ohsam | A Sam-focused h/c meme!

Current Mood: bouncy

Entry tags:

&comment-fic meme

A Sam-focused h/c meme!

Awww! Our fledgling community already has 136 members! *beams proudly* You guys ROCK!

So in order to celebrate the glory that is hurt!sick!Sam, we are hosting a comment-fic meme. You guys probably know the drill by now, but just to be on the safe side, I'll post a couple of rules below.

I will be keeping track of the meme and compiling a master list as new stories appear.

SPREAD THE WORD

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. 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 whether I.P. logging is off because I suck at this sort of thing. 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

redrum669: Season 5 Sam needs to be forgiven and loved regardless of what he is and what he's done. For the love of God, do it! Gen, Slash, whatever. Just get that boy some damned hugs.

pkwench: Permanent injury. Any flavour.

blubird_pie: I'd love to see both boys get taken (for whatever reason) and Dean cares/comforts a distressed young Sam whilst in captivity.

dime_for_12: Are you brave enough to kill one of them? Your choice. Sam's either in agony and dying. Or Sam's trying to hold it together while Dean's slipping away.

lassiterfics: Pre-series: Sam's first week in the dorms at Stanford. He draws a single room and is shyly buying a plant, school supplies, and congratulating himself on making his tiny little room a home. Trouble is? He can't sleep. No matter how much he tries to wear himself out, he can’t sleep without Dean. Gen or slash is fine.

dime_for_12:Sam is shut down and hurting after Jess dies. Dean takes care of him through the next few days and the funeral.

blubird_pie: Season 5 Dean finds himself with DeAged Sam & he'd forgotten how much that kid like hugs - especially when scared.

blood_ecstasy: Wee!Sam gets the chicken pox and Dean gets to deal with it. I expect there to be lots of whining, smacking hands off of itchy spots, and tomato rice soup.

dither_river: Sam is shut down and hurting after Jess dies. Dean takes care of him through the next few days and the funeral.

annonwrite: Sam had a bad back and it hurts. A LOT. Dean makes fun of him. Then Dean realizes how bad it is. Then Dean feels guilty.

callistosh65: On a hunt in midwinter, Sam almost freezes to death. Dean finds him blue-lipped and still in a snowbank, gets him inside + takes care of him.

authoressnebula: From episode Swap Meat: Sam-in-teenage-boy's body has an asthma attack. Dean helps.

wicked_crayon: Sam agrees to let Michael try him on for size. It's an extremely, extremely bad fit and lasts for all of maybe a minute. Agony, issues of self worth, and one distraught, angry older brother are the result.

slsh_lvr08: A younger Sam gives birth on Dean's lap. Impala.

annonwrite: Early S1, Sam gets a cold/flu from not sleeping. Possibly also related to going swimming with his clothes on (1.3) or riding on an airplane (1.4)?

ancastar: S5 Sam is out of his head with fever for whatever reason. Thinks Dean is Ruby and that his brother is still in Hell.

pkwench: Sam's trapped inside his body with Lucifer in control. His thoughts/anguish/fighting to break free as Lucifer kills present!Dean and confronts past!Dean.

ratherastory: Crucifixion. *cough*

rosestoo: Michael and Lucifer face off in their best Winchester suits. Michael wins and sends Lucifer back to hell. He also sends Sam with him. Dean goes to find his brother. Sam suffers. A lot.

shyriann: S5 Sam is out of his head with fever for whatever reason. Thinks Dean is Ruby and that his brother is still in Hell.

ratherastory: Eye patch Sam! Sam loses one of those pretty eyes and has to cope with altered visual perception and looking like a pirate. Dean is awesome, over protective, angry as hell that this happened to Sam, and a completely amusing little shit.

sytaxia: After Sam has gone through detox after My Bloody Valentine he's still weak and feverish. Dean and Cas take care of him.

dime_for_12: Aftermath of Mystery Spot. Sam in serious fucking trauma, Dean slowly realizing the extent of what happened (hundred days of watching him die, six months without him). Sam needs to touch him at night to know he's real, afraid to sleep because he may wake up back in the Trickster's world without Dean, etc.

authoressnebula: 5x14. At the end of the ep, Sam locks himself inside the panic room using the original locking system (keep those inside safe from those outside). They've added anti-angel protection since last time so neither Dean nor Castiel can break in.

4422shini: The semi-bulletproof advantages of being marked as the devil's chosen vessel - being able to get between your brother and bullets. Trouble is? It fucking hurts, reapers turn their backs to you/hide behind their hands when you die, being brought back to life is scary, and your brother is really fucking pissed off at you for having done it.

dime_for_12: Something involving a bullet wound. Either one that Dean has to clean and stitch up or one that is already healed.

wicked_crayon: Sam's absolutely terrified to drive, feels just as guilty over John's death as Dean, has the occasional nightmare, and refuses to get behind the wheel.

ratherastory: Sam and Dean go undercover as Manly!Maids to investigate a haunting. Sadly, Sam has a dust allergy and just keeps sneezing.

pixymisa:Sam's always eaten more healthy than Dean, but he does have the occasional greasy burger. However, Dean's noticed since 4x22 Sam's eaten nothing but salads at every meal. They don't even have any meat in them. Can that be healthy? (Sam's gone vegetarian after quitting demon blood, avoiding the taste of anything even remotely like blood/meat.)

dante_s_hell: After Jump the Shark, Sam was bleeding so profusely. Surely there should be some h/c after that? :) He'd be weak and in pain and unable to do a lot of things for a few days after that.

dime_for_12:
Aftermath of "Heart." As soon as they walk out of that apartment, Sam falls back in the same place he was after Jess's death, except worse because it's the second time it's happened and he had to pull the trigger this time. He's shut down, doesn't want to talk, and Dean has to pull him out of it.

pixymisa: a severely injured S5 Sam gets sent to the past and is met by his preseries self/S1 self.

saberivojo: Pre-series, Sam is cleaning the knives at his father's request, and Dean's out for the night. In typical teenage boy fashions, screws around with them, trying out fight fighting moves he's not ready for. He cuts himself and tries to hide it from John, but John finds out.

saberivojo: Old Weschesters. It's no secret that Sam doesn't have as good of a seat on a horse as Dean does...

dime_for_12: Michael and Lucifer face off in their best Winchester suits. Michael wins and sends Lucifer back to hell. He also sends Sam with him. Dean goes to find his brother. Sam suffers. A lot.

faye_dartmouth: Some baddie is beating the crap out of our boy. The beating could be physical (fists and feet) or more magic related (along the lines of what happened to Dean in the season one finale). Dean is being forced to watch, but cannot intervene. All Sam has to do to get the whumping to stop is to tell the baddie to go pick on Dean instead. But he won't. No matter how much Dean begs him to.

pkwench: Wee!Chesters - Sam experiences night terrors.

melanth0: Sam goes insane. Not, oh, I'm a little crazy, but INSANE in whatever form you choose and Dean must reach him somehow.

m14mouse: The shifter in Skin really worked Sam over good. Some Dean taking care of him after and the two of them not dealing with what the shifter told Sam.

rosestoo: Michael and Lucifer face off in their best Winchester suits. Michael wins and sends Lucifer back to hell. He also sends Sam with him. Dean goes to find his brother. Sam suffers. A lot.

m14mouse: Wee!Chesters - A very wee Sam gets separated from John & Dean and winds up in protective services. He's sent to a state home while they try to figure out who he is, what to do with him. Sam does not thrive in this new environment and keeps looking under his bed and in the wardrobe, closets, big scary industrial kitchen, basements, attic ... everywhere for Dean and his Dad.

tifaching: History is littered with stories of brothers. This is one of them. Two brothers set out to save the world. The cost is high and the older brother is lost. It's said that the younger brother walks the country calling for him. From Maine to Kansas to Oregon, he walks. In torment, looking. Always looking. There are those that hunt things like him and they try, they do, but there are no bones to burn, no spells that will cast him out, no rituals that will ease his suffering. The only way to put this tormented spirit to rest lies in summoning the brother to take him home.

vail_kagami: Castiel takes care of Sam and Dean when Sam comes out of the panic room in 5.14.

vail_kagami: Following their separation in Good God Y'all, Sam gets a ride from someone allied against him. 'Break him,' they said. So the bad man, rapes him to a bloody mess.

Sorry, everyone. Spammers have found this entry, so I have to freeze all remaining comment threads. I think we're safe, it's a pretty old comment-fic meme. If anyone absolutely needs to comment here, PM me to let me know, okay? ~

ratherastory

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

When he wakes, Sam isn’t sure how long he’s been asleep. Once he’s finally able to focus on the road, he notices that the sun seems low, as if it’s late afternoon – the lazy droop of golden light over browning cornfields sends watery shimmers over the highway, despite the fact that it is far too cold for heat lines. At least, he thinks it is. “Dean?” He looks over and sees Dean staring intently on the road, an odd look of concentration plastered to his face.

The car almost swerves off of the road as his voice breaks the silence, and he realizes what is so strange about this picture: there’s no music. “Dean?” He asks again, and he notices that Dean hasn’t slowed down at all, despite the fact that he now seems to have his full attention.

“Sammy? You okay? You need to up the chuck? Because A, the upholstery, and B, you know how long that smell lasts in this car.” Dean isn’t even bothering to hide his concern as he says this, and Sam wonders how bad he looks. He actually feels better now, it’s easier to concentrate, but that doesn’t seem to be something that Dean can tell. He understands everything that is said to him for the first time in over a week, and is grateful for it.

“Dude, I was 15, and I had food poisoning.”

“And I had just got my baby here as a reward for getting my GED, and I was still smelling your stink when you ran off to California.”

Sam tries to smile at the mere idea of them exchanging this sort of banter. “You didn’t pull over.”

“I will now, all right? You need me to?” He sees Dean’s hand reaching towards him, and is relieved to note that the perspective seems correct – nothing bent out of shape or contorted at inhuman angles, as it was when he was in the panic room. He feels his brother’s fingers against his face and leans into the touch, closing his eyes and relishing the cool relief that it brings to the hot throb of his head. He almost winces when the hand is withdrawn. “You’re fuckin’ on fire again.” Dean’s voice is lower, more quiet now, and the air in the Impala seems frozen, as if Dean’s apprehension is enough to alter the atmosphere inside of the care down to every molecule of air.

“Don’t need to stop. Just tired. Feel better, actually,” Sam smiles when he realizes that it’s true: he aches, he’s freezing and hot all at once, his head is being stabbed with each beat of his heart, which is pounding in his ears, and yet… Things are better. Better than they’ve been. He doesn’t know why. He’s afraid for his brother, for every aspect of his brother, from sanity to safety, and he’s afraid for the world. He’s afraid for the world, for all of the men, women, and children that make up the rest of the human race. He’s afraid of what he might do. He’s afraid of what he’s done. But in the end… Something just feels… Better. Darkness takes him again.

When Sam comes to again, he’s surrounded by water, and it’s freezing. Lost in the Antarctic tundra freezing. Trek to the north pole freezing. He screams, and feels four hands pressing down on him. “This seems to be causing him pain.” He recognizes that voice – gravelly, flat, somehow so obviously inhuman, and yet not…

“No shit, Sherlock. Here, hold him down, I’ll be back,” Dean’s voice. He’d know Dean’s voice anywhere.

“Dean?” He can still feel two hands on him, but he doesn’t think they’re Dean’s. They’re smooth, and hard, and… Almost like marble. They feel too perfect to be human hands. It’s then that his addled brain finally places the other voice. “Castiel.” He was always the best at Latin, even better than their father, and all the other languages of research and exorcism came just as naturally to him, snippets of Attik and Assyrian, Babylonian and Bayeux-Old English, it all rolled off his tongue just as well as the Angel’s name always does. It flows. He wonders if Castiel likes or dislikes that. He suddenly doubts that the angel is anything more than indifferent, considering that he’s never said anything about Dean’s repeated use of the nickname “Cas.”

“Dean will be back soon. You need to stop fighting us.” Castiel’s tone is as gently assertive as always, and he lets the words soak in.

“Fighting you? What did I…” He can’t say anything else, pain lances through him the cold seems to intensify, leaving him shaking, his teeth chattering too much for him to form words. It hurts. Exquisite, perfect, angelic-satanic-epitome pain. He gasps and hears the slosh of water around him. “Bath tub?”

“Yes.” Cas seems relieved that Sam understands where he is, and Sam tries to focus on his face, but he can’t. The world is nothing but a dark, fuzzy glare.

“Fever?” They’d thought he was through the worst of it, and even with the pain that constantly threatened to rip him from consciousness, he probably was. They’d never come this far before – he’d run off to meet Ruby long before they’d reached this point. This was new territory. Terrifyingly new.

“Yes.” The angel’s hands feel reassuringly solid against him – nothing else is confirming any sort of lucidity. He tries to look at them, but his eyes still aren’t focusing.

“Dean?” It’s getting harder and harder to get the few words that he can out, and before he can hear Castiel’s answer, the world is once again black.

Sam is getting used to losing chunks of time. When he comes to, he’s bundled up in a hotel bed, but he’s no longer shaking, or sweating. He takes this as a good sign. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling – popcorn ceiling. A hotel, then. His gaze shifts around him, and shapes swim into view – lamps, chairs, table, television. Ancient console television. A shitty hotel, then. He looks over, and sees Dean asleep on top of the covers on the second bed. He looks up, and sees Castiel sitting next to him, fixing him with an unblinking stare. It’s an odd thing to wake up to, being stared down by an angel.

“Castiel?” His voice cracks when he speaks, and he wonders how long it’s been since they arrived at the hotel. He certainly doesn’t remember arriving there.

“You kept calling out for your brother. When the two of you separated, he was ill and injured once. He spoke of you in a way that denounced you, but longed for you and your companionship whenever he was conscious. I could tell he wanted nothing more than to be reunited with you, even when he insulted you. But when he wasn’t conscious, he called for your mother. You have been unconscious, but you don’t call for her. You call for him. Over and over, for him, even when he was right here, holding your hand.” The angel says all this in a voice that is so lacking in comprehension, it’s strangely, amazingly innocent. And then he places his hand against Sam’s cheek, fingers lightly running down the side of his face, tracing the side of his sideburn, and then running down to his jaw. The motion is rhythmic, soothing.

“Your fever broke, and then your body went cold. We had you in room temperature water, and you seemed to chill it. He was terrified.” Castiel motions with his other hand towards Dean. “You’ve been a good temperature for nearly a day. He showed me how to check it.” Castiel reaches out and picks up a thermometer off of the bedside table. “We need to check it again.” Sam blinks a few times, distracted by the comforting feeling of the hand against his face and by the oddity of the angel’s flow of words. It takes him a moment to realize that Castiel is trying to push the small device into his mouth, but he does realize, and the minute it takes for the beeping sound to register flies by.

Castiel stares at the thermometer, “Ninety eight point seven. Dean said between ninety eight and ninety nine was good.” He sets it back down on the table and considers it for a moment, “Humans really are ingenious. All the contraptions. I shouldn’t be astounded, it’s all so unnecessary next to heaven’s power, but still… I am impressed. Humanity is astounding.”

“Yeah, we have the corner on cheap floor shows. And just wait until you see our lovely assistant,” Dean flips over and swings his legs over the edge of the other bed, and is sitting next to Castiel within a second. “How’re you feelin’, Sammy?” His voice is low and his eyes are even more shadowed than they were when last Sam saw him, and Sam wants to tell Cas to put him back to bed.

“Better than you look,” Sam manages to say, and it comes out a whisper. He’d meant it to be firm… He tries clearing his throat and then begins to sit up, and feels Castiel’s hands on his shoulders, drawing him up. Dean has a perturbed look on his face, as if he’s upset with the idea of anyone else helping Sam. Sam wonders if that isn’t the case.

“You think I look bad? You want me to get you a mirror?” Dean shifts himself back to his feet and looks down at Sam, trying to smile at him. “You hungry?”

Sam considers the question for a moment, and finds that he honestly doesn’t know the answer. “I don’t know.” When in doubt, honesty is the best policy. If only he’d remember that when… He mentally kicks himself. He shouldn’t be thinking about that. It’s the last thing that he needs. It’s the last thing that Dean needs.

“I’m freakin’ starving. I’ll be back. You want a burger, or am I just buyin’ for me and Sammy?” Dean turns his gaze to Castiel, who ticks his head to the side and stares at him in return.

“I have not been possessed by Famine’s spell for some days now, Dean. That was the only time that I ate.”

“Suit yourself. There’s a Runza down the street – lotsa ground beef in those things, Herr Hamburglar,” Dean is up quickly, almost too quickly, and is out the door within minutes. Sam watches the door slam shut behind him, and then turns a confused look to Castiel.

For all his enigmatic and inhuman ways, the angel seems to know exactly what Sam is silently asking, and he answers in kind, “He was worried about you. He’s stopped outside of the door now, not moving. It’ll be some time before he actually leaves.” Sam considers this for a while, and as he does, the throbbing his head intensifies. He raises his fingertips to his temples, surprised at the way that his arms seem to resemble cement blocks.

“You’re in pain.” Sam didn’t realize that he’d closed his eyes as he feels Castiel’s hands lowering him back onto the pillows – all of the pillows, he realizes, from both of the beds. “I can make you sleep.” It’s not an offer, it’s a promise, and Sam feels the whisper of fingertips against his aching forehead before the black void pulls him down again. The lack of dreams is comforting.

“Sammy? Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty. Soup’s on,” Sam is drawn out of his rest by Dean’s voice, and he wakes to find Castiel missing, and Dean sitting in his former place at the side of the bed. The scent of greasy fast food permeates the room, mingling with soap, old leather, and sweat, and Sam finds a smile playing on his lips – the room smells like Dean now. And that smells like home. A thousand crappy motel rooms in a thousand crappy towns, and Dean can still make them all home. Home Crappy Home. He has to fight not to burst out laughing as Dean helps him to sit up against the headboard of his bed.

“You should’ve kept a pillow for yourself,” he says as Dean finishes propping him up, and Dean shakes his head.

“And miss out on a legitimate excuse to seduce that maid? No way in hell. Dude, she’s from Nicaragua, came to the states to try to get into modeling. Saving up for a boob job, then moving to Omaha. And I am SO in.” Dean’s enthusiasm falls a little too flat for his liking – it’s all so forced… He tries to ignore it as he watches his brother digging around in a paper sack with the familiar green and yellow logo. “I can’t believe they only have Runza in five damned states. Frings man, I’ve got two large orders of frings,” again, the smile is too far from genuine, although Sam does recall the actual gusto that his brother used to have when faced with the prospect of the fry/onion ring hybrid.

“I’ll pass,” even thinking of the greasy foodstuffs that Dean was sure to have purchased makes Sam’s stomach flip-flop, which in turn makes him balk at the prospect of eating. He tried to recall when the last time he ate was, and drew a blank – he has a vague sense of Dean and Castiel plying him with water, and sometimes with Gatorade or some other odd sports drink, but he didn’t recall any food. Eight days, then… Nine? No wonder he feels as weak as a kitten.

“I’m not ordering one of those girly salads when I don’t have you around to point at, so you don’t get one of those. I did get you some soup,” Dean reaches into the bag and pulls out a round, covered Styrofoam dish, and a plastic spoon, and then makes to hand them off to Sam. He tries to take them, and then realizes that his hands are shaking. “Dude…” Dean sets the food back on the table and presses one hand against Sam’s head. “Hold out your hands.”

“Dean, what?” Sam is confused by the order, and then realizes that Dean is checking his steadiness. Or lack thereof. He holds out his hands and notes that they’re shaking visibly in front of him; there’s nothing that he can do to stop it.

Dean’s smile has vanished, and he grabs hold of Sam’s hands for a moment before reaching back for the soup and spoon. “You make me do airplane noises, I swear to God you’re doing all of the digging on the next dozen ghost hunts, on your own.” Dean begins to feed him, slowly, one bite at a time, and Sam notices a third figure suddenly materializing in the room. He tries to focus on Castiel, and then on Dean, but it’s too difficult. And then he’s losing the world again…

“Dean… Dean...” When he comes to again, Sam barely recognizes his own voice. It’s calling out for his brother, almost without him even thinking to do so. It’s become involuntary, and he wonders when that began. Was it when he was a boy? Or later on? He honestly has no idea. All he knows is that he was woken up by the sound of his own voice, low and pitiful and begging for his brother, tears sliding down his cheeks. He’s crying. He doesn’t know why. And then it hits him..

Every inch of his body hurts. Aches. Bleeding weakness and pain and hot and cold from every pore, he becomes aware that the pain is condensed in his middle. He curls into fetal position to try and fight it, but it’s a white hot flare inside of him. He feels saliva rush to his mouth and the heat intensifies as he continues to call out.

“Cas, grab the damned waste basket,” Dean is pulling him, harshly and quickly and roughly, over the side of the bed, and he wants to shout out for him to stop, to not tug at him, but the retching starts the next moment that he opens his mouth. Castiel has the tiny plastic trash can under him just in time.

It lasts for what seems like hours, and the hot and cold flashes return to accompany the heaving. He tries to grasp onto the voices of his brother and their angel as they flutter about the room, twisting and turning around him as if on some sort of disjointed PA speaker. “It shouldn’t last much longer.”

“How the hell do you know that – this ever happened to someone else?”

“Never. But I can feel the essence of the demons leaving him. It’s as much a spiritual thing as it is a physical one. And that’s why we have to leave again. It’s become apparent again.”

“You mean he’s fucking… Broadcasting… Again?”

“Exactly. I think this will be the… Last transmission.”

“Dude, you so do not get to share my metaphors, ever again.”

“I am merely trying to make myself seem more familiar by adapting your colloquialisms.”

“I don’t know what the hell that is, but I sure as shit don’t have any for you to adopt. And we can’t move him, not when he’s this damned sick again.”

“He’ll be fine. He’s not nearly as hot as he was before. It won’t last long. He’ll recover after this. I can sense it.”

“Forgive me if I’m not entirely reassured by your keen sense of demonic-whatchama-fuckery,” Dean hisses the last part out, and the vehemence helps to ground Sam. If nothing else, it’s true emotion. It’s the old Dean. One of the scarier aspects of the old Dean, but the old Dean nonetheless. Sam thinks he might be smiling at that, but he can’t tell. Everything is fuzzy or sharp again, cutting into him. The air is cutting into him, the blankets, everything. The world is spinning, but this time, he’s conscious for it. He notices that the retching has stopped, and tries to speak.

“Dean… Go… Kay…” He’d meant to say, ‘If we need to go, it’s okay with me,’ but under the circumstances, he’s happy with what he managed. Small victories were still victories, he supposes as he tries to stand, and he feels four hands around him once again. He doesn’t understand why it’s so hard to move, as if the world were underwater, sound and motion succumbing to pounds of pressure and light dampened by dozens of feet of sluggishly moving darkness. Fifty feet underwater, at least, he guesses. That’s what it’s like, slipping through that water, that pressure. Too much pressure… His head is going to explode… And then it stops.

When Sam opens his eyes again, he is being propped against the headboard again, but it’s not the same – this one is brass bars, covered in pillows. He looks up and notices that the ceiling is that crappy white particle board, and not a popcorn ceiling. How the hell did they get to another motel? He lets his gaze focus, and sees Castiel approaching him with what appears to be a bowl of freshly microwaved oatmeal in his hands.

“Dean is doing laundry. I am to tell you that you are in… Deep shit,” he draws out the phrase and accompanies it with a slight lift of his eyebrows, and Sam doesn’t know whether he should laugh or be confounded by this, “for not telling him to pull over. And you should also know that I, too, do not make airplane noises,” Castiel finishes this by pushing a spoonful of oatmeal towards Sam’s mouth. The pain was ebbing now, almost gone… And the angel was still speaking in his flat, winding gravel road of a voice, “Nor will I imitate a choo-choo train.”

Aaah - Sam really, really needs absolution of some kind, and the way that you worked it out was just wonderful. I really enjoyed Dean's snarl, it's almost as if he's angry at himself for ever allowing Sam to feel that way, and then externalizing that anger at Sam - great job! And I loved the snark at the end, too :)

Okay, I was REALLY not expecting this - this is not the type of permanent injury that I expected at all, especially seeing as it's, well, mine, albeit from a demon and not a massive fall - I almost stopped reading at that point, and I'm glad that I didn't. But the frustration upon seeing the stairs, the refusal to use the crutch - that hit incredibly close to home and was very, very, very true.

The idea of being offered the same thing from a child possessed by both an angel and then a demon, and of the offer being made to both Sam and Dean - that sort of parallelism is incredibly hard to pull off without it seeming forced, and you did it magnificently - their reactions, and the villains themselves, just seemed so organic, so seamlessly worked into their world - spectacular job! I've only just come into the fandom in November, and have lurked my way around a bit, and I definitely, definitely will be looking for more of your fic - this was just fantastic.

Love, love, love the *here he comes, to save the day!* John. Definitely something that I wasn't expecting. And the boys were so perfect here - Dean asking Sam to show him the card trick was fantastic, and just perfect for the character. And the glimpses at Sammy's past... Definitely interesting, and a great idea.

This was absolutely gorgeous - Sam's pain is just so tense and overwhelming, and then Dean's anger at the situation, the way he vents and then realizes what he's done only after the fact, is just so spot-on for the character, and in a way, it just helps to make Sam's pain all the more real, and all the more a wall between them that Dean needs to tear down... Gah - so spectacularly done!

Oatmeal bath... HAH! And the oven mitts...

This had me rolling, and Dean's impatience with Sam while still trying to take care of him was too cute. And of course, tomato rice soup means something to Dean, but to Sam? It's just big brother annoying him... The sibling snark here was really well done - very realistic.

Dean's numbering system and the way he's trying to quantify things is just so true to the character, but the real stand-out in this fic is the amazing way that you portray Sam's detachment - top notch, very moving.

Thankies! I'm so glad you liked it. I might add you cause I can always use people around who enjoy my stuff. ^.^

Thank you! It was nice, really, to be able to go a little more in depth after Jesse's death (well, at least compared to what the show gives us), so I'm glad you enjoyed it :D

Cuddly, cold-footed Sam FTW.

Aaah, I've recently come back online after nearly a year offline, and I remember absolutely adoring your episode codas for The Professionals - imagine my joy to find you here in the new fandom that my RL friends foisted on me! This, like all of your stuff, is just spot-on perfect characterization, and very, very cute. Loved it!

Add away - I will definitely look for more of your stuff :)

Hey, thank you so much - lovely to meet another crossover fan from Pros to SPN! I'm delighted you enjoyed this.

John ex machina, right? Haha. I'm glad that you liked it, it was a blast to write.

Thanks so much. :)

I'm glad you enjoyed it and thank you!

Wow. You know, of all people, I should know that these kinds of injuries do happen and people live with them every day. As such, it really shouldn't be unexpected to realize that a reader may come across a situation that mirrors their own. I can't imagine how uncomfortable or surreal or just annoying that might be. That said, I'm humbly, maybe tactlessly pleased that I at least struck true.

And, thank you. I'm glad you stuck with my little fic. Funny, I just started watching the show in July and got into the fandom in the fall. So, our time frame is close to the same.

EEEEEEEEEE!!!! YAY! I love it! Thank you so much for writing this

Sorry if you get parts of this multiple times, LJ's being weird.

___________

He can still feel Sam's grip on him, spastic and tight, the solid weight of Sam's arm across his neck. It was a little more frantic, a little more unsure than Dean's used to from Sam.

So he knows. He's not an idiot, he knows something's up with Sam.

He can remember The Trickster, and Sam's tight-lipped, weary face. He can remember his brother's anger and his fear, so he's relieved to have Sam at his back, two steps behind and solid. It let's him know his brother's with him. Nowhere else.

They'll get out of Broward County. Put the Mystery Spot in the rearview mirror, and Dean won't stop til Sam can look away, a minute or a second or even just a blink of an eye. Just miles, Dean thinks. That's all it'll take. Miles and they'll be alright.

**

They're not. Sam doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, doesn't fuckin talk. He just sits and flicks his eyes to Dean every few seconds, like he doesn't want to get caught but he can't look away.

"Hey, Sam," Dean finally says, ducking his head to try and catch Sam's eyes on the return. "it's over."

"Yeah," and it's clear and strong, sounds all right but it makes Dean want to twitch anyway. "Yeah, it is."

Okay, Dean thinks, hands tight on the wheel and heart thudding fast in his chest. Okay.

**

He doesn't know why he's surprised. Given everything, he shouldn't be. It's Sam, who's always been sure of his place and his body in relation to Dean, and upset Sam, of course, is going to use all that until things make sense.

In hindsight it's clear as day.

Then Dean's just thinking he's lucky - Sam's still and even in the other bed. No nightmares, no staring, God, no tears.

Sleep. They can both sleep and wake up and hit the road all over again. They'll be that much closer to normal in the morning.

He's jerked awake, though, half past too-damn late. He knows it's Sam, knows his brother's breath and smell, so he doesn't push or shove when Sam's arms wrap around his chest and Sam's chest presses tight against his back.

"Sam." Jesus, jesus, what a fuckin way to wake up, but he pats at the hands locked tight in front.

He feels it when Sam starts talking. It's too low to hear at first, but Sam's face is buried in Dean's neck, and he can feel every word in the hot air brushing over his skin.

"What? Sam, are you...?"

"The shower," Sam says, and there it is, brief clench of arms that make Dean want to flinch away. "You fell, and died, and got tangled in the shower curtain and died. You took a bath and you drowned. You ate and you choked. You drove and you crashed the Impala, you walked and you got hit or mugged or shot. You cleaned the guns and they went off, or you held a knife and slipped. A goddamn piano fell on you, a golden retriever klled you."

"Sam - "

"You died, Dean." The words are thick and heavy, like Sam's choking trying to get them out. "You died so many times, and you came back and we did it over and over and over again." Sam presses closer. Dean doesn't know how he can, but Sam finds a way. "You died," and it's said like a prayer, deep into his skin.

**

**

After the fifth night, Dean stops pretending that things might have a chance of normal. He just gets a queen, and falls asleep to whispers and hands holding him and bracing him for an impact only Sam can feel.

It's some night, maybe ten or twenty or fifty days after that, and Sam's wrapped around him. He's quiet this time, like he's empty or everything's been taken from him, and Dean says, "hey."

Sam breathes against him, warm and wet enough that when Sam hold his breath the room's air settles cold over him, shivers pricking along his spine. "You died," it's explosive, hot, and the only thing Dean has is, "I know."

"It's wasn't just Tuesdays. It was Wednesdays and weeks and months."

Jesus fuck. "What?" But he gets it, now, everything, or at least thinks he does.

"You died," and here's the sob, brief and muffled like Dean actually fuckin cares he's crying, like it's something that he really has to hide. "You died and you didn't come back."

"Alright," Dean says, and gets his arms braced against Sam's, gets enough force to break the grip on him. It turns Sam frantic, like Dean's going to disappear, and Sam won't stop reaching for him. "Dammit, stop, Sam!"

Sam does. He goes stiff and still, so still that Dean can't even be sure he's actually breathing. It gives him a chance, though, to flip onto his side facing Sam, get his brother wrapped up, best Dean can fit anyway, in his arms.

"Listen, alright? Listen to me. I'm here," he tightens his arms around Sam, until he can feel muscle and bone and hear Sam's grunt. "I'm right fuckin here, now. No Trickster, no Ground Hog's Day bullshit, Sam. Just me and you." He can hear the hitches in Sam's breath, the wet grief trying to spill out of him. "And I know what you're thinking, Sammy, I do. But if you say I'll be here come the end of my year, I'll be here." He pulls far enough away to catch Sam's eye. "Understand?"

Dean sees Sam's eyes fall shut, like maybe that's what Sam was waiting all this time for, just that, for Dean to say something. He hears Sam sigh, broken and low, before he feels the jerk of Sam nodding his head. "Good," he says, and tries to do what Sam did, tug his brother closer until there's nowhere else to go and no space between them. Then, low, a third time, because maybe that's the charm, the luck that'll make it real, he says, "I'll be here."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 15 of 23

A Sam-focused h/c meme!

FILLED: Nor Will I Imitate A Choo-Choo Train 4/10

FILLED: Nor Will I Imitate A Choo-Choo Train 5/10

FILLED: Nor Will I Imitate A Choo-Choo Train 6/10

FILLED: Nor Will I Imitate A Choo-Choo Train 7/10

FILLED: Nor Will I Imitate A Choo-Choo Train 8/10

FILLED: Nor Will I Imitate A Choo-Choo Train 9/10

FILLED: Nor Will I Imitate A Choo-Choo Train 10/10

Re: FILLED - Coda 5x14, Gen 2/2

Re: Filled: Will You Serve 1/1

Re: Filled!

Re: FILLED - 3/3

Re: Filled 2/2

Re: FILLED (:o) 3/3

Re: Filled 2/2

Re: FILLED - 3/3

Re: Filled: C-c-cold. Gen

Re: Filled 2/2

Re: Filled: C-c-cold. Gen

Re: Filled!

Re: Filled: Will You Serve 1/1

Re: Filled: Will You Serve 1/1

Re: Filled: Will You Serve 1/1

Re: FILLED: Nor Will I Imitate A Choo-Choo Train 10/10

FILLED, accidents of faith and nature, 1/2, gen

FILLED, accidents of faith and nature, 2/2, gen