𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

"oh, c'mon!" | sam x reader

type: no ship
warnings: mild swearing

imagine: sam is sick and passes out while dean and cas are on a hunt

•

"Y/N," Sam's groggy voice called. You gently paced from the kitchen to Sam's room.

His room was an absolute mess. Crumbled tissues littered out of his overflowing trash bin. The room smelled of mucus and sweat. Sam laid on top of his sheets, his face bright red. His hair laid messily on his head.

"Hey, hey," You mumbled, approaching him. "You feeling any better?" He shook his head, sitting up. You mentally shamed yourself for thinking about how he looked hot as shit.

Sam grabbed his empty thermos with shaky hands. He quietly grunted, "Could I get some more tea?"

You nodded, taking the thermos and leaving the room. Sighing deeply, you make your way towards the kitchen again.

A strange noise erupted in the hallway, and Sam perked up. "Y/N?" He tried, expecting an answer from you. You hadn't heard him. "Y/N?"

Sam slowly rolled out of the bed, a wave of nausea and heat flowing straight through his head. He heaved, gripping he edge of the bed to hold himself up. He slowly stood on his own, exiting the door.

You were still waiting for the water to warm up when you heard a loud thump in the hallway. "Sam?" You yelled. No response.

Your heart rate spiked, and you bolted into the hall. Turning the corner, you almost screamed.

Sam laid flat on the ground, passed out. His face still burned bright red from over exhaustion.

"Oh, come on!" You shouted. Sam was 6'4, and you were a mere 5'3. This would be a task.

•

You had somehow managed to lug him into the nearest bathroom, and into the bathtub. You had grabbed several ice packs, and cold, wet down towels. You placed the cold substances on him, and you wrapped many towels around his head.

Sitting on the counter, you observed him. Even in a situation so horrid, his features were perfect.

You snapped out of your thoughts, realizing calling Dean and Cas may be a good idea.

'This is Dean's other-other cell, so you must know what to do."

"I... I don't understand. Why do you want me to say my name?"

You sighed. No answer.

You remembered Dean telling you what he had to do when Sam faced the trials: An ice bath. You frowned, leaving to go buy some ice.

You figured he'd be fine where he was.

•

Returning back home, you entered the bathroom, ice in hand.

Sam was gone. You mentally panicked, dropping the ice into the sink and yelling out, "Sam?"

There was an inarticulate response which you presumed was Sam. He sounded tired.

"Keep talking," You commanded, relieved. You followed his rambles of nothingness, finding yourself in the kitchen.

Sam was sitting in the bottom of the fridge, legs extended out. He looked at you with a hazy smile. "Hi," He mumbled.

"W-What are you doing?" You giggled, going to help him up.

"It's hot," He complained, staying down. You smirked, nudging him.

"C'mon—Back to bed. I'll bring a fan in from the other room so you aren't hot." Sam let out a strangled whimper, and you got him to stand. He swayed, and you said, "Just hold on to me, okay? Try not to fall or pass out again."

He nodded, and the two of you walked back to him muggy room.

Laying him down, you pressed a firm kiss on his forehead. "Get some rest."

You left to grab the fan, and Sam mumbled, "Hey, Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

You smiled to yourself, then turned to leave the room. "Anytime, Sam."

•
{shelby}
{624}