Supernatural x Readers

Mess Is Mine (Part 8)

Words: 9,016 (Holy toledo! That's right, people!)
Pairing: Sam x Reader
Warnings: mentions of blood/injuries, mild language, scary/disturbing imagery
Summary: Y/N settles into the bunker with the boys...
A/N: Thanks so much for your patience everyone! Writer's block and work have been a real pain in the arse... but here it is! And it's long! And YAY! (You'll see...)
This is part of a series! Read the other parts here!

Your name:

The whistle of the kettle on the stove sounded and you jumped up to grab it, not wanting it to wake Sam or Dean. You poured the steaming water into your waiting mug and warmed your hands around the outside, breathing in the calming scent of chamomile and vanilla.

The rising spirals of steam drifted lazily on currents of air, floating freely towards the only light illuminating the kitchen; the small one above the stove. It was the middle of the night and there you were again in the kitchen alone, long after you had retired for bed but found sleep inaccessible.

You didn't hear Sam's bare feet approaching.

"Couldn't sleep again?"

You startled at the sudden and unexpected sound of his voice and your tea sloshed out of your cup and over your hand.

"Shit!" you dropped the mug involuntarily and the ceramic shattered on the floor, splattering amber liquid and shards of ceramic across the kitchen and your bare feet. You rushed to the faucet and turned on the cold tap, immediately sticking your hand beneath it.

Sam looked horrified at what he had just caused. "Oh God! Y/N, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to scare you! I—"

"It's alright," you said over your shoulder, trying not to wince from the heat of the burn. "I guess I'm still just really jumpy."

"I am so sorry," Sam said again. He rushed over to you at the sink and flicked on another light so he could look at your hand. "Crap... You're definitely burned," he said, running a hand through his hair anxiously. "I'll get some ointment. And don't move! I don't want you to cut your feet on the broken cup."

You glanced down at the floor. "What about you?" you said pointedly, looking at his bare feet.

"I'll be fine," he said dismissively. "Just keep that under cool water."

You did as Sam asked and he returned momentarily with a first aid kit and a broom. He hastily cleaned up the floor, pushing along all the little pieces of ceramic over to a waiting dustpan, which he emptied into the bin. "Alright. Come here," he said, settling down at the table.

You shut off the tap and gently dried your hand. Your skin was an angry red but it didn't look like it was going to be too bad...

Still, Sam was looking at you expectantly with that signature expression of soft concern, his eyes shining with worry. "It's not bad, Sam," you said. "I'll be fine."

But he didn't relent and only continued to peer at you so you gave in and sank into the chair next to him. He gingerly took your hand between his, which were a little rough but not unpleasantly so... You didn't know that his hesitation was because the idea of taking your hand in his was making it difficult to focus. And when did that happen? When did the thought of you make his heart race? He couldn't pinpoint exactly when... Possibly it had always been that way...

And you felt your heart flutter in your chest as his hands closed gently around yours. Your skin responded to his touch with goose bumps. Thankfully he didn't seem to notice that or the blush that rose in your face.