Supernatural Short Stories

Here For You

You were miserable. That's all there was to it. You hadn't felt this bad, even when the werwolf had slashed open your arm. Or when that ghoul had started draining your blood. None of that compared to the agony your body was feeling.

Your ears were plugged, your head felt as if it was stuffed full of cotton. Your entire body ached, and even with three blankets on top of you, you were cold. A trashcan was already full fo tissues, the end of your nose raw and red.

"Y/N, did you want to...," Sam's voice rumbled as he opened your door. "Are you feeling okay?"

"No," you grumbled. Even the one word was too much for your sore throat. Snuggling deeper under the blankets, you wished sleep would just come and take you away.

Sam came over to your bed, resting his hand on your forehead. "Y/N, you're burning up. How long have you been like this?"

His hand felt nice against your skin and you leaned into the contact. "Since last night."

Sighing he pulled the blankets better around you, glancing over at your empty nightstand. "Have you taken anything for it?"

Shaking your head, you groaned as it set off a whole new series of aches. Running a hand through his hair, he lightly squeezed your hand. "I'll be back. Try to get some sleep."

It was almost an hour later when he reappeared. You had managed to get a moment or two of sleep, but not enough for your body to start recuperating. He came quietly into your room, setting the plastic bag down on your nightstand. "I wasn't sure what you would need, so I got a little bit of everything."

Reaching into the bag, he pulled out different bottles of medicine, plus tissues, cough drops and gatorade. Helping you to sit up, he poured the liquid medicine for you, and you gladly accepted it, hoping it would finally make you feel a little bit better.

Sam stood awkwardly by your side for a moment, his hands in his pockets as he tried to decide what to do. "Do you..., I guess just call me if you need anything."

Turning to leave, your pitiful, hoarse cry stopped him. "Stay. Please."

"But Y/N, you need to sleep. To recuperate and I don't want to get in the way of that," he argued, but you reached out, trying to grasp his hand. "Fine, but only until you fall asleep."

You could feel the medicine already starting to take away some of your aches and pains, but you still felt horrible. Sam sat down on the other side of your bed, and you rolled over, leaning into his touch. "I hate seeing you like this," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. You were surprised at his words, after all, you were really only friends. Close friends who killed monsters, but still.

Chalking his words up to your fever brain, you snuggled deeper into his warm flannel covered chest, closing your eyes. Sam's arm was wrapped around you, brushing the hair back from your face. With the soothing rhythm of his touch, you finally felt yourself drifitng off to sleep.

Your room was dark when you finally woke back. You were laying on your side, curled under a mountain of blankets. Your head was no longer aching, and you could move without aching. "Sam?" you called out, wondering if he had stayed with you the whole time.

But you were alone, which disappointed you. Feeling grimy, you moved to slide off the bed, your legs like jello. Almost falling to the floor just as your door opened and Sam stepped inside. "Woah, what are you doing out of bed?"

"I feel disgusting," you muttered, your throat still sore, your voice hardly even there.

He reached down, easily picking you up in his arms. "You're sick. You're supposed to feel grimy, but you should stay in bed. I don't want a relapse."

"I want to at least wash my face and brush my hair," you argued before a coughing fit racked your body. "And brush my teeth."

Sighing, Sam carried you down the hallway to the large bathroom. You didn't visit it very often, preferring the small one off the side of your room. But it was large, with multiple shower heads and a large mirror. Sitting you down on one of the chairs, Sam pushed it close to the large sink. Taking a washcloth in his large, callused hand, he rubbed it full of soapy, warm water. Crouching down, he carefully washed your face, his touch surprisingly gentle for a hunter.

As he went to place the washcloth back, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your face was pale, your lips chapped and your nose red. Your hair almost stood on end, so many knots that you were scared to brush it.

"I look horrible," you muttered, your throat aching with every word.

"You look sick. There is a difference," Sam argued.

You shook your head, disagreeing with him. Sure, you looked sick with the dark circles under your eyes and the pale skin. But you could also look horrible with your hair looking more like a bird's nest.

"If I brush your hair will it make you feel better?" He gave in to your pleading look. He left the bathroom, but was only gone for a couple of minutes. Returning with your brush, he came up behind you. "Let me know if I pull too hard."

His touch was gentle, and you hardly felt the brush as he slid it through your hair. Still wishing you could have gotten a shower, you leaned back. "Your hair is so beautiful," he whispered, his free hand following the brush as he worked through the tangles. "I've always been worried you were going to cut it because of our job."

"Thank goodness no monster has ever really grabbed a hold of it," you managed to get out. "But I have thought of cutting it."

"Don't," he insisted. "Leave it in a ponytail. Braids, anything. It's just beautiful."

Closing your eyes, you let him continue, not even noticing when he put the brush down and began braiding your hair. "Let's get you back to bed," he said softly about five minutes later. Moving to stand up, Sam quickly picked you up once again, carrying you down the hallway. Somehow while he had been gone your room had been tidied, new medicine ready for you to take on the nightstand.

"I made Dean help," Sam explained. "He says get feeling better soon otherwise he's going to the cafe by himself."

"But I love their milkshakes," you mumbled, taking the medicine and downing it without a complaint. Letting Sam pull the covers up, you immediately reached for him. Smiling softly, he sat back down on the other side of the bed. "Stay. Please."

"I'm not going anywhere," he assured you, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "Ever."