OhSam Triple Play 2015!

[ohsam-mod.livejournal.com]

The comm hosted this little event a couple of years ago, and as November 2 is an auspicious day for our darling Sam, today would be the perfect time to revisit this challenge. Welcome to the Triple Play 2015!





BOOST THE SIGNAL

<center><a href="http://ohsam.livejournal.com/845164.html"><img src="http://i127.photobucket.com/albums/p125/quickreaver/TriplePlayBanner_zps5764ce43.jpg"></a></center>


And here's how we play!

Step One (mandatory): Write a three-part prompt.
1.) Pick a setting
2.) Pick an additional character or characters (Sam is assumed, naturally.)
3.) Pick an H/C scenario, with Sam as the focus. Other characters can share the misery, but Sam should get the brunt of it. That's how we roll. :D

You can make as many prompts as your little heart desires, one set per comment, but it would probably work best if kept simple. For instance: 1.) the Impala 2.) Dean 3.) a hangover, or 1.) autumn 2.) Rowena 3.) a curse.

Step Two (optional): Participants can choose to make visual art: create a drawing, painting, photomanip, or video based around an offered prompt set. All three points must be addressed. The art can be doodled or extravagantly detailed, artist’s choice. And, of course, Sam should be the primary focus of the h/c. Please reply with your art under the prompt you choose, and either put the art beneath a cut or supply a link to it, with appropriate header and warnings! (See "Posting Guidelines" in the left sidebar.) As subject lines are no more, please begin your fills with the word FILLED and a TITLE in BOLD.

Step Three (optional): Participants could also choose to write a ficlet, again with Sam as the primary victim of our dastardly h/c scenarios. (No minimum or maximum word count is required; just go where the muse takes you, as long or short as you'd like.) Again, please reply with your fic under the chosen prompt set, using the appropriate header and warnings. (See "Posting Guidelines" in the left sidebar.) As subject lines are no more, please begin your fills with the word FILLED and a TITLE in BOLD.

If more than one author or artist wants to work with the same prompt, have at it! The ideal goal is to make a Triple Play, where a prompt set gets both art and fic – the art potentially inspiring the fic or the fic inspiring the art. But no matter how it's sliced, we get lots of delicious Sammy h/c! Have all the fun … at Sam’s expense. ;)

The usual courtesies apply:
→ If you notice that your fic is not on the master list after a decent amount of time (say, three days), please poke us in a PM. We 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!



MASTERLIST

Sick City by fireheart13
1.) Las Vegas
2.) Dean
3.) Gall stones

Better Than Trick or Treat by septembers_coda
1. town of 200 people
2. john
3. parasite

What's in a Job by cherry916
1. the bunker
2. a service dog
3. PTSD

Hour of Darkness by amypond45
1. Squatting in an abandoned building.
2. Mary.
3. Fever dream.

Twist in the Wind by thursdaysisters
1.) the bottom of a ravine
2.) the ghost of Sarah Blake
3.) broken bones

Untitled by caranfindel
1. The bunker (maybe a newly discovered part?)
2. Dean
3. Impaled

It's Gotta Be a Hex by tarotgal
1. Crappy motel room
2. Dean and John
3. Strep throat

We Shall Gather at the River by crowroad3
1. Monument Valley
2. Dean
3. Staked out in the burning sun

Break No Bones by milly_gal
a) Bobby's panic room
b) Bobby and/or Dean
c) broken leg

What You Don't Know (Can Kill You) by center_galaxy
1. A foggy deserted road.
2. Jess
3. Car accident.

Bleed by hugglewolf
1) The Bunker
2) Cas
3) Sam wakes up wounded and weak from blood loss on the floor of the Bunker—with no memory of how he got there, how he got hurt, or where Dean is.

Tornado Warning by ameliacareful
1.) Setting: somewhere flat and Midwestern
2.) Other character: Dean
3.) H/C scenario: tornado related injuries

(Art) Untitled by cassiopeia7
1. pacific northwest
2. dean
3. drowning

West of Omaha by laughablelament
1) the lonesome highway
2) Dean & whoever's in the trunk
3) feverish magic-induced flashbacks

It's Gotta Be The Pie by tarotgal
1.) the bunker in the middle of the night
2.) Dean
3.) stomach flu

Stone Number One by caranfindel
1. Bobby's
2. Hallucifer
3. Psychotic episode that doesn't seem to want to end

(Art) Vatican Prison by amberdreams
1) Vatican jail cell
2) Dean
3) stigmata

It's Gotta Be At Least 200 Stairs by tarotgal
1. fire escape
2. Dean
3. permanent limp

Remember by soserendipity
1. A cornfield at night.
2. Dean.
3. Bleeding out.

Surf's Up by firesign10
1) The beach
2) Jess
3) Kelpie attack

Can We Call It Bob? by soserendipity
1. Hanging off the ledge of a bridge/tall building
2. Dean
3. Dislocation

Cor Unum by crowroad3
1) the bunker
2) Dean
3) heart condition

The Forest at Night by thursdaysisters
1) Car accident
2) John
3) Head Injury

I Can Move Forward Looking Back by hugglewolf
1) A hunt
2) A hunter (one we've met, or a new one)
3) PTSD

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream by center_galaxy
1.) Stanford
2.) Brady
3.) Chronic insomnia

The Definition of Insanity by center_galaxy
1. The Impala
2. Dean
3. Gunshot wound to the gut

In the Woodsman's Cottage by thursdaysisters
1.) Setting: a forest
2.) Other character: Bobby
3.) H/C scenario: bear trap

Shaken by cowboyguy
1. A laundromat
2. Dean
3. Trying to heal from a bad fight while trying to wash blood out of their clothes

It's Gotta Be a Plane This Time? by tarotgal
1) Airport security gate
2) Dean
3) bullet wound

Trapped by cowboyguy
1. tunnels
2. Dean
3. mutism/voice loss

Cold as Ice by indiachick
1.) Byberry Mental Hospital
2.) Dean
3.) botched lobotomy

The Source of All Sorrows by center_galaxy
1.) Hospital
2.) Charlie
3.) coma

Draconids by crowroad3
1.) High school
2.) EMTs
3.) Fever

Like a Rock by caranfindel
1.) middle of nowhere
2.) Baby
3.) dislocated shoulder

Dead River by crowroad3
1. Impala
2. The ghost of a loved one
3. Poisoned

Broken Memories by cherry916
1) motel room
2) Jody Mills
3) head injury/concussion

Hidden by hugglewolf
1. backwoods
2. castiel
3. buckshot

Empty Hearts by center_galaxy
1.) Hospital
2.) Charlie
3.) Panic attack

Unsettled by cowboyguy
1.) the bunker in the middle of the night
2.) Dean
3.) stomach flu

Splintered by themegalosaurus
1. THE BUNKER
2. DEMON!DEAN
3. HAMMER

Fingerprint by anonymous
1. Impala
2. Dean
3. touch starvation

It's Gotta Be Four in the Morning by tarotgal
1. Roadhouse
2. Ellen
3. Respiratory illness

Bitter and Sick by indiachick
1. Setting is author's choice
2. Dean
3. Forced/tricked into ingesting demon blood

words like glass by anonymous
1.) Camp Chitaqua, post-apocalypse
2.) Dean, Stoner Cas
3.) disfigurement, mutism

Feathers and Claws by themegalosaurus
1) Decrepit old building
2) A priest
3) Demonic possession

Maleficus by crowroad3
1. Field at night
2. Witch doctors
3. Blood-letting

Sup by hugglewolf
1) A grassy field at night
2) Castiel
3) Poison

It's Gotta Be a Damn Ghost by tarotgal
1. A busy bar in Stanford
2. Jess/Brady/Becky/Zach/Luis (any or all!)
3. Beaten up (bruises, bloody nose, scrapes, or maybe even a broken bottle to the head/body!)

Somewhere, Beyond the Sea by center_galaxy
1) Somewhere watery
2) Dean
3) Amnesia

Dis(connected) by center_galaxy
1) On the end of a phone
2) Bobby or Castiel
3) Blood loss, in and out of consciousness

It's Gotta Be a Day and a Half Now by tarotgal
1.) Singer Salvage scrap yard
2.) Bobby
3.) exhaustion

Placebo by anonymous
1) the woods
2) Dean
3) bitten by a snake

Hiss by cowboyguy
1) the woods
2) Dean
3) bitten by a snake

Across the clouds I see my shadow fly by caranfindel
1) Coffee shop or Diner
2) Employee of said establishment
3) Gun shot wound

Check It Out by themegalosaurus
1. MOL Bunker
2. Dean (and/or Charlie, Cas, or Kevin)
3. A curse involving plaid shirts or plaid in general (you're screwed, Sammy! Will they figure it out?)

The End of the World (and Back Again) by harrigan
1. A boathouse
2. Dean
3. Permanent physical disability (knee/hip/leg etc)

If Only by foolscapper
1. Hell, the cage
2. Castiel
3. hallucinations

Bitten (art) by foolscapper
1.) zombie infested suburbia
2.) Dean, Bobby
3.) bitten

Play It Again, Sam by caranfindel
1) A hospital
2) Dr Cara Roberts
3) Axe wound(s) to the upper body

The Mustard Seed by kettle_o_fish
1. Out on a case
2. Dean
3. Sam develops minor healing powers (not angel-level resurrection or demon killing, more like curing lesser illnesses, fixing broken bones, moderate wounds, etc). However, each time he helps someone, there's a drain on his own health/strength. Dean wonders if it's worth the toll it takes on Sam.

Comments

[tarotgal]

1. A laundromat
2. Dean
3. Trying to heal from a bad fight while trying to wash blood out of their clothes

Fill: Shaken (1/1)

[cowboyguy.livejournal.com]

Hope you like it!

- - -

Sam’s head throbs in time with the sound of quarters dropping into a coin slot, and he braces himself against the scuffed laminate countertop, one hand reaching up to rub at his forehead. He grimaces and swallows, staring down at the floor. There’s a fluorescent light above him that’s buzzing incessantly, the harsh light making him squint. Nothing should be this bright at 2:30 in the morning. It’s just unnatural.

Beside him, Dean limps from the row of washing machines to the dryers against the wall, transferring a load of dark pants into the drum and shutting the door with a bang that reverberates between Sam’s ears. He groans involuntarily, and hears Dean say in a gruff voice, “You just gonna stare at that all day, or what?”

Sam blinks, and realizes he’s still holding a bottle of dish soap in one hand, his bloodstained white dress shirt in the other. “Um…” he says dumbly, forgetting what he was supposed to be doing. He might have a concussion. Or a hangover. Maybe both.

Dean rolls his eyes and plucks the shirt and soap out of Sam’s hands, leaning against the counter to take the weight off his twisted ankle, and begins scrubbing at the shirt, trying to get rid of the stain before it sets in completely. They’re both down to their last clean — well, not anymore — dress shirts, and they’re supposed to interview more people tomorrow, try to figure out exactly what they’re hunting. Hence the laundromat trip in the middle of the night, when all Dean would really like to do is sleep off the massive amounts of liquor he just put into his system.

“Can’t believe you got into a bar fight,” he mutters. He looks up at Sam, one eyebrow arched. “You know that’s usually my kind of gig, right?”

“Can’t believe you fell down the stairs trying to rescue me,” Sam retorts. His head is still throbbing, and he’s not even sure how many black eyes he has — can’t be more than two, genius — but he can still bicker with his brother. Yay for him.

“Ah, shut up,” Dean grouses, still scrubbing vigorously at the cotton. “Just wait until we show up in the papers. ‘Federal agents involved in Omaha bar brawl.’ Won’t that be great.”

Dean’s still talking, his voice a low background rumble to the cacophony of sounds in Sam’s head. His ears are ringing, or maybe it’s that damned light, and he’s pretty sure he can actually hear his own blood pumping through his veins. He turns his head to look at Dean and the world closes in for a second, the edges of Sam’s vision going purple-gray and hazy.

“Dean, I— I gotta…” He sinks to the ground, back against the washing machine, and his skin goes cold and prickly. The room is spinning dangerously, the speckled concrete floor under him shifting in front of his eyes.

“Whoa, Sammy. Easy, easy,” he hears Dean say, and there’s movement, Dean’s hand on the back of his neck, pushing his head down. His hand feels good on Sam’s clammy skin. “You’re okay, take it easy.”

He sucks in a deep breath, bruised ribs making it hurt more than it should. “Dizzy,” he whispers, voice shaky.

“I know, I know,” Dean coaxes. “Just breathe through it. You’re okay.”

Dean shifts, and Sam feels it more than sees it, the warm weight of Dean’s hands and the soft groan as he eases himself down to sit next to Sam. Sam closes his eyes, blindly reaching out a hand and latching onto Dean’s jacket. He tries to concentrate on his breathing, keeping it slow and even until it feels less like he’s going to pass out or throw up.

“You alright?” Dean asks softly.

Sam doesn’t nod, because moving his head would be bad, but he breathes out a quiet, “Yeah…” He takes a second to steady himself, the dizziness fading, and then mumbles. “How is it that even when we’re not fighting scary monsters, I end up with the head trauma?”

Dean chuckles and gently pats his shoulder. “Maybe we need to get you a helmet.”

[tarotgal]

1. Bobby's
2. Hallucifer
3. Psychotic episode that doesn't seem to want to end

(Bonus points for Sam really hurting his hand by pressing on the wound there too hard/too much/with something sharp and Dean patching him up when it's finally all over)

Filled: Stone Number 1

[caranfindel.livejournal.com]

The chain whips around Sam's ankles, jerking him off his feet, dragging him backward.

I missed you, Sammy.

Sam reaches for furniture but it disintegrates as his fingers brush against it. He tries to grab the carpet, but Bobby's threadbare rug has been replaced by glass that shatters as he clutches it, shards of glass leaving his hands slippery with blood.

C'mon and play.

It's not real, this isn't real. Sam presses his injured hand but nothing happens - the Devil's imaginary pain is so much stronger, he can't even feel the real pain of his hand. The glass carpet is cracking under his body now, pushing spears into his legs, his torso, his arms.

It'll be just like old times.

Dean, he gasps, please. I can't do this. I can't stop this one on my own. Please.

No one's here, Sammy. Just you and me.

Glass shards plunge into his face, his throat. His screams are soundless, his vocal cord severed.

Cat got your tongue?

A booted foot kicks mercilessly at his side, rolling him onto his back. He blinks the blood from his eyes and sees Lucifer laughing above him. Oh god, Dean, please, he begs silently, please make it stop.

Big brother can't do anything, Sam. He's topside, and you're back in the cage with me. Can't you tell? Didn't you notice your little trick isn't working any more? Didn't you wonder why?

No no no no no. Sam pushes his fingernail into the scarred hand, feels the skin break, but there's no pain, not enough to compete with the long shards of glass slicing into his flesh.

Lucifer grabs his shoulders and hauls him to his feet. Time to go, buddy. I've got a rack with your name on it. He wraps one of the chains tightly around Sam's neck, grabbing one end as a leash.

Sam grabs the largest glass blade shoved into his chest and yanks hard, harder, finally dislodging it with a gush of blood. He plunges the glass into his hand and yes, it hurts, god, it hurts. Thank god, it hurts.

Sam! Lucifer yells in anger. Stop it!

Sam ignores him and thrusts the shard further into his hand. Lucifer grabs his wrist and tries to pull his hand away. Stop, Sam! Stop it! He sounds more frightened than angry now, and suddenly Lucifer's voice doesn't sound like Lucifer, and the hand latched around his wrist isn't icy cold. "Stop, Sam. Stop! You're okay!"

Sam looks up from his bloody palm into his brother's terrified face. "Dean?"

"Shit, Sam. What the fuck?"

Sam looks around. He's standing in Bobby's kitchen, and the floor isn't shattered glass and he's not covered in blood. And there's an icepick shoved through his hand. A wave of nausea rushes over him, and he collapses into a kitchen chair.

Dean kneels in front of him. "You okay? You back with me?" He gently pulls Sam's injured hand toward him. "I've gotta get this out. Can you do this? Are you ready?"

Sam can't speak, but he can nod. Dean says "on three" and then pulls the icepick out at two. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't know it would get like that. I shoulda..."

"Should have what? Hidden the pointy things from me?" Sam laughs humorlessly as Dean retrieves Bobby's first aid kit from under the sink. "I'd be kind of a crap hunter if you had to hide all the weapons."

"Still," Dean says, as he preps Sam's hand for stitches, "An icepick through your own hand? Gotta be a way we can avoid that."

Sam shrugs. "Not like it's the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

Dean looks up at him for a few seconds. "Can't argue with that," he finally says, as he bends over Sam's hand and begins stitching.
.
.
.
.
.
(Oh God, I've impaled Sam again. Someone stop me.)

(Also? Before I added this note, I had exactly 666 words.)

[dawnmay.livejournal.com]

1. pre-series
2. dean
3. guilt

[tarotgal]

1. A park
2. Some random kid
3. Sam tries to play soccer to get some information out of a kid and winds up coming down wrong on his foot/ankle. He's got to call Dean to come rescue him. Enduring his brother's teasing is going to be almost as bad as the injury.

[kyliemiller012.livejournal.com]

1) Other character: Jo
2) Dean
3) ) Chronic insomnia

[winchesterpooja.livejournal.com]

YAY. :D Okay.

1. Random motel room
2. Dean
3. Sam gets hit by a curse which has him constantly making puppy dog eyes. Dean's heart is melting in between bouts of uncontrollable amusent.

[milly-gal.livejournal.com]

1. A dark abandoned road.
2. Dean.
3. Half remembered dreams.

[thursdaysisters.livejournal.com]

1) Airport security gate
2) Dean
3) bullet wound

It's Gotta Be a Plane This Time? part 1

[tarotgal]

It's Gotta Be a Plane This Time?

Sam felt warmth rising in his face, and he tried to control his breathing, calm himself. But that was hard to do with a bullet wound in your arm. It was also hard to do when your brother, standing right next to you, was on the verge of a panic attack. “Are you sure about this, Sam? I mean, that it’s gotta be a plane this time?”

“It’s that or take a ship from here to Egypt. And how many innocent people will the mummy have killed while that happens?”

Dean grimaced. It might be the best solution, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. If Sam felt any better, he would make a joke, try to calm Dean down, distract him, lighten the mood. But Dean was too worried right now to be his usual set. And, besides, Sam had something else to occupy his mind. The mummy’s commander had been good with a gun—too good. It had been a through and through, so at least the bullet wasn’t still there to set off the X-Ray machine.

Assuming they ever got to the X-Ray machine. Or anywhere even remotely near the X-Ray machine. The lines were unbearably long and unbelievably slow. It seemed like there were three hundred passengers for every one TSA agent. They kept running out of little baggies for the liquids to go into and bins for shoes and belts to go into.

Sam’s legs hurt from standing. He was used to sitting all day in the Impala or running after ghosts. All this standing around just to shuffle forward an inch at a time made his legs stiff.

He was thirsty, too, having ditched his soda when they got in line an hour ago. After the fight, Dean had stitched him up and forced some orange juice at him to help with the blood loss, but he hadn’t felt much like drinking at the time. He was regretting that now.

But the worst was the pain in his arm. Dean had patched him up as best he could, but it had been a rush job and it had been in the middle of the night by the headlights of the car with Sam sitting on the cooler and biting Dean’s bandana to keep from crying out or grinding his teeth at the pain. Sam had nearly passed out a few times, slumping forward. But it was important to keep upright so that the wound was above his heart, so that he didn’t die from excessive blood loss. And this hadn’t been Dean’s first rodeo.

Sam’s upper arm hurt terribly, despite the double dose of Aspirin Dean had given him. That medicine would be wearing off pretty soon, and Sam wasn’t so good at swallowing pills down dry. What he was more worried about, though, was the buzzing in his head and the dizzy, lightheadedness he felt. He put his duffel down, thinking that would help. But all it did was made him feel even lighter. Every step forward, he felt like he was swaying. Every time he stood still, his legs locked at the knees and he thought he might topple over.

Normally, Dean would be looking after him, fussing over him. But all Dean seemed to be able to think about was the flight. How much he didn’t want to get on the plane. How much he hated planes. How maybe letting a mummy remain on the loose wasn’t such a bad idea after all. In the end, though, they booked their tickets and got into the long line snaking its way to the airport security gate. That’s as far as they’d gotten. It seemed like maybe it was as far as they’d be able to go. Sam suspected Crowley was behind this; airport security lines this long had to be demonic in nature. And they didn’t have anything to protect themselves. Their weapons were all locked up tight in the trunk of the Impala, parked in the airport’s long-term lot, so there was no knife, no colt, no any of that. No holy water except a tiny little bit of it poured into a mini Head & Shoulders shampoo bottle. No fire-starting tools, not that they’d be able to do a salt and burn in the middle of a busy airport. Not again.

[thursdaysisters.livejournal.com]

1) post-Katrina New Orleans
2) Dean
3) drowned in a jail cell

[thursdaysisters.livejournal.com]

1) Vatican jail cell
2) Dean
3) stigmata

Filled!

[amberdreams.livejournal.com]

As if I didn't have anything better to do... :D
Tease - full pic at my journal (http://amberdreams.livejournal.com/362648.html)
(https://www.flickr.com/photos/housefullofbooks/22396594679/in/photostream/)

[dollarformyname.livejournal.com]

1. dead lake
2. anyone you want
3. hallucinations & hypothermia

[dollarformyname.livejournal.com]

1. tunnels
2. Dean
3. mutism/voice loss

Fill: Trapped (1/3)

[cowboyguy.livejournal.com]

Sam wakes with a groan, disoriented and numb. He opens his eyes, and it doesn’t make a difference. It’s pitch black all around him. For a few horrifying moments, he thinks he’s gone blind, and then he remembers the sensation of being dragged, hauled down rocky tunnels by his wrists, deeper and deeper into the mountain.

He tries to move, tries to get a sense of where he is, and there’s a sudden pain like lightning surging through his arms and shoulders. He gasps, trying to curl in on himself, and there’s the sound of metal on metal as his arms are pulled back. He’s chained to the wall, immobilized, and there’s no way to get to a weapon, no way to contact Dean.

He is so screwed.

* * *

He falls in and out of consciousness, feeling lightheaded and dizzy every time he wakes up. No amount of wriggling will get his hands free, and every attempt sends shooting pains through his shoulders.

“Hmmmm…” he groans, deep in his chest, and closes his eyes, not that it makes much of a difference.

The only advantage he has going for him right now is that the thing that took him hasn’t come back yet. He’s not even sure what it was, just has a memory of clammy gray skin and wild red eyes, a feral snarl and sharp claws when he’d tried to struggle out of its grasp.

The numbness is starting to spread, inching its way down his body.

He can’t help the whimper that escapes him. It’s never been this bad before. There’s always Dad or Dean there with him, someone to be his backup. Half the time they won’t even let him go on hunts, tell him it’s too dangerous, that he’ll get hurt. And now, who knows what will happen. The creature will come back and he’ll be eaten slowly, or it’ll forget about him and he’ll starve in here, or maybe he’ll just pass out and that’ll be it, or—

“Sam!” The sound is far off and faint, but it’s there. He knows that voice.

Dean.

His head drops back and he lets out a little happy sound of relief. Dean is here.

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice calls again, echoing off the rock walls of the tunnels, and suddenly Sam realizes his problem. Dean is somewhere inside the abandoned mine, but Sam has no way to reach out, no way to bring him closer. It’ll take hours for Dean to find him, and by then it might be too late. By then, the monster might be back.

Tears spring to his eyes, and he curses his stupid brain, his stupid muscles, his own inability to speak. “Ee-ah,” he manages, approximating his brother’s name, but he’s never been very good with shouting, can’t control his own voice, much less the volume of it. Dean’s never going to hear him.

But Sam can’t just give up. He can’t be this close to being rescued, only to be lost forever.

He feels around with his feet in the dark, and lands on a pile of rocks, the jagged edges pressing against his foot through his shoes. With all the strength he can muster, he kicks out, sending the rocks flying, the sound echoing off the cave walls as they tumble over each other. It’s not much, but it’s a start, and if he can hear Dean, maybe Dean heard that. He leans back against the wall, and the chains clink together above him. He instinctively looks up, even though there’s nothing to see in the midnight black room. He swings his arms forward, then back, trying to make as much noise as possible with the chains. Each movement is agony, but he tries to ride through the pain, panting and groaning with each jolt through his body. It has to work. There’s no other option.

“Sam!” Dean calls again, and there’s something different about his voice. Something sure, something closer. Sam thinks he can hear footsteps.

He keeps going, writhing against the pull of the iron manacles, kicking his feet against pebbles and dirt and the cold cave floor.

“Nnnnn!” he cries, getting desperate. Come on, Dean, come on.

[dollarformyname.livejournal.com]

1. fire escape
2. Dean
3. permanent limp

[tarotgal]

I LOVE your prompts! I want to write them aaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll!

[dollarformyname.livejournal.com]

1. Impala
2. Dean
3. touch starvation

Fingerprint (1/2)

[(Anonymous)]

A/N: this was made so much harder by it being in the Impala. Definitely not how i thought this fic would turn out. Hope it somewhat works for you? (also, so much schmoop it's not even funny)



The thing was, it wasn't even anything serious. The hunt had been almost underwhelming--actually, most everything was, what with the apocalypse raging.

Still, Sam was hurt. Dean pulled the Impala over under a decent streetlamp.

"Are we stopping?" Sam's voice was weary.

"Don't have the new credit cards. We're going to have to rough it tonight," Dean said (not apologetically, it wasn't his fault).

Sam glanced out the window. "Couldn't you find somewhere darker? That light's going to keep me up all night."

"We gotta take care of your back, first," Dean explained. "I'd rather not attempt to juggle a flashlight while doing so."

Sam's expression was unreadable. "Dean, it's not that bad. All I need is a shower or a hose to rinse it off. I don't even think there's any broken skin."

"Well, we'd have to see to know, right?"

"I'm serious, Dean. Just leave it. Doesn't even hurt."

Dean weighed that. On the one hand, it was going to be difficult to even perform decent first aid on the side of the road. On the other, he hated thinking that--despite what Sam might claim--his brother would be in pain the whole night until they managed to find some kind of motel or abandoned cabin.

Well, it wasn't like Dean had that much pride (anymore). He might as well try begging. "C'mon," he said persuasively, "humor me."

Sam's face was shadowed, despite the lamp. Slowly, he got out of the car, stripping off his outer shirt and under shirt. Dean grunted as he levered himself out. Digging up the grave hadn't done his muscles any favors.

Dean whistled when he caught sight of Sam's back. "Doesn't hurt? Yeah, right, try again."

There was an impressive swath of road rash across Sam's back. The ghost had dragged him by one foot across the stony ground while Dean had finished off the bones.

"How do you want to do this?" Dean asked.

"I can just wash it off." Sam rounded the car to get to the trunk. He pulled out one of the gallons they kept in the back, uncapped it, and haphazardly sent it spilling over his shoulder while bent awkwardly.

"Dude, enough. Hand it over."

There was something Dean couldn't read in Sam's eyes. It bugged him. He took the jug from Sam slowly. He reached out to grasp Sam's shoulder, and Sam . . . Sam flinched. From him.

Dean swallowed, feeling off-kilter and nauseous. "Sam?"

"Startled me," Sam obviously lied. Dean chose to ignore it for the moment, pressing Sam down so he could get to his back.

"Some debris in here," he muttered after rinsing thoroughly. "We better stick to the flashlight after all."

Sam sounded resigned. "Fine."

They ended up wedged into the backseat of the Impala, Sam awkwardly twisted around so that his face was mashed against the door and Dean kneeling behind him, flashlight between his teeth. Dean put a hand on Sam's flank to calm him before he got started, only to have Sam flinch again. He pulled back, the nauseous feeling in his gut turning into a bitter taste at the back of his throat.

Sam didn't flinch as Dean used tweezers to remove bits of rock and bark.

"I think that's the last of it," Dean finally said. "C'mon, I gotta clean it out one more time."

Dean poured the water, patting Sam's back dry and applying some antibiotic cream to the deepest cuts. As he smoothed a bandage over the wounds, Dean stilled. He couldn't remember the last time taking care of Sam like he was now.

"That okay?" he asked gruffly.

"Yeah." Sam was trembling minutely under Dean's hand. He moved away, skittish and wary. "You can have the back seat."

[dollarformyname.livejournal.com]

1. urban rooftop
2. Ruby or Dean, or no one b/c Sam’s all by his lonesome
3. migraines/double vision

[cassiopeia7.livejournal.com]

1. A cornfield at night.
2. Dean.
3. Bleeding out.

Filled: Remember

[soserendipity.livejournal.com]

I was going to write something completely different. But then I tried to get into Sam's head while bleeding out in a cornfield and this happened. There's no comfort here, I'm sorry.

Remember

Remember the days when out of the window, fields of green and brown and yellow, white clouds chasing through the skies, running the 'pala, chasing her, playful, but never catching, never even coming close, because it's like flying, both of you in the back, hands making wave-y motions against the window, like diving through water, no need for air. Remember, nothing mattered besides the other, the older, the one you could turn to, always, for cuddles or secrets or improvised pillows, rib against rib, a cradle of bone.

There's pressure, it burns, it suffocates. Right through, it still goes.

Remember, when pain, when blood, when broken bones and shattered hearts, when all that was bad and dark and evil took a step back while he took one forward, always between you and the world, always blocking out the sun, so monumental, almost his own celestial body, and you circling and circling around him, waiting for your trajectory to change, for the crash to happen, for you to burn when you finally got to close?

Shh, Sammy, s'alright now, shh. Trembling hands, unsteady voice.

Remember? No food, no money, no shelter sometimes, no warmth, no home, not a person to turn to but him. Oh, the hunger and the aching and the ever lurking fear that one day, soon, both would be gone, both would stay gone, both would go and go and you couldn't follow. Didn't want to but did, all in one boy, the pull and the push, the stay and the leave, no good choice there, just. Remember? Being torn apart, being the least of them?

Sammy, a whisper, a thought. Sam. More pressure, and cold. Ice in your chest.

Remember the pain you caused, the tears that followed, the dissapproving words, the mistrustful watching, the low boiling anger? The fights and the nightmares, the punches, the bruising of body and soul, of bond and of blood, the -

Pressure turns dead weight, no movement, can't breathe.

The smell is familiar. Copper and leather and Dean.

The stillness of chest, the body-warm slick.

Familiar and terrible. You know this.

Know he went first, this time.

Know you will follow.

Nothing to say,

but Dean,

Dean.

[a_starfish]

1) Somewhere watery
2) Dean
3) Amnesia

Filled: Somewhere, Beyond the Sea

[center-galaxy.livejournal.com]

He likes the water, he realizes as the ocean waves touch his bare feet. The sand is warm under him and as he watches the sunset begin to touch the blue water in the horizon, he can't help but smile. He feels at peace here, on the beach, and he wonders if he like the beach before it happened.

"Sammy?"

He doesn't turn at first until the other man--Dean, his brother--touches his shoulder. His brother's eyes are drawn, downcast and for a minute second, he wonders if Dean is sad that he can't remember who he is.

Then again, the amnesia makes it hard for him to really care about anything.

He doesn't have any attachments to anyone or anything. Dean swears that his memory will come back, but he--Sam, his name is Sam--doubts it. He read articles online and it generally is 50/50. Maybe he'll get it back, maybe he won't. It doesn't help that Dean won't even tell him how it happened. Actually, his supposed older brother refuses to give out any information at all.

It's shady, to say the least.

"You ready?" Dean asks, gesturing to the black death trap that they drove here in. No airbags, barely any seatbelt--really the whole car is unsafe.

"Uh, sure."

He glances once more at the sea, closes his eyes, takes breath in and then--

Then the waves are taking him out to sea.


The ocean is killing him, he dimly thinks, though he's more amazed than terrified.

As the waves pull him out and some force pulls him down, he can't even muster up one ounce of fear. Maybe it's the amnesia--he doesn't remember his old life therefore he's not afraid to lose it--maybe this is just who he is, but he simply watches at the sunlight sparkles upon the surface of the water.

A beautiful woman swims into view, blonde hair with green eyes sparkling and her skin tanned as the sand on the beach. She has a green tale covered in scales.

A mermaid, he thinks, and perhaps his old self would be terrified or amazed by this, but his lungs are starting to burn and his eyes are starting to shut and he's going to die here.

He's going to die here, alone.

He's going to die here without knowing who he truly is.

"It's okay," The mermaid speaks (or maybe she doesn't and his oxygen deprived brain is imagining it) as she swims closer to him and places her forehead against his. "I shall return you."

As soon as her skin touches his, it feels like oxygen flows into his lungs.

A mermaid's blessing, Dean had read from the book. His big brother's eyes had sparkled with amusement at seeing the passage. A mermaid's blessing could save a sailor from drowning. Dean didn't believe in mermaids though. Neither of them did.

Dean? He knew that name, knew that face, but how and when?

"Sammy, you stay close, okay? We don't know where this kelpie is."

He had stayed close, but he'd turned his back for just a second and then the kelpie had attacked, he had fallen off the rocks, hit his head and then--

He forgot.

The mermaid blinks at him curiously. She smiles then, warm and bright and before he knows it, he finds himself heading back to the surface. He can see his brother's outline above him and he reaches his hand upwards, wanting to get to him.

"Sammy!"

He breaks the water, gasping and the mermaid is long gone (maybe she wasn't even there) and Dean is there, grabbing him, pulling him out of the water, patting his back as the youngest Winchester coughs up salty water.

"Dean!" He gasps and he remembers, remembers everything, and before he knows it, Dean is holding him, embracing him tightly.

"I thought I'd lost you," Dean whispers. "That kelpie dragged you out and then she was back but you were gone and by the time I killed it, you were gone and I thought--"

Sam knew what he had thought.

"I think a mermaid saved me."

Dean blinks for a few seconds.

"Wait, really? I was half-joking about them!"

Sam beams.

And in that moment, Sam knows he's finally back.

[(Anonymous)]

1. Bunker
2. Dean
3. Nosebleed

[(Anonymous)]

1. Hospital
2. Dean
3. Excruciating pain with no pain relief.

[center-galaxy.livejournal.com]

I leave for a few days and this awesome thing pops up! Fun fun fun!

1) LARP-ing Park
2) Charlie
3) The Trials

[center-galaxy.livejournal.com]

1) The beach
2) Jess
3) Kelpie attack

FILLED: Surf's Up 1/3

[firesign10.livejournal.com]

“Come on, Sam! The water's perfect!”

Jess ran into the surf, laughing and waving her arms. Sam had to laugh at her exuberance, despite his own fears. He was not a fan of water; to him, lakes were potential sites for hunts. Spirits, nature elementals, all kinds of nasties like to congregate around water. He'd learned to swim as a necessity, but he'd take a nice, safe pool any day.

He lived in California now, though, and in California one went to the beach. Jess was a California girl through and through, with her long, tanned legs and blonde curly hair, wide smile as she romped in the waves. She'd gasped in mock horror when he said he'd never been, and so now here they were, the very next weekend, picnicking in a small private beach she knew about. She'd even bought Sam a proper pair of board shorts—dark blue with green and turquoise waves on them. He was grateful she hadn't gotten some really loud ones, like the ones he's seen someone wear with huge pink flowers splashed across them. What guy wore shorts like that?

“Come on, Sam! Don't make me drag you in!” Jess had her hands on her hips now, and Sam knew what that meant. She would think nothing of making good on her threat. One of the things he loved about her was the way she faced everything head-on.

He stood up, careful not to kick sand onto their pile of clothes on the corner of the blanket. Jess clapped as he walked to the water's edge. “Come on, it's just water!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him in deeper. He gasped with the initial chill of the water, but her joy was infectious.

This is why I left, he thought. This is normal. I can do this. He resolutely shut the door on his darker fears and grabbed Jess around the waist, kissing her breathless.

“That's my boy,” she whispered, and Sam deliberately ignored the masculine echo of those words in his head.

They dove into the oncoming waves, and Jess showed him how to body-surf. Sam enjoyed it, relaxing more and more, relishing the force of the waves, the water sparkling under the sun, Jess' white smile and wet, lithe body. The sounds of the waves and the seagulls was the perfect accompaniment to their laughter and banter. Now he understood why people flocked to the beach in the first place. And they had this little spot all to themselves. It was perfect.

A particularly large wave dunked Sam, and he tumbled over before finding his footing. When he broke the surface again, he saw a man swimming near-by. Jess waved at the man, and he swam closer. The man had light brown hair, longer than Sam's, and boasted an impressive build, from what Sam could see above the water. Sam felt a twinge of jealousy; he was well aware of how beautiful Jess was, besides being so warm and bubbly.

“Hey,” he said, swimming closer to Jess.

The man nodded and smiled. He jerked his head and gestured to the waves, swimming out a little further and beckoning them. Jess dove after him, but Sam froze. Weren't they far enough? And who was this guy? A familiar chill ran down his spine. Not here, not in his sun-kissed, apple-pie life, right? Not...


“Jess!” Breaking out of his momentary paralysis, Sam dove after her, swimming strongly, his limbs fueled by alarm. The strange man's head broke the water's surface, and now Sam saw the seaweed in his hair, the twisted bit of rope around his neck.

Kelpie!

[center-galaxy.livejournal.com]

1) Christmas time
2) The whole gang (bonus points for lots of Charlie love!)
3) Hypothermia

[(Anonymous)]

1. Abandoned building.
2. Stranger or no one
3. Adhesive arm or leg burn.

[hugglewolf.livejournal.com]

1. Bunker.
2. Castiel.
3. Broken staircase.

[madebyme-x.livejournal.com]

1. Hanging off the ledge of a bridge/tall building
2. Dean
3. Dislocation

[soserendipity.livejournal.com]

Hello, sweets! So, after months of absence I check back in with LJ and see this going on. Of course I'm immediately wishing for fills for all these awesome prompts.

But then yours! The muses kinda tackle-hugged me into submission, so I wrote a thing for it. I never did a comment fill before so I hope I got it right-ish. No idea whether it's like anything you had in mind, but there you go.

Much love, hunny, I hope life's treating you kind! <3