Supernatural Imagines

Dean/ I really hate to like you

Summary: You had always hated Dean Winchester, so you never expected an "innocent" prank war to change that around. (Both you and dean are 16) 

A/N: Hi everyone I love supernatural  so munch that i decided to write imagines. Love you all   hope you enjoy the book :)

Song for the chapter: I really like you by Carly Rae Jepsen

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You didn't like Dean Winchester. You really didn't like him. You didn't have a specific reason other than the fact you thought he was obnoxious and a little pretentious. Unsurprisingly, he didn't exactly like you either.

In the beginning, at least.

You first met them, and from then on only saw them, when they visited Bobby's. You were there a lot—more than they were, at least. Your parents would leave you there for weeks on end, and you didn't complain. Bobby was the uncle you wished you had.

On the few occasions that you would go home, you spent your day in solitude, hidden away in your room to have as little interaction with your family as possible. They didn't really care whether or not you spent time with them or not.

It started when you were being left at Bobby's again. You'd think that being sixteen meant that you could stay home by yourself, but that was not a possibility. Your parents were convinced that you'd be killed while they were gone.

You watched the SUV speed out of the salvage yard, and you sighed, shouldering your duffel bag of clothes for the next couple of weeks. The front door was left slightly ajar, which wasn't uncommon, so you let yourself in.

A mistake.

A bucket of ice water fell from where it was perched between the frame and the top of the door, and in addition to having your upper torso soaked, the lip of the bucket also hit you just above your eyebrow, leaving a cut. Of course, you were shocked to say the least, and when the bucket struck your head, you slumped to the ground. You weren't unconscious, but the impact was enough to make the ceiling spin and black dots threaten your sight.

"Oh, shit! You're not Sam!" Dean shouted from where he was hiding just around the corner.

"Wha..." Your voice sounded distant.

"Uh, crap, Y/N; I didn't know you were coming!"

You were vaguely aware of someone pushing you into a sitting position, and you blinked hard to try and clear your vision and thoughts. You were met with a flash of the familiar, and migraine-inducing, face of Dean Winchester, his eyes wide with panic.

"Come on; come on. Let's get you on the couch," he said, hauling your arm around his shoulders so that he could drag you. Your duffle bag was left forgotten on the threshold.

"Dean, what the hell?" you asked once you were seated on the couch with a paper towel filled with ice pressed against the growing bump. "You could've killed someone!"

He rolled his eyes in exasperation, but his stiff and rigid posture showed that he was tense from the event. "Well, if you'd just stayed outside and knocked, this could've been avoided."

"Are you really trying to justify putting a metal bucket filled with ice and water on top of a door frame just to prank your kid brother?"

"Sam can handle it; he probably wouldn't be sitting on the couch with an icepack just 'cause he bumped his head. 'Sides, I had to get him back for making all of my white clothes pink."