The air was thick and sweet and smelled like a bakery. You were leaning against the kitchen counter in the bunker, reading a book in one hand and nursing a mug of tea in the other. Things had been so hectic lately with the search for Abaddon not going so well. Sam and Dean had been hunched over in the main hall doing research all week and coming up dry. As if a Knight of Hell running around wasn’t stressful enough, the King of Hell was currently locked up in the basement. There was too much pressure on all of you to perform and the bunker’s atmosphere was saturated with tension. But today, you decided, was going to be a chance to unwind a little. You couldn’t carry on with the weight of the world on your shoulders. You were all human; you could only take on so much responsibility before collapsing under the strain.
You’d convinced Dean to buy these boxes of muffin mix months ago and you decided now was the perfect time to use them. All you had done was add the eggs, milk and butter and popped it all into the oven in a muffin pan, which you were happy to discover after digging through the bottom cabinets for 5 minutes. The smell of baking treats filled your head with pleasant images of a sunlit kitchen with the window open, a slight breeze fluttering through and ruffling checkered curtains…

You heard heavy footfalls approaching and you turn your head in time to watch Sam lumber through the doorway. His hazel eyes are bleary and his hair is sticking up in the back. He looks like a toddler who just woke up from a midday nap but you know for a fact he’s gotten hardly any shuteye for the past 42 hours. He rubs his face and takes a few more steps in the general direction of the coffee machine.

"Hey, Sammy," you coo gently, watching his slow movements with concern. "How’s it going in there?"

"Not good," he sighs, pouring what was left of the black sludge he and Dean had been calling coffee. He took a drink and grimaced. "We’ve been reading for hours and we can’t find anything that could help us pin her down."

You furrow your brow sympathetically, your gut clenching a little bit. It was important to find this bitch and gank her before she got ahead in Hell’s approval ratings. You looked down at the floor, a feeling of dread creeping over you.

Time was of the essence. You had to find her soon or else— You took a deep breath and let it out. No, you weren’t going to psych yourself out. Not right now. Besides, the best way to help was to keep everyone motivated and positive.

"What’s that smell?" Sam finally asked.

You looked up at him, your countenance brightening. You lean back against the counter, a sly smile on your face.

"Oh, I just thought I’d make you and Dean something special for working so hard," you reply cryptically.

He lifts a brow and stares at you blankly for a moment before cracking a slight smile.

"What are you making?" He buys into your guessing game. A perfect opportunity to cheer him up.

"You’re smart, Sam," you reply with a playful grin. "Give your best guess."

"…Alright," he scoffs, looking around the kitchen with more alertness than he’d been showing the books the past few hours. "Cake." He spots the cupcake papers left on the counter. "Cupcakes."

"Not exactly," you tisk, grabbing the wrappers and tossing them into a drawer. You’d hoped to keep him guessing but there was really only one other treat that required the use of paper cups.

"Muffins?"

"Bingo!" You call loudly, pointing at him. "You’re the winner-winner, chicken dinner! And as your reward, you get to have first choice of the muffins. They’re almost done." You glance at the timer, which had less than a minute left. You brush past him to get some I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter from the fridge and pat his bicep affectionately on the way.

"You are quite the detective, moose!" You tease as you bend down to pluck the tub of butter substitute from the jumble of condiments on the bottom shelf. You brace your hand on the freezer and bend deeper, pulling on the stubborn thing but it’s stuck. Damn thing must be glued down to the shelf by some unknown fridge-goo.

"I bet you won a spelling bee when you were a kid." You prattle as you push bottles and jars aside so Sam’s favorite not-butter-butter has a clear path. You yank it and it tears off the shelf, leaving behind a yellow ring. What the heck is that…? When was the last time anyone even cleaned this fridge, you wondered as you scanned the shelves for further mysterious slop.

You were too oblivious during your inner monologue to feel the hot gaze starring right at your ass. You didn’t know it, but Sam died a little bit every time you wore those black clingy shorts around the bunker. After a minute of blatant ogling, he cleared his throat and you pulled yourself from the fridge, knocking the back of your head on the freezer handle on the way out.

"Ouch," you flash him an embarrassed smile and hold up the container for him to see. "Got it!"

He shakes his head but there’s a real smile growing on his face.

"You ok?" He chuckles. "That sounded like it hurt."

"Nope, I’m fine!" you chirp, feeling the heavy atmosphere that had been plaguing everyone starting to dissipate quickly. You set the butter on the counter just as the oven beeps. You squeal and grab a cloth, pulling the muffins from the oven. You set them on the counter to let them cool. Sam moves closer to you, leaning over your shoulder to admire your work.

"Those look amazing," he takes a deep breath. "What kind are they?"

"Blueberry," you announce proudly and then push his hand away. "Don’t touch!"

You look up at him and he gives you that confused puppy dog face.

"You’ll burn your hand, Sam."

He furrows his brow slightly, pouting, and you start to melt. How could a grown ass, 6 foot something man look so cute? It wasn’t fair. You roll your eyes and groan in exasperation.

"Okay!" You huff and carefully lift a muffin from the tin, avoiding the blistering metal. "But you should wait. I don’t want you to burn your tongue."

Without warning, Sam stepped up behind you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. Your breath catches in your throat as he rests his chin on top of your head.

"Thank you, ___," he sounds grateful. his voice soft. "You’re the best."

You let out a nervous giggle and turn to face him, slipping your arms around his waist. You melt against his body and press your cheek to his chest. He smells faintly of soap and distinctly like the pages of a book. God, you loved that smell.

"You’re welcome," you mutter, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest at the closeness of his body. You rub his back a bit and close your eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling of him in your arms. You could hear his heart beating steadily and strongly against his Enochian etched rib cage.

"Hey doll face, what are you making in—"

The voice cuts off and you lift your head from Sam’s chest to see Dean standing in the doorway with a grin spreading across his face.

"Ohhh, whoops. Don’t mind me, lovebirds," he chortles, putting his hands up in mock surrender and backing out the door. "I thought I smelled something sweet but now I think I might be sick…"

Your face heats up deep red and you start to pull away to teach him a lesson in assuming things but Sam doesn’t let you go. Instead, he squeezes your body tighter, eliminating any wiggle room, and making your body flush with pleasure. He leans down and nuzzles his head against yours. You swallow hard at the way Dean raises his brows at the two of you, realizing he might be over his head. You play along with Sam’s game and try to freak Dean out. You wrap your leg around Sam’s hip and clutch at his arm.

"We’re kinda busy in here at the moment, Dean," Sam says in a husky voice. "Maybe come back later."

"No problem, little brother," he says, still looking amused. "Just keep in mind that we make food on those counters? Thanks."

"We’ll clean up whatever mess we make," you quip and look up at Sam in a lovey dovey way. "I mean, we can try but I’m not making any promises. Sam can get pretty wild~"

"Okay, I’m out!" Dean shouts, turning around and walking away with his hands in the air in surrender.

You and Sam burst out laughing. You laugh hard, holding each other and rocking back and forth. God, it was good to hear Sam’s laugh again and see him hold his side from laughing too hard. You wiped at unfallen tear from your eye, grinning like an idiot.

"Ohhh, man, did you see his face?" You giggle. "That was priceless!"

Sam nods in agreement and cups your cheek. You blink and stare up at him expectantly. His hazel eyes stare right through you. You feel a little uncomfortable under the scrutiny but then get lost in the ring of brown around his irises and you lose track of time…

"I don’t know what we would do without you," Sam speaks softly, his thumb brushing tenderly over your skin.

Before you can reply, he stoops down and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. Your eyes flutter shut at the tentative sweetness that is all Sam. When he pulls away, he chuckles at the dreamy expression on your face.

"Ummm…" You try to pull your head out of the clouds. "That muffin is probably cool enough by now…"

"Probably," Sam agrees, seizing you by the waist and pulling you close. "But I I don’t wanna burn my tongue."

Another laugh leaves your mouth before he sweeps you into a passionate kiss that leaves you warm and gooey on the inside.

Note to self: Make more muffins.