night finally put into words, the dam finally broke. Sobs wracked your frame and you were unable to answer, snot and tears running down your face as you rubbed furiously, only aggravating the bruise on your cheek. The waitress took the phone back and talked to Sam again, although you couldn’t tell what they were saying. You could hardly even think, for that matter.

After a few minutes- or hours, time seemed to fly when your brain was trying to poud its way out of your skull- the waitress pulled you up to stand and took you to a little room in the back of the diner. And there you sat for the full four hours waiting on Sam. Every couple of minutes a head would poke in and offer you something- food, drink, a jacket- you declined every offer with a dull shake of your head. By now, you sobs had settled into soft hiccups and frail, shallow whimpers.

Hours, minutes, weeks, days. Time had no meaning to you as you sat there in the back room, knees drawn up to your chin, as you lolled back and forth, fighting sleep.

Finally, blessed finally, the door creaked open and a shaggy brown head popped in. Big, hazel eyes looked around the room for a minute before settling on you, and a broken voice muttered, “(Y/N)…”

Before you knew what was happening, your brother was around you, hugging you, kissing your forehead and nose, checking out the bruise on your cheek. He was whispering sweetly to you the whole time, placing his jacket around your shoulders and rubbing your arms warmly. You thought you had cried out all of your tears, but they began anew when Sam lifted you up into his arms, holding you like you weighed nothing. You nestled up close to him despite th pain it caused your scratches, gripping his hoodie tightly and burrowing your face in his shoulder. You heard the waitress- the oh-so-kind waitress- talking softly to him and felt her pat your shoulder.

“You make sure to take good care of her, young man.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It was so like Sam to say that, to be so confident. You knew he couldn’t protect you, though. You would eventually have to go back to John- you were underage, after all- and then Sam would go back to Stanford, and you’d be alone once more.

You were set down in a car, the heat turned up on high and making it cozy despite the chilly sleet outside. “(Y/N)? Kiddo, please look at me, please.”

Sam sounded so broken that you had to look up, look deep into his hazel eyes. It was the first time you had actually sat up straight in nearly five hours, and your back popped painfully. Sam’s face softened even more when he saw the bright blue bruise that stretched from your cheekbone up towards your eye. “Oh, kiddo,” he whispered sadly, hugging you once more. “I’m not gonna let him ever lay a hand on you again, (Y/N),” Sam promised you. He kissed your forehead, resting his lips there as he spoke. “I swear to God, he’s never gonna touch you ever again.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt a warm blanket of safety rest over you. And you fell into a blissful, painless sleep…

A VIDEO

imaginethatsupernatural:

"Dammit, (Y/N), LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO, YOU MADE ME HIT YOU! YOU’RE SO FUCKING STUPID."

Requested by: scotty-1609

Reblogged from Supernatural Imagines
A TEXT POST

Everyone has six names.

  1. Your real name:
    Michaela
  2. your detective name (favourite colour and favourite animal):
    Black Otter
  3. your soap opera name (middle name and street you live on):
    Bethany Georgetown
  4. your star wars name (first three letters of last name, first two of middle): 
    Scobe
  5. superhero name (color of your shirt, first item to your immediate left): 
    Black Couch
  6. goth name (black and one of your pets):
    Black Bunny
Reblogged from Overlord of Cas' Ass
A TEXT POST

Imagine John Winchester (your father) hits you… And Sam and Dean react badly. [part 1]

BAM! The motel door slammed behind you as you stormed into the house, depositing your gun and knives on the bed furthest from the wall. BAM! BAM! It slammed open and right back closed again. “(Y/N) Winchester, don’t you dare walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”

“Well I’m done talking to you!” you growled back under your breath as your father rounded the corner of the bed towards you.

“That was stupid, (Y/N)!” John Winchester, your drill seargent of a father, roared at you. His face was red and the veins in his neck were bulging beneath the skin. The hunt had gone wrong that night, as all great nights go, and the wendigo had almost gotten a hold of your dad. You had burst out from your hiding spot too early, and John had barreled after you, shooting flares at the monster. It ran off, lost in the woods once more.

“An ammature mistake!” John roared again, turning his back to you and stalking to the fridge for a beer. He popped the top and took several deep gulps, giving you time to protest.

“Yeah! A mistake! I said I’m sorry a million times! Jeesh, would you let it go?!”

Your father turned and began shouting again. “Let it go? Let it go?! Dean would have never made a mistake like that! Hell, Sam wouldn’t have made a mistake like that!”

“I’m not Dean or Sam!” you shrieked at him, throwing your hands down in front of you.

“Well maybe you should be!”

“I’m not and I’m not ever going to be!! I’m not a frickin’ soldier, Dad! You can’t do this to me! You’ve gotta let it go, let me go-”

That was it for John. With two strides, he was across the room and right in your face. Fear sparked in your belly and you attempted to push him away, but he grabbed your wrist in a death grip, sending chills up your spine and making your mouth dry. “DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I AM YOUR FATHER, YOUNG LADY AND I WILL DO WHAT I SEE FIT!”

By now your anger was completely replaced with fear, its icy tendrils wrapping around your lungs and making it hard to breathe. “D-Daddy, p-please let go-”

“I SAID YOU DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I AM YOUR FATHER AND I WILL GRAB YOU IF I WANT TO!”

“DADDY!” you sobbed as his hold became unbearable, “PLEASE-”

SMACK!

The air left your lungs completely as the back of John’s hand impacted your cheek, making your head swing to the side and sting your skin. Eyes growing wide, you gasped and managed to shove John away, if not just because of his own shock. “(Y-Y/N)…” he stammered, jaw slack and beer bottle dropped to the floor, forgotten. “Oh God, baby, I’m so sorry-” he reached out towards you, and you backed away, clambering over the bed towards the door shrieking, “STAY AWAY FROM ME!”

“(Y/N), baby, I-”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” you screamed at him, opening the door and sliding through it before John could grab you again.

Out on the sidewalk of the motel, you ran. You ran and ran and ran, the fear-fueled adrenaline filling your veins and making your vision blur. You darted across the street, narrowly missed by a car crossing. The driver honked at you and yelled profuse curses, but you couldn’t hear him over the pounding of your heart in your ears.

After running for a solid ten minutes, you came to a panting, shaking stop in front of a sleazy diner. The door chimed as it opened, and you stumbled to sit in a seat in the farthest booth from the door. Your skin was clammy, your heart still racing and the adrenaline replaced by a terrible sting from both your wrist and cheek. You felt ready to collapse into exhausted sobs, but pulled yourself together by the frays when a plump waitress walked over to her.

Her face was concerned, brows furrowed and bright red lips pursed. “Sweetheart, are you alright?” she asked gently, reaching down to touch the table in front of you. Despite yourself, you flinched.

“I-I’m f-f-fine,” you stammered, really not wanting the woman to go away.

The waitress, as if sensing your thoughts, hollared towards the kitchen. “Marty! Gimme a cup of cocoa!” She sat down in front of you and took your shaking hand. “Sweetheart, you’re shakin’ like a leaf!” she exclaimed, her voice taking a motherly tone that reminded you of Missouri. “Is there someone I can call for you, baby?”

When she said that name- baby- you flinched and withdrew your hand, pulling your knees into the seat and hugging them. You only then realized how small you were, even for a young teenager. “C-Can I call my brother?” you asked quietly, sniffling and rubbing at your eye. Your cheek was no longer stinging, but a low, thrumming throb had replaced the earlier sharp pain.

The waitress nodded, giving you a pitying smile that made your stomach churn. “Gimme one second and I’ll get you the phone, doll.”

It really was only a few seconds before the waitress returned, steaming cup of cocoa in one hand and phone in the other. It was a clunky plastic phone that looked archaic, but you could hardly care as you looked at the numbers through a murky vision. You had two options- Sam, or Dean. Sam was at Standford, and the last time you had spoken with him was a few months ago. Dean was off on a hunt with Caleb, probably out of cell range. You called him anyway, and it went straight to voice mail.

I don’t know how you got this number, but unless your last name is Winchester, don’t call again. BEEP.”

“D-Dean,” you stammered into the phone, tears flowing from you now that you were actually speaking. “Dee,” the helpless sob wracked your frame and you dropped your head to your knees. “I-I need you, D-Dee…”

BEEEEEEP.

The dial tone sounded, and you sobbed again, dialing a different number this time. After several rings, a groggy voice answered. It was, to your surprise, a woman.

Hello?” she asked, sounded partially annoyed but partially worried.

“H-Hi,” you mumbled meekly. “I-Is Sam there?”

Yeah, one second,” the woman mumbled. You heard shuffled in the background followed by, “Sam, baby, the phone.”

A groan resounded, and you felt a tiny giggle bubble up desbite yourself. That groan just sounded so much like Sam that you couldn’t help yourself. “’Ello?” came the familiar voice, and your tears returned anew.

“S-Sam,” you sobbed out, unable to help it.

Wha- (Y/N)? (Y/N), kiddo, is that you?”

“Sam,” you managed through the tears, “I- I need- I don’t-”

More rustling came across the line, and you could practically see Sam rolling himself out of bed, training kicking in as he threw on clothes and shoes. “(Y/N), what’s wrong?”

You were unable to answer, throat constricting around itself. The waitress that was hovering around you put a gentle hand on your shoulder, frowning at your flinch, and took the phone from you. “Hello?”

You didn’t hear Sam’s part, but you could barely hear the squat little waitress talking to him in hushed tones as you struggled not to hyperventilate. “Poor thing came in all in a flurry. She’s still shakin’ like a leaf… I dunno what happened, hon, but she’s got a nasty bruise on her cheek… No sir, she’s alone… 1616 Lan- huh? Oh, um, Mound House, Nevada. Where are you again, hon?… Oh, goodness, that’s a drive- No, no! It’s no problem, we’re open 24/7… Okay, honey, I’ll put you back on with her.”

(Y/N)?” came Sam again, and you felt a small warmth just from the sound of your big brother’s voice. “(Y/N), I’m comin’ to get you, kiddo, it’s only a four hour drive so I’ll be there soon- just stay there, alright? Stay with the waitress and I’ll be there really soon, okay kiddo? Just stay there and I’ll be there soon…”

“S-Sam,” you gasped out, tears running down your face freely.

It’s gonna be okay, kiddo, alright? I promise you, it’s gonna be okay.” There was a loud beep, and Sam coughed. “I’ve gotta hang up now and give Jess the phone back, but I’ll be there really soon, okay? I’ve got my cell phone and I’ll call you when I’m close-”

“D-Don’t got my phone,” you told him, and Sam cursed.

Does Dad have his? I’ll call him-”

“NO!” you exclaimed, and the waitress jumped. There was a frightening silence across the line before Sam spoke again.

(Y/N), did Dad… Did he hurt you?”

Having your night finally put into words, the dam finally broke. Sobs wracked your frame and you were unable to answer, snot and tears running down your face as you rubbed furiously, only aggravating the bruise on your cheek. The waitress took the phone back and talked to Sam again, although you couldn’t tell what they were saying. You could hardly even think, for that matter.

After a few minutes- or hours, time seemed to fly when your brain was trying to poud its way out of your skull- the waitress pulled you up to stand and took you to a little room in the back of the diner. And there you sat for the full four hours waiting on Sam. Every couple of minutes a head would poke in and offer you something- food, drink, a jacket- you declined every offer with a dull shake of your head. By now, you sobs had settled into soft hiccups and frail, shallow whimpers.

Hours, minutes, weeks, days. Time had no meaning to you as you sat there in the back room, knees drawn up to your chin, as you lolled back and forth, fighting sleep.

Finally, blessed finally, the door creaked open and a shaggy brown head popped in. Big, hazel eyes looked around the room for a minute before settling on you, and a broken voice muttered, “(Y/N)…”

Before you knew what was happening, your brother was around you, hugging you, kissing your forehead and nose, checking out the bruise on your cheek. He was whispering sweetly to you the whole time, placing his jacket around your shoulders and rubbing your arms warmly. You thought you had cried out all of your tears, but they began anew when Sam lifted you up into his arms, holding you like you weighed nothing. You nestled up close to him, gripping his hoodie tightly and burrowing your face in his shoulder. You heard the waitress- the oh-so-kind waitress- talking softly to him and felt her pat your shoulder.

“You make sure to take good care of her, young man.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It was so like Sam to say that, to be so confident. You knew he couldn’t protect you, though. You would eventually have to go back to John- you were underage, after all- and then Sam would go back to Stanford, and you’d be alone once more.

You were set down in a car, the heat turned up on high and making it cozy despite the chilly sleet outside. “(Y/N)? Kiddo, please look at me, please.”

Sam sounded so broken that you had to look up, look deep into his hazel eyes. It was the first time you had actually sat up straight in nearly five hours, and your back popped painfully. Sam’s face softened even more when he saw the bright blue bruise that stretched from your cheekbone up towards your eye. “Oh, kiddo,” he whispered sadly, hugging you once more. “I’m not gonna let him ever lay a hand on you again, (Y/N),” Sam promised you. He kissed your forehead, resting his lips there as he spoke. “I swear to God, he’s never gonna touch you ever again.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt a warm blanket of safety rest over you. And you fell into a blissful, painless sleep…

A VIDEO

"Where could she possibly be, Dean?"

Reblogged from Supernatural Imagines
A VIDEO

imaginethatsupernatural:

"Dude, (Y/N), you okay?"

Requested by: farbeyondnormal21

Reblogged from Supernatural Imagines
A TEXT POST

rnikedirnt:

rnikedirnt:

my health teacher has a sign in her room that says ‘if you cant handle the word vagina, then you shouldnt have your penis in one’

i wonder if my health teacher knows that shes tumblr famous