synopsis. you hurt your back bad on a hunt. you needed sam, and he wasn't entirely there for you when you needed him. maybe you're just being emotional and petty, but you get upset about it. as always sam makes it better.
/ wc — 2,941
// h/c, fluff, angst, title is from the song no questions asked by fleetwood mac !! this fic was actually one of the first i'd started writing like agesagesages ago but never finished, went back and got inspired to fully flesh it out so now it finally sees the light of tumblr
⟢
With your legs stretched out on the couch and a soft pillow wedged under your back, you quickly grew bored. Bored of being shut up, knee-deep in research the entire day. Of course, Sam never showed any signs of restlessness, still at the library table, lost in a mess of papers and books. No position was comfortable anymore. You had the pillow up against the armrest so your back could be elevated a little, but the pain was still there.
You’d met your demise two weeks ago, when a particularly angry spirit sent you falling through the floor, down to the concrete basement ground beneath, landing full-force on your back. Not only were your muscles fried, but your whole back was a dark, mottled array of purple bruises, and Sam was sure you had fractured a vertebra.
You loved to be out in the action. You needed the adrenaline of fights and getting a little roughed up, and the indescribable feeling of saving people. But after a very stubborn argument on both ends, Sam benched you from hunting. Leaving you stuck in the bunker with no way to help but doing research. Not that you hated research, you liked it almost as much as Sam. But this was just too much of it. Too much research and not enough action drained you just as much as your injury did.
It also didn’t help that Sam (and Dean) didn’t stop hunting. Sam still left. Left you alone for days, when you needed him. Yeah, he’d call, but that was barely enough comfort. And the research you both were doing right now will be sending him off on their next case.
You slowly slid off the couch in a way that wouldn’t aggravate your back, pushing yourself off of it, heading out of the dim corner of the library into the soft lamplight at the table, silently padding over behind him. Draping your arms around his shoulders, you rest your head on your own arm, next to his. You watched as a smile crept upon his face, a small, fond huff of a laugh escaping him.
"Hey, honey," He murmurs, turning his head slightly to get a better look at you.
You hum, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, before mumbling quietly "Hey,"
"You shouldn't lean over like that, you're gonna strain yourself more."
"'M'fine," You say, nuzzling into him.
"Don't say that. I know you’re tough, but you've shown me how bad it is." He points out softly, brushing his fingertips along your forearm, the gentle, featherlight touch leaving goosebumps along your flesh.
"C'mere." He mumbles, his hand travelling down to yours, tugging on it gently. You follow his lead, settling comfortably into his lap, one arm loosely around his neck, the other resting on his side, grasping lightly at the soft material of his flannel. He gently rests your head on his shoulder, his hand gently massaging your scalp, a soft hum escaping his lips as he presses a kiss to your hair. As soon as you're rested snug in his lap, he doesn't take even another glance at the mountains of research strewn across the table, his only focus being you, in his lap. His favourite place for you to be.
"You know, you really should let me take a look at it again." He murmurs into your hair, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, keeping you close against him.
"It'll be the same. All bruised and ugly." You mumble. Everything hurt. from the dark, painful bruises down your vertebrae, to the mottled skin, and your pulled and aching muscles.
"Nothing about you is ugly." He says firmly, lifting a hand under your chin and lifting your head to meet his eyes. They're soft yet firm, focused on you with loving concern. He leans in to kiss your forehead gently, his breath tickling your hairline.
"Just let me look at it, honey. I won't touch it or anything if you don't want me to." He says gently against your forehead, before his head dips down again so he can meet your eyes.
He notices your frown, the way you look so hesitant. You've both known each other for so long and seen every side of each other, yet being vulnerable with Sam like this is something that has never gotten easier for you.
"Hey." He slides his hand to cradle your face, his fingertips in your hair at your neck, his thumb gently pressed against your cheek.
"Why do you still not like me looking at it? I've seen it before, but you never let me check on it, honey. You know I'm never gonna hurt or judge you. You trust me, don't you?"
"Of course I do."
"So why don't you let me look? I just wanna help you, darling."
“I just—“ You sigh. “I can handle it myself.”
“But I don’t want you to handle it yourself, honey. You can lean on me with these things. With anything. I want to help you. Let me help you.”
You’re quiet, not meeting his gaze, your hold going loose on him. You don’t want to be stubborn with him. You love him more than anything, but god it’s so easy to be just a little frustrated with him. He doesn’t get how you feel, being useless while he treats you with so much care it could make you cry.
“Hey.” His hand moves to hook a finger beneath your chin. “What is it?”
You hate feeling caught. Running away is also so easy, so you move to escape his hold, out of his lap.
Sam is strong. He knows this, and never ever would use his strength to hurt you. But his reflexes don’t wait when you try to leave him, big arm squeezing around your back tightly and pulling you forcefully back toward him.
Pain flares through your back, sore nerves flaring. You can’t stop the pained noise that leaves you, the wounds still so sensitive it makes your tightly shut eyes sting.
“Oh—“ Sam’s arm flew away immediately, eyes wide. “Honey— i’m so sorry, shit—“
Sam hurting you, though accidentally, was the boiling point for you. You pushed at Sam’s shoulders, trying to get off his lap. He reluctantly let you, leaning forward in the chair and holding your wrist to keep you close.
“I’m sorry, baby, did I—“ he moves a hand to lift your shirt and look, making you flinch away from him.
“No—” You voice raises, you didn’t mean to raise your voice that much. Sam flinches too.
Looking up at your face, he can see just how hurt you are. And when your eyes look at his, you can see his hurt too. It’s all too much. Sam lets your wrist drop when you tug at it, and you leave him in the library.
You’d shut up all of your feelings over this until now. Only complained in light jokes that beneath the surface held something more. But now it was bubbling up quickly in an angry volcano of molten lava, pouring out in the tightness of your chest and the hot tears stinging your eyes and burning your hot cheeks.
Walking quickly down the hallway with blurry vision, you knew Sam wouldn’t follow you. As much as he wanted to, he could tell when you needed space. He knew you so well — another thing to fuel the tears.
With a slam on the bedroom door you barely heard, you confined yourself and all but fell onto your shared bed with Sam. Only then did you let that volcano fully boil over.
Ugly, pained sobs left your lips wracking all the way through your body, uncontrollable and relentless.
Your body curled up tightly, lying in a big empty bed like you have all this time Sam was gone.
You knew that just because you had an injury didn’t mean everyone drops hunting, it was too important. But you couldn’t help feeling a little selfish. You were hurting, inside and out, and just wanted Sam to be there for you. And right now he was, and you pushed him away.
Your feelings overwhelmed you, tangled in a messy, knotted-up ball in your heart and your brain and only came out in nothing but sobs.
You hate that you’ve treated Sam like this. And you can only feel like it’s all your fault.
⟢
You didn’t know how long you lay there, your sobs quieting to sniffles, your shaking body reducing to numbness.
Your oblivion of tears and snot and too many feelings was interrupted by three soft knocks on the door.
Sam waited a moment, then let himself in, keeping the door open a little in case you wanted him to leave. When his gaze found you, his heart, already in low spirits, fell further.
He’d sat in the library whilst he knew you were no doubt sobbing in the confines of your bedroom, his love and care aching to comfort you, but also the reason he stayed put and gave you space.
“Honey?” His voice is soft and tentative, stepping forward lightly and carefully with the thought of your comfort in his mind. Always.
You need him, and you know that, but your pride was too great to have you scrambling over to him. You opted for no response at all, not even a sniffle.
“Can I come in?” He’d never come into your space at a time like this without your permission.
A wobbly ‘mhm’ passes from your shut lips.
“Honey…” he says again, quieter this time. You feel the bed dip as he sits behind you, not lying down and spooning you in case the closeness was too overwhelming. He places a gentle hand on your side, feeling you shudder in response to the contact.
“… I’m sorry I pushed you so much, sweetheart. I pushed you until I hurt you, and god—” his voice breaks off for a moment. “I can’t forgive myself for that,”
His hand moves, fingers stretching to reach the ends of your hair.
“I never want to hurt you. For any reason, and I know you know that. But I just had to say it.”
He goes quiet again, trying to choose the best words to say here. He still can’t quite gauge how you’re feeling when you’re silent with your back turned to him.
“I don’t want to keep pushing you and put more weight on you, but I can tell there’s something more than just your injury bothering you. If you would talk to me about it, I’d really like that. But if you don’t, I’ll be around until you’re ready.”
It’s difficult for Sam to be so strong in a conversation like this. He’s always been good with words, but when it comes to you he just wants to hold you and kiss it all better. But he’d thought about what he was going to say for a while before coming in, knowing that he needed be the one to lead the conversation. For you.
Sam's gentleness with you had you softening at the edges too quickly. You were still upset with him, soft care wouldn’t patch up everything just fine. But your stubbornness in pushing Sam, the one who’d seen every part of you for years and never faltered, away from you was melting from ice glaciers to soft snow. So, all that comes out in response is:
“..I- I want you now,”
Sam tried hard to contain his relief.
“Okay, honey. D’you wanna sit up?”
He leans in closer, and you only hide into the pillow more, reluctant. You know your face is red and splotchy, eyes swollen and irritated from crying. It’s obvious Sam knew you’d been crying, but openly baring it to him was a whole other thing.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, moving some of your hair away from your face. “You don’t have to hide with me, darling.”
You slowly move a little in his direction, and your breath catches a little when you see the face you love so much again. Except you can see his eyes are red-rimmed, his cheeks a bit flushed, the tell-tale signs that he’s been crying. The fact that he’s been crying, probably because of how he hurt you, breaks your heart that loves him so.
He gives you a little wobbly smile, hoping the knowledge that he’s been crying too makes you feel a little better and more comfortable. And it does.
You shift up on the pillows a little bit with a sniffle, a shaky breath leaving you as you try to make sure your voice is gonna be stable to talk.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you. You were only trying to help— and I- I—” You’re finding it hard to say what you want to, to finally get out what’s truly been bothering you so much.
“It’s okay.” He rubs a warm palm on your shoulder, quiet and warm and encouraging.
“I just, I—“ you hastily wipe a stray tear, “this injury, I can’t deal with it anymore. I’ve been stuck here on my own for two weeks, by myself in this bunker with nothing to do, and you don’t — ….. I can’t reach on the shelf for books without it hurting, open the oven, dress myself, bend down for anything, and you guys have me running around rifling through lore for you at your beck and call, that I can’t keep up with, and—“
“Honey—“ Sam starts, but you’re too deep in now, getting everything out. You’re twisting your fingers in your lap, eyes welling.
“I know hunts can’t stop because I’m hurt but you leave me here when I need you, and I can’t complain cause huntings important, but then you come back all caring and everything and it just makes me mad because I needed you before not now and it’s stupid and selfish these feelings, I-…”
You sigh, a couple tears escaping. Sam says nothing, but carefully gathers you up in his arms, holding you close to his chest. His comfort and closeness is all that’s needed for the dam to fully break. It’s surprising you have any tears left, but you do. Another wave of uncontrollable sobs wrack your body, this time slumped against the warmth of Sam’s chest.
“I needed you, and you weren’t here,” You sob.
“I know, I know I wasn’t,” Sam whispers, cheek pressed to your hair, tears that you don’t feel slipping from his cheeks into it .
He cradled you in his arms while you cried, with soothing gentle touches over your sore back. Sam feels like he doesn’t deserve to have you in his arms again this way after hurting you. But he’s going to take it, because he loves you and you need him, so damnit he’s going to comfort you.
Finally getting out everything you’ve been feeling to Sam and crying to him feels so good, a massive weight lifting off your shoulders now you can share your troubles with him. And Sam feels so lucky to have been let in. Sobs subside, shaky breaths evening.
“I’m so sorry sweetheart. So sorry. I should’ve been here for you without you even having to ask. I want to be there for you, with anything you need. I’m yours before anything else, love.”
It was so nice to hear Sam reassure you. You never meant to make him feel bad, but you struggled more than Sam did with words and feelings but finally having him here, holding you and telling you he’s yours makes you feel the best you have in a while.
“I’m not leaving you again, honey, you hear?” He says, full of conviction.
You pause.
“B-but the hunt, you’ll need to go soon—”
“Dean and Cas can handle it fine. I’m staying. I’m not going to leave you when you need me. I don’t care how big or little it is. I’m not letting you struggle on your own any longer.”
You let out such a big breath of relief, looking up at him.
“Are you sure?”
He nods, leaning down then to press a kiss to your forehead.
“I’m gonna help you get better. Will you let me help you?”
This time, you’ll say yes. You’ll let him lift your shirt off and look at the dark bruises on your back, let his tender fingers touch and ask you where it hurts. Put pillows all around you in bed, bringing you tea and snacks. Help you shower. Grab the books on the top shelf. Pick something up when you drop it so you don’t have to lean down. Run around grabbing whatever lore Dean and Cas need out on the job. Resting with you and holding you in his arms, with gentle touches and sweet kisses and even sweeter words.
Sam a constant instead of for a little while. Being benched and injured seemed just a little bit better.
I have just spent like $700 on books but I’ve never felt more at peace in my life than rn. I HATE the americans and the europeans for getting all the special editions cause wdym i gotta pay $300 AUD for a book set 💔
I have just spent like $700 on books but I’ve never felt more at peace in my life than rn. I HATE the americans and the europeans for getting all the special editions cause wdym i gotta pay $300 AUD for a book set 💔
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