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

[kettle-o-fish.livejournal.com]

1.) Byberry Mental Hospital (http://www.complex.com/pop-culture/2013/01/crazy-mental-asylums/byberry-mental-hospital)
2.) Dean
3.) botched lobotomy

Filled: Cold as Ice (1/3)

[indiachick.livejournal.com]

(O-kay. Not pretty. And I wanted to write Sam POV for this but Dean had other plans.)

The Pacifists that worked this hospital never mentioned the sun and moon wallpaper. Stars on the ceiling in the death-house—Orion there, the Pleiades here—quiet, unassuming pattern that was perhaps meant to be comforting. Superimpose the history the Winchesters have with ceilings and the chalked death outline would encompass the Auriga, Canis Major, Sirius as large as a burning heart. Where they first bled—gut-flower bloom—Draco and Pegasus, forever poised in fight.

Mother. Lover. Sam mumbles about both. He can’t remember Jessica’s name right now, keeps asking Dean why, but look up and the ceiling burns, he says. Look down and there’s Hell. Fire. We’ve been trapped in fire all our lives, Dean, but now we’re cold. A pause. And then Sam adds, worriedly, this can’t be real.

Dean can’t see him, can only feel him rattling the cot he’s strapped to, rattling Dean along with it. He hears Sam strain to look over the side of the cot, sees a few drops of blood hit the filthy hospital floor.

I’m right here, Dean says. You hang on.

There are ashes drifting down from the ceiling. It lands on Dean’s shoulders, his lap, his useless legs and arms, swanning like spider-thread. Sunlight diffuses in pink novae through holes in the architecture, and turns the ashes lilac. Dean wishes it were acid, which may eat through the shackles so he could get free. Instead, it collects. The ashes, and paint flakes, and cement chips, and petrified insects. It builds up around him. Around them both. This ruin.

Dean’s not sure what it is, who’s doing it.

They could suffocate. On the ashes, and the curled up spiders, and the frozen moths. They could suffocate on their own dry tongues, the dust powdering their mouths, the blood freezing in their veins. They could suffocate on the must and the thick disuse and that special haunted-space molecular heaviness that fattens the air in here. If the ghosts didn’t get to them first.

My head hurts, says Sam. Something’s wrong with my head.

Tiny voice; definite slur. Dean says nothing. He thinks he’s going to throw up if he tries.

(Is this real?)

***

There are three, according to Sam. Three ghosts.

Sam of the meticulous research into haunted asylums which in the end, don’t come of much use except in reinforcing already disturbing stories when the ghosts toss them around and steal their things.

The death-house is where they kept violent-delusional-suicidal types, Dean remembers him reading. Get this: once, this dude broke free of his restraints and jammed a spoon in another guy’s jugular.

Sam’s fingers kept straying to his palm, almost healed now. Maybe it was too soon for them to tackle a haunted asylum after Sam and his psychotic breaks, but Sam had found this case (Byberry Mental Hospital in Pennsylvania, and hell, even Dean knew this story, the place was the Alcatraz of asylums) and Dean didn’t know how to get out of it without implicating that Sam was not at his 100%. Which would just lead to a lot of Sam-angst. He’d rather just take haunted asylums over angst.

They’d looked at photos, taken by WW2 Pacifists who’d brought the hospital down. With naked men and patients strapped down to cold metal cots and a ridiculous count of trans-orbital lobotomies, the place was a downright horror story even before there ever was a whiff of a haunting. Foreboding, yes, but Dean had been flying on a cocktail of Sam-crazy and ancient tablets and Leviathans, and a classic wham-bam case sounded good right then.

They’d been doing well. Stake-out tent at the back, a whole lotta supplies, and sacks of rock-salt for too many ghosties. Sam found a mound of bones in an unnamed grave out the back before they’d even actually set foot inside the place. The snow was falling, and the fire in the grave had screamed normal, a return to the ordinary for them, loop-back to less-complicated times.

And then came the death-house.

RE: Filled: Cold as Ice (2/3)

[indiachick.livejournal.com]

Three ghosts.

The doctor with buckshot wounds in his centre, drip-dripping at the corner, poring over a chart. The shadow-scarecrow that (Sam says) is adhered to his bed, hip-side, stuck there as though with mucilage, cold to the touch. And the tattooed man: smooth arms pecked with needle-pricks like measles spots, antlers on his head.

(Antlers? Dean asks.)

Get him away, says Sam. Dean? Please.

He struggles; the cot shakes violently, and Dean shakes with it at its base, tied to its legs, motionless.

(Get him away, get him away. It hurts.)

Ghosts are a whoosh, an ice-bucket to the stomach, a twist of the guts in this place. A whispered promise to make things better, make your head feel better. A diseased mouth over his own, quieting him when he tries to scream, a whisper: ssshh, don’t aggravate the patient.

He’s not your patient, Dean screams. He’s not your fucking patient, you motherfucking sicko!

We know it must be difficult, says the whisper. A head wisps out of the near-dark, flashing eyes, pale mouth. Intimations of bone clear through sagging skin. But he’ll be good as new when we’re done here.

Dean glimpses antlers, a hammer, a glimmer of metal. A long body, ghostlight glimmering along its spine.

The man-ghost-thing clambers away from Dean.
Dean’s gun is gone. Sam’s too, but Sam is in no condition to shoot anything anyway.

The cot sags with the weight of the ghost.

Sam moans, thinly.

He babbles about Hell and fire and the Devil. And then he tells the ghost that, you know, they chipped away at Rose Kennedy’s brain with a Freeman ice-pick while she counted numbers, and they chipped till she couldn’t count. And Tennessee Williams, didn’t he have a thing against ice-picks in the brain? He did.

(My brother says it’s disturbing that I know all this.)

(Dean?)

(Dean, is this real?)

The cot slides a little across the floor. Stars swim wetly in Dean’s vision. He thinks things are flying in the room, floating about, and then the cot slides again, halfway across the room, as if in distress. The ash falls faster. They’re going to drown in this stuff; they’re going to be buried if Sam doesn’t—

Hey! Dean shouts. Hey! You wanna fix someone, fix me! Anger issues, PTSD—whatever the fuck turns you on, I’ve got it.

Come at me, you bastards, says Dean. Come ON.

Nothing. Apparently, devil visions are the only gold-class here. Everywhere in this room is a cold spot. Dean’s breath comes out in snowy white puffs. The sunset turns the room crystal orange, like sugared candy. Look gauzy, and the blistering walls could be on fire.

Sam, he says. Sam, can you hear me?

Scrape off all you want, says Sam, just don’t take away the stars; don’t take away the stars please, please—

Dean locks his tongue between his teeth and tastes blood and spits. He feels acid fear seep through him.
Dean shouts at him to shut up, for God’s sake, shut up.

Don’t talk to him, Sam. Please.

Sam!

The stitches go under the skin, Sam wails. Don’t cut them loose--

A beat.

Dean waits, but Sam goes abruptly, horribly quiet.

Dean can’t see him, doesn’t know. All he knows is that they need to get out of this place—get Sam out before the ghosts did too much damage. There’s nothing sharp around here to pick the lock on his shackles. His wrists bleed. He’s never felt more useless in his life.

And then his gun lands in his lap.

Before Dean can go for it though, the doctor wraps a freezing hand over Dean’s mouth, another around his throat. The blood from his ghostly wounds sloshes into Dean’s lap, icy cold.

Darkness begins to creep up Dean’s vision. He can’t breathe. Light dances on the walls, leaping tongues.

The thing with the antlers glitters above Dean, ghost-flicker, and then the doctor replaces him again.

Sshh, the doctor says. We make people better here.

We make them right.

RE: Filled: Cold as Ice (3/3)

[indiachick.livejournal.com]

***

Dean wakes up dangling from the ceiling.

His feet kick at nothing. Then the cot flips and smashes against the far wall. And again. On the third smash, his cuffs break loose. He drops; one leg buckles under him, the pain is like fire. He screams but makes no sound. His voice is muffled by ash.

Smoke.

The cot drops too. There’s no time to take stock of the damage: Dean rushes, he hauls ass. Sam’s dead-weight against him, gone utterly still. His eyes are blank slivers, colorfast grey. His breath ghosts against Dean’s neck, though, which is—which is good enough for now, good enough.

There’s no sunset—Dean thinks—he was mistaken. There’s no sunset, there’s no sugar-candy brightness. The hospital is actually on fire. Someone set it on fire. Ashes spark and cackle. The insect-corpses burn.

The thing with the antlers takes shape all of a sudden, comes right at them, but it burns too. Sparks light up Dean's vision.

He grabs Sam and wheels around, but he can’t find an exit, can’t find a door. Then, a window explodes outward.

Dean drags them out through it, the glass sharp and skittering across their skin, thin trails of blood blossoming. He doesn’t care about that right now. He gets them through, and somehow, somehow the Caddy they stole from the last town is here, not parked out back with the rest of their stuff. It sits in the grass, right next to them, and Dean thinks it’s a patina of grime on it, all that brown stuff, until he gets closer and thousands of moths take off into the air with a whoosh like a tornado.

What the fuck.

Sam’s eyes are bleeding, but at least there’s no metal spike still stuck in his brain. Dean bundles him up in the shotgun seat and he goes, easy as a doll. He’s breathing steadily though, pulse even. He mumbles something quietly, and Dean thinks, they’ll need help. This is fucked up at a level that Dean can’t fix. Dean’s not sure where to go though, maybe call Cas, call someone, but right now, he climbs into the car and guns the engine.

When they get to it, the gates fly open for them. The radio flickers on, zips past the Taylor Swift, lands on Cold as Ice. Some moths land on the windshield, and the wiper flicks on.

Smooth. Quick. Solitary.

“Sammy?” Dean says.


.
.
.
(/sorry for the weird ending. I had fun writing this, thank you for the prompt :D)

RE: Filled: Cold as Ice (3/3)

[caranfindel.livejournal.com]

Oh my goodness. This is horrifying and heartbreaking and just all-around awesome.

RE: Filled: Cold as Ice (3/3)

[indiachick.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I think Halloween still had its claws in me :)

RE: Filled: Cold as Ice (3/3)

[madebyme-x.livejournal.com]

Ohhh, what a darkly wonderful fic! You write horror so well, and this is 100% creepy. I loved how we jumped straight into the action at the hospital, and how you scattered back story throughout.

Through Dean's eyes we never quite see what's happening to Sam, but like most well crafted horror, imagining it is so much worse. I adored the ending (man, I hate moths though, great imagery but yikes!), and the open ended feel, couldn't help but wonder if Sam was the one helping them escape after the ghosts 'made him better'!

I loved this fic, thank you so much for sharing :)

RE: Filled: Cold as Ice (3/3)

[indiachick.livejournal.com]

I thought it would be kind of interesting to do horror when one party is in a limited position to truly comprehend what is going on with the other party: thus poor Dean, tied up on the floor and only able to hear and catch glimpses of movement. This is probably the most disturbing thing I've written though :/

Sam does help them escape, in my headcanon. With all the repressed psychic power and everything, god knows what sticking an ice pick in his brain will unearth >__

RE: Filled: Cold as Ice (3/3)

[reggie11.livejournal.com]

Oh wow, that was so creepy!

RE: Filled: Cold as Ice (3/3)

[indiachick.livejournal.com]

Haha, thanks :D Halloween after-effects.

RE: Filled: Cold as Ice (3/3)

[quickreaver.livejournal.com]

I loooove when you write horror! It's so visceral yet surreal and deliciously original. GORGEOUS.

RE: Filled: Cold as Ice (3/3)

[indiachick.livejournal.com]

Thanks bb :D This one's spooky even for me. But mostly because Dean can't see what's going on.

RE: Filled: Cold as Ice (3/3)

[thursdaysisters.livejournal.com]

He babbles about Hell and fire and the Devil. And then he tells the ghost that, you know, they chipped away at Rose Kennedy’s brain with a Freeman ice-pick while she counted numbers, and they chipped till she couldn’t count.

Great imagery in this one *cuddles your brain* :D

RE: Filled: Cold as Ice (3/3)

[indiachick.livejournal.com]

True story, that. Lifted almost word for word from some article I read online. Poor Rose Kennedy was chipped at till she became incoherent. ;______;

RE: Filled: Cold as Ice (3/3)

[kettle-o-fish.livejournal.com]

Oh my goodness. I loved loved LOVED your imagery here. So creepy and devastating in the best way. Thank you for the fill! (And I liked the weird ending.)