ohsam | birthday comment fic & art meme

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birthday comment fic & art meme

SPREAD THE WORD

THE RULES

→ Leave a comment here with your fic and/or art 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 and medium (fic or art). 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 in the middle of a blizzard. Cue caring!Dean and limp!hypothermic!Sam.”
Example B: “Sam/Dean, trauma. Sam hates Halloween. Dean finds out why."

→ 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 or create some art for it. There's no limit to how many users can reply to a prompt, or how many prompts someone can create for.
→ Please feed the artists! Many members of this community are fantastic artists! Leave an art prompt to tickle their muses!
→ As subject lines are no more, please begin your fills with the word FILLED and a TITLE in BOLD
→ If you notice that your submission 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.
→ Please remember, if your fic/art includes potential triggers (non/dub-con, abuse, self-harm, etc.) use LiveJournal's spoiler tag -- the code can be found in the box below.

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Thank you to

quickreaver for the beautiful banner!

MASTERLIST

Untitled by

amber1960
[S9 AU-ish; Sam, Dean, Garth, Alex, Jody, Charlie, Dorothy, Kevin]
Sam's forgotten it's his birthday, but everyone else remembers. Sam keeps finding little gifts around the bunker, and Dean, Cas, Kevin, Charlie (anyone else you can think of) are handing out kisses and/or hugs to him like there's no tomorrow.

Vampire by

ladybastet92
[Pre-series; Sam & Dean]
Sam knew about monsters much younger than nine. When he notices his baby teeth are getting loose and one even comes out, he's terrified, thinking he must be one of the monsters his dad hunts.

Shorter Hair, Still Pretty by

chomaisky
[Art; Sam & Dean]
Sam can no longer pass as a Fed with that hair, so he gets it cut. Sam in the Fed suit with sunglasses and short hair.

the sun upon the lake is low by

stripysockette
[Sam & Cas]
Mentally or emotionally distressed Sam (I prefer current era, or at any rate later seasons) finds a pond with a heron. Watching the heron is soothing for him. He goes back every day. Just him and the heron and the weather. Or maybe one day Cas finds him, and watches Sam watch the heron.

don't scratch the wall/mark by

foolscapper
[S9; Sam, Dean, Magnus (9x16)]
Magnus does more than simply cut Sam. It takes Crowley longer to get to the boys, which leaves Magnus to torture Sam while a helpless Dean watches.

Hanta Virus by

spnlove101
[Sam, Dean; WIP]
It shouldn't have been a big deal. Dean and Sam had squatted in boarded up houses plenty of times. This shouldn't have been any different. This time, though, they needed a warded room. Before it could be warded, though, the walls and floors had to be cleaned. Dean left the cleaning and warding to Mr. Neat Freak OCD symbol dictionary and went out to interview witnesses. It isn't until weeks later that the symptoms start, and it isn't until days after that, when Sam can't breathe, that they finally understand the consequences. Hanta virus.

Here's to Many More by

center_galaxy
[AU; Sam, Dean, Jess, Cas, Charlie]
Growing up, Sam didn't always like his birthdays. Sometimes his dad forgets (but Dean makes it up to Sam). Sometimes his birthday falls during a hunt and Sam ends up being hurt and in hospital a la Winchester. So for his 31st birthday, Sam isn't expecting much but Dean has other ideas.

Sam & the Alpha Vamp by

amber1960
[Art; Sam, Alpha Vampire]
The Alpha vampire makes good on his threat to come back for Sam.

Careful With That Axe, Eugene by

crimsonepitaph
[S9; Sam, Dean, Magnus (9x16)]
While Magnus has Sam tied up he continues to cut and taunt Sam. Sam holds it together - he's been tortured before. It's not until Magnus threatens to possess him with one of the demons (or angel) he's been holding captive that he totally falls apart - begging, pleading for him not to do it. Dean witnesses (and now understands) just how emotionally messed up Sam is.

And He Didn't Let Go by

m14mouse
[S9; Sam, Dean]
Under the MoC's influence, Dean turns the first blade on Sam. There is angst.

Lifeline by

center_galaxy
[S9; Sam, Dean, Charlie]
Charlie is back from Oz for a quick visit. She and Sam get trapped somewhere dark and cold. Sam is badly injured or drugged and is really out of it. Charlie has to keep him from panicking while they wait for Dean.

Happy Birthday by AndThenBigBangHappened
[Sam, Dean]
Unknown prompt. How do Sam and Dean celebrate their birthdays?

Over and Over and Over Again by

center_galaxy
[S6; Sam, Dean]
It's a Tuesday, a regular Tuesday after the Apocalypse and everything and Sam wakes up to 'Heat of the Moment' playing on the radio. Dean almost doesn't understand why Sam nearly has a panic attack.

This is Personal by Anonymous
[Pre-series & S5 AU; Sam, Dean, Castiel]
Happy Birthday Sam! Today, you get an angel who wants to go back into the past and kill you! Otherwise known as: Anna travels back into the past to kill Sam when he was alone. Present!Dean and Present!Cas go back in time to save him and Dean is reminded of a few things that he's let anger and guilt forget--why he would do anything to protect his baby brother.

Beginner's Luck by

kcscribbler
[S9; Sam, Dean, Castiel
Give convalescent!Sam a house for his birthday. He can share it with Dean, Cas, Amelia, Jody, Kevin . . . just, not a car, not a family destiny batcave, but a house, one he'll get to keep.

Into the Night by

foolscapper
[Sam, Dean]
Sam finally gets to Disneyland. Who he's with, how he gets there, all up to you.

Someone Who Can Save a Life by

little_creek96
[Sam, Dean]
I wanna see Sam rescued from a vamps nest by his brother. I don't care how long they've had him, but I want extreme blood loss and Dean doing everything he can by himself - leaving Sam in a nest of blankets in the backseat as he steals some blood etc. Sam out of it but still apologizing that he's bleeding all over Dean, that Dean's having to break into a hospital, that Dean had to save him, that he got blood on the Impala's leather, etc.

Someone Who Can Save a Life by

mentholpixie
[Sam, Dean]
I wanna see Sam rescued from a vamps nest by his brother. I don't care how long they've had him, but I want extreme blood loss and Dean doing everything he can by himself - leaving Sam in a nest of blankets in the backseat as he steals some blood etc. Sam out of it but still apologizing that he's bleeding all over Dean, that Dean's having to break into a hospital, that Dean had to save him, that he got blood on the Impala's leather, etc.

Just What He Needed by

sanshal
[S7; Sam/Dean, nonsexual D/s]
Sam doesn't have much of a sexual drive anymore because his time in hell left him broken in ways he's not equipped to fix on his own. He wants someone to "punish" him (nothing too hardcore: spanking, humiliation, bondage, and/or a little pain play, etc are what I'm hoping for-- especially spanking). He tries to pick up men at dives, online, wherever he can, but it doesn't work out and after a close call with someone who didn't respect his boundaries, Dean (or someone else who cares for him) takes matters into his own hands. Cue a proper D/s session, complete with aftercare (cuddling!) and Sam getting what he needs. If it's Dean or Cas, I'd really prefer for him to be sexually attracted to Sam and just not act on it but total gen is fine, too.

Issues of Consent by

annie_46fic
[S9; Past Sam/Dean, Conditionally Asexual!Sam)
Sam and Dean repair their brotherly relationship after Gadreel, but Sam doesn't want to resume their sexual relationship. For the time being, with the accumulation of violations, he doesn't want to invite anyone across his body boundaries, period, but even if that changes, that's no longer a possibility for him with Dean. How do he and Dean work out proximity and forgiveness in the shadow of a no longer tenable past involvement? If you wish, let Sam go on to a tentative sexual relationship with someone else (Cas or not!dead!damn!it!Kevin or Jody would be my favorite picks), and look at how Sam and Dean's relationship weathers that development. Basically, I want to see Sam's sexuality impacted by his experience of body/self/consent violations, combined with post-wincest Sam n Dean.

Beyond Good and Evil by

kcscribbler
[S8; Sam and Dean]
Sam doesn't want to go out for his birthday, he would rather stay in the MoL bunker researching and he comes across a book of new devil's traps. Curious as to why they are different he draws on on the floor but when he tries to cross through it, he finds himself trapped. Trying to not panic as he waits for Dean to get back to the Batcave, Sam realizes that he feels exhausted and the longer he's in the trap the weaker he gets, these traps were designed to weaken demons not just hold them.

Sam's Inner Cat by

amber1960
[Sam and Dean]
Sam gets cursed/hexed/whatever to turn into a kitten every time he gets upset/angry/whatever-emotion-you-choose. Dean thinks having a fluffy little were-kitten for a brother is hilarious, and amuses himself by trying to startle Sam on the odd occasion just to watch it happen - but one day he legitimately upsets Sam enough for him to transform, and then can't find him afterwards.

Updated May 12, 2014.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Judging from the amount of swearing over his head when he struggles back to consciousness however long it is later, it worked; or at least worked enough that Dean is now just thoroughly pissed off rather than dying of a fractured soul.

He cracks weary eyes open, noting the odd wavering of his vision that indicates a high fever, and squints upward, trying to focus.

“…’twork?” he mumbles, unsure if he’s actually saying the words or just thinking them at this point.

Dean bites off a profanity mid-syllable and suddenly fills his vision – too close, wayyyy too close, ugh. Fever vision sucks, and he tries not to puke because, well, not cool.

“Sam? Sam, stay awake, okay? No no no, don’t you close your eyes on me again or I swear to God I will kill you!”

Sam uses his remaining energy on a snort of ironic laughter.

No, you won’t.

--

It’s not until his brother stumbles into the bedroom, scrubbing wearily at his eyes with the hand not holding an enormous mug of steaming coffee and complaining vociferously about friggin’ Mondays, that Sam registers that it has apparently been nearly a week since he last regained lucidity.

Dean unceremoniously boots Cas out of his awkwardly solicitous perch on Sam’s bed – wait, the mattress is way too comfortable; Dean’s bed then – and takes his seat, glaring daggers at Sam’s head.

Sam only raises an eyebrow and makes grabby hands at the coffee, which is held firmly out of his reach.

“Nuh-uh. Maybe later, if you keep a Gatorade down this morning.”

“Deannnn…”

“I can send Cas to the store for Pedialyte if you’d rather, Tiger.”

Sam scowls, though he knows the effect must be mitigated by his complete inability to so much as lift his head at the moment.

Dean sighs, sets the cup down on the bedside table; Sam sees it’s the one he bought last year at a tacky souvenir shop while they were passing through Pigeon Forge on a hunt. Plain white, with giant blue lettering proudly proclaiming the owner as #1 Bro. He hasn’t seen Dean drink out of that one since…well, since Gadreel split them apart with more success than Lucifer and Michael ever had.

“I saw that, Sam.”

He glances back to his brother, who has also been staring at the mug. “S’what?”

“I saw that,” Dean re-emphasizes, pointing at the mug. “When the Blade connected for the final time, all I could hear and feel was the desire to kill anything living in that room – and then I looked past you and saw that stupid mug on the shelf over the stove.”

Sam blinks, but nods after a moment of consideration.

“You don’t look all that surprised.”

Sam shrugs, as best he can while being buried under so many blankets. “’M not.”

“Come again?”

“The only thing that…broke Lucifer’s hold on me, right before the Cage, was th’army-man stuck in the ‘pala,” he says with a small smile of remembrance, though he’s aware that he is still dropping too many consonants to be fully coherent for such a sensitive conversation. “’S fitting…something like that’d work with Lucifer’s creations too.”

Dean glances down, rolls up his plaid sleeve to display nothing more than the shadow of a bruise on his forearm. “Cas somehow yanked it out of my soul, Sam. Said I had you to thank for that. Even if I am gonna stab him with his own angel blade for lettin’ you call the shots there.”

“I believe it is common knowledge among both our races that no one ‘lets’ Sam Winchester do anything, nor can he be stopped if he decides,” a voice drones calmly from just out of sight in the hall.

“Humans think it’s rude to eavesdrop, Cas!”

Sam grins, trying to stay awake long enough to figure out what kind of shape he’s really in. “How bad’s it?” he asks sleepily.

“You’re not dying,” Dean replies quickly, clear gratitude coloring the words with warmth. “No signs yet of internal hemorrhage, so if you start coughing up blood again we need to know right away, Sam. You’re running a pretty nasty fever and you weren’t makin’ much sense until yesterday morning, but it’s not anywhere near what it was just before the Trials ended. Gadreel must have healed you enough and then his grace fixed the cellular damage, is the only thing I can think of. Basically…Cas said just before his grace ran out it that once all the grace was extracted it looked like you were completely reverting, but his last look inside you apparently saw that it was just your immune system shutting down, so you’re probably gonna get every virus in the world for the next year or so until it gets built back up.”

“Awesome.”

“This is serious, Sam.” Dean’s jaw tightens painfully. “People who have lack of immunity like this…they can die from a cold, or the flu, or a paper cut, or a freakin’ bug bite, or anything.”

Sam squints one eye open. “You been researching on WebMD again?” he asks mildly.

“Shut up.”

His eyes flutter closed again in exhaustion, lips curving up gently at the indignant denial.

A hand pulls the comforter up tight against his chin. “I take it that means you’re done talking, huh?”

He groggily snuggles into the warmth, mumbling a Yup into his pillow.

A soft chuckle from over his head, and the clank of the coffee mug being reclaimed. “Get some sleep, Sam,” he hears come from the doorway just before falling back asleep. “When you wake up next time, me and Cas have a surprise for y– Dammit, Cas! We have had the personal space talk!”

It’s almost a month later that Sam finally feels well enough to stumble around on his own. Two weeks back, he’d relinquished Dean’s bedroom for his own, and had gradually fought his way out from under the weakness that came from a sudden shift in health, mental and physical.

Apparently finally finishing off a whole cheeseburger means he’s graduated to a family road trip now, because he barely has registered Dean’s ridiculous beaming over his culinary artwork before Cas is handing him a jacket and prodding him toward the garage.

They arrive at their destination quickly enough, and he turns in his seat to look at Dean as he switches the car off.

“Why are we coming back here?”

“Because –“

“Cas, we talked about this. Surprises.” Dean enunciates, glaring into the rearview mirror.

“Um…it’s not really a surprise since I know what it is. I was there, remember?”

“Not gonna forget that creepy dude and his creepy zoo and his creepy witchy work anytime soon, Sammy. And what kind of moron names their kid Magnus, anyway? Here, heads-up.”

Sam barely catches the bowl in time as it’s flung at his head with alarming precision. He absently makes a mental note to figure out the proper name for a bowl in which magic spells are cast, as he can’t file the thing under an incorrect letter as he slowly turns the Men of Letters hard copies into a digital database. He’s not even through Ap yet, but he does enjoy a project.

Cas hands him the ingredients and then steps a safe distance away as if not trusting the safety of performing magic. (Probably last night’s Harry Potter marathon didn’t help with that, especially now that Cas gets pop culture references and is appalled at the parallels between great power and great betrayal). Sam casts him an odd look, even as he mixes what he needs and speaks the words which will reveal the entrance to Magnus’s heavily warded house.

As before, the portal opens, and despite the oddity of the situation he can’t help but feel the same thrill as he did before when he performed such powerful magic by himself, not through any freaky psychic powers but simply through his own study and powerful words of incantation.

Behind him, Dean mutters something involving witches and stakes (or else sandwiches and shakes, which Sam thinks is equally possible) as he scoots through the opening before the portal closes behind them, locking them safely away from the world’s eyes.

Sam stops so suddenly that Cas stumbles into his back with a startled little yelp that is adorably human. He blinks, looking around in astonishment, because the house is nothing like he remembers it being, almost disturbingly polished and uncomfortably elegant. The difference makes his head spin, and not just because this is the longest he’s been standing upright during the last two weeks.

The ornate décor has been taken down, the opulent carvings and carpets and tapestries vanished from the walls and floor. Simple, gleaming hardwood and soft beige carpet pair with chocolate and wood walls for a completely different look – and that’s just in the foyer and hallways that he can see. Some of the furniture remains, like the old coat-stand by the door, but there have been new pieces added, like the half-table holding a small leather tray for key rings or mail. There is nothing on the walls, no personality to the rooms he can readily see. It looks…

It looks like a blank canvas.

He finishes his circular spin and comes to a slow stop in front of his brother, who is…who is actually, honest-to-Metatron fidgeting.

“What is this?” he asks, completely mystified. Has his brother moved on from trying to duplicate cooking shows to attempting the same with DIY home makeovers? “Dean?”

Dean shuffles from one foot to the other, waving a hand aimlessly in the air as if that’s supposed to explain what they’re doing here. Exasperated, Sam turns to Castiel. “Cas? Why are we remodeling Magnus’s house?”

“We are not,” the angel replies solemnly.

“Uh…”

“It’s already been done, Sam,” Dean blurts out, as if he wants to get the next few minutes over with as fast as humanly or inhumanly possible. “The zoo’s gone, and wasn’t that a fun job by the way; and the rest of it’s been de-spelled and de-booby-trapped and de-creepified.”

Sam is still just as bewildered as before. “And you did this because…”

Dean reaches behind him, pulls a small envelope from the tray on the half-table, and then flips it at him like a Frisbee intent on taking out his eyeball. Raising a brow, Sam slits the envelope and shakes out a single document. His law-trained eyes skim straight to the most pertinent information first, and when he realizes just what it says he can only stare at it in complete and total shock.

Dean must have seen his hands start to shake, because he steps forward and wraps his own fingers around Sam’s icy ones, still holding the single sheet of paper.

“Dean, I don’t understand,” he whispers hoarsely, feeling oddly dizzy and not due to lingering illness.

“It’s yours, Sam,” his brother says quietly. His eyes dance up to the vaulted ceilings and back down again. “This place belonged to the Men of Letters, and as a legacy it can legally be given to you. Not me, not us – it’s in your name now, Sam.”

He can’t quite believe his ears, and he still doesn’t know exactly what this means; they’ve not been communicating well of late (isn’t that the understatement of the century), and he doesn’t quite dare to get his hopes up just yet.

“Dean, I – I don’t –“

“Sammy, listen to me.” Dean bends his head slightly so they are at eye level, and Sam can see the complete sincerity in his eyes. “This whole crapload of stuff we’ve had to deal with, since before the trials started killing you slow? It has to stop somewhere, before we get killed or kill each other,” he says earnestly, his grip tense and unyielding. “Sam, I want you out.”

“What?”

“Sam, you’ve proven you can survive outside the life, and I – I actually get it now,” Dean continues, tone tense with resolution. “You wanted out – you never really wanted back in, I know – and if that’s what you want, then I promise I’m going to help you get out.”

“But –“

Dean gives him a small smile. “Dude, you are not and never were a true hunter. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a damn good hunter and there’s no one – no one – else I’d trust to have my back during a hunt. But we both know, you’re a Man of Letters. Me, I was born to hunt. I’m good at it, I like it, it’s who I am and all I know how to be. But not you. I wish these supergeeks had survived until we were born; maybe you could have found a place there and not have been forced into the hunting life.”

Sam doesn’t like the guilt in his brother’s tone, because it is completely misplaced, but before he can voice a protest Dean continues.

“I’m not sayin’ I don’t want you hunting with me, or that I don’t think you’re capable, Sam. Hear me on that, okay? But Sammy, if you want out, partly or totally – I want to make sure you get out, while you can.”

Sam’s eyes burn, as the realization of what he’s being offered really sinks in. Dean sees it and puts both hands on his shoulders, anchoring him to the present and, more importantly, this hope of a future.

“We’ve paid our dues, Sam. The world can owe us one – owe you more than one. I want you to get out, at least partway. Decorate this house, find friends to hang out with in town, date a string of ditzy girls and call me drunk to come pick you up because you’re too wasted to remember the spell for this place. Plant a garden, get a freakin’ goldfish or something. Become a real Man of Letters.

Sam, you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, and you’re the perfect guy to become the next Bobby now that Garth has his hands full of were-in-laws. You could be a way better info central for hunters than the old man ever was. If you want that, I’d love to have it. And if you want none of it – I’ll be thrilled with that too.”

He’s finding it hard to stay steady on his feet, partly from feeling slightly ill and partly from giddy shock, as he finally hears what he’s wished for, and steadily relinquished hope of hearing, for almost a quarter of a century.

“But Dean…” He swallows hard, because there’s one thing he wants more than this, only one. “I don’t want to –“

“He will not be alone, Sam,” Castiel’s deep voice cuts in gently. “I am but human now, and intend to become a human hunter. I am a soldier, Sam; I too was born to do battle, and it is what I know…all I know. Dean will not be alone.”

Sam blinks back the tear that threatens to not just break his brother’s no chick-flick moment policy, but salt and burn it afterwards. “Dean?”

“He’s right, Sammy. And look, I’m not saying I don’t want you with me, okay? Your room at the Bunker will always be that, your room – and nobody else is ever gettin’ that one. But it’s only for emergencies, all right? You stay up too late reading old encyclopedias and want to crash there, that’s cool. But this place – this is yours, Sam. And I’m totally fine with that.”

Dean smiles then, a real smile that makes him look ten years younger. “As long as you take the weeks the doc said you can’t do any kind of hard work until you get your immune system back up and running, or at least to the point I don’t have to worry about sneezing around you. And I expect you to live off of something other than mac-n-cheese and Chinese takeout, dude.”

Sam laughs, really laughs, for the first time in what feels like years, and drops his eyes back to the deed he holds in his hands. He’d never even thought about dropping out halfway, being a Man of Letters and only occasionally hunting, because he didn’t trust anyone else with Dean’s safety – and, to be fair, Dean had never done anything but discourage him from even thinking that way. But with a highly trained battle angel with intense combat skills, currently human or not, he might be able to relinquish that fear for his brother’s occasional innate recklessness.

Dean seems to think they’ve sealed the deal, because he pulls the deed out of Sam’s hand, passes it off to Castiel, and then gently tugs him into the first room. He follows, unresisting, but stops short with a soft catch of breath when he sees the floor-to ceiling bookshelves lining three of the walls, a library ladder on wheels hooked to the end of the nearest set of shelves. This room had been a music room when Magnus was living here; now, it’s the fantasy room Sam always daydreamed about having in a house of his own.

“Dean… these aren’t standard,” he says, running a reverent hand along the warm, polished wood.

“Well, duh, they don’t carry Sasquatch-sized bookshelves at Wal-Mart, dude. Y’think I didn’t learn anything working construction for a year while you were running around soulless?”

“You made these,” he observes in awe, staring up at the expanse of shelves just waiting to be filled. “Dean, they’re beautiful.”

He watches in fond amusement as his brother’s complexion turns a My Little Pony shade of pink. “’S just a bunch of boards screwed together,” Dean mutters, hastily tugging him out of the room and into the next, which is completely void of furniture or even décor except for a luxuriously thick rug on the floor in a peaceful sea blue hue. A few plush cushions dot the rug like tiny eggshell islands, and the sounds of the sea drift from a small iDock in a corner socket.

“And this idea comes to you from Heaven’s lamest angel,” Dean snarks, elbowing the angel in question.

Unruffled, Castiel explains to Sam, “I thought perhaps, you should have a place to…meditate, or whatever is your human preference for reaching a peaceful state of mind and body. I have found that complete silence and quiet colors aid in my own meditation. And we both know what hides in the depths of your mind and soul, Sam; there is no shame in trying various methods until you find the one which brings you peace.”

Warmth fills him at the candid but so true words, from the only other person he knows who has made so many mistakes that they sometimes haunt him at all hours of the day or night.

“Thanks, Cas,” he says softly.

The Grande Tour continues, with commentary by turns amusing (annnd this is the room where I will beat your ass at pool, Sammy), heart-wrenching (took all the doors off the closets in your bedroom, ‘cause I know you hate closed spaces), nonsensical (you know some sucker bought that ugly-ass painting on eBay for $2,000?), and just plain stupid (your face is a Sasquatch-sized tub, Sam). Sam has never felt so overwhelmed in his entire life, and by the end of the tour his brain is already racing away with how he intends to convert a few of the rooms into his own contribution to the Men of Letters legacy – a spellwork lab, maybe a conservatory where he can grow the herbs they use so often in rituals.

Oh, and a guest bedroom with a 48-inch TV and surround-sound, so Dean has more of an incentive to sleep over at nights over Game of Thrones marathons.

Finally they end up back at the start, in the nondescript foyer and hallways that are waiting quietly for him to bring their life into existence.

“Dean, seriously…I’m speechless. Do you really mean this?”

There is no levity in his brother’s voice as he nods, firmly meeting Sam’s eyes. “Completely, Sam. Whatever you choose, do it for yourself, because you’ve spent three decades having other people choose for you. It’s time, dude. We both knew someday things would change; we’re lucky we’re both alive for it to happen.”

Castiel suddenly reappears from somewhere (Sam didn’t even see him wander away) carrying a fairly large box loosely sealed with a thin strip of masking tape. He sets it down with care in front of Sam, who crouches down for a curious look at the tag on the top.

“The house is because you deserve it, Sam,” his brother’s voice washes warmly over him. “This is because we missed your birthday with all that Knight of Hell crap.”

“And speaking of Hell –“

“Cas!”

“I apologize.” Blue eyes dart around shiftily. “The human concept of enjoying a lack of precognitive knowledge is one I have not yet mastered.”

Sam is completely and totally lost at this point, and so he ignores his bickering family and eagerly yanks the lid off the box.

And if he didn’t want to stick around this awesome house so much, he might’ve melted into a six-foot-four puddle right on the spot. As it stands, he rests his arms on the edge of the box, chin propped on the topmost one, and grins from ear to ear as the small puppy inside growls and jumps at him, not even coming close to the top of the box’s high sides.

“Dean!”

“Sam, you might want to –“

Sam scrambles backward with a startled squeak he will deny until the day he dies, because the tiny puppy suddenly unleashes four-inch claws and rakes as many gouges in the corrugated cardboard. One black eye peeks out of the gaping holes in the side of the box, and then Sam is treated to a very self-satisfied doggy grin.

“The hell kind of dog is that??” He peers warily over the top of the shredded box, and extends a much more careful hand.

“As much as we are able to tell from Magnus’s acquisition and breeding records, this adolescent canine is half German Shepherd, half Hellhound,” Castiel explains calmly.

“HALF HELLHOUND??”

“Sam, chill,” Dean drawls. Personally he thinks the whole thing is hilarious, but the circumstances for this particular gift are not, and his tone darkens accordingly. “Magnus had all kinds of sick experiments going on in that zoo, dude. He was breeding animals with monsters…even humans with monsters, although any we saw were already dead.”

Sam swallows down a knot of sickness at the thought of what twisted experiments the creatures had to have endured at the man’s hands.

“This little guy, though…” Dean nudges the side of the box with his shoe, and grins as the little pup snarls a warning and pokes a threatening claw through the cardboard.

Sam looks down at the puppy, heart clenching. “Dean, he’s…he’s at least part monster,” he says sadly, reaching down to cautiously scratch the dog’s head.

His brother is crouched beside him before he even finishes the sentence. Dean’s stronger hand covers Sam’s where it rests on the dog’s small head. “Sam. He is not a monster.”

“Dean, he’s got hellhound blood, probably hellhound instincts…”

“And having hellhound blood doesn’t make him a monster, Sammy. What I see here, is a little guy that’s been put through Hell, but came out the other side still willing to give this god-awful world a chance.”

Sam doesn’t dare look up, because he is well aware they’re not talking about the dog anymore, and he doesn’t want Dean to see the effect his words are having, after so long doing their dead level best to make each other hurt in the wake of their latest tragic mistake.

“And he just needs – he deserves, a family to love him the way he is, not the way someone else thinks he should be; and based on who he is now, not what he might have been in the past.” Green eyes slide his direction, slightly embarrassed but warm and genuine all the same.

Sam can’t brush the tear away before it falls on top of their hands, but he nods silently, letting his hair obscure the emotion on his face before it embarrasses his brother, who has extended this enormous olive branch Sam is well aware he doesn’t deserve. And for a few quiet moments, broken only by a low whine from the puppy below, they let the silence heal old wounds that have never quite scarred over completely.

Then the pup sneezes and promptly sets the box on fire.

A few minutes later, Sam sits on the floor cuddling the ‘fire-sneezing’ dog and laughing his head off as Dean frantically tries to teach Cas how to use a fire extinguisher before the expensive sprinkler system kicks in and drenches the new hardwood.

It’s the end of an era.

Or is it just the beginning?

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birthday comment fic & art meme

FILL, 3/?

FILL, 4/?

FILL, 5/?

FILL, 6/9ish

FILL, 7/9ish

FILL, 8/9

FILL, 9/9