Supernatural Imagines/One shots

Stitches - Sam

Character: Sam
Type: Action -> Fluff 
Word Count: 1207
CW - injury/stitches

I couldn't be more excited for my first hunt with Sam alone. Dean is an amazing hunter, it goes without saying, but tonight we get to lead, we get to feel full satisfaction when we kill this werewolf. 

The forest near the motel we're staying at is eerily silent, so it's easy enough to follow the ominous snaps and rustles to the beast. I see it before Sam does, so I nudge him slightly in the ribs. He jerks his head up, eyes resting on the werewolf.

"Ready?" I whisper, touching his upper arm. 

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

That's all it takes for us to attack. We've caught the sucker by surprise, luckily for us, but somehow, I manage to trip. I hurtle into the chaos of the fight, giving the werewolf the perfect opportunity to attack me from behind. I scramble to my feet, curses streaming from my mouth as I feel claws slash at my back. 

BANG

The deafening sound of a bullet rips through the air: like cracking ribs, like a clap of thunder. I watch the silver pellet wedge itself into the werewolf's heart, its body collapsing immediately. 

I spin my head to see the Sam that I rarely catch a glimpse of, but each time I do, it sends a shiver down my spine. The Sam whose eyes are cold, yet full of burning fury. The Sam that's impulsive and determined - the Sam that's a killer. 

I watch him carefully as he lowers the gun, his chest rising and falling at an alarming rate. He sucks in a long breath and then looks over at me. It's as if a switch flips as he rushes over in long strides to close the gap between us. Before saying anything, he pulls me in for a quick embrace; he smells like linin and sweat.  

He pulls away, eyes flitting from my face to my body. "Did he hurt you?" he asks quietly, voice overflowing with concern. It makes a soft smile spread across my lips. 

"He scratched my back, but I think I'm okay," I respond. Even with a brave face, I wince when I try to get up. 

"Let me see," Sam says.

I feel him lift my black t-shirt up to the middle of my back. The night air feels refreshing as it cools my skin, but now I think about it, my back stings like hell. The adrenaline's worn off. 

He grazes his fingertips across my flesh, and I bite back a groan. 

"It's pretty bad, Y/N. I'll clean it up in the car." he mutters, taking my hand in his. We slowly walk back to the impala. 

Shame eats me up from the inside out, my brain scolding me for being too careless. 

✿༺  ༻✿

"He 'scratched your back'?" Sam scoffs, "He mauled your back, more like."

"Thanks Sam." I say sarcastically. "Not helping."

"Sorry." 

I groan loudly as he cleans the wound with alcohol. He's convinced me to lie down in the back of the impala and let's just pray we don't get any blood on the seats. Neither of us fancies Death by Dean.

"Sammmm!"

"I'm sorry. You're doing really well."

"Fuck!"

A string of colourful words escape my mouth as Sam gently dabs at my back. I think the fact I can't see what he's doing is amplifying the pain. 

Sam whispers my name and panic shoots through me. "What?!" I practically yell. 

"Don't hate me," Sam begins, "But... I think you need stitches." 

I go silent and it spooks Sam. "Y/N?" 

I've only gotten stitches once before. I was nine - I'd fallen when climbing a tree and my Dad took me to the hospital. I had to get twelve stitches on my hand and even with anaesthetic and an amazing nurse, I cried the whole time. It was traumatising. 

I blink back the fearful tears that threaten to fall. "Nothing. Just do it quick." 

Sam senses my faux bravery. "Hang in there," he whispers, leaning over me to kiss my temple. Then, he shuts the door and slides into the driver's seat.

"What are you doing?" I ask, not having the energy to sit up.

"We're going back to the motel. Dean can stitch you up, and then I can hold your hand."

"Sam, I'm not a kid. I'll be fine," I insist, although my lip begins to tremble. I clench my jaw in case Sam can see me in the rear-view mirror. "I don't want to wake up Dean. Sam, are you listening?"

No reply.

I sigh loudly in defeat. 

We soon pull up into the motel parking lot. Sam carefully helps me out of the car and into the room. Surprisingly, Dean is awake, reading a lore book by the light of a dim lamp. 

"Woah, what happened?" he asks, getting to his feet. He immediately searches for the first aid kit in his duffel bag, as Sam makes me sit down on the edge of his bed.

"She needs stitches on her back." Sam explains, trying to give me a reassuring look which does nothing to settle my nerves. 

I am not looking forward to this. 

"You know, it takes three whole pints of blood loss to kill a human. I'm sure I'll be fine without the, you know, needle repeatedly piercing my skin with no painkiller." I ramble, knowing my excuses are futile. 

Sam sighs as Dean sits next to me on the bed, holding a needle and thread. 

"Sam," I squeak, my heart slamming against my ribcage. I've been injured plenty of times on hunts, but have never required the dreaded treatment of stitches. How Sam can stitch up himself, I'll never know.   

"I'm right here," he says softly, sitting next to me and taking my hand. I turn my body to face him so Dean has easy access to my back. 

"I've cleaned it up already," Sam looks over my shoulder at his brother, "Be gentle with her, please."

"I'll try," Dean says sympathetically, "Y/N, can you take your shirt off?"

Sam helps me pull the blood-soaked fabric over my head without grazing my back too much. He tosses it to the floor and turns all his attention back onto me.

I smile weakly.

"So," Sam says, "Are you hungry?"

My eyebrows furrow in confusion and I open my mouth to respond, but my answer turns into a yelp when I feel Dean start stitching.

"Hey! Don't ignore me! Are you hungry?" he repeats, staring into my eyes. 

"I mean, yeah."

"We'll go out to eat. What do you want to eat?"

"Burgers." I reply, realising that Sam's not just being weird, he's trying to distract me.

"Where do you wanna go?"

"Sam, it's 2am. Where can we go?" 

"I saw a crappy 24 hour fast food place on the way here."

"Sounds perfect." 

Sam breaks eye contact, trying to think of another question.

"Opinions on socks and sandals?" I ask, making Sam smile. Before he can answer, I scream out in pain and Sam glares at Dean like I've never seen him do before.

"Sorry! Almost... almost done... Ok, done!"

He holds his hands up and I sigh in immense relief. "Thank you." I say, although I'm still facing Sam.

"No problem," both brothers answer at the same time. I laugh and Sam fetches me a clean shirt. 

"Come on, then. Let's get those burgers."