I did something rather stupid a few days ago, I sprained my foot. How, you ask? Well, I tried to walk on it when it was very much asleep and it went badly. My foot twisted in a weird way and I now have bruises and it hurts to walk on. Sam was there when I did it and he instantly ran to me and asked in his worried tone, "What hurts? Are you okay, Kait?" I shake my head, and hold my foot, then he follows my gaze and says, "Okay, do you need help getting up?" I nod and stretch out my arms towards him and he grabs me gently and helps me to the kitchen chair, the closest thing to sit on. He asks, "Should I call someone? Can you walk?" I shake my head, "No, I think I can just handle it. I won't let a sprained foot stop me." I say that almost through tears because the pain is so bad and Sam looks at me with kind eyes, "Kait, honey, I know that you're resilient and won't let anything stop you, you prove that every day. But, you're hurt. And it seems like it might be bad. Please, the Impala is in the garage and I can get you to the closest hospital in under an hour." I respond, "I'll think about it, but you know I hate hospitals and doctors." He nods, "I know, they've wronged you before." I nod, "Yeah, they aren't helpful in the least for someone like me. They always just say the pain is in your head, you don't have a disability or chronic illness." Sam points out, "I know, but that's another reason I'm concerned. Taking into account your disability and chronic illnesses, I don't want this to become a serious issue if we ignore it." I nod, "I understand, honey. Let's just watch it a few days." He reluctantly agrees, "Okay, but you're gonna have to follow my recovery plan." I ask, "And what's that?" Sam lays out his rules for my injured foot, "Well...stay off of it as much as you can, let me help you, ice it but not longer than twenty minutes at a time, and elevate it when you're laying on the couch." I look at him, impressed he knows so much about this stuff. "Wow, honey, you know a lot about this." Sam chuckles, the first smile since I hurt myself, "Yeah...I've been through a lot as a hunter. I know how to handle most medical emergencies." I laugh, and he hugs me. I sit on the chair for about fifteen minutes before I'm ready to go to the couch and so I start to get up, using the table for support. Sam is watching me and allows me to do it, but once I'm standing with my injured foot dangling in the air, he steps in. I put my arm around him and he guides me to the couch, and lays me down gently. I'm an independent woman but around him, I can let my guard down and admit I need his help. Once I'm on the couch, Sam grabs my Realtree pillow off the floor and fluffs it then puts it under my leg gently. Once I'm situated, Sam hears one bark and says, "Abaddon wants back in." I nod and he goes to open the door, then says to my Siberian Husky service dog, "No jumping on her, she's hurt." Abaddon comes in, panting and stares at me then alerts with a nose boop to my arm. Sam notices and says, "She's alerting, honey. Can you check your heart rate?" I hit the heart rate app on my Apple Watch and report, "150, good girl." Sam says, "That's high...must be the pain you're in." I nod and Abaddon asks to get up on the couch with me but Sam shakes his head. He tells her to go sit in the recliner so that's what she begrudgingly does. After about an hour of laying on the couch, I get hungry and attempt to get up but Sam is right there ready to help. He asks, gently guiding me back down to the couch, "What do you want, honey?" I answer, "I'm hungry, maybe a hot dog?" Without another word, he goes to the kitchen and starts boiling me a hot dog. He says as he grabs a pot as quietly as he can because he knows I have misophonia and actually respects that, "I'm not as good a cook as Dean but I think I can manage a hot dog." I chuckle and ask, "When is Dean coming back from his hunt with Cas?" Sam responds, "Should be back in about four hours." He goes to the sink and fills up the small pot with as much water as it takes for a hot dog, and then puts it on the burner. It takes about fifteen minutes for the hot dog to cook thoroughly and then he asks, "What do you want on it?" I look at him and he chuckles, "Mayonnaise and pickles, I know. I was just messin with you." He makes it and brings it to me and I ask, "Can I eat on the couch? These are new..." He responds, "Yes, honey, you can. I know you won't spill anything." I am so thankful for my boyfriend and after a few days, and a lot of help from Sam, the swelling goes down and it hurts less and less to walk on. On the third day, Sam allowed me to walk on it a little bit. It took three weeks and both Sam and Dean's help to get it to heal fully.
