ohsam | comment fic meme

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&comment-fic meme

comment fic meme

In celebration of Sam's birthday, we're hosting another comment fic meme!

THE RULES

→ Leave a comment here with your prompt. Because it's Sam's birthday, I'm going to say that any Sam-centric prompts are okay, even if there's not much hurt/comfort in them.
→ In your prompt, please state your desired characters or pairings. All genres/pairings welcome, but no real-person prompts.

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.”

→ Post as many prompts as you like - but one prompt per comment. If you've got a couple, comment with each separately.
→ Prompts can be as short or detailed as you like. Remember though - more detail means less wriggle room for the writer, which might lower the chances of someone picking up your prompt.
→ Go through the prompts! If you find one you like, write a fic for it. There's no limit to how many users can reply to a prompt, or how many prompts someone can write for.
→ When replying to a prompt with your comment-fic, put ‘filled’ in your subject line and then anything else you want, like 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.
→ Anon posting enabled.
→ NO SPOILERS FOR UNAIRED EPISODES.
→ Play nice - no flaming and no character bashing, period. Any comments that break this rule will be deleted without warning.
→ Feedback is catnip for writers. Leave some author-love!
→ No spam comments.
→ Contact one of the mods if you have a question.
→ Spread the Sam love - pimp this meme! Just copy and paste the code below:

→ Have fun!

THE MASTER LIST

tahirire wrote The boys are in a better place emotionally. Dean thinks past his hurt at what he saw in Sam's heaven, and gets Sam a golden retriever puppy for his birthday.

dime_for_12 wrote 5x03 AU. Sam already said yes. He just doesn't know or remember it. Vessel!Sam, Possessed!Sam, Eeery!Lucifer. Please include lots of Dean.

anonymous wrote After a Narrowly-Averted-Apocalypse, an old friend from Stanford runs into Sam Winchester at a gas station. He's surprised/disturbed by what he sees.

ratherastory wrote Sam discovers an intricate symbol that will allow him to wrench back control from Lucifer. Now he just needs someone to carve it into his back.

maskedfangirl wrote Happy Birthday, Sammy! Pity that it's alternate universe 5x04 and that you're having your birthday trapped inside of your own skin while the Devil ruins the world. Still, it was nice of the guy to sing to you on your birthday and he even got you a gift - he let you wander around in your body for an entire night out in the bleak remains of civilization. Of couse, everyone thinks you're the Devil and you're reviled and feared wherever you go. Worse, you're probably pretty far gone to find yourself weeping at the sound of birds on the wind or the scent of burning tires because it's just been so damned LONG since you've felt anything at all. Hey, I wonder what your chances are of getting Dean on the short wave are?

tifaching wrote The book that changed Sam's life. NOT The Catcher in the Rye or The Outsiders, please.

authoressnebula wrote I kind of have a thing for tired!Sam. And we know from 5x19 he's not been getting a lot of sleep. So, something where Sam is fighting to stay awake, maybe researching or in the car, and Dean's trying to get him to go to sleep?

mute90 wrote Angel/AU Spn crossover in which lawyer!Sam works at Wolfram and Hart. Sam's not evil. Just morally ambiguous in a goofy, adorable way. And now Angel has taken over Wolfram and Hart, and Lorne has instituted staff birthday parties, and it's Sam's birthday. All his work friends are there, and his non-work friends and family are invited, and it's a catastrophe. Dean is trying cheesy pickup lines on Illyria, and Bobby is making awkward smalltalk with Spike, and Castiel and Wesley are having, like, brooding, stubbly, eyesex in the corner, and Sam's pretty sure that still!alive!Jess is developing a crush on his darkly handsome, undead boss. It's the worst birthday ever, and there's something supernaturally not right about the cake...

authoressnebula wrote AU version of 5x10 Abandon All Hope: Sam is the one attacked by a hellhound, not Jo.

dime_for_12 wrote Sam's crazy plan works. He says yes to Lucifer to trap him, and manages to get him into the cage. Somehow, then or later, he is rescued, but he is physically and emotionally messed up from being possessed and locked up with Lucifer. Dean is there for him.

dime_for_12 wrote After a Narrowly-Averted-Apocalypse, an old friend from Stanford runs into Sam Winchester at a gas station. He's surprised/disturbed by what he sees.

sistabro wrote Set in or after Sam Interrupted. Sam and Dean didn't get away and the doctor fills out his threat of sending Sam to a facility that deals with violent patients. Lucifer starts visiting Sam in his dreams.

kalliel wrote The book that changed Sam's life. NOT The Catcher in the Rye or The Outsiders, please. [Part 2] [Part 3]

klutzy_girl wrote A witch the boys meet on a case decides to cast a spell on Sam as a gift for his birthday (she notices the guys have some communication hang ups)--he will not be able to inhibit what he says for a full day. Basically everything he thinks and feels comes spewing out of his mouth without his control. Including many thoughts of self-loathing and doubting Dean could ever love him the same after all that's happened, any other things you want, etc. Sam is mortified and feels exposed and stupid.

anonymous wrote A witch the boys meet on a case decides to cast a spell on Sam as a gift for his birthday (she notices the guys have some communication hang ups)--he will not be able to inhibit what he says for a full day. Basically everything he thinks and feels comes spewing out of his mouth without his control. Including many thoughts of self-loathing and doubting Dean could ever love him the same after all that's happened, any other things you want, etc. Sam is mortified and feels exposed and stupid.

lassiterfics wrote Sam starts smoking at Stanford, a slow but inexorable climb towards addiction. He tries halfheartedly to hide it from Dean after Jess dies, but Dean finds out pretty quickly and is shocked and appalled.

caerial wrote The Winchesters spend a lot of time in Humboldt Park (a predominantly Puerto Rican neighborhood in Illinois) tracking down old contacts. John leaves Sam and Dean in the care of a friend and Sam, precocious child that he is, starts learning to speak around then. But Dean doesn't talk anymore, and John's never around, so Sam's first acquired language actually ends up being Spanish. John's beginning to realize it wasn't just his and Mary's life went up in flames. So what now?

m14mouse wrote A Supernatural/Buffy crossover. Stanford-era Sam and recently-chipped Spike save the world. The problem is Sam has no one to tell and Spike has no one who will believe him. So, Spike comes back to Stanford a year later with a whole bunch of bear to celebrate the day they saved the world. Sam loves the company.

27_jaredjensen wrote Sam, Dean - season five after "The End". Sam is taking the Impala out to get food when he wrecks the car. He thinks this will be just one more thing that Dean will be mad at him about. Then he realizes he's hurt and ends up in the hospital. Dean takes care of him.

27_jaredjensen wrote Stanford era--Sam is sick during his birthday (could be the first one at Stanford or not) but a birthday present arrives that cheers him up.

roque_clasique wrote Stanford era--When Dean goes to check on Sam, he's shocked to be pointed in the direction of a busy club. Turns out Sam's the lead singer of a super-emo rock band (and, yes, he IS wearing eyes liner. AND leather pants). Sam is mortified to see Dean looking like that (he finds being bombarded by female groupies while he croons melodramatically embarrassing and only joined the band to get some cash for school).

greeneyes_fan wrote Gen. Like we all know, Sam gets his arms sliced up pretty bad by the ghouls in 4.19. BUT for some reason, the stitches Dean put in keep dissolving and the boys don't know why. Dean is afraid that Sam is pulling the stitches out himself and Sam won't contradict him because he thinks that maybe the demon blood running through him is eating the stitches away. Either way, Sam's not healing, just getting worst. All ends shmoopily after h/c hi-jinks ensue.

phx69 wrote Ever since his rape on his birthday, he hasn't celebrated. Sam finally gives into Dean's questioning in why.

dime_for_12 wrote Sam suffers an injury that won't be fatal but that will be intensely painful for some time and/or take a long time to heal enough to get back in the hunt if it'll heal at all. Frustration, h/c, and finally he gives up and asks Dean to kill him, because he knows perfectly well he'll bounce back from that much faster.

sistabro wrote Sam, Chuck, booze, and useless college degrees.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

You have fulfilled all my sick, unnatural desires. I think I love you now. Thank you.

-- the glamorous Anonymous of mystery

Was that meant to be "a bunch of beer?" Because if it WAS meant to be a bunch of bear I really, really, really want to read it.

LOL! It was meant to be beer but, now that you said it, I really want to read it with bears too and, strangely enough, I can actually imagine Spike doing that.

Finals season causes a chain reaction: essays and exams turn into caffeine turns into sleep deprivation turns into smoking your third cigarette at four in the morning with a gaggle of dormmates that Sam has come to call his friends, even if he doesn't necessarily like them all. They're moaning about page minimums and bibliographies like it's the end of the world, and Sam joins in because it's such a novel thing, this communal bellyaching over the most benign of problems. How strange to have a soc essay be his biggest issue.

"LexisNexis can kiss my ass," Sam says, and everyone goes hear, hear.

+

When Sam was fourteen, Dad caught Dean smoking a cigarette and gave him hell. Sam was at the motel table trying to do his fractions, just trying to do some homework, trying to ignore Dad hollering in the background, but Dad just wouldn't let up. "You're supposed to be an example to your brother," Dad said, and Sam hated that, the way his father used Sam's well-being as fodder against Dean. There his older brother was, sitting there looking numb and guilty, avoiding everyone's eyes and muttering yessir nosir whenever Dad paused to take a breath.

"When you can't outrun some spook because you got emphysema," Dad said, "don't come running to me." Then he looked at Sam. "Don't ever smoke."

"What about drinking?" Sam asked, casually.

Dad glared, seethed, "Sam."

Sam said, "Maybe if Dean followed your example--"

And then Dean said, "Sam," and Sam held his tongue.

After Dad left, when it was just the two of them again, Sam commented, "Careless."

"Fuck off," said Dean, then heated up some water for their Cup Noodles. Sam was getting sick of Cup Noodles for every meal everyday, but hey, what can you do.

+

Sam bought his first pack of Camel Lights two months into his freshman year, and smoked his first cigarette after his Ancient Civ class, lighting up like he had been doing it for years. He coughed, but no one gave him a second glance, no one gave a shit. Sam Winchester was doing things for himself and the world didn't break apart, not this time, and then Sam thought of his family.

To Dad he would retort, "I'm done outrunning spooks anyway."

To Dean he would probably say, "Don't look at me like that," because Sam could just see the look on Dean's face. "Don't make this about you when it's not," Sam would say, because Dean said that to Sam once, and he'd just like to return the words, is all. Fucking shove Dean's face in it.

"Hey, man, got a light?" someone asked, and Sam, not without a friendly smile, said yeah.

+

Jess taught him how to blow smoke rings. Tipping back her head, her throat working the graceful line of her neck. "You try it," she said, but Sam's throat was too dry, and not from the cigarette.

This is what Sam is thinking about when he starts to jerk off, before his thoughts up the ante: Jess sitting on his lap with his hand between her legs, Jess with eyes closed calling his name, Jess on top of him, Jess beneath him, a jumble of memories, and Sam comes with a ragged "Fuck, shit, fuck," and then it's quiet in the motel room again.

It's been two months since he buried Jess, and Sam's still jerking off to her ghost.

Dean's out getting dinner, and the motel room is suddenly so small with its quiet, so crammed with all the things Sam left behind. He can remember with utter clarity the way Jess breathed, "Like that, Sam, yeah, fuck," the memory late to the party, echoes fading into the shitshow that is the here and now.

Sam cleans up, grabs his lighter and cigarettes, leaves, and walks wherever. He's on his third cigarette when Dean calls asking him where the hell he is.

"Went to the gas mart," Sam says, because there just happens to be one across the street. "I got hungry, so I bought some Doritos."

"You couldn't wait twenty minutes for pizza?"

"No."

He returns to the motel with Cheetos instead of Doritos, because the mart inexplicably didn't have any Doritos. If Dean notices, he doesn't remark on it, and instead tells Sam hey, have some pepperoni.

+

Just outside of Sharon, Massachusetts, Sam nearly gets killed by an aswang. He hits the ground face-first as the beast crashes into his back, and he's faintly aware of Dean so far in front of him seems like, turning around and calling his name. Murky, like being underwater, the aswang's delighted gibbering taking up most of his world right now, and its claws gouging into his flesh.

Later, when they're watching the monster's body burn, Dean says, "You're getting slow in your old age, Sammy," and Sam thinks Dad would probably be disappointed. Dad was always disappointed. What did I tell you about cigarettes, Sam, he might say, but hey who's to say this is from cigarettes anyway? Sam got his life turned upside down. He was on the verge of getting everything, but now he has nothing, nothing but monsters and his brother and a father gone AWOL, so he's a little stressed right now, thanks. There's lots of things these days that leave him feeling breathless and unfit, and the smoking is the least of his problems.

+

Once, when it was Sam's turn to buy dinner, he thinks about smoking a cigarette in the Impala, which he would never do because he valued his life. Still, Sam studies this alternate universe in his mind, this situation where the smoke sticks to the upholstery, and Dean pitches a fit over the corruption of his two favorite things. How much more callous would Sam have to be to actually follow through?

Outside the Chinese food place, Sam leans against the trunk of the Impala and smokes one, doing French inhales just because he can. He tried to teach Brady how to do French inhales that time in sophomore year when Brady came back from Thanksgiving break all fucked up. That was half an hour of their lives lost to the determination to succeed, because it was the first thing that Brady showed interest in that wasn't his own downward spiral.

"Fuck it, I'm just gonna smoke it the regular way," Bradley finally said, and it was the first time Sam heard him really laugh in weeks. He smiled at Sam then, brilliant and warm, and said, "Fuck, man."

"What?"

"Just..." Brady shook his head. "You're like... I don't know. Thanks, you know? For putting up with my shit."

"I've put up with a lot worse," Sam shrugged.

"You're like the brother I never had," said Brady, and Sam didn't know what to do with that, so he just smiled sheepishly and looked down at his shoes.

He puts out his cigarette under his boot and goes inside the restaurant, wondering wontons or dumplings, hoping Brady is okay, wherever he is.

+

OH MY GOD YOU'RE ANSWERING MY PROMPT. *is starstruck*

"You smell like shit," Dean says.

"Fuck you," Sam replies automatically, but Dean's probably right and Sam is in no mood. The last mart only had Camel 100s, but between that and Parliaments, Sam'll take the 100s, the lesser of two evils. Doesn't make them any less gross. At least they aren't Marb Lights, and at the very fucking least they aren't Marb Reds.

They're on their way to a witch in Ypsilanti, and Sam is wondering to himself, "Does Dean know?" Christ, "does Dean know", like Sam's a teenager again keeping shit from Dad all over again. Maybe Sam should buy stronger cologne. Maybe Sam should smoke less. Maybe Dean should shut the fuck up.

"I'm gonna have to wash your mouth out with soap, language like that," Dean says. "You have a goddamn dirty mouth."

Dealing with the witch is a straightforward affair, nothing surprising about it, except for the end, of course, which Sam should have figured. Endings never go well for him.

Sam douses the body in lighter fluid, Dean has his zippo out, and Sam's already wondering whether they should get Chinese or McDonald's later, when Dean reaches over and slips his hand into the inside pocket of Sam's jacket. He pulls out the cigarettes.

"Dean--" Sam says, when he breaks through his cloud of bewilderment.

"What, Sam," Dean says, and Sam watches in horror as Dean takes out a cigarette, puts it between his lips and lights up.

"Dean, what the fuck are you--"

"What the fuck are you doing?" Dean snaps, turning to face him and the smoke streams from his mouth, blue in the nighttime shadows. He shakes the Camel 100s in Sam's face. "What the fuck are these?"

"Hey, look," Sam says, and Dean takes his lit cigarette and throws it on the corpse. It lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree, fire in Dean's eyes, fire sketching in the shadows of his clenched jaw as he stares at the conflagration, and not at all at Sam.

"Dean," Sam tries again, and Dean throws the pack of cigarettes in the fire too.

"You're a fucking idiot," Dean announces.

Sam throws his hands up in concession, and neither of them say anything again until they get back in the car.

"You gotta stop," Dean says, turning on the engine. "It's a waste of money, and we're not made of fucking money here, buddy. It's hell on your stamina, and it's just one more thing people can remember about you--" and Dean goes on and on, and isn't this just fucking typical.

Sam prepares his rebuttal, trying to decide just how angry he wants to make Dean.

"You're like a child," Dean spits out.

Really fucking angry, Sam decides, and opens his mouth to reply.

+

"Don't be an idiot, Sammy," Dean sighs when they pull up to the parking lot of their motel. He's using that tone where he acts like this is going to be the last thing he says on the subject. Yeah, Sam knows that tone.

Dean calls dibs on the shower, and Sam gets on his laptop and puts a Friends rerun on TV to ignore. What to kill next? The eternal question. Why does Dean have to be such a goddamn drama queen? The other eternal question. Sam jiggles his knee and tap-tap-taps his fingers on the table as the websites load, and he doesn't remember the connection being this slow this afternoon.

On TV, Joey makes a ludicrous suggestion, and the canned laughter goes wild.

+

"Will that be all?" the guy behind the counter asks.

Sam says, "Can I get a pack of Camel Lights?"

"Your total is thirteen seventy-three," says the clerk. "You need matches?"

"Nah," Sam says, and lights one up as soon as he steps outside.

Wow, and I thought the original way was killer. Oh, Sam. Oh, Dean. Great!

YES YES. I love. I love the flashbacks to childhood and then to college, and I love Sam's smart mouth to John, and I love Dean's reaction, and I love the ending, and how it's sad :( And that Sam smokes Camel Lights because absolutely.

&hearts &hearts &hearts

omg I kinda have a weakness for characters smoking and UMMMMM, when I saw your prompt I knew I couldn't resist. I KIND OF CAN'T RESIST YOUR ICON EITHER omg what even is that. Is that like the AU where Dean is the complit scholar who gets agitated over people's misinterpretations of Levi-Strauss and loves to smoke while proving his point so he can blow the smoke in their face? I'll pretend it is.

Thank you! <3 <3 <3

Fair 'nuff. Glad the prompt brightened your yesterday.

You have condemned yourself to write said complit AU. I forgive you for not noticing that I am a crossroads demon and we've been making out and sealing your deal, but there's no going back now. I know you want to -- Cas can be the professor down the hall who has some select things to say about the mediative role of the trickster in myth, and he and Dean can get into enormous smoke-blowing arguments while students look on and cower in fear.

(I'm not actually a demon, but I am a complit major with a serious smoking kink, and we're equally terrifying.)

okay, so this kind of came off as heavy on the hurt and light on the comfort.

Sam's skin is burning. More than sunburn, more than fever, Dean's hands rebounds off shoulder and face, palms feeling like a blister. Even Sam's scalp, what Dean can feel of it through his brother's long, greasy strands of hair, radiates heat.

A flush spreads over Dean's face, too, the threat of sweat high on his forehead, at his hairline.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Sam's voice is hoarse, broken, and Dean knows how it gets like that. Screaming. Begging. Pleading. It had been weeks before Castiel could find a way to get Sam out of the cage. Days to round up the amount of power (which means angels, conning fuckin angels into releasing Lucifer's vessel from the pit of hell. Releasing him and healing him. Letting him live. Dean doesn't want to know how Cas did it. He's just grateful he had done it), then hours and hours of fighting, of holding back the tide of angry demons that tried to escape when they'd entered the pit.

"Dean." His name isn't a word, it's a sob, it's a twist of Sam's shoulders that takes his brother even farther away from him. It's a sound muffled into a pillow, flat and smelling like cheap, generic fabric softener.

"I'm here," Dean says, and wants to brace his hand against broad, tan skin. Wants to, but the sweltering heat hasn't abated, and he can't. Can't lessen it or stand it, so he just lets his breath ghost over his brother, watches muscles tense and shift in response. His brother's large, but when he draws his knees into his chest, covers his head with his arm, he's tiny, a kid, someone that Dean should have been able to protect.

Dean didn't, and now Sam's left begging something or someone no one else can see. Turned inwards, unmarked, unscarred, and screaming. Burning up from the inside out, like maybe he didn't get out of hell, after all.

Sam tells stories, mostly at night, or whenever he fidgets too much, eyes squeezed shut and eyelashes matted with sleep, and Dean finally pulls the black out curtains closed. Makes a night out of day, just to get Sam to stop. He'll whisper things into the air, all the pain and death, every cut and and every torture that he'll dish out, that he'll make someone suffer, just for a respite, a break, for - "Dean, please. Please, let me see Dean."

He can't help it; he curls as close to Sam's back as the inferno will let him, and he asks, "why, Sam? Why would you do that?" And Sam sobs and Sam twists, burying clawed fingers into the bedspread underneath him. Dean doesn't know who Sam thinks is actually with him, but the way he shrinks into himself, helpless and hopeless, well. Dean knows it's no one good. No one kind.

But Sam answers, words forced out of his throat like he has no other choice. Just as ragged and bleeding as every other sound he's made. "Because." And Dean flashes on the stubborn, bratty kid Sam used to be, entitled and loved, and he knows this man is nothing like that kid. His 'because' short and hesitant, not because he's pissed off or arrogant, but because he's scared. Horrified. "They're in hell." Already, Dean finishes the thought. Those souls are in hell already.

It's more thought than Dean had ever given it when he took up Alistair's blades and his chains. It doesn't make it better, though, doesn't make it right or keep Dean's gut from twisting as soon as Sam's quiet again.

There's nothing he can say to change any of it. He knows that, has known it since they'd dragged Sam back. Since he'd been used and broken and riddled through with crazy. Had known since Bobby had been so fuckin angry that if fury could give him back his legs, he'd be fuckin running.

But he tries, anyway. Has to. Puts his hands on his brother, one against Sam's neck, the other wrapped around his shoulder. Grits his teeth against the feeling of his flesh burning at the touch, heat peeling layer after layer of skin, right on down to the bone. He waits through Sam's almost voiceless screams. Waits it out; breathes fast and hard when Sam forgets to. Then, when Sam's close to dead, that's how still he is, Dean murmurs, "it's okay, I've got you, Sammy."

Season 5 AU to Swap Meat: What if Sam died while in Gary's body from either unknown allergy or the demon killing him.

Bonus for returning Sam to his body some way: either Lucifer restores Sam, automatic return or something else.

SHIT DUDE WHERE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE. Dean says naw man naw, sorting everything into the engineer/bricoleur dichotomy is overly simplistic, and Cas says if you want talk about simplistic, Dean, perhaps we should address your hard-on for Durkheim. RABBLE RABBLE RABBLE SMOKE SMOKE SMOKE.

An hour later Dean is out of cigarettes, but he takes out his pack and looks inside it anyway, compulsive, impulsive, making sure. Cas is saying, "Frankly, our entire discipline needs to get away from Oedipus," as he pushes his Davidoffs across the table to Dean. "Is our arsenal of mythology so impoverished that we cannot let the poor man go?" Cas continues, and offers Dean his lighter too.

DAVIDOFFS.

*smokes fic snippet*

I wish I had a whole pack of these scenes.

Sam and Dean, after season 4, gen preferred but slash is fine. Sam's still got the corrupted message from "Lucifer Rising" in his voice mail, and Dean finds out about it.

YOU SHOULD WRITE SOME :D

Loved the ending!

Haha, yay! I can't wait to read it! :D

Oh my God, this is awesome. Even better than I could have imagined! :D
I love that Dean refused to even consider leaving Sam behind. And so did Ellen and Jo, that made me so happy! Thank you for writing this, sweetie. *snuggles*

Dean tried not to take the department's decision to hire Cas as a personal affront, but goddammit what was he supposed to think when he'd been warring with the man for nearly a year now, various journals as their battlefield. Dean would write an article on Melville's Ocean and the Discourse of Wilderness, and a week later Cas would come out with Retroactive Ecocriticism: Totally Pointless. It was a tug-of-war that never ended, a win for Dean followed directly by a win for Cas, and the journal forums delighted in keeping score. It was a betrayal, to come into work each morning and see in the office across the hall the distinctive beige of Cas's ridiculous trenchcoat, the glint of blue guppy-eyes as he glanced up at Dean and then back down at his desk. Even their students, kind of a dense bunch, recognized the tension between the two professors, and crept from office to office like soldiers passing through enemy camps. Dean and Cas had not yet spoken.

Dean took a smoke break after each of his classes, huddled by the side door so his students wouldn't badger him about essays or ask him if he was related to Professor Winchester over in the International Studies department (goddamn Sam and his horde of money-hungry foreign followers), and these were his favorite parts of the day, away from the classroom and away from his desk, free to contemplate the finer points of Cixous's call for a distinctive female voice in peace. Away the signs in the English department lounge pleading for everyone to "Please welcome Prof. Cas!"

So when the door opens as he's sparking his lighter (a Bic with Marx's face emblazoned on the front, a gift from a freshman girl named Kirsi), he nearly spits out his cigarette when Cas emerges, rummaging around in his pocket and not looking at Dean.

"Dammit," Cas says, still not looking up -- add poor social skills to the running tally of faults -- , and he mutters in Dean's direction, "Would you happen to have a light?"

Dean is still holding his lighter, so since the answer is obvious he doesn't feel the need to answer. Cas doesn't seem to require any vocal confirmation, though, just snakes out hand, jacket riding up to expose a pale, skinny wrist, and snatches the lighter from Dean's fingers. Dean almost hangs onto it just so they can enact a physical version of their written back-and-forth, but he figures that would be petty, so he lets go and watches as Cas lights his cigarette.

Dean takes a drag, determinedly trying not to let goddamm Prof. Cas interrupt his much-needed nicotine fix, and for a moment they smoke in silence.

Until Cas says, eyes fixed on a phallic-looking cloud-formation, eyebrows pulled together in a ridiculous squint, "I never thanked you for jump-starting my career."

Dean doesn't mean to squawk, but sometimes a man can't help himself, and he squawks, "What?"

"No one listens to a scholar arguing only against himself," Cas says, grey smoke trailing from his mouth. "Since we began conversing, I have doubled my article sale."

"Conversing?" Dean snaps before he can help himself. "Is that what you call it?"

"Yes," Cas says, turning to him finally, big eyes all confusion. "Of course. How would you describe our conversations?"

Dean wants to say, "WAR," but that's not a very eloquent response, and besides, all of a sudden he's not so sure. Thinking back -- he has been selling more articles lately, and it has been kind of... fun Kind of fun, to have someone to rail against, a face to a name to a dumbass idea. Academia's not the most concrete of places at the best of time, and his public arguments with Cas have put a certain physicality to the articles he routinely pumps out into the void of scholarship.

"Well," Dean says, rolls smoke around in his mouth.

Cas drops his own half-smoked cigarette and stubs it out with one pointy-toed shoe, eyeing the butt regretfully. "I only have a three-minute break between classes, on Tuesdays," he says. "Never enough time. I live for three fifty, when my last class gets out."

"I'm always out here at three-fifty," Dean blurts out, and Cas regards him with a wide, cool gaze.

"I will be needing a lighter," Cas says. "Mine was smashed below the wheel of my car this morning as I attempted to leave the house."

"I have a lighter."

"That will be nice," Cas says. And goes back inside, closing the door behind him.

The sudden, stark absence of animosity leaves Dean feeling jittery and sad inside, so he smokes another cigarette to compensate. What the fuck was that. What the fuck kind of game is Cas trying to pull? They are mortal goddamn enemies, and that's how it's gonna stay.

Dean nods to himself. He'll think of a new plan of attack, and be ready by three fifty. He's got two hours. Plenty of time.

Easy peasy lemon-squeezy.

Mortal enemies.

The end of the world came and went.

No one noticed or had a clue that the world was even in danger.

Expect two people...well...technically one person and an undead person but that would be getting into too many details.

Sam Winchester wasn’t big on details at the moment.

He was too busy getting drunk with his newest bestest friend ever.

“The bear thing was totally your fault, Spike,” He said as he finished up his…fifth…sixth…beer? He lost count…maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

“Was not!” Spike said as he handed him a new beer.

“Waving your arms around, screaming come and eat me, you sack of fur wasn’t your fault?”

“It saved your skinny ass.”

“Barely…I remembered a lot of running involved.”

“Didn’t think he would summon another bear, mate!”

“Then we had to deal with a sleuth of bears.”

“…Did you just say sleuth…?”

“Yes, that is what a group of bears are called…”

“You aren’t drunk enough yet.”

“Am too.”

“Are not.”

“Am too.”

“Not. You remember things like a group of bears…”

“I am getting there! Just turn on the radio and I will sing.”

“….Not right now, mate…”

“How did we save the world again?”

“I don’t have a bloody clue.”

It was strange. He tried his hardest to ignore the signs. The growing odd weather patterns…the dead bodies…the disappearances…he couldn’t ignore it for long. He packed up a few of his things and headed out. He told his roommate that he was going to get away for the weekend.

Which was partly true, he was getting away from his “normal” life and returning to his old life.

Which was partly true, he was getting away from his “normal” life and returning to his old life.

He took a long sip of his beer to numb the thoughts down.

“I’m glad I show up when I did…you were about to get yourself fried.”

“I had it under control, mate.”

“I would believe it if I didn’t see your pants on fire.”

Spike gave him a look and the finger for his troubles.

He grinned slightly when he remembered running into the vampire literally. Spike was busy with a demon who liked a blow torch way too much.
“I seemed to remember a chick that wanted to cut you to half your size.”

“Thanks for that save by the way.”

He winced at the memory. He wouldn’t say out loud that he let his guard down but he did. After saving Spike, they had a talk. He found out that Spike was a vampire but he couldn’t hurt anyone because he had a chip in his head. He proved it by attacking him. He kind of felt sorry for the vampire when he was rubbing his head in pain.

“You know…no one believes me that I saved the world. I told them. They just looked at me…like…like…”

He patted his friend’s shoulder.

During that weekend, he learned about vampire slayers and watchers. He learned about the different things that walk the night than what he hunted. He learned about a vampire named Spike, who wanted to prove that he was a good guy. No one would listen that he was a good guy.

“I have no one to tell.”

During that weekend, he told Spike about demons, his father, and his brother. It was the most honest he has been since moving to Stanford.

He could afford it since it was demons, sorcerers, and a sleuth of bears trying to end the world.

“We aren’t drunk enough, mate,” Spike said.

“Agreed. We need something stronger.”

“We need a song…”

Spike got up and turned on the radio in his car. A familiar song filled the air. He started humming before the words escaped his mouth.

We are the champions…
We keep on fighting to the end…

Soon, Spike’s voice joined his. Until sun rise, they sing and drunk their beer without a care in the world.

The world owned them that much.

End.

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comment fic meme

Re: long, overly specific prompt is long and overly specific

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FILLED - rated R - 1/3

FILLED - 2/3

Re: FILLED - rated R - 1/3

FILLED - 3/3

Re: Not Leaving You, 4/4

Re: FILLED - rated R - 1/3

Re: FILLED - rated R - 1/3

Re: 5x20-inspired Stanford fic

Re: FILLED - rated R - 1/3

FILLED; burn; gen, h/c (lots and lots of hurt)

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Re: FILLED - rated R - 1/3

Re: FILLED - rated R - 1/3

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Re: FILLED - rated R - 1/3

Re: Not Leaving You, 4/4

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Re: Not Leaving You, 4/4

i really took you too seriously 1/2

Re: i really took you too seriously 2/2

Filled-No One to Listen, No One to Tell (1/2)

No One to Listen, No One to Tell (2/2)