Request: Handyman
i-write-supernatural-imagines:
Request: Hi I was wondering if maybe I could request a samxreader imagine where the reader hurts her hand during a hunt and Sam has to try and cheer her up and help her do things. I’ve just hurt my hand recently and it would mean a lot. I love your writing x
Word Count: 1,492
I’m sorry about your hand!! I hope it’s feeling better by now<3
Also I’m sorry I disappeared this week but I’ve been drowning in drama work!! I had my mock exam today so I’ve been cramming in as much work for it as possible (I’m doing costume design rather than performance so I have to prepare a presentation and two costumes and a whole portfolio and a massive moodboard and it’s been a nightmare) but now it’s over, with a bit of luck I’ll get back to some sort of regular posting schedule. Thank you so much for bearing with!!<333
You cry out, dropping your gun as a book hits you in the head, knocking you to the ground. You manage to get mostly out of the way before the ancient oak bookcase lands straight on your hand, pinning it to the marble floor of the old museum.
“Y/N?!” You hear Sam’s voice, ricocheting from the walls, “You okay?”
“Fine!” You yell back – he sounds harassed. At best, he’s being attacked by the spirit of an old mummy – the museum had been stockpiling the bastards in a back room and they’ve been terrorising the building for decades. Sam doesn’t reply, so you scan around – your hand must be broken and probably bleeding. Your gun is halfway to the door. There’s no way you can release the bookcase on your own – but, on the other hand, you’re alone. You stretch out, snagging your duffel on your foot and dragging it over. You’re still weaponless, but at least there’s a salt canister in there.
You draw a safe circle around yourself and wait for the sounds of battle to die down. No sooner has the smell of smoke reached your nostrils, Sam comes clattering into the room.
“Y/N?” He scans the room quickly – finding no threat he advances on you, quickly figuring out that you’re unable to move, “Are you hurt?”
“Just my hand.” You wince. He nods as Dean follows him into the room and between them, they inch the bookcase off the ground enough for you to retract your hand. You clutch it close to your chest – it’s past the point of hurting, and has turned to a strangely warm numbness.
“Can I see?” Sam asks, holding out his hand. You nod mutely, letting him take your crushed, broken hand in both of his. He turns if over gently, “I think we’ll have to go to the emergency room – it’s a bit… uh…”
“Totally annihilated?” You offer helpfully, and Sam nods.
“Yeah. You’re right.” He nods, “It’s not bleeding too badly, though.”
Nonetheless, he shrugs off his flannel and wraps it around your hand, so tight it’s painful. The three of you slip out of a back exit and call the fire department, hoping that the mummy bonfire doesn’t burn the whole museum down.
***
You’re injured badly enough to constitute being fast-tracked through A&E (either that or Dean managed to flirt his way through the receptionist, judging by the flush in her cheeks, it’s probably that) and you’re poked and prodded every which way until they put your hand back together, cast it and bandage it and shove it in a sling with strict orders to take painkillers every couple of hours and to let it heal. By the time you get back to the bunker, it’s nearly four in the morning and you just fall into bed, sleeping until lunchtime the next day.
By the time you’re up, Sam has already been awake for five hours and has been running, cleaned his weapons, tidied the room around you and made lunch for the three of you. As soon as he sees you, however, he drops the spoon he’s holding and crosses over to you, kissing your forehead and taking your casted hand in both of his.
“How are you feeling? Do you need some painkillers?”
You shake your head, “I’m okay. They make me hazy.” You offer a somewhat pathetic smile and he hugs you close.
“You’ll be fine. Back on your feet – well, hand – in no time.” He promises, “Lunch is in, like, a half hour.”
“I’m going to go find some clothes.” You suddenly realise that you’re only wearing a pair of shorts and one of Sam’s t-shirts that you stole not long after you got together. He nods, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips.
“Be careful. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.” You promise, turning and heading back towards you room.
You make it as far as trying to put on your bra, and it turns out that doing a bra clasp single-handedly is… well, impossible. You try, and try, and try again, and get one of the hooks in, but undo it the moment you try to get the other one done, and-
“Oh, for crying out loud!” You snap, dropping backwards onto the bed in defeat. This is ridiculous.
“Y/N? Everything okay?” Sam asks – he fusses far too much sometimes, but you’re grateful as he comes into the room. Seeing you lying on the bed in your underwear, bra undone, he frowns.
“Y/N, I don’t think you’re in any fit state to-“
“I can’t do my bra.” You say desolately, accompanying the statement with a deep sigh. Sam smiles, helping you up and moving around the back.
“Just give me a shout if you need anything. At all. I don’t mind.” He reminds you, carefully doing up your bra and handing you a t-shirt. You sigh, nodding.
“I know.” You say, “I’m just so freaking frustrated. It’s a bra, Sam, I’ve done it a million and one times.”
“And just this once, you couldn’t.” He says softly, “But you have me, so it’s fine. Will you be okay with your jeans?”
“Like hell I’m putting jeans on. It’s legging city for me – I’m not leaving this place. Not like this.”
“You can’t just avoid the entire world until your hand is healed.” He says, narrowing his eyes. You grin.
“Watch me.”
***
The next thing comes over lunch – you can’t butter your bread, so Sam dives in. And then you can’t clean your gun or sharpen your knife or carry books. You can only type slowly and have to stop completely to have a drink of water. Only having one hand is impossible. And even worse, Sam is bordering on becoming unbearable to be around – it’s driving you mad, him constantly hovering over your shoulder to make sure you can do whatever it is you’re doing.
This all comes to a head when you leave the sitting room, where the three of you are catching up on the TV you’ve missed over the past few weeks, to get a glass of water. You place the glass in the sink and turn on the tap. While you’re waiting for it to fill, you hear footsteps behind you.
“Need any help?” Sam asks casually. You whirl on him, attention diverted from the glass quickly filling in the sink.
“I’m just getting a glass of water. It’s not watchmaking.” You say, placing your good hand on your hip. He nods, but still keeps his eyes on you as you turn the tap off, and pour the excess water from the top. You’re about to head out past him when he holds out a hand.
“Let me take that.”
“No, I’ve got it.” He insists, reaching closer for it. You shoot him a withering glare.
“Dammit, Sam, I’m not a child!” You snap, “I know my hand is wrecked but I’ve had worse and managed without you. I’m not crippled and I’m not useless, so quit acting like I am!”
At the look on his face your stomach turns over with guilt and you step towards him, but he only moves away, “Oh, no, Sam, I’m so-“
“Don’t be.” He says softly, lifting his eyes to yours reluctantly – he towers over you, but somehow he seems so small, “I overdid it, I get it. I’m sorry.”
“Stop it.” You shake your head, “I’m sorry, dammit, I’m just so mad and frustrated and I can’t do anything and I hate it so much. I hate that I have to rely on you to-“
“Do you remember,” He interrupts suddenly, “Last summer. The ghoul nearly took me down – I pretty much bled out and was on bed rest, for what? Two weeks?”
“Three.” You say softly, remembering it well – the panic, the worry. You didn’t leave his side the entire time, “I remember.”
“You did everything I needed. Everything. You brought food, water, clothes. You didn’t need to do any of that, but I’ve never had a wound heal so well.”
“I guess, but-“
“Or the December before that. You didn’t visit your best friend for Christmas because I had the flu and you wouldn’t leave me alone because Dean didn’t put enough honey in the tea.”
“That was nothing.”
“That was everything.” He says, taking the glass of water from your hand and wrapping your good hand in both of his, “You’ve gone above and beyond this entire relationship, and I couldn’t help but feel like you were putting in far more than you were taking out. Maybe I overcompensated.”
You find yourself smiling as he brings you in and wraps you in his arms, so tightly it makes breathing difficult. You smile as he kisses your head, mumbling a soft I love you into your hair.
And when you return the sentiment, you find yourself feeling better than ever – maybe it isn’t so bad.
<3