You'd never been one to complain. Especially around the boys. But tonight you were exhausted. A high tolerance for pain paired with a particularly nasty haunting that took all three of you to finish had left you bruised, battered, and beyond tired. All you could think of was getting back to the bunker, getting cleaned up, perhaps stitching up that one cut on your shoulder where the ghost had flung a chair at you and you hadn't quite moved in time, and relaxing with the guys. The ride back seemed to take way longer than it had to get to the abandoned farmhouse. You managed to doze off a little leaned against the backseat window even if every bump and turn jarred your shoulder which was currently held shut by a dirty rag.
Once back to the bunker, a long, hot shower with a cold shower beer made you feel ten times better. Your shoulder still hurt, and it was going to need a couple of stitches now that it was all cleaned out. But at least you had a light buzz to help dull the pain, and one of the boys could help you get the stitches evenly done so you wouldn't scar too badly. A crew neck sweatshirt left over from that one semester you tried at college and plaid pajama pants were so much more comfortable than the dusty, bloody clothes now thrown in a forgotten corner of your room.
By the time you padded back out to the kitchen, and grabbed a round of cold ones and found the guys, they were already getting engrossed in a basketball game on Sam's computer. They hadn't bothered to get a proper TV yet, so usually you all ended up huddled around the smallish screen when you decided to watch something. Tonight would be no different. Dean sat on one end of the couch, leaned back with a beer bottle already in hand, still filthy from the hunt. Sam, sitting toward the middle, had already cleaned up, and looked up when you walked in to the room.
"Hey, Y/N, how's that shoulder?" he asked you, glancing up with slight concern from the screen. You shrugged with your good shoulder.
"Better now that I've got a cold beer to put on it, Sammy," you said with a half grimace/half grin. "Would you mind helping me with the stitches though? Dean's too dirty to touch anything right now." Dean glanced sideways at you at the mention of his name, a half smile forming around the beer bottle at his lips.
"Perhaps that's the plan, Y/N. Most girls like that I'm too dirty." Dean smirked at his own bad joke and poured the rest of the beer down his throat before standing up.
"Uh, huh. That's what you'd like to think," you replied, rolling your eyes at the older Winchester.
"That being said, the game's at half and I smell like ghost goo," Dean winked at you as he left the room. Just as well, his stitches tended to pull just a little bit more than Sam's and were never as even – tending to leave scars that you really didn't want to have – no matter how hard he tried.
You sat down on Sam's left in the spot Dean had vacated and handed him the suture kit you'd put together over the past few months. "Good timing then, coming up on the half," you said to Sam turning as you got settled and pulled the arm of your sleeve down, stretching the already stretched out collar of the sweatshirt even more. You managed to reveal the temporary bandage you'd put on your right shoulder to prevent the cut from bleeding through. Sam took the kit from you and gently removed the bandage evaluating the cut, his height working to his advantage even sitting down.
After a few seconds, he commented, "It shouldn't take too many stitches maybe 4 or 5 to hold it well. That okay?" You nodded in response trying to wiggle around to see the wound better yourself. "You're stretching it weird, Y/N. Sit still so I can put some ice on it first." You wrinkled your nose at his rebuke as he handed you back the ice to hold on the cut while he wiped down the needle and line with alcohol. After a few minutes passed with you icing the spot and him making sure the wound and the sutures would be sterile, Sam was ready to get you stitched up. "Ready?"
You'd never be ready for the pinch and pull of sutures without local anesthetic, but you did what you had to when hunting with the Winchesters. Sam worked swiftly and as gently as he could, trying to keep up a light conversation to distract you as he worked. Once he was done, he replaced the original bandage with a new one, softly pulled your stretched collar back up over the new dressing, and patted your leg. "All set!" He handed the kit back to you for you to take back to the kitchen where it belonged. You got yourself another beer to wash away the pain and rejoined him on the couch, noticing there were a few minutes left in halftime.
Fatigue was overtaking you and your shoulder was still throbbing with a stinging burn. You decided it might be best to close your eyes for a few minutes before Dean returned and you could enjoy some fun just the three of you. You settled back on the couch in your usual spot next to Sam with a smile, squirming down into the soft cushions. He got up to get some snacks, leaving you alone for a minute or two, which you used to your advantage by laying down and enjoying the space you had for a minute. It was so comfy and warm where Sam had been you couldn't resist laying down on the couch, curled toward the end with your feet tucked up underneath you. It would just be for a minute before the boys got back.
You quickly fell asleep, worn out from the long night the day before and the fight today. As much as you trained and acted as tough as you could, hunting still wore you out and your recovery time was not up to par yet. Add in an injury and your exhaustion was bound to take over.
Through your light sleep, you heard Dean return first, just catching his stage whisper to Sam in the other room. "She's out already!" You felt a soft warmth over your whole body as Dean grabbed a blanket and covered you with it, tucking it carefully when he reached your injured arm. He ran his fingers lightly across your hairline, pushing your hair out of your face with his calloused fingers and held his hand on your cheek for just a second or two before he moved to sit down. Sammy came back just then as you snuggled down deeper into the puddle of blankets Dean had just used to cover you.
Sam chuckled, "How does she fit down into that tiny space? She seems 6 feet tall when she's fighting with us." He touched your hair as well as you thought you heard the game start back up.
"She fights big, but she's only as tall as you were when you were like 12, Sam," Dean laughed to himself. "Should we try to move her? I don't want to yell at the stupid refs and wake her. But I don't want to hurt her shoulder – that would wake her up too," You could feel both Winchesters shift to look at you, their small, newly minted hunting partner. You just snuggled your nose into the blankets that smelled like the bunker, popcorn, Winchesters, and nights spent laughing in this safe space in the middle of a difficult world.
"Let's leave her here with us. Family bonding and all," Dean replied, leaning back into his seat. "She'll get used to getting woken up by our random game yelling at deserving refs." You could hear the warm smile on Dean's face. You sighed knowing that you'd been accepted into this makeshift family – the only one you'd known in quite some time, and drifted off the rest of the way.
The guys did their best to keep quiet and you didn't wake until the next morning, taking up just one square of cushion on their oversized couch. You stretched and grimaced at the pull on your shoulder. A noise from the other end of the couch made you look up and you met the golden green eyes of Dean smiling down at you. He was holding two cups of coffee and held one out toward you. "Hey there, Y/N, good morning! Helluva hunt last night. Coffee?"
You sat up to take the steaming mug from his hand, returning his smile. "It was. And I'm sure my bed head looks equally awesome," you joked.
"You've got nothing on Sammy, just wait," Dean replied. A few minutes passed in silence while you enjoyed Dean's presence and the warmth of the bitter coffee slowly waking you up the rest of the way. Sam lumbered through the living room after a short while rubbing his eyes, and Dean was right – his hair was a hot mess. You met Dean's eyes and both of you started to laugh, giggling as Sam scrunched his face up at the two of you sitting on the couch with blankets and fresh coffee. "Nothing like Sammy morning hair, it gets all the ladies," Dean joked as Sam took a swipe at the back of his head and he ducked. "Welcome to the family, Y/N."