Son of a Bitch -- More SPN Imagines

Sam & Dean / Behind Their Backs Pt. 2 (no Wincest)

Part II: "The Confrontations"

The knock sent your heart into a frenzy.

You stood up from the bed and made your way to the door, muttering, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," under your breath. When you opened the door, Dean immediately straightened his posture and took a deep breath in. Quickly flashing you a heart-throbbing smile, he says awkwardly, "Uh, hey, (Y/N). You busy?"

Yeah, you know, just trying to sort out my feelings for you and your brother.

You shake your head, feigning a smile. "Nope, what's up?"

"Can I come in?" he asks softly. You nod and open the door wider so that he can come through, taking a step aside to let him in. He walks in, sans his usual swagger and confident stride. His shoulders are slightly hunched and his movement is careful, his eyes focused on the ground. He shoves his hands in his pockets, looks around your room, and blurts out, "Nice place you got here."

Furrowing your eyebrows, you shut the door and say, "Uhm... I guess? It's the same room I've been in for a year now."

He nods, keeping that ridiculous smile on his face. As he struggles to find his next words, you interrupt him, "What's going on? You look like you're about to have a heart attack."

Dean laughs nervously, looking down at the floor to avoid your gaze. "Yeah, I think I am actually. I haven't been this nervous before."

Woah. That was a really personal confession coming from the rough-and-tough Dean Winchester. You started panicking internally, because him being all emotional and honest meant that this was really important to him.

Fuck times a billion.

"Well, hey," you move closer to him and meet his eyes. "Let's just take a deep breath and we can talk about things. Okay?"

Were you trying to console yourself or Dean?

The world may never know.

Dean doesn't say anything but nods in agreement, taking a seat on the edge of your bed. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him. His right leg begins bouncing up and down slightly, a nervous habit he had that you've picked up on.

You take a seat next to him and pat his back softly, trying to calm him down. He chuckles at that and says, "Don't treat me like a child, (Y/N)."

Then don't act like one, you would usually fire back. You decided not to be flirtatious or playful in any way, hoping that your distance will cause him to reevaluate his confession.

You take your hand away from his back and give him a few seconds to think. Suddenly, he straightens back up, seemingly unable to control the words from spilling out of his mouth, "Look, (Y/N), I know we wanted to keep this... whatever this is, as a friends with benefits kind of thing. And I think you've already picked up on the fact that I feel, well, more than that, for you," he coughs nervously and continues, "But... God, I think I may like you more than I've let on. And this," he gestures to the both of you, "is not my kind of thing - you know that. So, I obviously... care, a lot - a whole fucking lot - about you. I just - " he sighs, stopping himself from saying anything more. He turns to face you and, for the first time, meets your eyes. "What do you think - or - or feel about all this?"