Son of a Bitch -- More SPN Imagines

Dean / See I'm Smiling

You cough awkwardly, making sure your throat was clear of any gunk so that your voice didn't crack. "I think this is going to work out."

Dean didn't respond, but he smiled genuinely at you, raising the beer bottle to his lips and swigging it. Your shoulders relaxed a little. Okay, he smiled, you thought. This is good. We're on a good track. 

You take in another deep breath, finding some stupid topic to bring up, just to keep the good vibe up. "Uhm, so Sam went out with this girl last night."

"Yeah?" Dean answered, signaling for you to go on. 

Okay, we're making conversation. Still good.

The corner of your lip twitched into a small smile, reveling in the "normal" moment. "Yeah, but apparently it didn't end too well."

"Oh yeah?" Dean shifted in his seat and pulled out his phone, glancing at the screen but turning his attention back to you.

Look, he's ignoring his phone! So he can listen to you!

You hold back another smile. Things were going great.

Feeling completely confident now, you continue your story, "Her name's Stacy or Sarah, or something, but anyways, he took her out after she convinced him to take her out, because they met two nights ago at some bar down the street, but anyways -"

Shit. I'm rambling. Keep telling the story, Y/N.

Dean checked his phone again, this time pausing to read something. He slid his thumb across the screen and began typing something.

Okay... maybe it's an emergency.

But your heart couldn't help but sink. Something still didn't feel right.

Just keep talking.

"So she's a whole foot shorter than him, but that didn't matter at first because they were sitting down at dinner and the height difference wasn't too bad, but then they went dancing and I can only imagine poor, lanky Sammy trying to dance with this girl," you pause to laugh at the image in your brain. 

Dean's still typing, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk as he watches the screen for a response. He's completely tuned out your story. 

Am I being paranoid? No, something feels wrong. Just ask him who it is.

"Who you talkin' to?" You try to sound casual and nonchalant, despite your racing heart and clammy palms. 

He glances up, seemingly distant. You can see the shift in thought occur, and he realizes that he hasn't been listening. He blinks a few times - you guessed to come up with an answer.

Not good.

"One of Bobby's friends." he responds, shoving his phone in his back pocket.

"Oh," you nod, still not believing him but trying to keep calm. "What are they saying?"

He shook his head, trying to laugh it off. He raised his beer to his lips and muttered, "Just something stupid." He took another long sip, his eyes warily watching your behavior. When he brings the bottle back down, his eyes examine the label, his fingers moving across the bottle's engraving. 

You swallow the hard lump in your throat. You couldn't shake this feeling of fear. Was he...

You stopped yourself before you could finish the thought. No, he wouldn't cheat... well, cheat again. Right? We're trying to work things out. We're working things out. He wouldn't betray me like that again. Right?

You licked your lips, staring intently at the table before you, getting angrier and angrier by the minute. You wanted to scream at him, get his attention, get him to listen to you, get him to try and work things out - to actually work things out this time. Because right now he isn't giving you anything to work with. Anything at all. He's just staring at his damn phone. Talking to God knows who. Saying God knows what.

You clench your fist so that your nails are digging into your palms. You feel ready to scream. Instead, an eerily quiet voice emerges from your throat. "You know what makes me crazy?"

Dean's eyes flicker up at yours, fear already evident on his face. He's never heard you so quiet yet so intense and on-edge. 

You don't wait for a response, instead you keep spilling out your thoughts, "When you say you want to work things out, that you want us to work out, that you're going to try... Yet you don't put in any effort at all. You just sit there. On your stupid phone. Talking to some whore, I'm sure."

"(Y/N), I'm not - "

"No, you are, Dean. I know it. You are the most disgusting human I've ever encountered. You are completely inconsiderate of others, you - you don't care about anyone else but yourself." You begin to stand up from your chair, feeling on the verge of angry tears. 

Dean stands up with you, watching your every move carefully, in fear that you will lash out. "Babe - "

"Do not - DO NOT, call me 'babe'." You jab a finger in his direction, feeling yourself lose control. 

"What is wrong with you?" he asks softly, holding his hands up in slight self-defense. 

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you?! You say you love me and want to spend your life with me, and then you go and cheat on me - TWICE! Not once, but twice. You - you cheat on me once and you tell me about it, but apparently that wasn't enough action for you because you're doing it again - right in front of me! You've betrayed me, you've absolutely crushed me. I can't believe I ever believed you. You're a liar. You're a conceited, terrible liar." Your voice began to quiver, accompanied by emerging tears. You swallowed back sadness, turning out of the room. 

You would be lying if you said you weren't disappointed when he didn't follow you out. He didn't even call out for you. He just further confirmed that he doesn't care for you. He doesn't want you. He never did, and he never will. 

You sat on your bed, allowing the tears to stream down your cheeks. You wanted him to console you, but you wanted to slap the shit out of him as well. But you couldn't stop the aching hole in your heart, longing for Dean's comfort. 

A few minutes went by, and still no word from Dean. He didn't even come to check on you. 

You laid back on your bed, feeling alone and hurt. You let the dark wave of depression wash over you, immersing you in dark thoughts and crushing defeat. You allowed yourself to cry again. You allowed your heart to throb. You allowed your stomach to ache. You allowed your body to shut down. You needed to feel these emotions - all of them. It would be the only way to get over this. To get over Dean. 

(I'm thinking about redoing this story, but from Dean's POV. Thoughts?)