Supernatural Imagines [ABANDONED]

If I Was Blonde and Curvy

Dean Winchester x Reader

Winchester brothers x Reader

*Male Reader*

~

You hear a thud from the room next to you and automatically whip around, gun raised. You're working a werewolf case in Vermont and you're in an abandoned warehouse where you had chased the werewolf and his accomplice. Light cursing can be heard from behind the thin door. You don't approach it (God, you're not a freaking white girl in a horror movie), but you stand in front of it, gun raised defensively. You wait, heart beating out of your chest. Slowly, the knob turns. You pull back the hammer.

Two men burst through the door, guns raised and pointed directly at you. Your brain takes over instead of your instincts and you raise your hands in a gesture of peace, gun pointed to the ceiling.

"HEY, hey, hey," you say. "Not a werewolf." You nod between the two men in front of you. "Hunters?"

Keeping your gun pointed up and away from them, you put the hammer back and slowly place the gun on the floor. They do the same. The shorter one pulls out a silver knife and approaches you, green eyes boring into yours as he hands the knife to you, hilt first. You take it and roll up your sleeve. You draw a thin line along your forearm with the sharp blade, wincing at the sting. After nothing happens, the man takes back the knife and pulls out a (sort of) clean rag. He makes a small cut on his own arm, more out of formality than necessity.

"Were you the ones I was chasing?" you ask the man as he helps you tie the rag on your arm. You're hyper aware of his rough fingertips on the smooth skin if your forearm.

"Were you the one chasing us?" You look up at him. He's staring at you, waiting for an answer and simultaneously analyzing you.

You chuckle. "I thought you were werewolves," you say.

His voice is humorless. "We thought the same about you."

His stare is intense, making your knees go weak and your heart jump to your throat. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips and you desperately search for a magic word to break this spell. "Awkward," you manage.

He blinks, as if he's just realized what he's been doing, and tears his gaze away, shaking his head.

"I'm (Y/N)," you say, extending a hand.

The man glances at it, but doesn't take it. "Dean," he mutters.

"I'm Sam," says the taller hunter from behind Dean.

"Winchesters," you comment. "I'm honored."

"Hello Honored, I'm Dean," the shorter brother grins.

"Are you serious?" you groan.

"No, I'm Dean."

You quirk an eyebrow, trying to mask your...whatever the hell that emotion is. As he smiles cockily, you can't help but let your eyes trace the contours of his face. You see the spark in his irises, the extremely cute way that his face twists in the lopsided smile. You see all this, but you also see the witty lines, the slight dark circles under his eyes, the pain behind the smile. So much pain...

It's like he's made of broken glass, barely held together by scotch tape. You just want to take superglue and carefully fit each piece together until he's a mosaic again.

"Hey, um..." Sam is waving a hand in front of your face. You've been staring. Luckily, you had the sense to stare off into space instead of at Dean, who was currently occupied taking stock of weapons in the corner.

"Sorry," you mutter.

There's an awkward silence. Sam breaks it.

"So, you were hunting the werewolf in this town?"