Summary: Sam does laundry to help you out, but forgets a little something before he sets it to wash.
Word Count: 887
Warnings:light fluff, light angst. this is very light lol. mild language
a/n: this is my first writing in a while, so i apologize. feedback is greatly appreciated. love you xx
You trudged through the door of the bunker right behind the boys. The three of you had just came back from a case—vamps. There had never, like EVER, been a case so difficult. There were 10 of them. That’s more than enough for the three of you. One had almost caught your backside, but you were quick enough to slice its head off.
Sam had seen the whole thing, especially the mixture of hurt and triumph in your face when you’d decapitated the son of a bitch. He almost came to ask if you were okay, but decided you were strong enough to handle yourself. He couldn’t let his emotions get in the way of the hunt. You had a thing with the younger Winchester for a while, nothing official, but it was obviously something. Even Dean could sense the weird tension. It wasn’t sexual, just there.
You both knew that you couldn’t act on your feelings because you couldn’t be vulnerable to each other. Hunters couldn’t have weaknesses, and especially not lovers. You were supposed to be cold hearted assholes, not sappy teenagers.
The water that began dripping on your face brought you out of your head. You had barely realized you’d gotten into the shower. It had become so routine for you now—get home, shower, clean the bunker, sleep. Washing the feeling of blood and evil off of your body at the end of the day was about one of the best things about being a hunter. It was purifying, almost.
Heading out of the shower, you’d almost forgotten it was Thursday—laundry day. Because you grew up cleaning around your house, you self-appointed yourself as the bunker maid. You knew that someone had to because God knows Dean won’t clean after himself and although Sam cleans up after himself for the most part, he wouldn’t even think to clean up after his brother. When you first joined the pair, they refused to let you do anything, but after a while, they knew they needed a little more to wear than two-day old underwear and clothes full of blood and all sorts of other gunk. At this point the boys knew to drop their dirty clothes’ basket in your room on Mondays and Thursdays and you’d wash them by the next day if there wasn’t a case.
You finished showering and stepped into your room, towel still wrapped around your chest. You threw your dirty clothes into the hamper, but missed. Unusual. Going to grab your discarded clothes, you noticed your basket wasn’t there. Weird. You got dressed into a t-shirt and some gym shorts and headed to ask Sam if he’d your hamper. Unluckily, he wasn’t in his room.
“Sam,” you yelled.
“Over here,” he yelled back, his voice coming from the laundry room. You walked there skeptically. Peering into the doorway, you saw he was taking some clothes out of the washer and putting them into the dryer. Your clothes. And some of Dean’s clothes. Oh, no.
Hesitantly you questioned him, “Sammy...what are you doing, honey?”
He gave you a confused look and took the pair of Dean’s jeans he’d worn today out of the washer. “I’m doing laundry, obviously. Thought I’d help you out Why?”
“Please tell me you checked his pockets.”
“Um, no.” Fuck. “ But I would’ve felt something.”
“Sam, this is why I do laundry…” you sighed and grabbed the jeans straight out of his hands. Reaching into his pocket, you would have thought to feel the small, cold metal. There was nothing. “No, no, no.”
“See Y/N, I knew there was nothing in there. It’s fine,” Sam said as you bent down, frantically looking through the clothes in the washer and pulling each piece of clothing out. Finally, you felt the pocket knife’s blade against your palm and along with it came your favorite red and black flannel. It was stuck right on the pocket. Taking it out carefully, you noticed a few other cuts and tears in it.
“Oh,” was all Sam could bring himself to say. You knew he he was sorry, but didn’t know what to say without saying the wrong thing. He was honestly just trying to help you out after the hunt today.
Looking up, you saw the sad look on his face and you couldn’t help but not be mad at him. He hadn’t known, and although it was your favorite, it was just a shirt. “Next time, leave the laundry to me, okay?” You kissed his cheek and picked up where he left off, putting the clothes in the dryer and making sure you checked all nooks and crannies. With that, Sam huffed and shuffled out of the room, feeling embarrassed.
You finished in only a few minutes, putting the pocket knife on a table in the library as you walked to your room. Passing Dean’s room and heard his rough voice. “Sam, you really are stupid enough to screw this up by laundry. Fricking dirty laundry.”
You chuckled and peeped your head in the doorway. “No, he screwed this up by not asking me on a date yet.” Both of the boys turned their heads with wide eyes. Sam’s cheeks got rosy red and he smiled like a little school boy. “But first, you gotta buy me a new flannel.”
