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

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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

Filled: Bitter and Sick (1/3)

[indiachick.livejournal.com]

(A/N: I am pretty sure this is not what you had in mind, dear prompter. And I hope someone else fills this prompt with proper Sam h/c. But: while this fic is gen, it can be read as slight slash. Sam, demon!Dean. Somewhere between season 9 and 10. Inspired by the song "Bitter and Sick" by One Two.)

Sam’s vision is already coming apart in thready reds and pinks when Dean shows up. The barkeep smacks the counter thrice in quick succession: like Morse code, secret magic alphabet designed to set things rattling in Sam’s brain. He smells beer and blood and something darker in the stained wood against which he’s slumped; something terrible. He thinks he’ll throw up. His skin flushes with heat, he shivers with cold—it’s as if somebody’s thrust a finger in his brain and is swirling it around in there. His mouth still tastes like blood, but this time his own: somewhere between the last two vicious stabs of pain to his eyeballs, he’d bitten his tongue.

“I’ll take it from here,” says Dean. He’s got a big gun, a smile like the sun. His arm is strong under Sam’s good arm, his feet steady. Oh, Sammy, he says, bite-you-bloody fond. Sam can’t see a thing in front of him, let alone stand. He’s vaguely aware of felted tables and clinking bottles and sharp, inhuman laughter. String lights fizzle in his vision with auroral potency. The old jukebox in the corner’s playing something that’s mostly just unfettered warbling and screaming. Sam feels hands on him as they pass, hears whispers about the Devil and his Cage and his own tenancy there. A sweaty guy shoving rashers into his face calls out to Dean, friendly, his eyes black and bulging like a beetle.

Dean roughs him through the door. “How much did you drink anyway, Sammy?”

Dean’s voice is booming in his head; a proclamation; messianic thunder. Sam tries to shape words, but he just slurs something. And he isn’t sure of the answer anyway. One shot mixed with whiskey, before he started protesting. Before they tied him up. He’s not sure since then. It felt long—forever—he’s got the, the blood, all over his front and smeared into his face and tracking his skin like the glory marks of addiction. His throat burns from the pressure of fingers. Sometime in the recent past, the world began to do that trick of listing farther the more you tried to make it steady. Everything started to feel like being on a Tilt-a-Whirl: dizzying colours, fragmentary bliss, mostly horror.

“Dean, I—s-spat out m-more than I—”

“Oh, I’m the last person you need to justify this to, Sam, remember?”

One of the girls outside the bar reaching out to grab playfully at them has whipping wet green hair and teeth like a shark. Her smile is obscene; he meets her eyes and is disoriented for a second, sees vicious glimpses of flesh and tongue and blood—

This one likes to choke, he does, she sings. We like the ones who like it rough.

Her nails whip out to dig at his skin, but Dean’s too quick, and they’re stumbling down the steps now, squelching through the mud, the red of the roadhouse’s lights following them all the way to the Impala.

“Sloppy,” comments Dean, strapping Sam’s seatbelt on, tugging indifferently at the rope binding his arms together. “But also impressive. How did you find this place?”

“S-search The W-web,” Sam stutters out, teeth chattering now, the withdrawal truly setting in. He meets Dean’s gaze full on, doesn’t look away at that cheap demon parlour trick of black sliding away to green.

“What were you doing in there?”

Sam forces his voice into a semblance of calm. “Looking for you.”

Dean’s smile is wide as the Cheshire cat. “Well, you found me.”

“How—how did you find me?”

Dean grins, disconcertingly. “I always will, little brother,” he says. “Now. How about we make this less painful
for you?”

*****

RE: Filled: Bitter and Sick (2/3)

[indiachick.livejournal.com]

***
The water is terror.

Steam hisses; Sam’s head smacks the copper edges of the tub when he tries to escape the burn, the ringing in his bones, the winding spasm that rips through his skin. He gasps, his body arches under the water. The wooden cross smashes into his chin, his broken hand slams into the side: for a moment, the pain is exquisite. Between heartbeats, the tub becomes a river, a reef, a hallucinatory ocean. Sam drowns in it; feels his lungs inflate like water balloons. He screams for mercy at an unknown addressee. Gets more water in him. It brands him, going down, it’s killing him—

—and please, Dean, Jesus—

He comes up coughing, choking; his spine snaps forward; he leans over the lip of the bathtub and throws up red—bloody-black-red—though he only catches a glimpse of it scattershotting the fancy carpet before his vision goes gauzy and speckled with stars.

The ceiling’s on fire—but then it’s not—there are blades in the water—and then there aren’t.

Hallucination.

Dean’s got gloves on, waits away till Sam sinks boneless and unsplashing, immobile as a cut-pupp
et. Then he fishes out the crucifix, says just like I thought. He offers a hand, benediction, five fingers crooked in Sam’s slip-sliding aesthesis, a pattern not matched by Sam’s hand yet.

Sam can pretend, at this moment.

With every inch of his being, he can pretend, it’s easy, it feels good. He can pretend that this is still Dean—doing what he does (take care of you, I’ll take care of you, I’ve got you, Sammy, you look exhausted, you look like shit, come lie down and I’ll take care of you)

—don’t ask him, don’t make him explain, don’t burst the bubble, don’t break the charm—

“Dean,” Sam rasps. “Why are you helping me?”

Not as poisonous as Sam wanted it to be, but Dean blinks just the same. His eyebrows rise. He looks puzzled, himself, like he’s peeped through a hole he shouldn’t have, and has now lost his bearings at whatever visceral depravity he saw.

Then he grins.

“The secret is, not to quit cold turkey,” says Dean. “Wean it off. I’ll teach you.”

***

There’s a game on in the TV outside. Wild cheering. The place is fancy—there’s a crystal glass sitting on a counter when Dean manhandles him out of the tub. Art deco tiles, glimmering blue-red light through tall, sharp windows like a church. Everything shimmers as if in a dream.

“Bites?” Pink tongues of meat, on a silver plate. Sam shakes his head.

“Be easier to wash it down,” says Dean. His feet are on the glass tea-table, tracking dirt. He sticks out against the opulence of this place, jacketed and mud-booted, indelicate. He’s still got gloves on; white like a surgeon.

Drip, drip, drip—blood into glass. Vodka.

Sam eyes it—his heart rebels—he can’t hear anything through the rushing in his head.

“I’m not—I won’t.”

A smear of blood sits on the swan-neck stem of the glass when Dean offers it to him.

“Dean—”

Shiver down the spine. His bones feel like they’re rattling in the casing of his skin. Sam folds his hands into fists.

“Don’t be stupid,” sneers Dean. “There’s too much of it in your system for you to quit now.”

You’re practically one of us, mouths Dean.

It feels wrong, but for the wrong reason.

“You’re still in there, somewhere,” says Sam. Stupid faith. His voice breaks. Dean just looks amused.

“Always the optimist, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes rove. The door is open, golden light crackling and coupling with shadow out there—

Escape.

They look at each other for a minute. Then, Sam tries to go for it.

Run.

Stupid as fuck, and he almost gets there, but the hand Dean twists behind him is the broken one—the pain in his shoulder is a hacksaw—and Dean turns him around, crow-eyed, jams that crucifix against Sam’s throat—

—and his entire body revolts, repels. It's atomic torment—hate fills his vision, blistering red, something crawls through him like it lives in its skin—something trying to split him open—

(Spin them around and fly them into a wall—)

Impact.

Dean grabs him, but Sam’s shoulders stutter against the wall, staccato bone-snap. His head whips forward. It hurts.

“Do you see?” Dean asks, holding Sam’s face, his mouth a snarl.

RE: Filled: Bitter and Sick (3/3)

[indiachick.livejournal.com]

The chandelier in the room swings violently.

Sam chokes on cement-dust and paint-chips and his own horror. His momentum goes from lightspeed to vacuum; on the inside of his head glass crashes.

Sam sees. He sees.

***

Here are things to cross out from memory:

—silver knife, silver glass; don’t try to hide the taste I’ll know it anyway; blood. Thick, tongue-cloying—he swallows because he’s forced to swallow, his mouth bitter and sick—in this doorway, in another doorway, in the bathroom under the striated lampshade.

Spill it over—oops, sorry, sorry, sorry, Dean—curl into yourself, don’t think don’t think don’t think—

—there was a fairy-tale about a yellow road and a woman slated to marry a murderer and the murderer made her drink and drink and drink until she fell down dead. Sorry about this, sorry about the cuts on your skin, sorry about this new crappy thing, Dean, sorry. Sorry about the creatures that took genesis from here: the addiction monster, the Devil-That-Was, the soulless one, the mess. The Lancelot-That-Wasn’t, the casket for a festering angel—everything started because of this, because here, drink this, swallow this.

Always a consequence. Always a hedgerow of thorns.

Should have known. Would have been different if you didn’t—

(Didn’t what, Sam?)

(—put me through Hell again—I miss the fire.)

A phone ringing, a shower beating (hot, hotter) and Dr. Sexy M.D on TV—and glass, then vial, then spoon.

(Should I do the airplane thing again?)

Just one more spoon.

Cross out. Cross out. Cross out.

***

His fingers are legato on the marble top, smooth, flowing; vision sharp. Fire in his veins still, downcast eyes; shadows. Shoulders feel heavy. Legs like jelly.

He needs sleep.

He’s standing in a strange bathroom in front of a strange mirror in a strange hotel that looks like Crowley might have picked it out, and Dean stands with him. The bruising on his shoulder is blue, red, yellow. The shiny circular divots of bullet wounds smattered across his torso like constellations are silver.

They say pain is an abstract noun—but here’s a whole spectrum of color.

“Papercut,” whispers Dean. Finger-cut. Single smear. Sam licks it up: makes no difference, now, makes no
difference. "Look now. Look."

And Sam’s afraid to look at his own face, he is, feels forewarned like Bluebeard’s bride—every room in the castle except this one—but now he does. Beyond the faint burn-shadow of the cross, beyond stained mouth.

His eyes are hazel. Wide, wet: it stays hazel even when he keeps blinking it. The relief is almost transcendental; Sam nearly slumps into the gold-striped marble.

“Told you,” says Dean, big-brother smirk parody. His eyes aren’t green.

Sam stands, steady. Fingers don’t shake. No hallucinations waiting at the corner of his eyes to jump him.

“Thank you,” Dean mocks. “Will be nice.”

Sam shudders—feels small, terrible, like a little scolded child. He feels something twist inside of him, a pain that isn’t physical, that isn’t some after-effect of demon-blood. Something bigger.

“You should—come home, Dean. I can fix you. I can fix this.”

Dean laughs. "But I don't want to be fixed! See how easy things are when you take the emotion out of them?"

You haven't taken the emotion out , Sam thinks. “I’ll just find you again. I’ll keep finding you, and I’ll bring you home, Dean.”

Dean's eyes widen in mirth.

“You gotta be able to remember this first, Sammy.”

His fist comes up, fast, swinging.

And then suddenly, darkness.

Only darkness.

RE: Filled: Bitter and Sick (3/3)

[madebyme-x.livejournal.com]

Ohhh, what a fic! I love the uncertainty here, of Dean's motivations and his actions. I loved how you captured Sam's state of mind too; hallucinations and doubts clouding his mind.

I thoroughly enjoyed this! Thank you for sharing :)

RE: Filled: Bitter and Sick (3/3)

[caranfindel.livejournal.com]

{dies of happiness}

RE: Filled: Bitter and Sick (3/3)

[crowroad3.livejournal.com]

Oooh, expertly crafted and unnerving as blood in the whiskey; even as we tilt and shift along with Sam there's this dark thread that keeps us up, runs us through the detox, the story. Images in the service of visceral feeling: those red lights following them to the car, the wet green hair, the barkeep with his code, the tables and clinks and fancy marble. (Fingers on surfaces, gloves, hands.) Fantastic. Familiar and grotesque--inner landscape and outer, brother and brother, memory of brotherhood. I love narratives that break and experiment, go off, as here, the list of what to forget, the flashes and fragments like glass, immediate, distant; fairytale murder, failure, inverted caretaking, guilts and shames, pain. Even in its bitter-and-sickness (poor Sam!)--I love this.

(And demon!Dean is so very demon!Dean, and yet the ghost of big brother in there, the blink to green--particularly haunting. As is Sam's hazel-colored relief.)

Love.

RE: Filled: Bitter and Sick (3/3)

[ladykorana.livejournal.com]

You're right, not really what I was thinking when I prompted, but I love this super creepy spin on it!

I admit to having lots of fun thoughts about Demon Dean getting Sam to drink his blood, so I'm all for the twisted interpretations.

This has such a trippy, hallucinogenic feel to it, I think at times I was just as confused as a Sam. It's perfect for getting into his headspace!

I also loved Dean's fascinating blend of taking care of Sam but not really caring, such a fascinating hybrid of various aspects of Dean at work.

RE: Filled: Bitter and Sick (3/3)

[reggie11.livejournal.com]

Great take on the prompt. Loved it!

RE: Filled: Bitter and Sick (3/3)

[semirah.livejournal.com]

Goodness, this is lovely. I adore all the fragments and broken images and descriptions of Sam's pain and confusion. I love how your amazing writing reflects Sam's mental state. This was pleasantly dark and twisted.

I loved Sam's relief that he's still human and his insistence that he can save Dean even as things continue to go downhill for him.

The way you wrote Demon Dean was both appealing and unsettling; he was concerned enough to wean Sam slowly off the blood (funny, really, since human!Dean made him go off it cold turkey both times) and yet willing to resort to violence in the end, if he must (or to prove a point). He's not so different from his old self. Just a step or two to one side, free of guilt and rationalizations. I kinda like him.

So wonderful. Thanks for sharing!

RE: Filled: Bitter and Sick (3/3)

[amberdreams.livejournal.com]

So trippy, taking us right into the fear and confusion alongside Sam - loved it!

RE: Filled: Bitter and Sick (3/3)

[themegalosaurus.livejournal.com]

I loved this. You caught Sam's fear and the disconnected flashes of images worked so well. But this passage:

Sorry about the creatures that took genesis from here: the addiction monster, the Devil-That-Was, the soulless one, the mess. The Lancelot-That-Wasn’t, the casket for a festering angel—everything started because of this.

is just perfection