ohsam | A Sam-focused h/c meme!

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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

Well....if you really like 'em that much, I did post another prompt a little further down the page. ;-)

Can't wait to read the ones you're writing, though. I'm sure they'll totally be worth the wait. :-D

This was incredible. Thank you so much - what a creative and believable take on that prompt. Please write more soon.

sam has a nasty case of wrenched lowerback. he is in A LOT OF PAIN. too much to handle and dean gives him a long deep massage.

a severely injured S5 Sam gets sent to the past and is met by his preseries self/S1 self (up to the author). Angst pursues. It's up to the author whether to include Dean or not. GEN

Edited 2010-03-06 22:24 (UTC)

Something involving a bullet wound. Either one that Dean has to clean and stitch up or one that is already healed. Gen or Slash.
And Sam is the one with the wound obviously.
=)

I love this. It has the perfect amount of heart-break and humor and everyone is blissfully in character :D I wish we could see something like this in canon!

Awesome!

*sigh* Dude, that was really just spectacularly done. Sam's weariness, his aching, and disconnect from what's happening to him while, simultaneously, he can't really disconnect from it is so palpable that I felt every minute of it. You also did such a wonderful job conveying how heavy this all is on Dean's shoulders from Sam's POV. And Cas. God, do I just want to hug on Cas.

Really, really great stuff.

*wibbles* I think my heart just broke into 8 or 9 little pieces.

Gyaaah. That was me Tuesday. The virul variation, but same deal. I feel your pain and hope you make a speedy recovery!

Oh, wow. *sigh* This is lovely

I wrote this so fast, I was cringing, so I'm glad you liked it :)

I can sweep them up for you?

Like I said in another reply, I'm a little 'eek! typos!' about this one, so I'm happy you still liked it!

And here it is! (http://authoressnebula.livejournal.com/884199.html) Hope you like it sweetie. It, erm, kinda exploded on me. >_< Not that I think y'all will mind... :P

~Nebula

Warning: Deathfic... kinda. Angsty goodness.
Characters: Sam, Dean, Lucifer. Gen.
Set sometime in Season 5.
Spoilers: Everything in Season 5.

Sam and Dean enter the dim, derelict factory. The air reeks of mildew, rust, and faintly sulfur. Sam know immediately that they have the right place.

Castiel had informed Dean yesterday of a possible location that demons were using to harness power for a spell Pestilence is planning to unleash across America, causing untold damage.

Sam is distinctly aware that they have absolutely no idea what is in this building. Pestilence himself could be here, or a swarm of demons. Hell, this could be a trap.

His shoulders pull tight at the thought that they are going in blind. But fuck, what choice do they have? There's no way they can let disease sweep across country.

Dean takes point ahead of Sam, keeping his gun out steady in front of his body. Sam follows, gun barrel pointed at the floor, but his finger on he trigger.

Light filters from the lazy midday sun through dirty high windows, leaving pockets of dark with splashes of light reflecting off puddles onto walls. Water drips distantly, and it echos off the walls.

The large room narrows into an unlit corridor. Dean curses quietly, while Sam pulls out his flash light in his left hand, while holding his gun in his right. He flicks the beam of light across the passage way. At the end of the hall is a bigger room, possibly at the center of the building. Dean slowly edges forward, a tense line of muscled shoulder nudges Sam to continue forward.

As they exit the hall, Sam and Dean walk into a large room, devoid of anything but cement floors, high filthy windows, and a floor covered in runes etched with charcoal. Dean keeps his gun clasped in a firm grip, searching for any movement, while Sam holsters his gun in the band of his jeans and waves the flashlight over the markings on the floor.

They are not anything Sam recognizes, but if he had to guess, they would be Babylonian. The complicated scriptures weaves together to create a intricate circle in the middle of the room.

“Dean,” Sam breathes, goosebumps rise on his arms.

Dean looks in Sam's direction, and then follows Sam's flashlight's beam down to the runes. He looks up to catch Sam's gaze.

“I assume that means something to you?” Dean murmurs.

“Dean, this is a circle of power. You put a sacrifice in this circle, and it feeds into the recipient,” Sam remarks.

“So, in this case, what? Pestilence?” Dean asks Sam, turning his full attention to the circle.

“Maybe,” replies Sam.

Dean walks up to stand beside Sam, and crouches down to touch one of the charcoal marks. Sam leans over and smacks Dean's hand away.

“Don't touch them. I don't know what these mean exactly, but you don't want to have them activate on you,” Sam says over Dean's shoulder.

Dean stands, his knees pop and he gives a grunt of pain. “So we can't touch it, can't go in it, but we've got to destroy it?”

Sam huffs in frustration while looking around the dark room. The sound of bird feathers shuffling and pigeon's cooing echo faintly in the distance. “Where are the demons? Look at how exact this is. It took a long time to set up. They wouldn't just abandon it.”

“Maybe they're out getting their sacrifice?” suggests Dean. He gently pulls the flashlight out of Sam's hand and sends a beam of light around the room. His eyes set on a rusted iron barrel at the end of the room. He edges around the circle, while Sam continues to study the runes.

Dean stops at the barrel. The top is off, and it's full of murky water, funneled down over time through the leaky roof. He gives the barrel a shove. The water ripples, but it doesn't tip.

“Sam, come help me with this,” Dean calls. Sam looks up at Dean, lost in his own thoughts. He follows Dean's path over to the barrel.

oh my god, this was lyrical and gritty and just.

Stunningly painful.

With their combined strength, the heavy barrel teeters. Water sloshes over the side on Sam's arm and chest. Both groan with the strain, and eventually gravity pulls the barrel over, spilling a huge wave of water across the floor.

The water rushes over the charcoal runes with speed, washing away any distinctive markings.

The pressure in the room changes minutely, and a weight against their lungs they hadn't noticed before is released as the spell is destroyed.

Dean looks over a Sam smugly, breathing slightly elevated. “Score one for Team Free-Will, eh Sammy?”

Sam grins back, feeling considerably good over this small victory. It might not stop the apocalypse, but it'll slow it down. Hell, after their history, any victory is a party.

Sam turns his view back to the wet floor, but not before seeing a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. He turns back in time to see something coming at Dean's back at lightening speed.

“Dean!” Sam shouts in warning, as he grabs Dean's coat at his shoulder, and moves his body into Dean's.

Sam doesn't think about consequences, he pushes Dean out of the path of the incoming knife held by the demon charging. Dean, off balance, falls ungracefully to the concrete floor.

The demon lets out a scream of rage, and thrusts the blade into Sam's neck, only to then focus her black eyes up on Sam's face.

Strangely, he can feel knife scrape against his spine, shattered bits of bone dragging along the side of metal, and it's a horrible feeling. The blade travels into Sam's neck with enough force, that the tips comes out the other side.

The demon, wearing a punk teenage girl, no older than sixteen, eye's widen, and mouth opens in disbelief. Sam suspects the expression on his face is somewhat the same. Randomly, Sam thinks, yeah, Boss isn't going to be too happy with you, is he.

“Sam!” Dean cries distantly, somewhere off to his left, down on the floor.

Sam's legs seem to suddenly refuse to carry his weight. He realizes he's falling backwards slowly as his legs crumple beneath him.

The knife, still grasped tightly in the shocked demon's hand, slides out of Sam's neck, dripping red.

As Sam falls backwards, familiar arms capture his back, wrapping warm flesh around his stomach, pulling Sam's back to Dean's chest. Sam's head falls limply forward, so that his shocked, unblinking eyes, can look at the blood staining his plaid shirt and jeans.

There's this throb of pain with each beat of Sam's heart, followed by a thick gush of more blood spilling down his front. It doesn't hurt as much as it should, and Sam knows that probably means he's in trouble.

Dean pulls Sam's head back to look at the wound. Blood rushes out quickly, and Dean clamps his hand around the cut, hands slipping for grasp.

Sam catches sight of the demon girl, still standing in front of them with the knife, watching in terror. She suddenly throws her head back and spews out of the girls body, dark cloud streaming out a window in escape. The girl collapses to the floor, and Sam doubts she's alive.

Yeah, you better run. Boss is going to be pissed you hurt his vessel.

“Sam,” Dean chokes out. Sam's eyes roll back to catch sight of Dean's worried face hovering above him.

Sam tries to say something, but his throat makes a wet gurgling noise, and he feels his mouth fill with something wet and salty. Sam knows the taste of blood anywhere, especially demon tainted blood like his.

“Sam. Hey, Sam,” Dean says through gritted teeth. “You're going to be okay. Alright? You're going to be fine.”

Sam looks up into Dean's green eyes, obscured by the dim light. Something falls onto Sam's cheek, makes a wet line down to mix with the other wetness collecting around his neck and chest.

Dean's crying.

Sam blinks slowly, tries to breath, and chokes on blood. His chest convulses with a cough, and specks of black splatter Dean's chin and neck. More than the pain of the cut, he feels the hurt of suffocation, his lungs drowning in his own blood. Sam closes his eyes as the pressure of the need to breath becomes unbearable.

“Sam!” Dean cries, punctuating with a slap to Sam's cheek. Sam opens his eyes to see Dean, but his vision kind of fuzzy and wavers in and out of focus.

“Don't you worry Sam. I'm going to phone Castiel, and he'll be able to fix you up, no problem. Sam!” Dean says with desperation that hurts Sam more than the need to breath does.

Dean pulls a hand off his neck and slips it into his pocket. He pulls out his cell phone but it slips out of his slick fingers and falls to the floor, clattering.

Dean's eyes meet Sam's, and he puts his hand back over Sam's neck.

“You're not going to die here, okay? You don't get that out. Sam? Sam, look at me!” Dean says sharply, again smacking his cheek.

Sam's eyes flutter open, he didn't even realize they were closed.

His vision kind of goes dark, flutters. Dean's just a shape but he can feel his body against Sam's. The feel of his hand clutching his ruined neck, his other arm wrapped around his torso, keeping him upright against Dean's chest. Sam's cold, his body numb and Dean's body is like molten heat against Sam's back and throat.

Sam thinks lazily that the heat feels really good. Why can't he be that warm?

“Sam? Sam! Sam, don't you leave me. You hear me? Sam?!” A voice says from above him.

Dean?

“Sam!” A voice calls distantly. Sam's suddenly far too tired to care about it.

Sam sinks back. His eyes stop working, or maybe there closed. But he can't see Dean anymore, and he feels like he's sinking back in cool water. He can't really feel anything, like his body laying across Dean's, but he thinks, somewhat logically, that he can't have moved.

Sam lives in a dark calm. There's no sounds, smells, tastes, or movement. He just sinks, and then drifts in a current that pulls him in some indefinable direction.

And this happens for quite some time.

He doesn't really think about anything. Just drifts and sinks. It's kind of nice.

Then, the current picks up. Slowly, the tug gains speed, and suddenly Sam's being thrown, tossed, and free falling.

And then it stops, and he's standing on solid ground, and he can see again.

Sam's on a rocky beach. The water claps loudly against rocks and logs as it laps the sea line, while seagulls cry.

Sam thinks he should be scared or worried. But all he can feel is a numb coldness where his body should be.

The world ripples with the crash of the waves, and Sam obscurely thinks about the one time he tried magic mushrooms when he was nineteen with his roommate, Ryan.

Sam notices a dark figure that wasn't there before, because he would have noticed him or her, yet he didn't suddenly appear. The person walks easily across the difficult terrain of the beach towards Sam.

As the person draws near, Sam can see it's a wrinkled old man in a black suit. His brow is heavy, hiding his eyes in darkness. Lines pull at his sunken lips and hidden eyes. His hands, covered in age spots and bulging veins, are clasped together at his waist.

Instinctively, Sam knows it's a Reaper.

He should be scared of him, Sam knows this. But he isn't. Any past or could have been futures is obliterated from Sam's thoughts, and he can only remember the beach.

He takes a step towards the Reaper, and thinks, yes.

The Reaper unclasps his hands and brings a pale hand to Sam's chest. Heat explodes out from his hand, and roles through Sam. The beach shivers with Sam, and he can hear himself gasping.

Abruptly, the Reaper pulls his hand away from Sam, surprise evident, despite his lack of expression. The heat leaves with him, and Sam feels even colder than before. Sam's knees weaken, and he trembles as the Reaper takes a step away from Sam.

A noise makes its way through his throat, uncontrolled.

I can't be left here. I can't!

He tries to make a grab for the man, but the Reaper simply melts away into the beach, leaving Sam alone, again.

No, not alone.

He feels it like a burn across his back and shoulders. A pressure builds, and his muscles twitch.

He knows who is there, but he makes himself look anyways. He turns around to see Lucifer. He's in his vessel, yet he doesn't look like he's disintegrating like the last time they met.

Lucifer meets Sam's gaze, and Sam freezes. He's beautiful.

“Sam,” Lucifer calls, softly. “It's not time. You are still needed.”

“No,” Sam whispers. He takes a step backwards.

Lucifer looks amused and takes a step forward.

“Sam, it's time to go back.” He stretches a perfect hand out towards Sam. Heat ripples off his hand and it hits Sam like a blast of wind. His skin tightens and eyes water. He knows this is bad. He's not sure how, but Lucifer is bad, and anything he is going to do to Sam will be bad. Yet his legs refuse to move, locked in place.

Lucifer's fingers touch Sam's cheek softly, trailing over to Sam's hair, and an intense fire spreads from his touch across Sam's face, so hot and painful.

He's screaming, and he doesn't remember starting. And suddenly, he's running away from Lucifer, down the beach.

Sam runs as fast as he can, jumping over logs, rocks, and slippery seaweeds. The pain stays in his cheek and travels across to his eyes and lips. It scares him, and he runs faster.

Distantly, he can feel Lucifer behind him, following at his own leisurely pace, and that spurns him to just Go, Go, Go.

The burn continues to travel across his face and head, down his neck and through his chest.

The beaches waving features are no longer hypnotic, but aggressive, disorientating.

Sam trips on an outcrop of rock and falls to his knees. His hands scrap and sting against the rocks. The burn intensifies, flaring as it travels down his stomach to his hips. He pulls himself up and runs.

Sam runs. The beach never really changes, and the waves continue to crash against the rocks, and the seagulls cry as he runs past them. He burns, feels like his skin is bubbling off his body, like it's pooling and dripping off his body, and leaving puddles of himself across the rocks.

Lucifer continues to follow, like an explosion he can't completely outrun. Sam knows, somehow, that he's losing ground.

Sam doesn't know how long he flees, but the burn flares over his groin and spreads to his feet, and suddenly, he can't run anymore.

He collapses down on the hard rocks, pain flaring through points of contact. His chest heaves for breath he didn't realize he'd been out of until now. He tries to get up again, but he can't. He lies there, and feels Lucifer's approach, and is suddenly more scared than he can ever remember being, in this strange life at the never ending beach.

Lucifer walks quietly to Sam's side and bends down over him. Sam can't look up at him, but he feels the heat of his body, and it's excruciating.

He studies Sam for a quite moment, and says quietly, “See you in Detroit, Sam.”

He touches Sam's back, and the world shatters into nothing.

Sam loses himself.

He is pulled through a thick, black current. Violent and aggressive, Sam is ripped away, traveling to an unknown.

And suddenly, he feels a pain in his chest, and there's something wrapped around his body tightly. His chest compulsively coughs painfully and forces air into starved lungs.

Sam gasps, and opens his eyes to see darkness. Well, actually not exactly black, but a faint light filtering through something wrapped around his face.

His whole body trembles, as his muscles twitch to life. The muscles in his back cramp and knot, then release, and cramp again. Sam's stiff, and he hurts. He's wrapped in something that feels like cloth, or a blanket.

It's difficult, but he wiggles his arm free, and pulls the blanket away from his face and gasps a lung full of fresh air.

The light hurts his eyes and Sam takes a moment to adjust before looking around.

He's in the back seat of the impala, legs scrunched uncomfortably up to fit, wrapped in an old stained blanket Dean and him keep for nights they can't afford a hotel.

The car is hot with all the windows rolled up and the sun shining brightly through the windows. He breaths through his nose for the first time and catches the sent of rigor mortis, and shit.

Nothing really makes sense.

I was on a beach, wasn't I? No. I was with Dean, at the old factory... stop a ritual...

Sam lies there in the blanket, staring up at the ceiling of the car, feeling confused. He zones out, thoughts lazy in the heat, and his eyes fall shut. He loses track of time and simply drifts in a way he's become accustom to.

The door of the impala creaks loudly as it's opened, and Sam opens his eyes to see Dean, red eyed, looking away from Sam. He looks old, lines around his mouth and eyes that shouldn't be there, and a week old beard covers his face. He chest shutters and Sam catches the sound of a quiet sob being swallowed down.

Sam blinks. He opens his mouth, but it's just so dry. Like he's swallowed saw dust.

He smacks his lips together and runs his tongue over his teeth, trying to gather moister. He swallows and nearly chokes, but stubbornly refuses to cough.

He forms the words on his lips, feeling foreign, yet so familiar too.

“Dean,” he croaks quietly.

Dean turns his head slowly, and their eyes meet.

“Sam.”

End.

I am so addicted to these memes *headdesk* Save me from interesting prompts. Please.

Or, okay, hope you like (and sorry it's so short!)

------------

He remembers saying, it'll make a nice scar, after what seemed like hours with alcohol and needles.

He remembers sopping up the blood, how it bloomed against thin, dingy motel towels. He remembers the bright, gaudy whiteness of the bandage against Sam's tan (and he was pale under it, Dean knows that, but he remembers it as brown, warm, smelling like the sun, something to find when Dean had cleaned up enough).

He remembers Sam's stuttered whispers against the pillows. How he tossed and turned and Dean paced and paced, and the blood seeped from everywhere, it seemed, like Dean couldn't get rid of it.

All that wrapped in a joke, a few words to take the pain away. It'll make a nice scar.

**

It's a place to rest against, now. His lips find it more often than not. Light or dark, it doesn't matter, his lips are drawn to it, want to press against the raised skin, the too rough catch of scar tissue.

It's not pretty or ugly, really. Sam doesn't get sighed over by eager coeds or slapped on the back by friends. He just folds down onto his bed, and Dean always ends up gravitating towards him. It.

It's not even bad, by their standards. Dean knows that. All he'd have to do is turn Sam over and press his fingers into the hollow of his brother's spine. He knows from bad.

But he can't stay away, all the same. One flick of a button, hands pushing fabric open, and it's there. Maybe it's everything Dean's ever promised (I'll save you, I've got you, it's okay), or maybe it's everything Dean's ever failed at.

He doesn't know, not really, not when the only thing that matters is that inches long strip of ruined skin is his. It's his, either way.

It's what he's owed.

Hey, I hope this isn't too late for the meme... I tried writing this days ago, but it was only until tonight as I'm hopped up on cold medicine that it worked.

---

Sam knew that Dean loved to drive. Specifically, Dean loved to drive the Impala. Sure, he loved hunting and he loved women (frequently and uncomfortably loudly), but Sam knew that Dean was never as open and happy as when he was behind the wheel of his baby.

Sam never took to driving like Dean did. By the time he was sixteen he'd already driven the Impala a handful of times, all of which were a result of his dad and brother being incapacitated by one nasty creature or another. The only thrill that Sam ever got out of driving were on the rare occasions that Dean looked to him afterward with a proud smile, the way Sam imagined that most dads would. But most of the time Dean spent his time with his foot pressed to an imaginary brake pedal and his hands gripping the upholstery and Sam found the experience less than rewarding.

Sam hadn't driven the car in months, and not once since Dean rebuilt her. So, when Dean turned to Sam that night with a wince and a, “hey, you wanna drive back?”, it caught him blindsided.

He should have anticipated it. They'd just finished up a relatively easy hunt, yet another in a long line of haunted houses. The body had been underneath the floorboards, but before they could take a match to it the ghost made one final appearance, and she was pissed off. So pissed off that when she threw the boys against the walls of the crumbling house, Dean had managed to dislocate a shoulder.

As for himself, Sam had been too busy making sure that the throbbing pain in his chest was just bruised ribs and not internal damage, and he hadn't thought through the logistics of Dean driving them back to the motel with only his left hand.

“Uh,” Sam replied thoughtfully. “You don't want to?”

Dean thrust his right shoulder forward, arm cradled against his chest. “Dude.”

“Right,” Sam said. “Uh, keys?” He reached out a hand blindly, eyes drawn to the car.

Dean dug them out of his jeans awkwardly and slapped them into Sam's palm. “What happened to your set?”

Sam shrugged. “In my bag.” Back at the motel.

Dean was already tuning him out as he wrenched open the door and flopped into the passenger seat. Sam took a deep, steadying breath and moved around to the driver's side. He folded himself into the seat, moved the steering wheel. He was readjusting the rear view mirror for the third time when Dean spoke up from shotgun, where he was lying back with his eyes shut. “It really works better if you turn her on.” Dean cracked open one eye and waggled his eyebrows.

Sam gave into an eye roll and took his hands off the steering wheel, trying to ignore the way they shook. This was nothing. Sam drove all the time. He missed the keyhole on his first try and Dean snorted despite his eyes being closed.

With a press of the brake and a twist of his wrist, the car roared to life. It was louder than it should be, added to the rushing in Sam's ears. The sound made him flinch, made something inside him hurt with pressure. His breath caught mid-gasp. He avoided looking at Dean in the back seat... no, the front. Dean was in the front. He slid his eyes over and yeah, there was Dean, but then he checked the rear view mirror and Dean's face, streaked with blood, stared back. He snapped his eyes forward, refusing to look back at the passenger side, but the heavy presence of his father weighed on his soul. Sam choked on his breath as the crash of shattering glass and squeal of rending metal filled his ears. He couldn't breathe. He grabbed for the door handle with hands suddenly devoid of strength, fumbling wildly before something gave and he tumbled out onto the grass.

With shaking limbs, he pulled himself a few feet from the car, breath still catching in his throat. A wave of nausea rolled over him and he gagged.

Then there were hands on him and Dean's worried voice sinking in as the rushing in his ears faded. “...hurt? Shit, Sam, come on, where did she get you?” Steady hands moved him off his hands and knees until he was seated, head lolling forward as his chest heaved.

“Sam? Sam!” Dean shouted, and it was the panic in Dean's voice that brought Sam back to himself.

“Yeah?” Sam asked shakily, vocal chords weak despite his best efforts.

“Where are you hurt?” Dean asked, left hand already moving over Sam's torso and checking for injuries.

Sam squirmed, pushed Dean's hands away. “I'm fine.”

Dean sat back and gave Sam a look that said plainly what he thought about that.

Sam reached for an explanation that his brother would accept. “Really. I think the ghost bruised up my stomach a bit. Sitting agitated it.” He tried to keep his tone light. Dean had only just emerged from the dark place he'd been in for the past few months and Sam didn't want to worry him. He deserved that much.

The skeptical look didn't leave Dean's face, but he stood and reached down to give Sam a hand up with his good arm. Sam knocked the hand away and got up, pausing as a wave of dizziness caused his vision to dim. Dean used the distraction to move in close, yanking up Sam's shirt.

“Dean!” Sam yelped as his brother inspected the bruises on his torso, pushing Dean's hands away.

Dean shrugged one shoulder. “Doesn't seem too bad,” he said suspiciously.

“Was just some freak thing,” Sam muttered, eyes sliding away from his brother's.

Dean almost seemed like he was going to press the issue, or at least make fun of his brother's use of the word 'freak' to describe something about himself, but instead he just turned around and got into the driver's side of the car. With a quiet sigh of relief, Sam slid into shotgun and tried to avoid his brother's questioning looks during the long ride back.

---

Sam came out of the dream with a gasp that quickly lodged itself in his throat. As he frantically tried to quiet his panting breaths, he automatically looked to make sure that he hadn't woken his brother...

...and found Dean's bed empty. He only had a second to process that oddity when he felt a hand on his arm.

“Ah!” he cried, startled, jerking his arm out of reach and making for the knife under his pillow.

“Woah, Sammy,” Dean's voice soothed in the dark room.

Sam's eyes adjusted quickly, allowing him to see his brother sitting on the edge of his bed. “Dean?” he panted as he propped himself up on his elbows. “What are you doing?”

“Well, I was about to wake my little brother up from a nightmare.”

“Good for you,” Sam said dryly, flopping down onto his back. “Can I get back to bed now?”

Sam could only barely see Dean's smirk in the orangish glow of the streetlights. “C'mon, Sam, at least try to pretend like you think I'm not a moron.”

Sam blinked up at him and tried for his most incredulous tone. “What?” It sounded weak even to him.

“You've been having nightmares for days.”

Realizing that he'd been caught, Sam knew better than to keep flailing. “You noticed?” he asked with a cringe before exasperation crept into his tone. “So why didn't you say anything?”

Dean poked at Sam's shoulder. “You're the one who likes these chick flick moments, dude. I figured you'd say something if it was serious.”

“I would. It's not.” Sam stared his brother down, trying through sheer force of will to make Dean believe him.

Dean's eyebrow arched smoothly. “Then what was up with you earlier in the car?” he asked patiently.

With a huff Sam tried to turn onto his side, away from Dean's searching gaze. “That has nothing to do with...”

“Shut up, Sam.” Dean cut him off, grabbing his shoulder and rolling him back. “You haven't driven the Impala in months, you're making excuses all the time. Did you think I wouldn't notice?”

Sam thought back over the past weeks and how Dean had, indeed, offered to drive quite a few times. More than might be normal, even. Sam hadn't even avoided it consciously, not really, he just didn't want to drive. Ever. His chest felt tight as he stammered out, “I-I didn't think you'd mind...”

Dean sighed, the hand still on Sam's shoulder absently rubbing in soothing circles. “I don't mind driving, Sammy. I mind that something's wrong and you're not telling me what.” He paused. “This about the accident?”

“What? No!” Sam answered far too quickly.

“Yeah, that was almost believable, Keanu.”

Sam tried to shrug off the hand on his shoulder, eyes pleading. “Dean, I know you don't want to talk about... that.” A tiny corner of his mind marvelled at how completely their roles had switched.

“The accident?” Sam cringed as Dean said the word that he didn't even know he'd been avoiding. “You're right, I don't. It sucked out loud, dude. But if that's what it takes... is that what this is? Because the last time you drove you totalled the car?” Dean smirked, like he was pleased to find that his years of threatening his little brother should he ever harm the car had paid off.

Sam went with the lightened tone and gave a rueful smirk. “It wasn't exactly one of my brightest moments.”

Dean's shit-eating grin turned almost imperceptibly softer. “It also wasn't your fault.”

Sam froze. Damn it, he'd walked right into that. “Whatever, Dean...” he choked out.

Dean's hand clenched on Sam's shoulder. “No, listen to me, Sammy. That accident? It sucked. Everything about it, afterwards, sucked. Yeah, I get that. But you weren't going to prevent it. It would've happened no matter who was driving.”

Sam shook his head in complete denial. “But... if you'd been...”

“No, Sam. What, you think we just ignored the fucking semi because we figured you had it all under control? What part of that sounds like my backseat driving?” Sam stopped shaking his head at that. Dean was right, that was certainly not how he acted when anyone else drove his baby. Hell, it wasn't how John had acted when his youngest drove either. “None of us saw that coming, and none of us would have. The accident would've happened if I'd been driving and it would've happened if D... if Dad was driving.”

Sam gulped down the pressure rising in his throat. He sat up a little, wanting to see Dean's face better. “You don't... blame me?”

Dean's hand lifted from his shoulder and went around his neck, pulling Sam in for a quick hug before leaning back and slapping him lightly upside the head. “No, you moron. If I blamed you for the accident do you think I'd ever let you drive my baby again?”

It was like a weight lifting off of him and suddenly he could breathe easier, his head spinning, but Sam wasn't about to let it go that easily. “But... what about... Dad and everything?”

Dean pulled him back in, winding his other arm around his little brother and squeezing tightly. “Never, Sam. Never.”

Sam buried his head in his brother's shoulder, closing his eyes against the burning in them that was suddenly only relief.

“But if you ever drive my car through a house again? Then we will have problems.”

And Sam laughed.

Hoooooly crap this hurt so good... and pretty much exactly (EXACTLY) what I've been looking for ever since I first saw Mystery Spot. Seriously. This is how it went, after. Yup.

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A Sam-focused h/c meme!

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