Random Fandom Imagines 2

Dean Winchester

"Look, I'm not saying you're lying, but you are definitely not telling the truth." Sam shook his head, nearing desperate to cover the curvature of his lips and the laugh erupting in his chest. He took another sip of his beer before forcing the overdramatically serious expression to return to his face.
Dean narrowed his eyes on his brother, throwing back the remnants of bourbon in the bottom of his glass. He glanced over in your direction for a split second, sending you a smile that exhilarated butterflies in the depths of your core, before turning back to Sam with an intoxicated glare.
"I am appalled you don't believe me. You'll just have to take my word for it, Sammy. You weren't there. Deal with it." Dean slurred, pointing a finger at Sam, who only rolled his eyes in return.
You couldn't help but laugh, covering your lips with the palm of your hand, as you watched Dean attempt to compose himself to appear more credible.
They had been having this fight for the last hour, drawing the attention of almost everyone in the pub. A few tables glanced over every so often, whispering and trying to gesture towards the three of you discreetly. Others didn't even attempt to hide their amusement and had turned their bar stools to face your table, obviously intrigued. It didn't bother you at all. In fact, it was only adding to hilarity of the situation that Sam and Dean didn't seem to find ridiculous in the slightest.
Neither of the brothers were budging on either side of the argument. Not to mention the increasing blood-alcohol levels weren't exactly helping their cases or doing any favors to stop Dean's invigoratingly smug confidence or Sam's deteriorating patience.
Sam took another swig from his beer, keeping careful eye contact with his brother. You glanced between the two, biting back the laugh threatening to incapacitate you.
After a few minutes of agonizing silence and exponentially building anticipation, Sam slammed his beer on the table, causing remnants of the liquid to fly from the glass onto the wooden table. The audience of drunken travelers nearly jumped from the sudden movement.
"There's no way you met Bon Jovi at some floozy bar in Jersey when you were 16, Dean!" Sam shouted, throwing his arms in the air. The frustration was evident in every inch of his expression down to the twitch of his upper lip. "I'm not buying it! Just cave already!"
"Not happening, bro. I have never spoken truer words in my life and I resent the accusation! That night was magical experience for us both." Dean insisted with a defiant smirk, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands behind his head. To anyone else he would have come across as an arrogant jerk, but you knew him much better than that. He winked at you, causing you to grin wildly in return.
Sam frowned at your obvious enjoyment of the argument and you immediately bit your lip for the younger Winchester's sake, though you couldn't keep the laugh in for long when Dean's smile practically lit up every corner of the dingy old bar.
"I'm going to get the next round." Sam groaned, pushing his chair out from under him and standing to his feet. He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning between you and Dean. He shook his head, a soft smile curving on his lips before he made his way towards the bartender.
The crowd sighed, probably wishing a full fledged brawl would have erupted, and went back to their own business. It suddenly felt like you were finally alone, despite the heavy traffic of the pub. You were happy to just feel free of the insanity of your world for just one night.
Almost as if Dean's thoughts aligned perfectly with yours, now realizing the lack of viewers to your table, his hand slowly slid comfortably against your thigh, squeezing it lightly through the layer of denim; a gesture he could only make when no one could see. It was the most natural, most familiar, almost expected behavior, and yet it set a fire in your stomach every time.
An involuntary smile set on the edges of your lips like a reflex as you leaned against his shoulder. His nose pressed against your neck, his lips just barely grazing the skin, his breath warm against you. Your fingers quickly intertwined in his; calloused hands easily finding their way to one another in the most casual of ways.
Neither of you ever discussed the impossibly brief stolen moments you shared, or why you hid it from Sam. You never so much as mentioned it once aloud, far too afraid that it would crumble away the second it felt real. You knew it could never be more than a fantasy tucked away in secret moments and you were certain Dean was aware of the reality of the situation as well.
No one in your line of work survives anything past one night stands. Relationships and love tend to destroy hunters far worse than any amount of monsters ever could.
Those brief moments of intimacy were already far more than you should have allowed for yourself, but there was something about Dean that drew you to him like he was the only sense of home you had ever known, like he was the only source of light in your world of complete and total darkness.
Maybe he was. Maybe he meant a lot more to you than you would ever admit to yourself. Maybe you wanted more than this, but saying it aloud, making it real, would surely be the death of you both.
You were an empty shell before you met the Winchesters; deadly and reckless at just nineteen years old, with a bloodlust that would put Cain himself to shame. Hunters without something to lose are far more dangerous than any monster with a twisted sense of justice.
You used to hunt just to kill, to feel something die beneath your hands, as if the ability to take life somehow restored the emptiness inside you the world has instilled in you years before.
Dean changed that in you. Sam, too. They showed you what it meant to have someone watching out for you, how it felt to be cared for in the most selfless of ways, why your life mattered more than you believed it did, and that you were more than just a pawn in a game you didn't understand.
They gave you family and home and security.
They saved you.
It didn't surprise you, to say the least, when you started to realize the extent of your feelings for the older Winchester. Your first instinct was to push him away, or to leave in the dead of night to avoid the pain and heartache that would naturally come with the vulnerability of love. Only, it never came to that.
The night before you decided you were going to leave, Dean stumbled into your room for the first time with whiskey on his breath and tears in his eyes, complaining of nightmares and a fear of sleep that set stone deep in your heart.
Allowing him to curl up next to you, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and his head lying on your chest, was the first and final straw. He shattered the walls around your heart in one night. They crumbled instantly just with his touch.
It was too difficult to stay away from him after that. It started out with innocent requests to sleep in the other's bed at night to avoid the monsters lurking in your dreams, intentional brushes of hands as you walked next to each other along busy sidewalks, and sitting close enough for your hips to touch on the same side of a diner's booth.
Eventually, you were making up excuses to be alone with him just so you could feel him against your chest, his hands weaving through your hair, his lips warm and gentle on yours. You began to crave moments when Sam would step away, even for a second, just so you could give into the undeniable need just to touch Dean, even if it was just to hold his hand under the table or lean against his shoulder.
It was enough; for you, anyway.
"So, how true is that story?" You asked suddenly, raising an eyebrow as Dean pulled back away from you. You were careful to not break the moment between the pair of you by playing with the lines in his left hand, as you had done a million times before. You traced the old scars and creases in his skin as if you were memorizing him.
"Oh, it's not. I lied." Dean grinned wildly. "I never met Bon Jovi. Are you kidding me, (Y/n)? If I had, I would have tattooed a detailed account of that night on my face... on Sam's face!"
You burst into laughter, shaking your head in a helpless ditch to compose yourself. You could feel Dean's eyes watching you, grazing over every feature effortless lit up simply by being near him. It never once made you feel self-conscious or uncomfortable. That's just how he was with you.
After the ache in your cheeks had passed and the laughter subsided, you pulled Dean's hand back into your lap, continuing to mindless playing with it. Dean sighed, watching your fingers touch and drag along his hand as if he were in a daze.
It wasn't until you spotted Sam passing the bartender a twenty that you quickly let go of Dean's hand, turning back towards the table and facing away from him. Dean nodded slowly with a drawn out sigh, chewing on his lip, knowing that the moment between the two of you had ended as they always do.
"So," Sam said, sliding into his chair and passing out the drinks. "Did Dean confess to being a dirty liar yet?"
"Sorry, Sam. Afraid not." You shrugged.
Sam groaned, pushing fallen locks of hair from his eyes and trying not appeared bothered. He wasn't doing a very good job.
Dean grinned, and you caught him eyeing you with the same level of adoration he gave only a minute ago while Sam was over at the bar. You narrowed your eyes at him, confused, gesturing towards his brother who didn't seem to notice the silent exchange. You quickly shook your head, inaudibly telling Dean to stop looking at you like that before Sam caught on.
Dean stared back at you for a minute, a flash of hurt across his face, before he turned his attention to the glass of whiskey at his fingertips. He took a larger gulp than normal and clenched the sides of the glass as the burn slid down his throat.
He barely made eye contact with you after that, as if you had uncovered something he didn't want you to see. It took a while before you put the pieces together and realized that it wasn't just a slipup. Dean didn't just forget that Sam was there.
He didn't want the moment to end. He tried to keep it alive longer than it was meant to.
He wanted it to be real.
Your heart dropped.