Supernatural Imagines & Preferences

Dean Imagine

Innocence~

You sit in your car and stare out the window. In the distance you can see Sam and Dean Winchester talking up some beautiful woman from the bar who apparently was a witness at the latest crime scene. She sent envy through your bloodstream and after a minute of talking with her, you had dismissed yourself to wait in the Impala.

Even from this view you could see Dean flirting with her- probably the way her head fell back when she giggled or maybe the way Sam awkwardly stood. Dean and her were obviously hitting it off. For the first time in forever, you were completely jealous and it bothered the hell out of you.

Yeah, everyone went through that stage of self-loathing and nearly physical and emotional pain of looking at themselves in the mirror. For you, that was almost 5 years ago- stopping just after you met the brothers. But now it was back and the more Dean stood there laughing with the girl, the more the fire of hate boiled low in your stomach. Not hate of her. Hate of yourself.

~~~

"Hey, (Y/N)!" The familiar voice of Dean rang through the halls of the bunker, causing you to clench your jaw and struggle to find a hiding place for the razor. Don't even mention the blood decorating the ends of your ankles, maybe he wouldn't notice it.

You threw the razor under the bed just in time for Dean to step in, holding a paper bag of what smelt like fatty food. Your stomach growled and eyed the food. Dean laughed at you, shutting the door behind him and joining you on the end of your bed.

You bite your lip and look away from his hot stare, to the floor where patterns of blood were forming from your cuts. Your eyes widen and you shift so you're feet are no longer visible under his eye. You hope he doesn't notice, but when you focus back on him, there's a hard stolid look on his face. You swallow hard and blink rapidly.

"What did you get me?" You whisper lowly, eyes darting back and forth from his face to the floor. Dean wasn't even looking at you. He was staring at the floor, jaw clenched rigged, with fists forming at his sides.

"Want to explain that to me?" He says harshly, immediately standing up and pushing you against the bed, quickly grabbing hold of your foot before you can pull away. You watch in horror as Dean's mossy eyes soak in your bloodied ankles.

It was quiet. Too quiet. His lips were pressed in a hard line and his eyes never leaving yours. His jaw was so tight you thought it might snap.

"D-Dean-"

"Don't talk to me. I thought you were over this!" He growls, throwing your leg away from him and starting to walk away. You whimper at his retreating back and almost think of calling him back. Your blood is on his hands as he walks away, pulling your door closed with a hard slam.

You listen quietly, hoping to hear what you feared would happen next.

A loud crash and an angry yell proved you right. Dean was smashing things again. You squeeze your eyes shut and wish you could rewind the clock a week ago- to when they were interviewing that girl. That's when it had started. Since then Dean had acted normal around you, a little flirty and a little too happy. Now you feared he wouldn't talk to you for another week again.

You sat in silence, listening to Dean's fist pound against the wall in the other room, angry huffs of curse words sprawling from his lips.

Finally after about a minute after it stops, you climb from your bed for the bathroom. Maybe take an extremely hot shower to fog up your mind. You barely make it to the door before there's the scruff of boots. You pause as your door opens.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Surprisingly, he sounds sincere. You look over your shoulder at him. Your eyes widen in surprise at how red and puffy his eyes look and the way his hair was pushed around in disorder. He sighs when you two make eye contact and he shuts the door behind him again.

It's only then that you see a wet washcloth in his hand. "Sit." He demands. You follow orders and meet him at the side of your bed.

"Take off everything except your bra and panties. Then lay down."

Whoa, okay. You do as he says, afraid of looking him in his eyes. You lay on your back but he's quick to push you over to your stomach, grabbing your wrists and pushing them gently to your sides.

Dean's touch was gentle, scared, as if you might crumble at his touch. His first move was pressing the cold cloth to your burning ankles. You hissed but he shushed you calmly and pretty soon the pain was pushed away and replaced with a calming sensation.

When he was done cleaning your ankles, he found medical tape and gauze and wrapped around them, his touch still light as a feather. After that, his hands were off you and you wondered if he had left again.

Then Dean's voice came in a soft sensitive whisper.

"How come you do this to yourself? Do you do it for the physical pain? Or are you truly emotionally distressed? Is it because of us? Because of me?" At the last sentence his breath hitches dramatically and suddenly his fingers played the tense fibers at your neck.

You jumped at his touch but he hushed you again. As you relaxed at his touch, he continued his leisurely moves at your neck and shoulders.

"Because you know, no matter what you think about yourself, I will always think of you as that innocent little hunter who hadn't killed a single monster. The very first (Y/N) I met," He continued down your shoulder blades and your mid back. You felt tears spring to your eyes. "I'll always be so proud of what you've become-though. You're a fighter. And this...this kills me to see you this way. To see you self-harming. No, I never would've thought the woman I love would do this."

Wait, did he just say-? Now the waterworks were really coming. You sniffle and he continues down your back, fingers and hands working out your stressed muscles.

"I would do anything- anything- to get you to stop this. What can I- This isn't about me, is it? Tell me you aren't doing this to yourself because you dislike the job, or us, or me. But if it is, might as well get it off your chest so I can- I can..."

He was rambling now and your tears slipped from their container as you felt two warm drops of water at the middle of your back. Not your tears. His tears. Dean was crying because of you. Because he thought you hated him.

You rushed to fix the mistake. "No, Dean. It's not you, definitely not you. Or Sam. Or this job. God dammit, I'm a total screw- up-"

"That's where you're wrong," He cuts you off. You shake as your eyes shed more tears. His hands pause at the top of your panties, jumping down to your thighs. You bite your lip at how considerate he's being. The thing he's said before 'the woman I love, the woman I love...' playing over and over in your mind.

"You are definitely not a screw up. You will never be one. Yes, you make mistakes- you screw up. But you are not one," Another water drop lands on the small of your back and your stomach coils at the image of him crying above you.

"Please please please stop this. I love you too much to watch you fade away. I think I can't live without you. So please stop this. Let me help you."

You nod as he stops massaging your body. You wait for him to say something more, to do something more, but when you finally find the strength to sit up, you see he's walked out the door.