Supernatural Imagines

Dean X reader--Long Sleeves

Imagine Dean finding the cuts up your arms on a date (Highschool!AU).

Trigger warnings: Depression, self harm...you get the jist 

You stare longingly at the blue tank top peeking out from the bottom of your drawer. It's been too long since you've worn it. You sigh and instead choose the last clean long sleeve shirt in your drawer. A thick white sweater you had been trying not to wear now that you're in the midst of summer. Reluctantly, you unfold it and tug it over your head. The fabric scratches your skin, but you ignore the feeling.

The doorbell signals Dean's arrival, and you rush down the stairs. You peck your mom on her cheek as you go by her.

"Have fun," she says.

"Thanks."

"And stay safe!"

"Of course," you reply as you swing open the door to reveal Dean Winchester in his usual jacket.

"Hey, you," You say and go up on your tiptoes to kiss him. He wraps an arm around your waist and walks you to his car. Already, you feel the hot air compress around you and warm up the thick fabric.

He opens the passenger side door for you, and you step inside. When he takes his own seat on the driver's side, he pauses and gives you a questioning look.

"What?" you ask.

"Aren't you hot?" he says, "It's 75 degrees and you're wearing a thick sweater. I wouldn't necessarily say it's sweater weather."

"Nah. I'm fine."

He continues to stare at you. "If you go right now, you can change."

"Dean," you say, "I'm fine. Let's go already. I'm starving."

"Ok, ok." He turns on the ignition and drives off.

You arrive at a nice restaurant and Dean decides to sit outside. The two of you sit in a patch of sun and the warmth begins to creep up your arms. You shift uncomfortable, but manage to keep a smile on your face. The waiter passes each of you a ice cold glass of water, which you savor.

"Are you ready to order?" he asks, pulling out his notebook.

Dean looks at you and you nod. "Yeah" he says, "I think we are." Dean looks down at the menu. "I'll have a hamburger, nice and crispy. Extra fries on the side."

"I'll have the..." you trail off as you fall into deep thought. Your mind spirals around and screams in terror. Suddenly you have no control and you feel helpless and alienated in your own body. The air gets caught in your throat and your lungs shrink. Your mind begin to cannibalize on itself and all the the little things that have happened. Even though you know that none of these small insignificant things matter right now, you still can't help but dwell on them now.

"Y/n?" You feel a hand touch your own, and you are pulled from the trance. Slowly, you focus on Dean's face and swallow the dryness in your throat. "Are you ok?" he asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

The waiter offers to get you some water, but you deny his help.

"No, I'm fine. I just need to go to the bathroom." You stand abruptly, hitting your hip on the table. You steady yourself with a hand. "Sorry." 

Walking as fast as you can without looking suspicious, you walk back into the restaurant in the general direction of the bathrooms. You cross one arm over your chest to clasp the other one that hangs limply and instead exit out the back door. In a daze, you walk across the street to a wooded park where you claim a bench. 

The orange light of the setting sun shimmers through the treetops as you play with the sleeve of your sweater. You let out a deep breath and remind yourself why you're happy. Ice cream. Your dog. Your family. Spaghetti. Dean.

"Nice try, Houdini," Dean says from behind you, making you jump.

You turn and watch him walk up the path.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He sits behind you and looks you in the eyes. You pull away and stare at your hands. With a finger, he lifts your chin, so he can see your face. "Y/n, why won't you tell me what's going on?" He strokes your hair. "I know this isn't you. There's something wrong and I want to help."

"You can't help me, Dean."

"Y/n, let me try. Just tell me."

Again, you look away. "I don't want to. You'll never see me the same. I want you to know me as me, not like this. If I tell you, it will be the only thing you think of when you see me."

"Y/n, I'm not that shallow. No one is...well, except maybe Brittany. She's a nutjob though."

You let out a sad laugh at the insult directed at the girl in school who leaps from boyfriend to boyfriend every week. 

He slings an arm around your shoulder and you look into his golden green eyes. He leans forwards and you meet your lips to his. You hold a hand on his cheek and he holds your wrist. You flinch and pull apart from him. 

With both of his hands, he holds your left arm and you know what's coming. You touch your forehead to his as you look down and bite your lip. He begins to roll the sleeve up.

Alarms go off like crazy inside your mind, but you sit immobilized in your position as you watch him. You don't dare breathe or think. You are in tunnel vision mode and focused on his fingers. Your eyes begin to well up with tears.

He pushes the sleeve up a few inches, revealing the first cut, an older one that has scarred. Dean exhales, disappointed and keeps going. After each cut he finds, his body sinks in on itself. Finally, he can't take it anymore and stops just past your elbow.

Dean pulls away and you watch his expression change as he mulls over the situation. His hands never leave your arm in almost a protective way. A tear slips down your cheek and off your chin.

You break the silence, "How long have you known?"

"I was suspicious about a week ago, when I realized I hadn't seen you in a short sleeve shirt for a while. But I never actually knew...until now."

He sighs and touches a scar with his thumb. "Are they on the other arm?"

You nod.

"How long..."

"About a month or so...Dean," you ask for his attention and he looks up, "do you still love me?" you say, your voice shaking.

He answers by leaning in and kissing you on the lips. When he pulls away he says, "How could I judge someone by something they can't help?"

You smile and he squeezes your hand. "Now, let's go finish our date."

You nod and together you stand up. The two of you begin walking back to the restaurant and you ask, "Are you going to make me tell my parents?"

"They need to know. We can do it however works for you. I can tell them. You can tell them. We can tell them together. We'll figure it out."

You rest your head on his shoulder and you walk back to the table where you can finally order.