comment fic meme!

[mimblexwimble.livejournal.com]

Time for a new comment fic meme! Please read the rules as there have been some adjustments due to the recent comment page changes.

SPREAD THE WORD

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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. As subject lines are no more, please begin your fills with the word FILLED and a TITLE in BOLD - the first box on this page shows you how to position the bold tag for proper results.
→ If you notice that your fic is not on the master list after a decent amount of time (say, two days), please poke me in a PM. I might have missed it.
→ 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
Gastroenteritis by saltfuture
Sam/Dean or gen, any season, Sam has stomach flu, all the nasty symptoms and Dean is just awesome.

Numb by farfadine
Sam/Dean or gen. A sort of mundane nervous breakdown. Sam has been in awesome!Sam coping mode and suddenly he's just . . . not. But it's not, like, waving a gun around psychotic break. I more have a vision of Sam off doing something ordinary, jogging, an errand, and he just stops. Sitting down on the curb or in the aisle at Walmart or something. And someone gets his phone and calls the first number and Dean has to come and get him.

Everything Flows, Nothing Remains by minviendha
S7: Dean's dead! Oh wait, no, sorry! It was all a terrible misunderstanding. Everything's fine, Sam. ...Sam?

Weaker by monicawoe
Season 5 AU. The continuous influx of demon blood into his system completely unlocks Sam's full psychic potential, and his powers basically explode - visions, telekinesis, Andy's mind-control thing, demon manipulation (controlling and destroying). Getting them under control is not fun, especially after he and Dean go their seperate ways.

There is No Spoon by monicawoe
Season 7, post The Mentalists. Um, what was up with Sam's bent spoon? No, really. Who did that? Subconscious telekinesis is all it takes to turn hallucination into reality.

Make Me Strong Like You by hillz_85
Sam is acting like everything is fine, that he’s not falling apart at the seams because he needs to look out for Dean who is also falling apart... Dean doesn’t notice how bad things have gotten for his brother and his new coping mechanisms until they are pointed out to him... [author's summary]

Bad Days by ladybastet92
Sam/Cas (set anytime where Cas is Cas) Sam is sick. Dean’s out doing important things, Cas shows up, Sam has to explain why he’s sleeping in the middle of the day. Cas decides he would like to take a nap as well. Sassy cuddles!

Miscalculation by si_star_x
Slash. Sam gets some nasty cuts on his face. Dean cleans them. Gentle kissing happens.

By Your Side by emmram
For some reason Sam get his psychic powers back...but rather than Sam controlling them, Lucifer seems to be able to.

Untitled by anonymous
Pre-series. Sam dealing with the aftermath of rape. Speak-esque, preferably with no graphic depiction of the act.

Out of Nothing at All by sakura_no_mi
Sam/Dean or gen. Season seven - There are some days Sam doesn't get out of bed at all. Dean's understanding.

If it Wasn't for Bad Luck by mamapranayama
Sam gets a minor injury- a book falls on his head or he breaks his pinky or something, lol. Dean fusses over him, and discovers Sam is running a fever.

Visit by saltfuture
Stanford era. Dean visits Sam and finds him sick in bed in his dorm room.

Sleepless by anonymous
Gen or slash, S1 or 2. Sam develops really bad insomnia. Really really realllllllly bad. The sleep deprivation is interfering with hunting and he's all cranky and life just generally sucks but he just can't sleep much. So Sam's exhausted beyond all belief, and Dean is so worried about him. He tries everything he can think of to help and none of it works. But eventually Dean stumbles upon one thing that's actually effective. Bonus points if it's something really small and schmoopy, like stroking Sam's hair while he's lying in bed.

Trust in Me and You'll Trust in Yourself by hillz_85
After Dean and Sam separate season 5, Sam stops talking. Even if he wants to, he has somehow lost the ability to talk [...] When Dean meets up with him again, he's of course shocked at this new development. Whether Sam starts talking again eventually is up to you, but I'd love to see Dean coax him out of his mental shell in little, big-brotherly ways.

Untitled by checkthemargins
Sam gets hit with a sleeping curse (it can last for however long you want). After awhile Dean starts waking him up to get him to eat and stuff. Sam is sleepy and adorable and maybe cranky some of the times he's woken up. [WIP]

Life Goes On by ravelqueen
A super wincesty one: Dean breaks off the sexual aspect of their relationship for a bunch of surely very good reasons, but Sam is pretty sure it's because he doesn't like the idea of Sam hallucinating while they're in bed. Or because Sam is all tainted with demon blood. Or because Sam isn't Lisa. Or because he just doesn't want him anymore. His train of thought doesn't go uphill from there. Big misunderstandings and relationship angst ahoy! My unrequited love kink rears its ugly head. [WIP]

It Happened Like This by monicawoe
Dean never went and got Sam from Stanford when John was missing. So when Jess died, Dean wasn't there, and Sam went totally John Winchester, left without a word to anyone, and would not rest until he took down Azazel [...] all I'm looking for is the last scene when Sam finally gets his revenge and maybe John and Dean are there and now that Sam's work his done he breaks into a billion pieces and there is withdrawal and severe psychic pains and screaming and Sam hating himself for what he's become but kind of unapologetic for killing the thing that killed his girl.

Falls the Shadow by inheritedjeans
Gen. Post AHBL part one and AU from there. Sam wakes up on that dirty mattress after Cold Oak with all of his memories of dying and going to heaven intact in his head (maybe he was reuinted with Jess or finally got to meet Mary and was just starting to enjoy having a mom) and he's resentful towards Dean for bringing him back to life and taking him from the peace he finally had and he's almost desperate to go back.

Singin' in the Rain by center_galaxy
Dean doesn't know what to do about the whole broken wall, psychotic break, hallucinating Lucifer thing. Then Sam gets caught in the rain and gets pneumonia. And Dean DOES know what to do about that. Not like he's glad that Sam's sick, but it's just a relief to have something wrong with Sam he can help with. And, since he's there at close quarters taking care of Sam, Sam has his opportunity, too: to broach the subject of Dean's drinking, to try to get him to talk about his despair and his downward spiral. Basically, the manageable hurt/comfort routine goes on while Sam and Dean are tentatively touching on the big, huge hurt-don't-know-how-to-comfort stuff.

Ticking Time Bomb by center_galaxy
Sam finds out he has an aneurysm in his brain. It could be life-threatening, but for the moment it is stable and the doctors schedule him for a surgery to repair it, but it is weeks away. Dean freaks out by overprotecting Sam and doing anything he can keep his brain from 'exploding' in the mean time. He practically drives Sam insane when he won't let him run, do any physical exercise, or even go to the bathroom with the door locked. Dean mother-hen's him to the point where he can't stand it anymore and Sam takes off for a walk ... of course, now that he is alone and separated from Dean, this is when his brain decides it's time to explode.

The Apple Falls from the Tree by center_galaxy
He's been in the business a long time and most of that time he knew John Winchester but never really got to know his kids before, so going on a hunt with them is interesting to say the least. Watching Dean and Sam, how in tandem they are, how much they're like John in different ways. One things for sure though, Dean sure can be one scary mother fucker when Sam is threatened.

Fighting Spirit by center_galaxy
Dean gets his shit together in the drinking department. It was hard HARD work (either on his own--maybe something really traumatic happened that compelled this new lust for a dry life--or via ye olde Twelve-Step program.) And sure, there are painful desires to backslide but dammit, he's got this. And he's had to do it alone because he can't use anything, anyone as a crutch or an excuse any longer. Upon returning to "life", he discovers Sam has drifted into his own addiction (due to the hallucinations or genetics or hey, it's Tuesday or...yeah. Author's choice!) Now Dean has to get through to Sam and save him from himself, without losing his own hard-won sobriety.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

S7: Sam and Dean investigate a series of bizarre sexual assaults in a small town. This affects them due to their own terrible experiences in hell. They both start to crack up, Dean finding the case more and more disturbing and drinking to compensate while Sam's hallucinations become increasingly thematic and damaging. He knows he needs to talk about it but doesn't want to expose nerves for Dean. Dean can see Sam is about to breakdown but is afraid to bring it up incase he makes things worse. Everything comes too a head when they are faced with interviewing a victim.

[farfadine.livejournal.com]

FILLED
Second SPN fic I wrote. I really like the idea of Sam just stopping like that.
And I don't know what a Walmart look like inside and if there is even one in Brent Alabama.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Numb part 01

Sam took a last look at his brother – hung over and askew on his bed – and closed the door of their room. It was nice outside, the sky grey but the weather warm. Sam took a deep breath, smiled, and started his walk to the nearest supermarket.
The light of the Walmart made him flinch a bit and Lucifer popped up but Sam just got his shopping list out of his pocket and walked down the vegetable aisle. He smiled at the few people in, helping an old man picking bottles of condiment of the top of a shelf for him, avoiding a little boy running to the toy corner.
It was nice and Sam walked down an aisle, picking cakes, looking at the cereal on the other side, box of Lucky Charms, leprechaun grinning at him and…

[farfadine.livejournal.com]

Filled
Numb part 02

Sitting at her tile, Patty smiled as she saw little Daisy skipping to the cakes and cereals aisle, looking up to see the girl’s mother pushing her trolley into the condiment section. She smiled and then sat straight when Daisy screamed for her mom to come look at the biggest doll ever.
Frowning, Patty looked behind her, where she could see her boss in his office. The woman had hear the scream too and nodded at her employee. Patty left her tile and walked to the aisle Daisy’s mother had reach too. The man was standing in the middle, in front of the Lucky Charms, eyes dull, mouth slightly agape.
“Sir?” Patty tried after a few second
He didn’t move, didn’t turn, and she was sure he hadn’t even blink since she had come in the aisle. She tried again, putting her hand on his arm.
“Sir?”
He was crazy after all, and better looking up close. And still not answering.
“Maybe it’s normal and he have a note in his pocket to tell what to do in this case? It’s like I saw on TV last day, there was a…”
Patty looked at Mr. Wilson, turned off his chattering and started going through the immobile man. He didn’t move and she found no notes. Just his wallet, a motel key and his phone. She looked at the last one for a moment, deciding quickly that it was for the guy’s good and checked his call history.
Dean. Dean. Dean. Bobby. Dean. Dean again and again. She selected Dean and pressed the call button.

[farfadine.livejournal.com]

Filled
Numb part 03

Noise… the noise was annoying… and it stopped. Ya… and started again. Dean grumbled something and the noise stopped again. And started again. Swinging his arm around, Dean found his phone and, opening his eyes, looked at the caller ID.
Sam.
“I hate you Sam” Dean said, and repeated it when he answered the call.
“… hu,” that wasn’t Sam, but his brain was… “I’m sorry sir but, the owner of this phone, he’s just… not moving, like blocked, and err… we’re the Walmart in Brent, Alabama so, if you’re close, if you could come and get him. Or tell us what to do.”
Dean didn’t answer. The words… they were escaping him… but Sam… something had happen to Sam. He should…
“Sir?”
Shouldn’t drink this much. Dean shook his head. It hurt but he seems capable to speak again. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
Outside was too bright, too noisy and it went worse when he finally got into the supermarket. Until he saw his brother. It wasn’t a cold shower but it was really close. It was… it was… Dean straightened and walk toward Sam. Who didn’t move, barely blink, who breathed so softly he looked d…
“Sam?”
“He’s been like this since we called you. Is he gonna be okay?”
Dean looked at the employee without seeing her, eyes quickly coming back on Sam, trying to decide what to do.
“Motel.”
“Sorry?”
Dean looked once again at the employee.
“It’s okay, I’ll take him back to our motel. Thanks for calling.”
The woman frowned but he didn’t care, he had taken his brother hand in his own and Sam’s fingers had tighten slightly around his own.
Dean took one step, pulling Sam, and Sam went. Like an automat, eyes still dull and not seeing.
It was a slow affair, going back to the motel. Dean had to let go of Sam hand, passing his arm around his brother waist, his other hand on Sam’s shoulder. People stared, a cop even stopped them, but they made it to their room. Inside, Dean led them both to the closer bed, body too tired, mind too fuzzy, and laid them both on it, hugging his brother close. Later, they could deal with this later when they would wake up.

------

Sam focused on the fabrics of Dean’s shirt. Right in front of his eyes, soft under his cheeks, smelling… well, not so good but home. Sleep, sleep was good, it would all make things better after.

The end.

[shangrilada.livejournal.com]

mmmmm I love your writing.

[(Anonymous)]

Pre-series. Sam dealing with the aftermath of rape. Speak-esque, preferably with no graphic depiction of the act.

[acerbus-instar.livejournal.com]

Ooo, I like that one.

[checkthemargins.livejournal.com]

A super wincesty one: Dean breaks off the sexual aspect of their relationship for a bunch of surely very good reasons, but Sam is pretty sure it's because he doesn't like the idea of Sam hallucinating while they're in bed. Or because Sam is all tainted with demon blood. Or because Sam isn't Lisa. Or because he just doesn't want him anymore. His train of thought doesn't go uphill from there. Big misunderstandings and relationship angst ahoy! My unrequited love kink rears its ugly head.

[mimblexwimble.livejournal.com]

Oh, I like!

[ottermusprime.livejournal.com]

OHHH SALTS I LOVE THIS. So so so good. Poor Sammy! I especially love “Actually, there’s no bile in the stomach, so-“ hehe SMART SAMMY EVEN WHEN MISERABLE IS MY FAVORITE.

[xxsilentchaosxx.livejournal.com]

Hnnngg. THIS

[jpunkin.livejournal.com]

So seconded!

[minviendha.livejournal.com]

So whooooo likes ragged/confused/jumbled prose? RAISE HANDS.

Otherwise known as fuckawhat, self, but okay. Here goes. Warnings for mentions of suicide, fake-out character death, and, uh. Yeah. :D? Also language and shit.

Everything Flows, Nothing Remains

At first, Sam didn’t even understand.

“What?” he said, because he’d heard that wrong, surely he’d heard that wrong, it was just his fucked up brain – things like this happened all the time, and he knew they weren’t real, knew it because he would blink and look to the left and sometimes check pulse and breathing just in case but only when Dean was sleeping because he’d freak out otherwise-

He looked to his left. The chair was empty.

“It would have been almost instant,” the man was saying, dry, almost mechanical, with an attempt at sympathy sprinkled on top. “There would likely have been no pain.” Sam dug his fingernails into the scar, into his wrist when that didn’t work, scrabbling for purchase, for pain. The man stayed.

“We need you to ID the body,” the man said. The body. It echoed in Sam’s head. The body. The body.

Sam heard himself make a low sound of distress.

“I’m sorry,” the man said. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. Sam expected Lucifer to say something from over his shoulder. Expected-

Expected-

He didn’t understand.

**
So Dean was (dead) not here. Okay. That was fine. That was fine. It wasn’t like – wasn’t like. Wasn’t like something.

Fuck.

He was fine. Honestly. Really. Stop asking. Stop asking.

He was supposed to ID the body. Supposed to ID Dean, walk in and tell them yes, sirs, that’s him, that’s – not Dean Winchester, because they couldn’t even die under their own names anymore. (One gunshot to the head, random mugging, almost instant. Probably painless.)

It was cold. He probably should have put on a coat before leaving. There hadn’t been time. He couldn’t think in there. Still couldn’t think. Didn’t know if he would ever be able to think again. His hand hurt but not enough. There was blood under his nails. Nothing changed.

(It’s over Sam your brother blew his brains out topside, he couldn’t deal without you, who’s surprised, not me-)

It was fine.

Sam bent over and threw up. His stomach was still in knots, so he did it again. The second time it just hurt his stomach muscles and there was nothing left to bring up. There were cars going by, one at a time. He had to (identify the body) go back to the room. Call Bobby. No, wait. Call…

(You’re falling apart Sam, coming apart at the seams but I think I like you like this actually)

He thought he was probably crying. He touched his face and when his fingers came away they were wet, but they were also red, so maybe he was wrong. Or maybe none of this was real. Maybe none of this was ever real.

That sounded good. If it wasn’t real Dean was still okay. Probably. Unless he wasn’t.

Cars kept passing. Car after car after car. Sam stopped and turned his head and watched them.

“What happens if you die in Hell?” He asked, and Lucifer rested his chin on Sam’s shoulder and said, “You die, Sammy, what do you think?”

He needed to. Needed to.

God? (Please god are you there it’s me Sam.)

“What are you going to do now, Sam?” Lucifer asked, and Sam echoed it back at him, “What are you going to do now, Sam?” and there was a scream waiting somewhere in his throat that wouldn’t come out, and Sam thought he might choke on it, might suffocate on it. Might-

We need you to identify the body.

“I’m sorry,” Lucifer said, and sounded terribly sincere. He looked up. “Do you think it’ll snow tonight?” It was cold. So damn cold.

He thought there was a poem about this once.

“Quiet and meaningless as wind in dry grass,” Lucifer said. “Or rat’s feet over broken glass.”

He thought Dean would have-

Would have-

[minviendha.livejournal.com]

**
The motel room was a mess. Sam couldn’t remember doing it, but he might have. Everything was a little vague. A little hazy. The mess bothered him.

Sam started picking it up. He stopped, put everything back where it was. He was here, wasn’t he? Yes, sitting there, by that broken glass. When they called. When they called male gunshot wound to the head, phone in his pocket listed you as his ICE.

Sir?

Sir?

Oh god, Sam thought he said then. And then nothing. Because this didn’t happen. Not like this.

We need you to identify the body. (Stitching gaping wounds together, the smell of death thick in the air, not sure how he was still breathing. Indiana.) I’m sorry.

“What are you going to do, Sam?” Lucifer asked again. His fingers trailed through the broken remnants of the glass. He picked one up and examined it. “Stone number one,” he said, “Isn’t that right?” Sam shuddered.

He sat down on the bed. “I can’t do this,” he said.

“You never could,” Lucifer said softly. He smiled a little. “You were just fooling yourself.” Sam dropped his face into his hands. (A parking lot and a scared kid and that was a gunshot, too, but he was there, and that never happened, not really-)

“You should really salt and burn the corpse,” Lucifer told him. “Course, I don’t know who’s going to do yours.”

“I’m not,” Sam said, and wasn’t sure why he protested. Lucifer’s smile widened.

“Yes you are,” he said. “Maybe not today. Maybe even not tomorrow. But all those days, Sam. All that time. What are you going to do?”

Saving people. Hunting things. The family business.

We need you to identify the body.

“No,” said Sam, grabbed a handful of glass and clenched his fist around it. “No.”

[minviendha.livejournal.com]

**
It was dark out. Still cold. He’d forgotten to put on a jacket. It didn’t seem to matter. His hand felt wet. And it hurt.

He walked. Somewhere out here was the man who’d shot his brother. Somewhere out here. Somewhere. (You’re a hunter. You’ll find him.)

And then what, Sam?

And then what? Dean thought he was strong. Dean didn’t know how wrong he was. Dean-

Dean-

“Fucking shit,” Someone said, right in front of him. “Are you high, man?” Sam bared his teeth at them, and they skittered out of the way. Blood slid across his knuckles. It felt cold.

Maybe he wouldn’t even kill the guy. He just wanted to know why. Why killing Dean was so necessary. So important. Why everyone thought they needed to (had the right to) take him away. Maybe that was all he needed to know. Maybe then he would get it. Make sense of this. Of everything.

Someone slammed him into a wall. “Sam, stop,” someone was saying, “Jesus, hold on, didn’t you hear me, where the fuck do you think you’re-”

“No,” Sam mumbled. “That’s not. You can’t. We need you to identify the body get away from me, stop, stop-”

“Sam, it’s me,” he said, and that echoed and spiraled and echoed and Sam lifted his left hand and smeared blood and glass on warm, living skin and said, “Oh.”

The gun slipped out of his right hand. It was so cold outside. He should have put on a coat.

“Oh.”

**
Dean picked the glass shards out of his palm one at a time, muttering under his breath. Sam tried to breathe shallowly, in case loud noises chased him away. “Are you here?” He asked. Dean’s head jerked and he didn’t answer, so maybe Sam hadn’t actually said it.

Except then he paused and said, “Yeah, I’m here,” so he apparently had.

“You were dead,” Sam accused.

Dean rubbed his forehead, leaving a smear of blood behind. “Some asshole grabbed my stuff,” Dean said. “Wallet, phone, the works. Did you…the guy down at the morgue doesn’t even look like me, Sam.”

“I didn’t. I couldn’t.” Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat, and then again. “They wanted me to…” Identify the body. We need you to identify the body.

Dean swore under his breath. “I’m alive,” he said, low and fierce and tired. “Okay? I’m alive. I’m fine. Pissed off as fuck, yeah, but alive…Jesus, Sam. Your hand’s a mess.”

“It was the glass,” Sam said. “On the table.” The world was wobbling back and forth, and he felt a little woozy.

“Yeah,” Dean said darkly. “I figured.” He yanked out a large shard and Sam flinched; so did Dean. “Sorry. Jesus fuck. Sorry.”

“I thought you were dead,” Sam said. Quietly, quietly. Dean swallowed hard.

“I gathered that. Where were you…what were you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. His hand hurt. Dean’s hands were warm. “It’s happened before. It’s happened a hundred times before. I couldn’t – I couldn’t. Dean. I couldn’t.”

Dean muttered something that sounded like if I ever see that rat bastard again I swear.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered. “I didn’t mean to – didn’t mean to fall apart. I’ll be okay. I’m okay.”

“Yeah,” Dean said wearily. “Sure. You’re okay.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth and then grabbed the gauze, started wrapping Sam’s hand. “You gotta stop this, all right? You’re going to have really fucking ugly palms.”

[minviendha.livejournal.com]

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Sam said, because their rules didn’t let him say the world doesn’t make sense when you’re not there anymore. The rules were important, though. They were what let them keep going and going and going.

Energizer Winchesters.

Sam choked on a laugh.

Dean’s eyes softened, worry clear when he glanced up. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too, Sammy. And I’m not going anywhere, all right?” Sam nodded. Dean’s pat on his leg was solid, like the ground. “Let’s call this one a day,” Dean said, finally, wearily. “You look beat. I’m beat.”

There was probably a rule against it, Sam thought, rocking back onto the bed and then forward. But he couldn’t remember it right now. He shifted to wrap his arms around Dean and hug him tightly enough that he could feel the thud-thud-thud of Dean’s heartbeat, or imagined he could. Dean patted his back awkwardly.

“It’s okay, Sam,” he said. “It’s okay,” and what does that even mean, Sam wondered, what’s okay, what does it mean to be okay, I don’t. Know.

But Dean was there and Dean was alive and letting go didn’t seem like a good idea. Maybe in the morning.

Maybe tomorrow.

But not now. Not now.

[monicawoe.livejournal.com]

OH, this was wonderful! What a great fill!

poor boys!

[monicawoe.livejournal.com]

(spurred on by that excellent screen-cap from "Caged Heat" above)

soulless!Sam didn't bite his arm so he could use the blood as paint. He did it because he'd figured out that demon blood (even his own to a small degree), gave him power over demons. Just the taste was enough to bring his power to the surface. When Crowley's henchdemons come in to get him, he knocks one down, bites the other one in the neck, and drains them both.

Unfortunately for him, even soulless!Sam isn't immune to the physical side of demon-blood addiction, and he doesn't stop. By the time Death gives Sam his soul back, his veins are full to the brim with tainted blood. Sam starts to feel the withdrawal right around the same time his Hell-wall starts to crack.

[checkthemargins.livejournal.com]

I just worked up the nerve to post it, lol! I feel silly with all the super angst they've got going on with Hell memories and demons and grief and I'm over here all "I know, let's add relationship angst on there, because their insecurities aren't good enough for me yet."

[minviendha.livejournal.com]

NEVER ENOUGH NOPE

[shangrilada.livejournal.com]

fantastic.

[sakura-no-mi.livejournal.com]

*squeaks* That was so gross and so sweet! You win!

[sakura-no-mi.livejournal.com]

FILLED: "Out of Nothing at All" - Sam, Dean (gen)

There are good days and bad days, and then there are days like this.

The good ones: Gorgeous dimples carved into golden smooth skin, skarky little-brother remarks and singing loudly with the radio as they drive an endless ribbon of sun-kissed blacktop through miles of golden-green cornfields.

The bad ones: A haunted look reflected behind eyes darkened by fear and pain, shameful confessions whispered into the dark, pleading fingers squeezed tight around Dean's own, begging him to just please make it stop.

Sam's eyes are dull and lifeless now – empty – as he watches the branches of the old cottonwood tree tilt and sway in the wind. The fall leaves have just started to brown, turning them crisp and brittle as they drift down to the soft blanket of earth below. Sam curls up on his side and hugs his pillow close, burrowing further under the quilt tucked around him.

Dean exhales shakily and closes the distance between them, reaching out to smooth the mussed strands of his brother's hair away from his forehead. He cringes when Sam flinches at his touch.

“Hey,” he whispers. “It's all right, Sammy. 's just me.”

A small sound of protest escapes his throat when Dean tugs the blanket off his shoulders, but he doesn't bother to stop him. Goosebumps rise up on the exposed flesh of his arms, but he's burning up already, heat rolling off of his flushed skin in waves as Dean swipes the perspiration from his brow. After a few long moments, Sam finally looks up at him, blank and expressionless. It's times like these that hurt the most – seeing his massive giant of a brother suddenly hollow as an echo – the two of them locked together in this changeless setting of heartache and loss.

Outside, the clouds shuffle across the sky to let the warm morning sun stream through the window and into the soft waves of Sam's hair. Dean sighs and threads his fingers through the satin-smooth strands, still just as soft as the day he was born. His heart twists painfully in his chest as his lips open and close over words that don't make it. Honestly, he could make every promise that has ever been made and it still wouldn't matter.

Dean leans in close to press a kiss to Sam's cheek, half-expecting – hoping, wishing, praying – to taste tears there. He sits up and hums a quiet melody instead, letting his eyes slide shut, clinging to memories of a head-strong, beautifully reckless little brother with hazel-green eyes blazing bright and mischievous. Dean startles slightly at the warmth and weight of Sam's palm pressed to his chest, and he stops for a moment, eyes flickering down to meet his brother's gaze.

“Don't go,” Sam asks. His eyelashes flutter as he blinks hard, bewildered tears shining in his gold-flecked eyes as he looks imploringly up at Dean.

Dean nods and covers his brother's hand with his own, threading their fingers together, whispering quiet, grateful words of reassurance that quickly get lost in the soft, steady beat of his heart.

[klutzy-girl.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I loved it.

[peepingdru.livejournal.com]

Awwwwwww......sooooo poignant:)