ohsam | comment fic meme!

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&comment-fic meme

comment fic meme!

It's the week leading up to Sam's birthday, which means *drumroll* pain! Pain and horror and terror and illness - and ~~a wee bit of~~ comfort too!

SPREAD THE WORD

THE RULES

→ Leave a comment here with your prompt. 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. ;) )
→ In your prompt, please state your desired characters or pairings. All genres/pairings welcome, but no real-person (RPF) 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!
→ Have fun!

THE MASTER LIST
(with shortened prompts - full prompts at link)

Back to Where We Were by

authoressnebula
After Sam gets his soul back, Dean's become even more mother hen than usual ... Sam can't understand why Dean's so, well ... brotherly, after their downhill relationship the last couple of years...

Creepy-Ugly by

glovered
Sam now has a Thing about cages. A jail cell is a cage.

And In My Soul, An Icy Dread Remains by

authoressnebula
Sam gets himself locked in a freezer. The memories of Hell's frozen lake. Lucifer's icy touch, all those fun things, are banging on the wall and Sam? Sam's not coping too well.

Which Way Do I Steer by

mercuryblue144
Jess was a vegan and Sam has some trouble readjusting to the hunter diet of Mountain Dew and Burger King.

Fire and Ice by

weesta
Sam gets himself locked in a freezer. The memories of Hell's frozen lake. Lucifer's icy touch, all those fun things, are banging on the wall and Sam? Sam's not coping too well.

I'll Be There For You by

cherry916
Sam has nightmares. Dean comforts him. Slash or gen.

Untitled by

erisinia
Gen. Sam is stranded in the middle of the desert. Heat stroke, dehydration, mirages.

Same Time, Same Place by

twoskeletons
Highlight to Reveal Summary - Spoilers for 6.18 [Sam & Castiel... Cas desperately needs to power up a lot and often to fight his war, and the soul of Lucifer's vessel is the most powerful one around. Sam helps him willingly, but it's still extremely unpleasant and draining.]

And Thus Was a Giant Felled by

running_hot
Tall guys constantly get roped into changing light bulbs when shorter humans would need to get a ladder -- like the bulbs in the twelve-foot kitchen ceiling at Jess's parents' house. Sam really should have known better than to stand on a swivel chair to do it.

A Sore Topic by

phx69
Highlight to Reveal Summary - Spoilers for 6.18. [Sam, who is the very definition of a novice rider, had to ride 20 miles to Colt's and 20 miles back. I would love me some saddle sore, limping Sam.]

Here It Comes, There It Goes Again by

lavishsqualor
What with detoxes and resoulings, Sam's memories of the panic room can't be good. So it's unfortunate that they are under some supernatural siege at Bobby's and retreating into the panic room and closing the door is the only way to be safe.

Better On Our Own by

si_star_x
Small fracture in a limb--not OBVIOUSLY broken, but hurts like hell, and no, you really can't use the limb. Sam gets it checked, but the first x-ray misses it.

Carried Home by

samidha
Highlight - Spoilers for 6.18. [Dean, after hearing how soul juice helps Castiel, gets the bright idea to use his own soul to help Sam with the whole wall thing ... And if that isn't Sam-hurty enough for this comm, make the process of healing Sam's soul involve remembering hell. Bonus points if the fallout from this involves le classic telepathic soul-bond.]

Visible Evidence by

authoressnebula
Sam's always spent a lot of time online, researching this and that, even when there's no immediate hunt. Dean doesn't think there's anything significant about it now. Though Sam's getting obsessed. Dean wakes up at three, four in the morning to the glow of the laptop screen and the tap of the keyboard. exhausted!sam

A Certain Beginning by

mimblexwimble
AU Pilot. As horrible as the situation is, Dean's still sort of glad to know that 22 years later he can still carry his baby sister out of a burning building, even if she's now a heavily pregnant amazon.

Shot Down in Flames by

winchesterhaunt
Highlight to reveal - spoilers for 6.18. [In the final shootout, both guns were fired. Dean's shot found it's mark. The Phoenix's shot went wide...and hit Sam.]

Hell Shall Not Wash Us Away

brosedshield
The problem with permanent damage to the soul is that death does nothing to fix it. The wall lasts through Sam's life, and he and Dean are in their shared heaven, but there begin to be cracks and fissures. Sam stumbles from happy memories into memories of hell. And because this part of heaven is actually constructed of memory, this is shaking the fabric of things. Just Dean and Sam's heaven for now, but it's going to spread. Cas has a responsibility to heaven; he's going to have to seal off this part and set it adrift. Dean has the choice to leave if he wants to before that happens, but do we really think he'll take it? Cue Dean and Sam in their own bubble apocalypse, where the islands of sanity are fewer and farther between every day.

Panic by

ratherastory
What with detoxes and resoulings, Sam's memories of the panic room can't be good. So it's unfortunate that they are under some supernatural siege at Bobby's and retreating into the panic room and closing the door is the only way to be safe.

Daydreams You Have in Hell by

wave_obscura
Sam now has a Thing about cages. A jail cell is a cage.

balance good, everything good by

de_nugis
Sam and Dean are sparring and Dean slips/misjudges and cracks one of Sam's ribs. Sam doesn't mention it.

Unravelling by

emmram
Highlight to read - spoilers for 6.18 [Castiel has become addicted to the whole soul-touching thing, and Sam's soul? That's something special he can't get enough of. That doesn't make it any more pleasant for Sam.]

Along Every Horizon by

twoskeletons
If Dean were to die on Sam now I don’t think Sam would ... fade, get killed by some random monster, not out of any suicidal drive, but just because he was having trouble paying attention to details like food or sleep or ravening creatures with lots of big, nasty teeth.

Kiss it All Better by

sakura_no_mi
Sam and Dean are having sex and it goes all wrong. Sam falls off the bed and then manages to slam his head against the head board when he and Dean try again. Dean feels guilty and goes overboard in trying to help him recover.

You Have One Saved Message by

killabeez
After Sam gets his phone back, it's time for a new one. The phone company's awesome enough to retrieve his contacts, his address book, his games, his photos, oh, and one voicemail he's had saved for what's now going on almost three years. Dean gets a hold of the new phone with all of this stuff first. Dean hears The Voicemail first. Dean is so not cool with it. Because to keep an email for beyond fourteen days, someone's gotta keep listening to it and making it fresh and resetting the delete date. Which means Sam's still been listening to it.

nothing left to lose by

sikeminatural
When Sam is pulled from Hell by some unknown force (up to the author) a year after the showdown, he has his soul and goes to find Dean who is not living with Lisa but alone, and still hunting. Dean takes him in but its easy to see that Dean depsises Sam, he beats him, verbally abuses him, uses his memories of Hell to hurt him and blames Sam for everything that has happened. Sam becomes brainwashed and at first fights back but then starts to accept it. Would love if Cas or Bobby come and save Sam and make Dean see the error of his ways!

Never Buy Yellow Shoes by

tversan
Sam buys a pair of cursed shoes that squeeze his precious little feet. He hobbles around, unable to take the wretched things off and they seem to get smaller and smaller the more he tries.

Heart of Stone by

mamapranayama
A curse slowly turns Sam into stone. Frist his feet, then his legs - working its way up until he's completely motionless, cold hard rock. Your descision whether or not he's accompanied, whether the curse is broken, or whether he's simply left to turn to stone alone.

Some Guys Have All the Luck by

si_star_x
Gen. S1-S3. Sam passes a Kidney Stone... or a series of them (your choice whether there's only one or several of them) -- and possibly has a kidney infection on top of it. Just give me whimper-y, tear-y Sam trying to piss and failing and the little he manages to pass is bloody and feels like shards of burning glass.

Let it Bleed by

sakura_no_mi
Sam got into a fight (with a person or a monster), he's roughened up a bit, sore, bruised, scratched and dirty, and he really, really doesn't have any strength left. Dean drags him (carries, really) to a motel room, undresses him, grabs a wet washcloth and starts to clean him up in silence. His touches go from caring to sensuous to heated while all the time being very slow, deliberate and careful. Sam lies there and takes it, mesmerized by his brother's touch, his breath catching and heart beating faster.

To Die For a Memory by

authressnebula
Season five. Sam is captured by a Djiin or some similar creature that keeps its prey docile by trapping them in a mental prison. Whatever the brain spits up as a treasured, wonderful memory becomes the gilded prison that keeps you docile and too happy to fight back. Dean saves the day and kills the creature, but Sam won't wake up. Desperate, Dean whips up some dreamroot tea and goes in after him.

Out of the Dark by

samidha
Sam accidentally gets trapped in the panic room for reasons up to the author. Dean doesn't find him until Sam's in the midst of a flashback with Accusing!Dean and doesn't recognize real!Dean. Dean has to talk him back to reality.

Fade, Far Away, Dissolve, and Quite Forget by

minviendha
Gen or Wincest AU of "The End"- In "The End" when Dean tells Sam that they should stay away from one another, Sam takes it to heart. He cuts off all ties with Bobby and any other mutual acquaintances in order to avoid inadvertently having contact with Dean. Not because he doesn't WANT to see Dean (he does) but he knows that Dean doesn't want to see HIM, and he's pretty sure he's a curse to anyone who cares about him. So it's just better that he disappear.

All is Fine by

moviegeek03
Teen!Chesters. Dean's away on a hunt with Caleb and with Dean gone there's no buffer between Sam and John. Sam isn't meaning to be all angsty and rebelling against his Dad but the new school he's in he's having a hard time because he's getting bullied almost constantly and it's hard hiding bruises and cuts from his Dad but he manages somehow. He didn't want to tell Dean because he doesn't want to appear weak in his eyes and he sure as hell doesn't want to tell his Dad because he knows what his Dad will say No son of mine just get's bullied. Cue John not being a total dick but somehow finding out what Sam's been going through and comforts him/takes care of the problem.

He Ain't Heavy by

beamin_sunshine
After getting his soul back, or maybe after a couple seizures, Sam wakes up in Dean's bed, which is definitely not where he was when he went to sleep. Sam is embarrassed, even though Dean doesn't really mind all that much. But then it keeps happening, with Sam never remembering getting up. Now Dean's starting to get a little annoyed because, as much as he loves the kid, Sam is not the best person to share a bed with, he moves around and makes noises and clings, so Dean gets him his own hotel room, just so he can get some sleep for once. But even that doesn't keep Sam away. As mangled as his soul is, once the brain is shut down, it's going to go find it's mate. Gen, please.

Big Things, Small Packages by

winchesterhaunt
2.06, No Exit. H.H. Holmes doesn't usually take men, but he is getting dangerously close to his lair. Sam's trapped in a space nearly to tight for him to turn his head. His knees ache from being crammed up against the top, his scalp is bleeding, he's pretty sure his wrist is messed up worse, there's a hysterical woman with him for company, and all he can do is wait and hope for Dean and Jo to find him.

Points of Authority by

kiscinca
So the boys have just gotten back together after taking a break, and they're already arguing with each other, or really, Dean's arguing with Sam while Sam's attempting to not argue but still getting pissed off at Dean. Then Dean throws down the trump card: that Castiel was the one who saved Dean, not Sam. Sam was obviously too busy screwing Ruby.

Really Bad Day at Black Rock by

gwendolynd
Dean has to cut off one of Sam's limbs.

Just One of Those Weeks by

authoressnebula
Sam is having a really, really, really, crappy week and just needs a hug...

To Die for a Memory

authoressnebula
Sam is captured by a Djiin or some similar creature that keeps its prey docile by trapping them in a mental prison. Whatever the brain spits up as a treasured, wonderful memory becomes the gilded prison that keeps you docile and too happy to fight back. Dean saves the day and kills the creature, but Sam won't wake up. Desperate, Dean whips up some dreamroot tea and goes in after him. He finds Sam reliving the same memory over and over again - the two of them as kids, playing hooky from training, laying out in a field of grass on a summer day watching clouds and wrestling and just being BROTHERS.

Until Death Do Us Part by

phx69
I don't care what the situation. I just want Dean carrying Sam bridal style.

All Waters Have the Color of Drowning by

minviendha
Meg captures the boys -- somehow -- and decides to have some fun with them -- because she's crazy. And as she goes to work on Sam, she somehow accidentally triggers a Hell seizure. Her reaction: Ooh, Sammy. Twice the bang for the buck. Let's do that again!

Aim, Shoot, Repeat by

authoressnebula
"There's a pattern in the system,
there's a bullet in the gun.
That's why I tried to save you,
but it can't be done.
It can't be done."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

I really REALLY wish we could see this happen. Their relationship is finally on the mend and back to what it used to be, but I'd still love for this scene to happen.

Thank you!

Ooh. I have a weird plot bunny running around that would work with this one. I have so many half-fics on the go at the moment... but I might just give this one a go, too...

Thank you for reading it! I wish they'd come back to this on the show, too, but it does seem unlikely. I'm still holding out hope for the amulet.

Thank you for reading it! ♥

ME TOO. Thank you for reading this. :)

I've wanted something like this for ages:

It's post-wallbreak and Sam's not doing so well. He's not a drooling mess, can still be up and about, but it's very obvious to everyone that there is something wrong with him and Dean is constantly around and more protective than ever.
They meet a priest (or someone like that) who's very devoted to the archangel Michael. The priest, figuring that poor young man must be suffering from some mental illness or very bad trauma, hands out some advice about faith and how his favourite angel will help if they let him and so on (either to both of them or just to Dean). Dean snaps, and tells him some nice stories about angels being real, being dicks, and Michael being the biggest dick of them all.

You made me cry! This was wonderful and sooo sad. Poor Sam. I actually hated Dean for pulling Sam back, even if I also loved that Dean finally got it. And finally, not only knew what he had to do but was willing to do it. I also loved that Sam didn't just answer back 'jerk' because there is so much hurt there and betrayal by Dean (which is never given any credence but it there just as much as Sam's), that it wouldn't fit for Sam to suddenly just forgive him right then. Not when Sam is still wrapped in the memory of what a big brother really does... awww...

I really love this! I hope you update soon!

I will be updating soon, hopefully tonight :D Sorry for the massive delay! School has sort of blown up in my face and I've had no time, but tonight seems to be my night off.

Poor Sammy. :( Very well written. You could feel both of their desperations. Emotional and gripping, just like always. :) <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Oh look. >> Unbeta'd, so forgive any ~~glaring mistakes~~ errors, and uh. I should probably warn for torture here. Mm.

-----

Demons were part cockroach, Dean was pretty sure, and Meg was the worst. Just when it seemed like she was gone for good she came right back. Raring for more.

And somehow she still managed to catch them unawares, and that ended like this: trussed up on a concrete floor with Sam a few feet away and similarly restrained but with his hands in front, still unconscious. Dean twisted against the ropes, boiling with frustration at himself for getting them both caught with his pants down and just plain rage with Meg.

“Wriggle all you like,” Meg’s voice said silkily from behind him. He tried to twist his head, but in his current position it wouldn’t go far enough. “I can tie a good knot, Dean-o.”

“What do you want now,” Dean growled, eying Sam worriedly. Meg snickered.

“What I always have, Dean!” She exclaimed, with unholy glee. “You squirming on a meat hook and Sam in bloody chunks. But I’m just playing today. Nothing too permanent. I promise.”

Sam stirred minutely and shifted, eyelids fluttering. Dean let out a guttural noise at once, trying to keep her attention on himself. “I’ll kill you,” he said. “Should have before, this time-”

“Oh look,” Meg said, cutting him off. She stepped over him and leaned down to grin in Dean’s face. Her breath smelled like peppermint and sulfur and was hot on his face. “Our little Sammy’s waking up. You think he’ll be happy to see me? He was bad last time, but word on the street says that’s changed. Too bad, I would have liked to play with him like that.”

Dean bared his teeth. “Guess what, bitch,” he said, “Pretty sure we can still kick your ass.”

Sam groaned and rolled over, glancing dazedly at his wrists. “Dean?” he said blurrily. Damn, he sounded out of it. No plan from that quarter, then-

Meg stood up. “My boys,” she purred. “How long have we known each other? We’ve had some good times, haven’t we.”

Sam’s eyes shifted from Dean to their company, and Dean saw him swallow even as he shifted slightly, testing his own knots. “Meg,” he said roughly.

“I find it funny you still call me that. But sure,” she said, giving them both a dazzling smile. “Close enough. Now, much as I love chatting, I’m a busy girl.” She turned her head and smirked at Dean, swayed her hips, and Dean felt his heart start to involuntarily beat faster as her eyes went solid black. “Come on, Sammy,” she cooed. “Let’s have some fun. I think you’d like that.”

She turned her back on Dean. Sam tried to move backwards, but with both hands and ankles bound the most he could do was snarl as Dean had done. “Don’t touch me,” Sam said, voice still blurry but rough-edged with anger now. Dean twisted his hands furiously and felt a small shift in the knots.

Meg laughed. “Cute, Sam,” she said, and even as he lashed out with both feet, she grabbed his shirt and started dragging him toward a door like she wasn’t a foot and a half shorter than his ginormous younger brother. Sam kept trying to struggle, but it was almost pathetic to watch, his head twisting wildly.

Dean lunged, or tried to, and just ended up flopping on his stomach, the rope refusing to give any more. “Don’t you dare, I’ll rip you apart, I’ll,” he threatened wildly. Meg just smirked at him. Demon, Dean thought. Pain. Last time we saw Meg. The Wall. Shit shit shit.

For just a moment, Sam’s eyes landed in Dean’s, and they were scared. Meg hauled him one foot inside the door and looked straight at Dean.

“I hope you’re a good listener, Dean-o,” she said with a manic grin, and closed the door.

**

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t-

“You look nervous, Sammy,” Meg said, crouching down beside him. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Sam forced himself to grin, but it felt more like a rictus. “Nah. I’m good.” He tried to twitch away as Meg reached out and shifted a strand of hair off his face.

“I suppose you would be. I’ll have to work a little harder now, won’t I? I hope you’re still a screamer. I used to think you’d be a great screamer, and we don’t want Dean to get worried, do we?” She reached up above him and pulled a chain down with a hook at the end, attached it almost lovingly to his bonds. “Mmm,” she hummed, “You want to make this easy or hard?”

Sam could feel his heart beating too rapidly, thud-thud in his ribcage, beat beat beat. And a niggling feeling in the back of his mind –

He pushed it down. Shoved it down, mercilessly. “Not going to make anything easy for you,” he managed, with a scrap of defiance, at least. Meg chuckled again.

“Not for me, honey,” she said, “For you.” She let go of the chain and stood up. He saw the other end hooked to a nail on the wall and tried to bring his feet under him, but with them tied-

She dragged down hard and his arms jerked up. It felt like they were going to pop out of the sockets, but the rest of his body followed like so much dead weight, and he finally managed to bring his useless, hobbled legs underneath to support some weight, but his shoulders were already starting to ache.

Meg shed her jacket and reached down, pulled a knife from her boot. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll take this slow. I wouldn’t want to rush too much, even if I am on a timer and I’ve still got your brother to do.” She waved the knife in a circle encompassing his whole body. “What do you think, Sam? Where should I start? A pretty eye? Or maybe a couple fingers…”

The itch was growing stronger. Sam could smell her, suddenly, sulfur and rotting sweetness. Sometimes it smelled like that in-

No. No, stop, not now.

Meg slithered close and rubbed her body against his, the knife tickling his Adam’s apple. He felt a single drop of blood ooze down to pool in the hollow of his throat. Her other hand came up and ripped his shirt open in one sharp jerk.

“All right, Sam,” she said, “Let’s see how well you scream. Just relax and think of your brother…what will he think if you’re too quiet?”

The knife trailed down from his throat and turned sideways. She sliced in, and then down. The pain was sharp but he locked his jaw, refusing to cry out or make any sound at all. Not for her. This was nothing. Not compared to-

Stop it. Don’t scratch. Don’t fucking scratch.

Then her forefinger dug into the wound, and her thumb was pinching the outside, and she just smiled at him and pulled, one sharp jerk. Like peeling an orange. Or pulling off a band-aid.

The pain was white and hot and he yelled once before managing to cut it off, swallowing hard and rapidly. He couldn’t help but look and she was holding a strip of flesh peeled out of his shoulder-

The itching was suddenly a roar, and he could feel something closing in, no, god, no, not-

He screamed, just once, in futile helplessness because he couldn’t stop it. And then Lucifer’s hands were slick with blood to the elbow. He laid one on raw, flayed flesh. “See,” he said, gently. “You see. One piece. All I needed was to try again.” He made a small, satisfied noise.

Sam whimpered. Everything was agony. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, without it hurting. He distantly heard Lucifer sigh. “Would you like to die, Sam?”

“Please,” he pleaded, out of skinless lips. “P-please.”

Lucifer’s hand squeezed the raw muscle of his arm in a new center of blazing pain. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I can’t allow that. I don’t think you understand, yet.”

His eyes opened. Sam didn’t understand at first, nothing but the ache in his arms becoming a slow and constant burn and the throbbing raw pain in his shoulder and spreading out. And the smiling face watching him with new interest.

He coughed, spat. His mouth tasted like vomit, and glancing down, he could see why. His own breathing felt ragged, and his heart pounded frantically.

“Well,” said the smile (Meg, he managed) with smug delight. “Isn’t that fascinating. Isn’t that just…I liked that, Sammy.” Her smile widened, which seemed impossible. “I liked that quite a lot.”

She lifted the knife, brought the edge to the raw and bleeding flesh she’d already skinned, and leaned in close. Her voice was low and husky.

“Let’s do it again.”

**

All’s quiet in the next room. Quiet enough Dean could hear his own heartbeat. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

(He didn’t make much of a sound at all when he was seizing.)

Meg said no permanent damage. Who knows what that means, though? Or how much she’s lying? Dean kept working at the ropes, straining them wider little by little around his wrists. His shoulders were starting to hurt a little, but not too-

Sam screamed. Just once, high and frantic, and it cut off all too quickly. Dean’s protective instincts kicked into overdrive, and before he was thinking he was moving, thrashing with a frantic yell of “Sam? Sammy!”

No response. Of course there’s no goddamn response. Sam could be dead or (thrashing trapped in memories of Hell) worse.

Swearing at the top of his lungs, Dean struggled harder and across the floor, near where Sam was tied, abruptly spied a recognizable switchblade.

Sam’s. He’d gotten it out somehow, and unfolded, but apparently that was as far as it went. And Meg hadn’t seen.

Dean started worming across the floor, glancing over toward the door. It had gone quiet again. Too quiet. (Maybe he just passed out. Quit panicking.)

Yeah, fat chance of that. And like that would really be any better.

Fumbling, he managed to twist the switchblade between his hands and set it against the ropes, trying to press frantically through the twined strands.

“Hold on, Sammy,” he said, under his breath, and kept working. Watching the door. And listening.

Almost fucking hoping for another scream.

**

He imagined he could feel the crack whispering to him, widening, sucking him back down. (It was always down, such a long way down through fire and ice and-)

“Do you see his face?” Meg murmured, playing idly with the piece of slippery skin and flesh between her fingers. Sam’s body quivered involuntarily, but it was his head that was pounding like it was going to crack open. There was almost longing in the demon’s voice.

Edited 2011-05-05 03:34 (UTC)

Sam spit out blood. The last…he bit through his lip. He’s worried his tongue will be next. He is almost sure his thrashing dislocated one shoulder. It feels wrong. He feels wrong. This feels unreal. This warehouse is false and with-

No. Stop. Dean’s just outside. Dean will-

Meg drew a bloody finger in a line down his chest. The right side was mostly raw flesh, now. Strip by strip, she was peeling skin and the wall away together. “Tell me, Sam,” she said, and dug her nails into raw muscle.

He panted fearfully, but it was not enough. Sam managed a manic smile. “You’re not him,” he said, “The more I – remember the less it – matters.”

Meg’s eyes flashed black, and she lifted the knife and stabbed it through his shoulder. The world wavered and threatened to implode.

Sam heard himself start to laugh. There was blood coursing down his body in thicker streams now, and that couldn’t be good, but he understood now. She was nothing. A pale imitation. Less.

She knew nothing of the art of pain.

There was fire burning along his nerves and ice freezing at his core. Lucifer ran fingers through his hair and said, “I’m sorry it has to be this way,” full of sympathy and compassion and love.

The door slammed open, but Sam forgot what he was waiting for. Whoever it was, though, they seemed to blaze with light.

“Hush,” said Lucifer, hands sifting through Sam’s entrails. “Close your eyes. Rest a while.”

“Sam? Sam! Fuck, Sam!”

**

Sam came back two hours later, blinking once, eyes clearing. Dean slumped and went limp.

Never again. Never fucking again. He would never get that picture out of his head, Sam dangling limply by his arms, one shoulder discolored and swollen, one side of his chest bright red blood and raw flesh, and his eyes. His eyes wide open and staring at nothing as his body twitched and spasmed and went deathly still.

“Dean?” Sam said, blinking and lifting his good arm to rub at his eyes. At least he’d had plenty of time to bandage and tape and staunch bleeding. At least. Oh god. “What…”

Trying to think, trying to figure out how he got here and what had happened and why he hurt. “Don’t,” Dean said. “Don’t think about it. Just don’t. Painkillers?”

Sam frowned. “Dean?” he said, and Dean shook his head.

“No,” he said firmly, and then added, “It’s safe now.”

It wasn’t. Meg was still out there, and who knew how many other things, what else might be floating around waiting to trigger a crack, or a collapse. It wasn’t safe; for Sam it might be nothing was safe and they were both screwed.

But with his wide eyes and out of it look, Sam looked younger than he should have, and so Dean gave him the answer he would have given back when things were simple and it was just them and their dad and the rest of the world, and uglies to kill.

Sam’s brow furrowed, and Dean gave him a glass of water and offered Sam the painkillers again. “It’s safe now,” he repeated, and pretended it was true.

Edited 2011-05-05 03:35 (UTC)

I loved it! JUST what I was hoping for! You rule!

Thank you for this! It made my day!

Absolutely gorgeous. ♥ I loved how Sam started splitting apart at the seams at the end and, worse yet, how much it made sense for him to, from his point of view. Well done.

~Nebula

“You look nervous, Sammy,” Meg said, crouching down beside him. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Scary Meg. Really scary Meg. She's really complex in this -- it's like she's jealous of Sam for meeting her god.

Sam's fear felt so real. And the flaying? There's something horrendously wrong about the concept of someone else's fingers under your skin.

Love!

Oh, this is so good. Dean conflicted, harsh but also loving and desperate, neither a dick nor all sweetness and light, and Sam just wanting at that moment to give up and not go on facing things, facing reality.

It was the stained shirt that finally did him in.

Oh, the week had been crap from day one, really. Sam's favorite shirt had gotten ripped by the beast of the week, and then on top of it he'd had to bleed out on it. They were only scratches, but they were deep, and Sam had had to deal with a concerned and pissy Dean while he'd been put back together.

Then, for some reason, the pain killers he'd taken had kept him up all night. He'd tossed and turned, tried not to rip his stitches, and felt all around miserable. The next day had found him exhausted and trying to translate something with barely any power to keep his eyes open.

"Dude," Dean had told him, watching him trying not to fall asleep into his coffee (which hadn't done any good at all, triple espresso or not), "Just take a nap, all right? Go, lay down. You're making me tired watching you."

The nap had left him waking up with a headache and a severe case of disorientation, so disoriented that he'd almost fallen and would have if Dean hadn't caught him in time. Dean had shoved him back onto the bed and tried not to worry loud enough that it'd keep Sam awake. Because he'd napped during the day, gaining no rest at all, Sam didn't sleep again during the night.

By the third day into the week of hell, Sam had still had a headache. He'd tripped over his own shoes, though he'd thankfully caught himself against the wall - with his nose. Trying to explain to a bewildered Dean who'd come back with breakfast just why Sam's nose was bleeding and swollen wasn't his idea of fun.

Then the breakfast itself had been awful, full of grease and some weird pepper that kept making Sam sneeze. Dean had even offered up his own breakfast, and if that hadn't been a sign of how concerned his brother was, Sam didn't know what else could be. Sam declined, leaving him faced with a breakfast as appealing as congealed pork fat.

Lunch was better...for awhile. An hour later found them stopping at a motel room for the rest of the day while Sam dealt with food poisoning. Dean worried a little louder then, but hey, Sam was pretty loud himself as his stomach turned inside out, so he figured it balanced out. A sore stomach and constant nausea kept him up, again, for the third night in a row.

The next few days weren't anything spectacular either. Sam found himself the victim of a nosebleed due in part to a dry room, a sprained ankle when he didn't realize part of the stairs at the diner were broken, torn hands trying to catch himself as he went down on his newly sprained ankle, his favorite jeans tearing in an intimate place, his laptop refusing to boot thanks in part to a virus that Dean had gotten searching for porn, and a headache that wouldn't stop.

And the not sleeping thing. He kept catching a few hours here and there, enough to survive off of, but what he craved was one night of undisturbed rest, and so far, it wasn't happening. The one night it'd been a possibility, a couple in the parking lot of the motel had had a vicious fight, calling in the motel managers and the cops. Between the yelling and the flashing lights, neither he nor Dean had gotten any sleep. Dean had been frustrated and pissed off: Sam had merely been resigned to the fact that he wasn't sleeping when he was supposed to, again.

Today, Castiel had shown up, given Sam one long look, then stated that he needed to talk. To Dean and Dean alone, presumably, not to the abomination. Sam had offered to do laundry to get out of their hair, then had gingerly hobbled over to the laundromat just a few stores down from their current motel. Anything not to be there while Dean and Castiel spoke in low tones about the apocalypse that was all Sam's fault.

Edited 2011-05-06 02:22 (UTC)

Ooh! Ooh! I am so excited. YOU are doing one of my prompts! That is awesome. Thank you! I totally love this. Sam is having a crappy week. I want to give him a hug myself!

The only thing that had been good over the week of crap had been him and Dean, really. Back together and doing okay. They weren't the SamnDean, the one cohesive unit, they'd been before, but Sam doubted they'd ever be there again. Dean had been worried about him during the week, though, and had even offered him his breakfast. That was caring right there.

He just wished that he could talk with Dean about what was going on, too. That he didn't have to leave and feel like the third wheel of a machine that could clearly function with just two. It hadn't been Dean who'd begged Sam to come back: Sam had pleaded with Dean to come back, and had been told at first no. Then, for some reason, Dean had called him back a few hours later with a change of mind.

But thinking about how well Dean and Castiel worked together and didn't need Sam wasn't something he needed to think about today. This week was bad enough as it was. So he threw a load of clothes in, barely managed to find the right amount of quarters to get the machines going, then sat back and tried to ignore the off-key singing from one of the other patrons. He propped his ankle up while he waited, ignored the itching from the stitches, and tried not to think about how red his nose had to look from both the swelling and the excessive bleeding of days prior. God the week had sucked.

Then he pulled the laundry out, and as he was shifting it from washer to dryer, he saw it.

After the fire, Dean had given Sam one of his shirts to wear while they'd bought a new wardrobe. It had been a shirt Dean had bought at a concert, with AC/DC's name scrawled across the front. For some reason, Dean had never asked for it back, and Sam was pretty certain even if he had that he wouldn't have relinquished it. It had become his favorite shirt, the one he drew comfort from, the one he wore when he felt lousy. After Dean had died, he'd worn the shirt almost the point of threadbare. It had gone under every button up, and even when Dean had come back he'd still worn it. He'd always carefully gotten out all blood stains, all food stains, all goo stains. It had been perfect.

Except for now. The detergent from the landromat obviously hadn't agreed with it, or there'd been bleach left over in the washer, or something. Because now, now there was a huge white, blotchy stain all over the shirt, making the logo nearly unrecognizable and ruining it completely. His one constant of comfort, softness and Dean through the years, and it was as destroyed as his relationship with Dean was.

A wave of sudden hopelessness over his situation, over his strained relations with Dean, over the week and over his shirt hit him, and before he knew it he was bending over in the chair, clutching at the ruined shirt, trying to keep his sobs to a minimum. The last thing he needed was for someone to call the cops on the crazy guy crying in the middle of the landromat.

"Sam?"

Sam could only let out a choked sob and curl himself further around the shirt. If Dean found out he was crying over a damn t-shirt, his life was over. That was blackmail material for eternity.

Except it wasn't just the shirt, and he knew it. The tears he'd refused to shed over his mistakes, over losing Dean, over being not wanted, over a week where the universe had again conspired against him...the shirt had just been the last straw.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and Sam could sense Dean kneeling beside him. "Sammy, what's going on? Talk to me, dude. What happened?"

Dean wasn't going to go away until he knew. Sam shoved the shirt in what he thought was Dean's general direction and buried his face in his now free hands. His nose was starting to hurt from the crying, as swollen as it already was, and the bending over was leaving his sore stomach muscles and stitches feeling worse than before.

Oh I've been dying to do one of your prompts! They're all so good! Except I totally feel like needing a hug right now so I'm doing this one. :P

~Nebula

There was silence from Dean's direction, which couldn't herald anything good. Try to get up and continue doing laundry, or stay curled up like a damn turtle in a crap chair while his brother attempted to not laugh at him? If he got up, he could get away and leave Dean to do the rest of the laundry...but he'd see Dean smirking and laughing at him. And that, right now, wasn't something Sam could handle. It just made fresh tears well up in his eyes.

When Dean spoke, it was in a soft tone, but Sam could envision him trying to hold his laughter in. "Sam-"

"Just go away," Sam choked out miserably. "Laugh at me later, all right? I just...I just c-can't right now. Go talk to Castiel about how awful I am, and leave me be, okay?"

Anything to get Dean to just go away and let Sam not so quietly fall to pieces. Yeah, that was the preferred answer to this mess.

Except Dean didn't go away. Dean didn't let out a few hearty chuckles or one big laughing fit. Dean didn't even say anything.

Dean merely shifted, clothes rustling as he moved, and the next thing Sam knew, arms were being wrapped around him and holding him tight. Safe, soft comfort like the t-shirt had been. Dean.

How the hell that was supposed to make Sam stop crying, he didn't know. It only made it worse. It would've been embarrassing any other time, but Sam had passed the point of embarrassment days ago. He was sore, he was tired, he was probably going to catch a virus from someone in the laundromat, the way his luck was running, and he was emotionally drained.

The only thing he wanted to do was cry into his big brother's neck and be held and hugged like he wasn't a mistake, like he hadn't screwed up everything between them for good.

And for once that week, something finally went right for him.

It took awhile for Sam to calm, longer than he would've liked. Dean didn't let go, though, not once. By the time Sam was down to sniffles and hitched breaths, Dean's shirt collar was soaked, and Sam knew his brother's knees had to be killing him from being pressed against the cold linoleum floor for so long. Dean wasn't complaining, though. He seemed content to just hug Sam, and Sam was totally okay with it.

"You've had a suck-ass week, haven't you?" Dean said sympathetically, and Sam snorted wetly.

"Sure we didn't pick up a rabbit's foot somewhere?" Sam whispered hoarsely.

"Dude, do not even joke about that," Dean said, shuddering. "Your luck wouldn't be bad, it'd be dead. I'll take a sprained ankle over dead any day, thanks."

That actually meant a lot, and went a long way to healing something inside of him Sam hadn't thought was broken. "Castiel's probably waiting for you," Sam said. The angel tended to want to talk to Dean for long periods of time, and Sam hadn't been gone for more than twenty, thirty minutes, tops.

"Yeah, well, you didn't answer your phone," Dean said. "Given the week you were having, I wanted to know if you were okay. Which...wound up being a good idea, apparently."

Sam dug blindly in his pocket for his phone and didn't even bother looking at it, just handed it to Dean. Dean took it and rolled his eyes. "It's dead."

"Probably needs a new battery," Sam muttered, and Dean chuckled. He quieted after a moment, then asked the question Sam had been hoping he wouldn't.

"All this for a shirt? I can get you another shirt, Sam."

It wouldn't be the same. And it wasn't really the point. But trying to explain just why Sam had completely fallen to pieces in the middle of some grimy laundromat wasn't going to work. "It was yours," he said softly. It was all he could manage to get out without another set of waterworks turning on. Thinking about the stupid shirt was going to set him off again.

But what was he supposed to do? The damn shirt had been given to him on one of the worst nights of his life, something to wear that didn't smell like smoke. The memory of Dean watching him, handling him like handspun glass, gentle and kind and so much his big brother was enough to make him choke up again. He'd have given anything to have that Dean back. The one that looked at him with love and a determination to make things right.

I am glad you chose this one, to be honest. I suspect that with what is coming, Sam could use all the hugs he can get (on the show, I mean :))

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