It was almost comical about how Sam ended up breaking his hand. Breaking it from fighting a literal zombie.

You couldn't help but giggle the whole way to the hospital in the back seat of the Impala, trying to muffle your laughter with your hands. Yes, you were worried. Yes, you knew how inappropriate your giggling was. But you couldn't help it.

After he got it casted, you couldn't help but think it was a little bit cute how he tended to fumble things when using his broken hand. After your honorary giggles you would help him with whatever, he couldn't help but feel a little useless when you helped him tidy his books, carry his bags or write down notes for him.

"I'm not obsolete, you know." He would grumble out every time you moved to help him. He figured it should be him helping you but after the first week he begrudgingly accepted it.

The three of you had eventually rounded back to the Roadhouse to get a little help from Ellen about the new case.

Dean was off sat at the bar talking to Jo, while Ellen was polishing off some glasses near them. While you and Sam were sitting at a table somewhere in the corner by the jukebox which was playing some song you vaguely recalled from Dean's lot of CDs.

You let out a deep sigh, growing bored from the ongoing research and the sound of Sam clicking away at his laptop keyboard.

Your gaze sets on a bunch of markers set on the top of an open book, colourful markings all over the pages.

A small smile crept onto your face as you grab the markers with one hand and Sam's casted hand with your other. Halting his typing and looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

"What're you doing?" He ask skeptically with a hint of playfulness.