One whole year!

[ratherastory.livejournal.com]

ohsam is one year old today! You know what that means, right? COMMENT-FIC!

Happy anniversary to us, and it's thanks to you, our fantastic members, who consistently come back and hurt Sammy in new and creative ways! \o/

Now, go and commit comment-fic!




SPREAD THE WORD
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Ground Rules:

1. This is a Sam-focused hurt/comfort community, so Sam should be the one in the hurt/comforted role. Your prompts may involve sick!Sam, hurt!Sam, angsty!Sam, basically anything that results in Sam being on the receiving end of hurt/comfort. (No rules against whumping other characters as well, of course, but you have to whump Sam first. ;) )

2. Comment to this post with your desired characters or pairings, and a prompt. All genres/pairings are welcome, BUT no RPF/RPS, please. Please focus on the fictional characters only.

Example A: “Sam, Dean, gen, set in season 2. Sam has a vision and passes out. Cue caring!Dean and limp!Sam.”
Example B: “Sam/Dean, trauma. Sam is injured on a hunt, Dean freaks out when he thinks Sam might be dead.”

3. You can leave as many prompts as you like, but please write one prompt per comment. If you've got a few (and feel free to prompt at will!), comment with each separately. This is to keep the meme manageable.

4. Your prompts can be as short or as detailed as you’d like. i.e. "Sam, Dean. Fever." Or a three-paragraph epic with details (rainylemons, we're all looking at you!). The more detailed your prompt, the less wriggle room you're giving the writer, though, so bear that in mind.

5. Scroll through the comments and when you find a prompt you like, write a fic in reply to the comment. There is no word count limit.

6. More than one comment-fic response to a prompt is totally acceptable, and in fact encouraged. The more fic, the better!

7. When replying to a prompt with your comment-fic, put ‘FILLED’ in your subject line and then anything else you want, ie: a title if you have one/part numbers. It’s not a big deal if you forget this step, but it will make it easier for people to find your fic, and for me when I’m compiling the master list.

8. Anonymous posting is enabled, but I haven't figured out how to turn off I.P. logging. If you're embarrassed by how schmoopy your prompts are, don't worry, we won't tell on you. ;)

9. No spoilers for future episodes. NONE. We will send Missouri after you with a spoon.

10. Standard rules of politeness apply. Do NOT bash any characters. Do NOT say rude things to prompters and writers. In short, don't be a douchebag. The mods will ruthlessly delete any ridiculousness we see.

11. Questions about the meme? Comments? PM your mods! We will be happy to answer your queries.

12. Do feed your authors! They’re awesome. Feedback is THE BEST DRUG EVER.

13. If you want to advertise this, that’s fantastic! It would be really appreciated. Just copy and paste the code provided above into your journal.

In conclusion, have FUN!

Master List

jennytork: Don't care how you do it, but land Sam and Dean in a situation where something that looks really bad, given their history, is the right thing for Sam to do. He has to go all out with his powers, and this time it really is going to change him, he won't be entirely human any more, but it's the only way. He's just gotten Dean's trust back after the soullessness thing and the whole mess of the last three years, and he knows this is going to undermine that. He doesn't trust himself, for that matter, but at a certain point not trusting himself to do the right thing becomes a coward's way out of responsibility. So he's open with Dean, but he has to go through with it. And Dean is angry and bitter and suspicious, and Sam knows he deserves that, but he does what has to be done. And he's hurt, he's hurt real bad. Will Dean be able to treat this injured, not entirely human thing as Sam, as his brother? Too High.

anonymous: A small town's "Haunted Village" turns out to be actually haunted. Sam and Dean show up in time to evacuate most of the school groups before things get too crazy, but they end up stuck in a corn maze with a kindergarten class and its very scared young teacher when all hell breaks loose.

Sam's arm or leg or something gets crushed/snapped/mangled and he's doing his best to keep it together for the kids and their teacher all the while trying to get everyone to safety. Dean is awesomely awesome, doing his best not to draw too much attention to Sam's injury so as not to freak anyone else out, but making sure Sam is all right every few minutes nonetheless. Untitled.

sistabro: Sam's visions and nightmares developed at a much earlier age. The more they progress, the harder it is for him to cope and keep his grip on reality. The headaches and lack of sleep eventually become too much and he turns to cutting to keep himself grounded. Cue awesome big brother Dean who does what he can by coaxing him through the hard times (I'd love a scene where Dean takes a knife from Sam's hand and mention of how he reacts to seeing fresh cuts on Sam's arm), but knows he ultimately can't make Sam stop and it could be something that they'll have to deal with for the rest of their lives. Counting Bodies Like Sheep

radiumgirl: Sam has an unfortunate altercation with a hellhound, and he's not fatally injured, but he's cut up, and in a lot of pain. As if THAT wasn't enough, the encounter also acts as a trigger: the wall cracks just a little more, and his mind is thrown back into Hell. He's seizing, flailing and suffering and making his injuries worse; Dean's trying to take control of the situation, even though he's horrified and panicked at Sam's memories coming back, and also at the very implications of hellhounds in his own life: his death, Jo's death. This Time and the Last Time.

phreakycat: Ever since his week of reliving Hell, Sam's started crying in his sleep. He can't/won't cry during the day, but every night when his defenses are down he sobs and sobs in his sleep.

This makes sleeping difficult for Dean, obviously. So Dean decides he's clearly got to do something to help. He's got to get Sam to cry during the daytime so that they can have a chick flick moment and Sam can let go of some of his angst. Turns out, despite all of Dean's "you're an emo girl" teasing over the years, getting Sam to cry is easier said than done. It's In My Honey, It's In My Milk.

glovered: When we see that flashback at the beginning of Unforgiven, Samuel and Sam are walking out talking about Sam's wound. Well I noticed that he's bleeding and shot or stabbed in the arm. Hurt!Sam isn't good, sure BUT what I really noticed was that Sam was wearing his BROWN HOODIE. Which now has a HOLE in the ARM.
Fast forward to present and maybe Dean finds the ripped hoodie and mends it for Sam. Maybe even soulless!Sam kept it because it was the first piece of clothing Dean bought Sam after he lost everything in the fire at Stanford. Cue Sam being touched by the gesture and apologizing again for, ya kno, letting his bro get turned into a vamp and stuff. Our Boots On With Both Hands.

minviendha: Sometime after getting his soul back, Sam falls ill. It's nothing life threatening, but he feels pretty miserable and can't really get out of bed - though he does try. Sam plays it down, but Dean won't have that. Ever since Sam's soul is back and Dean knows it's only a matter of time until the wall breaks and he loses his brother again, Dean is even more overprotective than in his best days, and now Sam's sick, he is in full "Take you medicine!"/"If you get up one more time I'll tie you to the bed!"/"Shut up and let me read you a bedtime story!" big brother mode. Pause.

minviendha: Sam decides to stay with his family instead of going to Stanford after his father gives him the ultimatum. The hunting life slowly begins to eat away at Sam, & his family can see it happening. Beneath the Trees, Where Nobody Sees.

wave_obscura: Dean has to feed Sam ice chips. Ice Chips.

youaredriving: If poison ivy is burned and the smoke then inhaled, this rash will appear on the lining of the lungs, causing extreme pain and possibly fatal respiratory difficulty. Like An Old Biddy.

blueeyedliz: Sam's wall cracks again, and this time he's out for much longer than 3 minutes. Dean knows that every second is an eternity, but he can't manage to bring Sam back. He figures the best way to snap Sam back into the here and now is to emphasize the differences/good things about reality. But the opposite of torture is... hugs and puppies? I'd love for this to have some degree of awkwardness to it, cuz it's not like Dean's used to just holding his brother, but Sam needs it (and not-so-secretly likes it) and Dean's going to do whatever it takes. Eventually, when Dean sees Sam uncovering potentially wall-damaging memories, he takes a preemptive approach. Maybe they're both a little sheepish, but, really, neither's going to give up the chance to be close AND stave off hell!seizures at the same time. Gen preferred. The Reluctant Romantic.

mercuryblue144Sam still keeps the voicemail from 4x22 even after all this time. He needs not to let himself forget about what he has done and what he is. So whenever Dean smiles at him or talks with him like he really cares, whenever he feels little blip of happiness or normalcy, whenever he thinks he has done something well, whenever he starts believing Dean has forgiven him... he has to reach out to his mobile and listen to the message.

This way he can remind himself he cannot be forgiven, that this is what Dean really thinks of him, and that he is living on borrowed time without any hope for atonement. Who Won't Let A Coward Run.

si_star_x: Schmoopy fluffy prompt! *confetti* Something happens where Sam is forced to cut his hair super short and he ends up being really depressed about it. Dean gives him a hard time about it at first because, hey it's just hair it'll grow back, but eventually he sees how much it's really bothering Sam and comforts him like whoa. "Did I ask for a haircut?

monicawoe: Sam realises he's being manipulated and turns the tables on Ruby. The BoyKing steps up to the plate and not only gets Dean out of Hell before he can pick up the knife, he forces Ruby to abandon Lilith and serve him.

Suddenly there's civil war in Hell and Heaven is completely baffled, so Castiel is sent to find out what's going on. Sam is somehow still fundamentally SAM, though, and manages to hold onto himself. No demon blood. No nothing. Nothing Left To Lose.

monicawoe: So Sam's all put back together again and Robo!Sam, like a good terrifying attack dog, is once again leashed and under the firm management of Sam's soul. Everything is good -- or is it?

[Cut for length] Sam's amoral side has gotten stronger in the year it was at large. It devises better plans, faster. Its inner voice is louder and more persuasive -- and when Sam listens, it gets results. [Further cut for length] As Sam struggles to recover Dean's trust and re-examine himself, Sam and Dean sink into a lonely spiral of second-guessing and paranoia -- while the line between Sam and his inner SkyNet ripples and blurs. Don't Worry.

ratherastory: The Jessica Moore Sam was living with at Stanford? Not his adult girlfriend, but his barely out of diapers kid. Mom died in childbirth, took off, whatever, but Sam's left with his baby and when Dean breaks in, he finds Sam alone in a small apartment with his little girl. If That Mockingbird Don't Sing

radiumgirl: Gen, preseries with a connect to season 6, Dean POV - it sucks when your Boy Scout little brother suffers heatstroke mowing lawns in 110 degree heat because he wants to earn some honest cash. It makes you freak out because, sure, the kid's a giant pain in the ass, but he's kind of your whole world. It sucks more when it happens again years later, not because he's mowing lawns, God don't you just wish, but because it's a 110 degrees and he wandered off into the desert heat during a wall crumbling sort of fugue and he doesn't know you (at first) or what's happening to him and he thinks he's that same snot-nosed teenager in the hospital after a heatstroke, asking when Dad's gonna get there. How do you keep from breaking the kid's heart and maybe ripping down that last shred of wall? You can't tell him Dad's dead and you aren't sure if you should do anything to make him come back to his adult reality because, let's face it, his reality is nothing but pain. But, he's still your world and you still stay by him, comforting and cooling him down and, no not the hospital this time, just a cool bath and rag on the forehead, and your heart breaking into a thousand pieces as you tell him "Dad'll be here soon, Sammy. Shh, he'll be here soon. I promise."

Saying you promise is almost like the first step to saying goodbye and it hurts. The Hollow of his Hand.

captainlon: "Appointment in Samarra" fic: Robosam shatters his leg when Bobby springs the trap door on him. It's a compound fracture, but Bobby is content to let him stew in his pain for a little while because, well, it's Robosam. But then he starts to notice Robo drifting into shock, and, dammit, Dean will be so pissed if he comes back with Sam's soul and finds the body dead, so, fine, FINE, Bobby will go tend to Robosam. Except...well...Robosam still really wants to stab Bobby in the neck, so things get a little awkward. Deadly Patient.

tversan: Sam's fourteen and at home waiting for John and Dean to come back forms hunt. After a week and a half - three more days that Dad had said - Sam has worked himself into in a panic. They could be hurt, they could be dead, how would Sam know? He calls Bobby and Pastor Jim but neither have heard from John. So he decides to hot-wire a car and go to wherever John and Dean are supposed to be. Except his timing sucks and a couple of cops spot him just as the car starts. He doesn't even have time to run away.

I don't know what CPS would do under these circumstances, so if it's easier have John and Dean drive up right then, great, otherwise they can return the next day, perfectly fine. The hunt just took longer than expected. What I want is a fourteen year old Sam in juvie for a couple of weeks. He's small and scared shitless and hand to hand combat is great - when they're not ganging up on you. Juvie.

si_star_x: Sam breaks his leg during a hunt, and badly so. It's shattered, in the puke-your-guts-out painful, going to take a long time to heal and probably will leave him with a limp for the rest of his life kind of way. And all he wants is to lie there and scream, or die or something, but Dean's upstairs, waiting for the thing that attacked Sam, and Sam just found out that their method for killing it doesn't work. So he has to warn Dean, but his cell's broken and Dean's in a soundproof room (or simply out of earshot), somewhere at the top of an awful lot of stairs.

But if Sam Winchester can't run to his brother's rescue, he's going to crawl to it. A little pain isn't going to stop him. The Climb.

minviendha: Some demon with insight into the cage (or Lucifer or Michael themselves, however they'd be able to) taunt Dean with stories about things that have been done to Sam in hell. Through the Glass.

monicawoe: Someone -- Gordon Walker, Walt and Roy, the gang from Free 2B U & Me, whoever -- has it in for Sam. The kicker? They know enough -- about Sam's past, his powers, his *cough*cravings*cough* weaknesses, his HELL SEIZURES -- to put him through some seriously rough times, and bring the inhuman parts of him right up to the surface.

That's before Dean rescues Sam and shoots the crap out of his captors, of course. But by the time he arrives, Sam's already pretty messed up . . . Less and More.

4422shini: Somehow, with bogus insurance and no money our boys always end up alone in their hospital room. But what if that wasn't the case? I want Sam, any injury, stuck sharing a hospital room with the roommie (or family of roomie) from hell. You can make this angsty or comical, just make sure Sam is annoyed beyond belief by having to share a room with someone else. My only stipulation is that the injury is bad enough to keep him there for a couple days, but not so bad that he's unable to gripe and bitch.' Of Hospitals, Roommates and Puke.

vail_kagami: While Dean is in the past (4.03 In the Beginning, that would be) angels (Uriel or anyone, really) find Sam. Suffering ensues, however the writer wants to go about it. Dean comes back and flips about three and a half shits. Getting Lower Ever Since.

greeneyes_fan: People who deal with crisis, or who live in a situation of long-term, ongoing crisis, develop coping mechanisms, behaviors and even personality traits that are excellent for coping with crisis--but which make for lousy methods of functioning in the real world (i.e. a state of affairs where there is not a crisis going on).

What behaviors and traits has Sam acquired in the last few years that maybe he didn't have before, or that are exaggerated versions of earlier ones, which might preclude being able to actually function effectively in ordinary society? Not necessarily the more dramatic possibilities, like the impacts of traumatic memories--what about things like needing to keep constantly busy, or a tendency toward hypervigilance, or a reduced capacity for compassion? Does suppressing his own feelings lead to an inability to empathize with others? Does he feel a sense of relief when something hugely problematic happens because at least this is a situation he knows how to deal with?

Gen, please. Motion Sickness.

quickreaver: Michael and Lucifer fight and they fight over Sam, ripping his soul between their fiery maws like he's a chew toy. [cut for length] Sometimes Michael and Lucifer get caught up in fighting and forget that they're fighting over Sam. [cut some more] hey, it's Hell! NEAT. You don't get to die and Sam lies there, drawing broken breaths through shattered lungs, cast off and forgotten until Lucifer, tired and weary from battle, comes slumping back to him. And he picks up his forgotten toy, drags Sam's limp body to his corner of the cage while he and Michael lick their wounds[further cut]. And there, bit by bit, stitch by stitch, he puts Sam back together again. Kiss With A Fist Is Better Than None.

youaredriving: A resouled Sam discovers that not only was he sleeping around, he was also not so interested in the concept of consent. Cue Sam getting flashbacks of Sam raping or killing a woman that leave Sam puking and absolutely horrified. Untitled.

killabeez: If someone can just find a way for Sam to give Dean the amulet back, and for Dean to be surprised/genuinely touched/really really grateful, that would be amazing. Especially as an understated (but obvious) thing, because he's supposed to be looking out for Sammy, not the other way around. Maybe Sam's dying, and wants to leave a little bit of himself behind with Dean so he doesn't do anything batshit crazy this time. However you do it is great, I just need the amulet back, and for it to be a good thing. That's Why I Hold With All I Have.

27_jaredjensen: sometime season 6, Dean, Sam: Gen bed sharing, forehead feels, neck massage because of headaches, Nyquil, theraflu, hot tea, bad, awful dreams because he can't sleep (you know GOOD sleep), and finally just some good ol' Tussionex which tastes like candy pineapples and has hydrocodone to kill the cough. It also makes Sam sooooooo relaxed until he's sort of floating, in and out, tucked in against Dean on some motel bed somewhere in nowhere land, wrapped in blankets, clutching a roll of toilet paper, and catching random moments of either all of the Lord of the Rings or all of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies which Dean watches to pass the time while Sam finally sleeps it off. Medicated.

Anonymous: Sam loses his hearing at Stanford. Untitled.

nanoks: Sam comes back from hell cold and touch-starved. He has to be in his hoodie at all times. Maybe he smokes? He's always twitchy and on-edge. He can never just be comfortable. But he has his brother, and his brother does what he can. Wincest is welcome. A Tender Touch.

dante_s_hell: Sam's tweaked his back pretty bad, so Dean gives him a massage. Thoroughly. Twist and Shout.

de_nugis: Dean settles down in due course with Lisa and Ben. Retires from hunting, because he won't bring his work home with him to endanger his family. Sam tries to do the same, to make a civilian life for himself and be content with his place in Dean's family, but it's hard. He still feels like he should be out there atoning for what he's done, and though Lisa and Ben include him for Dean's sake, he's always a bit on the margins. So he ends up hunting again. He still sees Dean when he can, but he stays away from Lisa's out of the same fear that made Dean retire -- he's not going to have something evil follow him back to Dean's home.

And in the end every hunter is going to draw the short straw. Sam gets hurt on a hunt alone, and he knows it's the end. At least he's luckier than most in having an angel on speed dial. He knows Cas isn't allowed to heal him, but what he can do is get Dean. They say their goodbyes. Last Call.

gwendolynd: Sam is flogged within an inch of his life (literally) for whatever reason. Untitled.

darth_firefly: Sam's tweaked his back pretty bad, so Dean gives him a massage. Thoroughly. Wincest or gen, but prefer the focus to be on the massage (the pain/pleasure of Dean digging his thumbs in, working out knots, making Sam groan in ways that sound good and bad) instead of sex. Massage.

authoressnebula: People begin to disappear, and only Sam seems to notice. Empty Chairs at Empty Tables. Now with a sequel! Everybody Standing Around Us.

bythedamned: Sam tries & fail to cope with the fact that Mary sold him before he was even born in exchange for John's life. Cue Dean being an awesome big brother. One to Sell.

emmram: After experiencing what a crack in the wall is like, Sam dutifully stops "scratching". After a while, though, he starts to experience migraines and fevers and his general health goes downhill . When he finally collapses, Dean has Castiel check him out. Castiel tells them that the wall is holding, but there's so much pressure building behind it that it's killing Sam, and eventually the pressure will just destroy the wall entirely. In order to prevent that from happening, Sam will need to let some of the pressure out every once and a while - meaning every few months he'll need to scratch just a tiny bit and open a pressure valve of sorts, letting just enough hell through to slack off the pressure for a while... The Fragile Substance of My Soul.

minviendha: Sam and Dean are ambushed by a posse of anti-Sam hunters and killed. Dean moves on, but Sam sticks around, pissed about the fact that when the hunters took him out, they took Dean too. A few years pass and Bobby gets wind of some violent deaths going down in the area where the Winchesters fell. He does the math and doesn't like the answer he gets, heads out to put Sam Winchester to rest once and for all. The Ghosts You Know.

captainlon: Sam (and Dean?) go spirit-walking (as in Death Takes A Holiday? Or a curse?) and after they get back in their bodies (break the curse?) Sam's consciousness keeps slipping loose like part of a cheap plastic toy with the insertion tabs broken off.

Cue uncontrolled, random fainting, disturbing astral plane encounters, frantic Dean, and neat ghost tricks. Fragile.

cherry916: Post 6x12. Ever since Sam got his soul back, he's suffered almost constant headaches due to the pressure from the wall. He tries to hide it, but Dean, being an awesome big brother, notices and does his best to help Sam cope with the pain. Under Pressure.

crazybeagle: Sam develops chronic muscle spasms around/near that scar on his back.When it Counted Most.

ancastar: For some reason Sam receives 20 lashes. Dean is made to witness the punishment and suffers each stroke with Sam. Bearable.

emmram: Uriel gets a hold of Sam and Dean and wants to use them against Castiel in the civil war. [prompt cut for length] Ruin.

harrigan: Stanford-era. Sam's got a trick knee from the hunting life -- usually it's okay, but once in a while it hurts enough that he favors it noticeably. He does something to re-injure this knee and iss so used to treating his own injuries that he brushes off Jess' pleas to visit a doctor and wraps it and ices it by himself, like he's always done. The injury is far more serious than he realized, and it just keeps on getting worse -- cue Jess getting kind of frantic and begging him to go to a doctor. Locus Standi.

4thejourney: Sam's visions and nightmares developed at a much earlier age. The more they progress, the harder it is for him to cope and keep his grip on reality. The headaches and lack of sleep eventually become too much and he turns to cutting to keep himself grounded. Cue awesome big brother Dean who does what he can by coaxing him through the hard times (I'd love a scene where Dean takes a knife from Sam's hand and mention of how he reacts to seeing fresh cuts on Sam's arm), but knows he ultimately can't make Sam stop and it could be something that they'll have to deal with for the rest of their lives. My Scars To Remind Me

crazybeagle: SPOILERS FOR 6x15, THE FRENCH MISTAKE. Dean says to Sam "you don't seem all that eager to get back to our universe" (paraphrased). The reason Sam isn't chomping at the bit to get back (even though he knows they have to return) is that in this universe there's no demons, no magic, etc. That means no demon blood, and no addiction. It's the first time in a long time that he hasn't felt that constant hunger niggling away at him. It's such an incredible relief, not to feel that addiction, and he didn't realize how much it was weighing on him until it was gone. Add to that the fact that no hell = no need for a wall, and Sam feels better than he has since, well, ages.

Once they return to their universe, though, the addiction and the hunger and the itching wall all crash back down on him. It's depressing and exhausting and overwhelming. Dean eventually figures out what's going on (Sam can tell him or he can figure it out on his own) and does his best to help Sam readjust. Tabula Rasa.


Sorry for the delay in getting the list up. Please let me know if I've left out your fill! :)

Comments

[rainylemons.livejournal.com]

I've had a hellish night, so I'm not sure if I can make what's in my head come out meaningfully at all, but, let's try. (This never bodes well.)

There are a lot of 'Sam's tortured in hell/the cage' fics of varying degrees. Some are brilliantly clever and others classically hurty and gory.

Sometimes, absence of thought can be just as bad as the blade, the flame, the cock, the blah blah blah. Mike and Lucy, yeah, they're pissed and have nothing to entertain them but knocking the snot out of each other and Sam - Adam's never really much mentioned on show and, in my mind (because it's nicer to Adam and because I could give a crap about him) I see Michael protecting Adam, keeping him safe and asleep from the horrors of hell because he was a good little human who did his job. Sam? Yeah, the kid's like the friggin' kickball most days.

Michael and Lucifer fight and they fight over Sam, ripping his soul between their fiery maws like he's a chew toy. Sam is torn apart so many times that there's no word in the human language to describe it. But, sometimes Michael and Lucifer get caught up in fighting and forget that they're fighting over Sam. Sam is dropped, cast aside like a broken, worn through child's toy with one eye dangling out, half of his insides on his outside, and just broken broken broken. But, hey, it's Hell! NEAT. You don't get to die and Sam lies there, drawing broken breaths through shattered lungs, cast off and forgotten until Lucifer, tired and weary from battle, comes slumping back to him.

And he picks up his forgotten toy, drags Sam's limp body to his corner of the cage while he and Michael lick their wounds, carrying Sam, mind you, much in the way that a despondant child drags an old teddy. And there, bit by bit, stitch by stitch, he puts Sam back together again. Sure, Lucifer has some kind of fucked up affection for him, but this is no nice and kind thing that he does.

This is Sam's hell - to be torn apart, cast aside, and put back together again by the Devil. Over and over and over.

Or, uh, something.

[vail-kagami.livejournal.com]

Or a three-paragraph epic with details (rainylemons, we're all looking at you!).
...You're doing this on purpose, right? :P

On a side note, awesome prompt!

[rainylemons.livejournal.com]

I didn't set out to do it, but given the state of my brain last night, I figured it would happen, yeah. LOL

[thesiriusmoon.livejournal.com]

I think I might just have to write this! It's amazing!

[rainylemons.livejournal.com]

Yay! Do it!

[quickreaver.livejournal.com]

TOTALLY awesome prompt. I'll take the wordy ones, any day. I've not posted a single word of fic, so why not grab the bull by the horns and tackle a toughie right out of the gate? Or cage, as it were! I'm on this like white on rice. :D

[rainylemons.livejournal.com]

Yay! Do it!

[4422shini.livejournal.com]

omg, someone please write this.

[sistabro]

This prompt makes me think of the Velveteen Rabbit...

[rainylemons.livejournal.com]

As well you should. :) Heh.

[rainylemons.livejournal.com]

ME TOO! *hopeful*

FILLED: Kiss With A Fist Is Better Than None 1/?

[quickreaver.livejournal.com]

My virgin SPN fanfic post! I SO don't know if I'm doing this right, and the 'h/c' isn't as 'h/c' as I wanted it to be, and gawwwwd it got long! I didn't get a beta for this; probably should have. Still struggling with formatting. Title scammed from Florence and the Machine. WARNINGS: A few 4-letter-words, a little gore. *ceases further delay tactics* Okay, okay. All comments, even the mean ones, welcomed!

*****************************

Lucifer paced The Cage, arms folded over his chest, a contemplative frown on this face. He tapped his chin with long, elegant fingers and slid a level gave to Michael.

“A wager? What sort of wager?”

Michael smiled, and it was as the sun breaking from a bank of storm-heavy clouds. Despite their perditious locale, they were beautiful. The angels. Unencumbered by their meatsuits. Wearing their true skins, which were unblemished and pristine and as iridescent as opals.

“Oh, just a little something. To liven up the party, since we seem to be out of beer.”

Lucifer inclined his head and paused. “Go on.” Michael could be a duplicitous bit of offal when it served him. Not beyond his scope to offer half-truths to get the job done, making a bet with Michael was a dicey bit of business. But Lucifer was THAT bored. He couldn’t go anywhere, lose anything. For uncountable nights—it was always night in The Cage—Lucifer and Michael warred because that’s all there was. The retribution, the resentment, the satisfaction of bloodletting and breaking bones, but never release. This supposed ‘bet’ was just mental masturbation, a slightly different flavor of cruelty

“Do you think every bone of the human hand can be broken? Individually? They’re tiny little things, 28, if I recall-“

“27. And done that.” Lucifer blinked, long, slow and bored.

“Fine, don’t brag,” Michael said, flaring diaphanous wings until they brushed the gory, viscera-slick ceiling of their prison. “I can guess the length of Sam’s intestines. To the inch.”

Lucifer rolled his gaze heaven-ward. “Really, Michael? That’s all you’ve got? So much effort and I don’t feel like getting dirty…”

Laughable, that, given the construct of this particular corner of Hell. The Cage’s walls were made of inverted skin, warm, pulsing, alive. They weren’t precisely wet, but dank with thin, red sweat and everywhere the occupants touched, it stained their bodies. The angels however, even entrenched in Hell, could slough it off by radiating a sort of light that burned away the taint. Adam and Sam were always sticky with the stuff. And it stank. Reeked of brimstone and the metallic tang of blood. And fear. And pain.

Undaunted, Michael resettled his wings into invisibility. He mused for a moment before looking to the shadowy north corner. “I’ll wager you don’t know the color of Adam’s eyes.”

“His eyes?” The proposition was just absurd enough to pique Lucifer’s interest. He didn’t know the color. Why would he? Why would anyone, except of course Adam? When Michael had worn Adam, and Lucifer Sam, they both held larger concerns. Eye color (even if the eyes were, purportedly, the windows to the soul,) was hardly a blip on anyone’s radar. And since their imprisonment, Michael kept Adam to himself. The kid had been little more than a pawn, unfortunate enough to share a gene pool with the Winchesters. Sam was the one who suffered their focused persecution. He certainly earned it. He was, after all, The Man Who Duped the Devil.

“Hazel,” Lucifer said smoothly.



...tbc

Re: FILLED: Kiss With A Fist Is Better Than None 1/? (con't)

[quickreaver.livejournal.com]

Michael moved to the corner. A young man lay there on his side, hands tucked between his knees and mouth slack. He even snored lightly. Apart from the expected layer of bloody grime, he seemed healthy and almost peaceful in sleep. Michael crouched and set a soft kiss on Adam’s temple.

“Rise and shine, sparky,” the angel murmured. Adam stirred; his eyes drifted open but only just. He suppressed a yawn and pulled up on one elbow, keeping silent. It was safer that way.

Lucifer watched with a keen, narrowed gaze as his brother studied Adam, Michael cupping a gentle hand under the young man’s chin. The illumination in that portion of the room was so wan and skewed by the scarlet reflection off the walls, Lucifer was still left guessing even though Adam’s lids had fully risen. Michaels’s hand drifted to Adam’s upper arm and he pulled the boy to standing. Adam looked understandably cautious and confused as Michael guided him to Lucifer, setting him in place directly before the Morning Star. Adam’s heart thrummed like a bird’s wing; Lucifer could hear it.

“Blue, brother. You can see his eyes are blue.” And Michael smiled.

Lucifer’s lips thinned tightly. Such a stupid little detail and he lost the gamble. He was chagrinned by how annoyed it made him. More bothersome still was the certain pay-out for Michael. Sam Winchester was Lucifer’s vessel, Lucifer’s toy. Sharing made Lucifer very, very cranky.

“Adam, go get your brother,” Michael said, with a ghost of a smirk.

Adam’s gaze flickered, wide and unblinking, from one angel to the other. His mouth worked soundlessly for a few beats before he closed it in resignation and turned to move away, to do as he was told. On one of the filthy, fleshy walls was a sort of door. It more closely resembled a great pore, squeezed tightly shut at its puckered edges. Or perhaps a sphincter, but that was a disturbing thought. Adam wiggled his fingers into the seam and tugged. The surface was slick and rubbery, difficult to grip. Shortly, the aperture began to part with a slippery fwip and light ebbed into the abscess behind the wall. Pulling a grimace, Adam forced it open until the gape flapped wide.

Sam squinted as light, what little there was of it, hit his face. So red, at first he thought it was simply blood. Again. And he would drown in it. Again. How long had he been stowed in this…this orifice? He hadn’t the slightest clue. Felt like months. Could’ve been minutes. Time had no significance anymore. All he knew was that he felt hollow. Emptied out and fragile like an eggshell. Forgotten, until now.

“I’m sorry…”Adam whispered, extending a hand. Yes, Sam was responsible for their situation but for all the cruel indifference the angels paid Adam, they showered Sam with persecution ever more ingenious. And for that, Adam felt pity.

The man grasping Adam’s hand wore only a passing resemblance to the Sam Winchester that had been. The fingers were almost skeletal, wrist whittled down to a bundle of sticks. Though eating, sleeping—most human necessities—were irrelevant in this place of blatant inhumanity, the state of the soul was directly reflected in its appearance. As Sam unfolded and stumbled from the cell, it was clear he had lost hope, stripped of optimism or even pragmatism. All that remained was a strange and dogged habit or simply ‘going on’. Sam had grown so thin Adam could see the fine Enochian runes engraved upon his ribs. His exceptional height only exacerbated the emaciation, from sunken, glassy eyes surrounded by exhausted bruising to the deep hollows beneath cheek and collar bones.

Sam managed a flinch that passed for a humorless smile, in some way trying to convey appreciation for Adam’s apology.

“Bring him to me, Adam. Chop chop.” Michael said pleasantly, while Lucifer sulked.



...tbc

Re: FILLED: Kiss With A Fist Is Better Than None 1/? (con't)

[quickreaver.livejournal.com]

**********

Time again passed in its mercurial fashion. Lucifer had fashioned a throne of tendon and bone and blades. It gave his hands something to do because he promised Michael he wouldn’t meddle with Adam. If nothing else, Lucifer told the truth. He held to his promises. He did, however, grow preeminently bothered by the feel of Adam’s glare on the back of his skull. With those God DAMNED blue eyes. So bothered, in fact, he had long since put cool fingers to Adam’s forehead, dropping the boy into a bottomless sleep. Lucifer was left to his lonesomeness. Occasionally he thought he heard a familiar wail or shivering moan of suffering issue from the muffled distance. And he felt a pang of envy.

After an eon, Michael reappeared. With a rending slurp, a maw opened in one of the rear walls, allowing the long-absent angel passage. Lucifer fought the urge to lunge from the throne, opting instead to drum fingers on an armrest made of a human femur and feign indifference. Michael knew better, however, and took his own sweet time in returning. His casual footfalls were accompanied by the leaden sound of a parcel being dragged.

Something weighty hit the floor behind the throne. Michael caressed a palm over Lucifer’s shoulder and sauntered past. There was dark, viscous ichors up to his elbows and painted across his chest.

“Sorry. I broke your toy. My bad. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll hit the Jacuzzi. I’m spent.”

Lucifer waited until Michael disappeared down some directionless artery before rising to his feet. He was always surprised by Michael’s inventiveness and this instance was no exception. Sam Winchester sprawled carelessly, half-propped against a bladed leg of the throne, held upright by a knife that protruded from the chair to his chest. With every breath, air hissed from a punctured lung. Sam had been flayed, long rectangular strips of skin pulled from his narrow middle. Lucifer thought, with a vague smile, they resembled lasagna noodles.

“Sam. Sammy—“

“Don’t call me Sammy.” Sam’s voice was sandpapery, weak…stubborn. He was such a tough nut to crack, but Lucifer loved him for it. So much alike, they were, the disregarded younger brothers, aggrieved simply because they tried to chose a different path. Tried to stand on their own two feet. And look where it got them. Incarcerated, ostracized, forever grounded like troublesome teenagers who stole the keys to the family minivan. The only up-side was Sam managed to drag Adam and Michael down with them. Just desserts.

“Alright. ‘Sam’. I supposed you’ve earned a moment’s respect. Least I can do.”

Lucifer offered him a hand up but Sam wouldn’t so much as move, save the odd twitch or shiver when pain surged fresh through the innumerable wounds. Which must’ve been, in that instance, nearly constant. Setting a gentle hand atop Sam’s head, Lucifer filtered fingers through the blood-sticky hair.

“I know. You still hate me. Understandable. I hate me too, some days. I wish…I wish…I’d known the color of Adam’s eyes. Michael wouldn’t have done this to you.”

“Wh-what?” Now, Sam did look up at Lucifer. Despite clear exhaustion, his eyes sparked with razor-bright rage. “YOU did this to me. To us,” he snarled. The effort it too to speak was draining, but Sam found strength in anger. And he was always angry, to Lucifer’s observation. Even after all their quality time spent together.

“Go ahead. Blame me if it will make you feel better. But I didn’t stuff hubris down your throat like a turkey at Thanksgiving, Sam. It was always there, and you thought you could deny your destiny. It’s called ‘destiny’ for a reason, hmm? Not very bright for pre-Law.” Lucifer stooped and curled a hand under one of Sam’s arms. Whether Sam liked it or not…and apparently he didn’t…Lucifer stood up, taking Sam with him. There was a slight sucking sound as the knife slid out of Sam’s lung, and a great groan when newborn pain flooded his chest.



...tbc

Re: FILLED: Kiss With A Fist Is Better Than None 1/? (con't)

[quickreaver.livejournal.com]

“I know, I know. That smarts. Don’t worry, Sammy—sorry, Sam—“ Lucifer bore Sam’s weight easily, lowering him onto the elaborate throne where cushions, fashioned out of tongues, protected the sitter from all the dangerous edges. “I’ll fix you.”

“You can’t fix me.” Sam was sweating and pallid. Shocky. His mouth moved to say more but there was no breath, no vigor.

Lucifer’s eyes filled with glistening sympathy. The kid was so saturated with self-loathing it was almost a corporeal thing. It ate Sam up, leaving him stripped bare of any desire to be comforted. But that was how Lucifer loved him best.

“What color are Adam’s eyes, Sam?”

Sam’s brow creased, gob-smacked by the question. “What? Blue…”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Lucifer said without a touch of sarcasm. “Was I the only person not in the loop? I guess the devil isn’t in the details.”

A fine string appeared, pinched between Lucifer’s thumb and forefinger. Then, a needle. He squinted, threading the former through the latter. Sam’s gaze followed the activity and if his face could lose any more color, it did.

“No. No, please…”

Lucifer clucked his tongue. “Have faith in me, just this once. This hurts me far more than it hurts you.” He dropped to one knee and began artfully draping shreds of skin back in place across Sam’s whippet-thin torso. It was delicate business, what with Sam shuddering and mewling the whole while, but Lucifer was nothing if not patient. Once satisfied he’d temporarily put the puzzle of flesh back together, he plucked the needle from between his lips where it was pressed for safe keeping and began sewing.

Upon first prick, Sam’s skin jumped autonomically. His jawline clenched and fingers clawed around the armrests. He dropped into silence, save a shuddering draught of breath every now and again. Perhaps he was getting used to the pain. The angel’s gaze periodically darted up from his surgery when Sam would slump, threatening to topple into unconsciousness. Lucifer would mumble soft affirmations and push Sam back into place.

Truth be told, Lucifer could’ve repaired Sam with a single touch or word, but this was not their habit. The angles prided themselves in taking him apart, deconstructing Sam, leaving him pincushioned with physical and emotional shrapnel because it pleased them. Even more so, it pleased them to put him back together again, like an ersatz Humpty Dumpty. They could do what all the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t. Not even smug pain-in-the-ass Dean Winchester had the wherewithal to save his darling Sammy from falling to pieces. From falling to Hell in a handbasket.

**********

After what was likely an hour or three of meticulous handiwork, Lucifer secured the last bit of skin in place. He rocked forward and used his own teeth to nip the thread close to the knot. Sam had long since stopped wincing, stopped shivering, embracing numbness like a beloved flannel security blanket. His body was a network of stitchery, smeared blood and landmark bruising, except where tears had washed clean his face. His head lolled wanly until he could set heavy-lidded eyes upon Lucifer. But his expression was unreadable.


...tbc

Re: FILLED: Kiss With A Fist Is Better Than None 1/? (con't)

[quickreaver.livejournal.com]

“You’re welcome.” Lucifer rested an elbow on Sam’s bony knee, assessing the Winchester boy with nonchalant compassion.

Sam coughed; it might’ve been a sarcastic chuckle. He dragged his sights away from Lucifer and stared at some spot hanging in mid-air.

“Oh, Sam. Don’t be that way. Truth be told, aren’t we both victims here? Victims of uncaring fathers and domineering older brothers? Of absentee mothers?”

Sam blinked slowly, swallowed hard. Silent still.

Lucifer continued. “I’m sorry, but it’s true, isn’t it? Dr. Phil would have a field day with us.” When Sam persisted in his refusal to comment, Lucifer exhaled hard and stood, stretching briefly, a papery flutter of feathers buffeting the air though no wings were in evidence. He began to move away. “You wound me, Sam. We could be so good for each other.”

“Suck it, junkless.” Sam would’ve laughed had he the energy. He was channeling Dean in that moment and it amused the shit out of him.

Lucifer stopped in his tracks. In two long strides he was back at the throne, a hand shooting forward to snarl in Sam’s hair. He snapped his fist to his body and Sam gritted teeth to keep from crying out. Nostrils flared, head canted back, Sam’s throat exposed to the fetid, hellish air.

The angel stared in blatant astonishment. His gaze bore down, inches from Sam’s face, stunned by this impudent child’s audacity. “I should give you back to Michael, you ungrateful little fuck.”

“Do it. I don’t care; do it,” Sam said tightly, speech compromised by the sharp angle of his neck.

But no, Sam wouldn’t get his wish. A far worse thing happened. Lucifer showed compassion.

As Sam sat pinned, praying for the miracle of death, Lucifer placed a cool, dry palm flat to Sam’s frail chest. Icy white light began to issue from between splayed fingers. Wherever the vapors touched, the grime on Sam’s filthy skin melted away, replaced by a frosty sensation that smacked of newness, of tingling rebirth. Holy fire, if that were even possible. It was headier than any demon blood Sam had tasted, at once powerful and poisonous, unnervingly familiar. It reminded Sam of the time Lucifer wore him, of when they shared one preternatural body. It tasted like a universe without boundaries. And he was terrified. The angel’s hand drifted from Sam’s chest to his smooth, shallow cheek. And Sam, God help him, leaned into that touch.

Lucifer smiled, brushed damp hanks of hair from Sam’s forehead, stroking his brow to massage away the furrows. As the glow ebbed, Sam’s skin was left smooth and white as milk, marred only by a roadmap of stitches Lucifer was too proud to heal.

“Sleep, Sam. Sleep, perchance to dream…”

Sam’s eyes fluttered closed, lashes wet with salty water. If he couldn’t have death, he could at the very least, find an uneasy peace in the arms of Morpheus.


FIN! Finally...

Re: FILLED: Kiss With A Fist Is Better Than None 1/? (con't)

[zions.livejournal.com]

Oh my God, this is incredible!

Wonderful, wonderful writing! Impressive work on the characters and their voices (Dean had it absolutely right, angels are dicks... but really, their non-chalant arrogance and lordliness, self-importance, and cruelty were spot on, straight out of the show. Brilliant.) (oh God, and Sammy! This last show of useless, hopeless defiance was so him...), and your version of the Cage (and life therein) (including the torture) was inspired and intriguing ("Though eating, sleeping—most human necessities—were irrelevant in this place of blatant inhumanity, the state of the soul was directly reflected in its appearance." Genius.).

Bravo.
*bookmarks on Delicious stat*

Re: FILLED: Kiss With A Fist Is Better Than None 1/? (con&#39;t)

[quickreaver.livejournal.com]

Aw, thanks! I'm so glad you found this nugget. It's always a nice surprise to know people read your old junk. I don't get the chance to write much. You're very kind!