Happy Birthday, Sammy! - a commentfic meme

[ohsam-mod.livejournal.com]

In honor of our dear Sammy’s 33rd birthday, we’re hosting a comment fic and art meme!






BOOST THE SIGNAL

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THE RULES
• Leave a comment here with your prompt. Any Sam-centric prompts are fine, even if it’s not necessarily heavy on the h/c. (Bonus points for birthday-themed!)
• If you have a preference for desired pairings or additional characters, please mention it in your prompt. No real-person prompts, though. Keep it Sam-centric.
• Post as many prompts as you’d like! Please post only one prompt per comment.
• Prompts can be as short or detailed as you’d like. Remember, though – more detail means less wiggle room for the writer, which might lower the chances of someone picking up your prompt.
• If you find a prompt you like, write a fic or make some art! There’s no limit to how many users can reply to a single prompt, or how many prompts someone can fill.
• When replying with a fill, put “filled” in your subject line, and then the title (and part numbers if needed).
• If you’re posting an art fill, please post a thumbnail or link to the art.
• Anon posting is enabled.
• NO SPOILERS FOR UNAIRED EPISODES. Please warn for current season.
• 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 or if you notice that your fill has not been posted to the masterlist within a few days.
• Spread the Sam love - pimp this meme! Just copy and paste the code below:
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• Have fun!






Fills:

Somewhere Older Than I Was by crowroad3
Sam opens a cursed box on his birthday. It activates a truth spell which Dean takes advantage of. Angsty Sam guilty Dean. Preferably in the bunker.

Cracks by familybizness
Jessica/Sam, Stanford Era. After Jessica throws Sam a birthday party that goes horribly awry, she finally realizes why he doesn't want to celebrate. He misses his family. Cue comforting!Jess and if you want, a cameo from Dean. All the Jess/Sam feels please!

Solo by shangrilada
Sucks to be sick and/or in the hospital on your birthday. Luckily, Dean's there to try to cheer Sam up.

Bonus points: Sam's cheered up the second Dean gets there, but he hides that fact because he enjoys watching Dean keep trying to come up with new ways to make him feel better.

Whatever Lies Beyond This Morning by center_galaxy
Sam's had a recent head injury and doesn't remember, among other things, Cas. Dean is forced to go on a hunt for a few days and leave Cas in charge of his damaged brother.

Blindsided by lennelle
AU, Sam's 17th birthday present was a hunt that went south, landing him in the hospital facing months of recovery. Sam's 18th birthday was him receiving his first daily living aid as he leaves the hospital.

It can be a wheelchair, braces, cane. Totally up to the writer what happened to Sam and who gives it to him.

Cupcake by lennelle
Sam has miserable hayfever. Sam's birthday is in May. Dean usually teases him about it, but on Sam's birthday he indulges all the comforting and niggling worry he usually shoves down.

Addict by center_galaxy
John Winchester is a high functioning alcoholic. He loves his boys more than anything. But one night he loses control and hits Sam.

These Old Shoes by lennelle
Sam. Pneumonia. Camp Chitaqua.

Aftermath by shangrilada
Sam. Pneumonia. Camp Chitaqua.

Messy as a Secret Shared by dreamlittleyo
It's Sam's freshman year at Stanford, and all he wants to do is run home to his brother. But he made his decision and he's sticking to it...except for those nights when he gets drunk and calls Dean.

Because the Beyond Called by mentholpixie
Sam wakes up on a psychiatric ward with no clue as to how he got there. The time setting and reason is all up to you, could be due to a curse, real life illness, body swap etc! Bonus points for including Dean!

California Dreaming by center_galaxy
Dean shows up at Stanford unexpectedly, to surprise Sam for his birthday.

Bonus points for finding Sam the worse for wear, burning the candles at both ends and discovering California isn't nearly as "sunshine and lollipops" as Dean had imagined it'd be for his lil' brudder.

Behind Blue Eyes by lennelle
It's Sam's first birthday at the bunker, and Dean has every intention of making it a good one. After all, now they have a real kitchen for Dean to make a cake in, and they're not currently in any life-or-death situations.

But Sam comes down with a cold the day of/day before his birthday, and Gadreel takes over, with the intention of healing Sam from his illness. Which is great, except that now Dean is stuck with an angel who doesn't really get the point of birthdays, instead of his actual brother that he just made this awesome cake for. How long does it take for Dean to get the real Sam back, and what does he do then?

Cold Flesh by lennelle
Sam can't get warm

Bad Creek Fairytale by crowroad3
On his thirteenth birthday, Sam is desperately sick and close to death; Dean's alone with him in Bumfuck, Nowhere, and Dad is nowhere to be found.

4500 by steeplechasers
Sam counts the candles, there aren't enough. He's sure that there are not enough candles in the world to show exactly how old he is

Take My Heart (And Please Don't Break It) by center_galaxy
Jess is worried about Sam; he's getting a lot of phone calls that he leaves the room to answer, there's a pile of books on his desk that she knows aren't for a class or paper, and whenever she tries to talk to him about it he tries to pass off one of those half truths that she sees right through. But it's the clothes she finds in the back of the closet in a duffle bag, covered in blood that freak her out. Well that, and the fact that one day, he doesn't come home.

A Floor Too High by holyhelly
Gen. Any season. First line, "Sam always knew it would somehow come to this."

Empty Worlds by anonymous
The first time Sam discovers what anxiety is truly like: it's his birthday and Dad and Dean (or just Dean) are out on a hunt and unreachable.

Nightmare by familybizness
Sam has a nightmare. Time period and situation is up to you. I just want to see him freaked out and crying, preferably with Dean there to make him feel better.

Santa Lucias by crowroad3
Sam goes to Stanford. He and Dean lose contact, especially after the big blow up that severs any ties once and for all. Through the years, Dean assumes the radio silence is intentional, that Sam has his apple pie life and finally left his real family behind. He thinks about tracking Sam down when a hunt lands him in Palo Fucking Alto.

Turns out Sam's been dead for years and that ghost that Dean's in town to handle has an awfully familiar face.

He's My Witch by anonymous
Dean is really sick of randoms thinking his baby brother is some kind of devil-monster that needs to be destroyed. He did NOT spend the last two days losing his shit in this ass-backwards town full of jumpy yokels just to watch them torch Sam on a stake like some Salem witch bullshit.

By the time he's wrapped up his Big Damn Hero routine though, Sam's...well...he's stopped screaming.

Untitled (art) by anonymous
Sam's had worse birthdays for sure, but this is not fun: he's had to dig up a grave in cold, pouring rain, all fifty-nine layers of his clothes are muddy and clinging and chafing, and he's too tired even to get coffee reliably to the vicinity of his mouth. How fortunate that the Bunker has some amazing retro bath fittings somewhere, maybe with a surprising variety of retro bath gels. Sam/Dean? Gen? Other? Being plotless, it might make a good art prompt.

In The End by lennelle
Blood don't matter. They're Bobby's boys. Always have been.

A father shouldn't have to bury his sons. Even at the end of the world.

Line 'Em Up by center_galaxy
Sometimes, Sam needs to take a quiet moment to look through his memory box.

Heal by foolscapper
Sam develops selective mutism, and will only talk to Dean.

(And sometimes, he won't even do that.)

In Memoriam by backroadsspirit
Sometimes, Sam needs to take a quiet moment to look through his memory box.

Old Soul, New Body by broken_cinders
What if your body and your soul don't have the same birthday, Sam?

Thirteen Ghosts by broken_cinders
Sometimes, Sam needs to take a quiet moment to look through his memory box.

Comments

[center-galaxy.livejournal.com]

Jessica/Sam, Stanford Era. After Jessica throws Sam a birthday party that goes horribly awry, she finally realizes why he doesn't want to celebrate. He misses his family. Cue comforting!Jess and if you want, a cameo from Dean. All the Jess/Sam feels please!

Cracks (1/?)

[familybizness.livejournal.com]

She’s never seen Sam like this before.

She’s seen him drink, sure – a beer here and there, cocktails when he’s taken her out to dinner. But tonight he’s been carrying around the bottle of Jack Daniels Owen brought over, drinking steadily and keeping the whole thing to himself.

She should have listened when he said he didn’t want a birthday party.

But it’s so out of character. Sam is quiet, reserved, amazed when people like him. Jess assumed he was against the party because he didn’t think anyone would come, and she knew (and she was correct) that they would. She assumed he’d be happy to come home and find the apartment full of people.

Dani grabs her by the refrigerator. “I think Sam’s getting sick. He’s been in the bathroom for like twenty minutes.”

“Shit. Yeah?”

“Want me to get everyone out of here?”

Jess nods, grateful, and Dani starts shepherding people towards the door.

**

She finds Sam on his knees, head pillowed on his arms on the toilet seat. She sinks down beside him and rests a hand on his back. “Hey, baby.”

He heaves in response and fumbles for the flush without lifting his head. She rubs small circles between his shoulder blades and waits.

“Sorry…”

“Shh. No.” It’s their first birthday together. They’ve only been dating for three months. It’s okay that they messed it up.

He sits back, finally, his face soaked in sweat and tears. “Jess.”

“Can I take you to bed?”

“Bad idea.” He does still look a little green.

She ducks into the bedroom and grabs the pillows and comforter instead, and makes them a nest on the bath mat. He shivers in her arms.

“You gonna be sick again?”

“Nn.”

“Tell me, okay?”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Phone.”

“What?”

“My phone?”

“Why do you need a phone, Sam?”

“Please.”

He sounds so desperate, she doesn’t have the heart to say no.

**

She sits propped against the wall with Sam tucked under her arm and listens to the muted warble of the phone ringing against his ear. After a minute a rumbly male voice answers.

And Sam breaks down.

He’s sobbing too hard to speak, too hard to breathe, to hard to make any noise at all. He’s gasping. The voice on the line sounds increasingly alarmed, and then Sam dives for the toilet bowl and gags and retches and the phone drops to the floor, forgotten.

“Sam? Sammy!” comes the tinny voice on the other end.

Jess picks it up. “Um, hello?”

A pause. “Who the hell is this?”

“Who the hell is this?” She counters.

“Is Sammy okay?”

He hates ‘Sammy.’ Who is this guy? “He’s drunk.”

An even longer pause. “Ah.”

“Dean,” Sam reaches behind him for the phone without lifting his head from the toilet.

“Dean,” Jess repeats. “Your name is Dean?”

“I’m his brother.”

“What? No. Sam doesn’t have a brother.”

There’s no humor in the responding laugh. “I fucking promise you he does. Let me talk to him.”

She hesitates. “I’ll put you on speaker.”

“Excuse you?”

“He’s sick. If I give him the phone he’ll probably drop it in the toilet.”

“What did you let him drink?”

“I’m not his mother!” Immediately she winces. Sam’s mother is dead. At least, that’s what he’s told her. Who knows what’s true about Sam’s family at this point.

She puts the phone on speaker. “You’re on.”

“Sam.” Dean says, and his whole tone is different. “Sammy?”

“Dean.”

“What’d you do, buddy?”

“Jack.”

“Never could hold your whiskey.”

“You didn’t call.”

“What?”

“My birthday, Dean.”

“Shit. Sam.”

“You missed it.”

Jess glances at the clock. It’s 12:20. Sam’s birthday is officially over.

[center-galaxy.livejournal.com]

Gen, any season. Sam struggles with depression. It always gets worse on his birthday, especially as the years pass and he remembers all the people they've known who won't live to see another birthday. Dean does his best to help Sam cope and get through the day.

Fill: Through the Years

[(Anonymous)]

Two years old. Baby teeth, sweaty jacket, itching car seat straps, Dean’s solemn green eyes, hushing in dark backseats, stifling whimpers with M&Ms and desperate promises.

Monsters are real, Sammy.

The world is too big, and too small, shrunk down to sticky leather and nose-smudged windows.

Don’t be scared, Sammy.

--

Six years old. Angry school yard, too-small shoes, crayons and glue and peanut-butter-banana sandwiches, Dean’s smile beaming across the playground as he sails out of the big kid swings.

Dude, you were flying!

The world is bright and beautiful, yellow and sunshiney and sparkling, innocent gap-toothed smiles until a shadow blocks the sun overhead.

Get in the car, Sammy.

--

Twelve years old. Baggy sweatshirts, algebra finals, Megan Parker’s sticky cherry lip gloss behind the library door, Dean’s fistbump in the hallway after soccer, unashamed.

What the hell are you listening to, Sammy?

The world is spinning, tumbling and unpredictable, jazz music playing through a third-hand Walkman.

What d’you mean, stop calling you Sammy?

--

Sixteen years old. Hiding internet searches, biting nails, encouraging teachers, Dean’s frown as he checks out books on writing college application essays.

Have you ever looked into treatment for your anxiety, Sam?

The world is closing in, stifling and hot, dark spots in front of his eyes and dark circles under them.

Anxiety, my ass. That’s all in your head, son.

--

Eighteen years old. Sprawling campus, $9.99 sheets, textbooks and smuggled beer on Friday nights, Dean’s text messages and a fifty-dollar bill inside a reused Hallmark card.

Why so serious, Sam?

The world stops, pauses to stare, blue eyes and long blond hair, flashing smiles across freshman orientation.

Let me introduce you - this is Jessica, Sam.

--

Twenty-three years old. Charred photographs, smoke inhalation, yellow eyes and blood, Dean’s worried hovering across the bench seat of an unfamiliar familiar car.

What can I do, Sammy?

The world has gone gray, color bled away on a night wind, salted and burned in tears and fire.

We’ve got work to do, Sam.

--

Twenty-five years old. Black eyes, stale motel room, secrets and lies of commission and omission, Dean’s screams echoing in his nightmares, broken by the howl of hellhounds.

You know you want it, Sammy.

The world drips red, scarlet with anger and blood, white-hot burning need for revenge and desire.

You don’t get to call me Sammy.

--

One hundred thirty years old. Arctic chill, steel chains, burning agony and barely-remembered visions of sunlight, Dean’s smile at Lisa, barbeques and garage sales.

Ah ah ah, eyes on me, Sam I am.

The world exists – or does it – over them, not around them, buried alive in the heart of the earth, the furthest terrible reaches of Hell.

Let’s see, how can we amuse ourselves today, Sammy?

--

Twenty-seven years old. Black ooze, broken legs, broken head, Baby hidden safely away, Dean’s worried clench on unfamiliar steering wheel.

You boardin’ the crazy train again, Sam?

The world is a flimsy façade, Wonderland upside down, Satan in his head and drugs beckoning enticingly.

Try to sleep, please, Sammy.

--

Twenty-nine years old. Enochian syllables, Biblical open sesame, betrayal and lies and hope, Dean’s blankets and soup and midnight hair-stroking when no one’s looking.

You sure you can do this, Sam?

The world will be a better place, no Sam Winchester, no demons, no demon blood, sealed shut for eternity, life moves on.

Nothing, past or present, that I would put in front of you, Sam.

--

Thirty years old. Over the hill, careening into Hell or worse, broken promises and fractured trust, Dean’s suicide mission born of desperation and heartbreak.

It’s not your fight. Sorry, Sammy.

The world crashes and burns, let it burn, collapses into blood and tears and despair, deathly stillness except for a breaking heart.

I’m proud of us, Sam.

[center-galaxy.livejournal.com]

Gen. Any season. First line, "Sam always knew it would somehow come to this."

Filled: A floor too high

[holyhelly.livejournal.com]

A floor too high

Sam always knew it would somehow come to this. He always knew that one day there would be something he couldn’t shove away à la Winchester. Something he couldn’t stubborn his way out of.

He just hadn’t expected it to be this.

It’s funny, after spending several millennia in a cage, Sam expects to be claustrophobic. He expects his heart to race every time a door closes behind him. He expects to panic when he gets stuck in a basement with no way out. But his heart stays steady, and his hands stay firm.

It’s other things that get to him. The manic laughter of a spirit as it gets dispelled and suddenly it sounds like Lucifer is sniggering as he tears Sam’s skin off in neat little strips. The crackling of flames as they eat at wood and he’ll smell it, his flesh, roasting in the flames. A “what the hell, dude?” from Dean, and suddenly his brother is back on a rack, getting tortured in his place.

Yeah, it’s the little things, stupid and unexpected. He can hide it mostly, when it spreads like blood through his mind, staining his memories with crimson sulphur. Other times, like now, it’s more difficult to hide.

Because whatever Dean says, he just can’t bring himself to jump.

The roof of the warehouse is bare, just concrete and cigarette buds under his feet. But the concrete melts and the smoke from inside wafts up to pollute the sky. He’s at the edge, looking down to where his brother calls out his name. On a primal level, Sam knows. He knows he needs to get off this roof before he burns to a crisp. Before there’s so much hell in his mind that he can no longer distinguish topside from bottom.

That means he’ll have to jump.

“I don’t know!” Dean yells at their sole spectator, the owner of this fine establishment, “He ain’t afraid of heights, so I don’t know!”

It’s true. Sam isn’t afraid of heights. In fact, as a relatively tall person, he lives heights. The ground is always miles away, and he likes to think being high up only brings him a little closer to heaven.

It’s not the height that scares him.

It’s the fall.

“Sam, you need to jump!” Dean yells over the roaring of the fire behind them. And Sam knows that he does, but he physically cannot bring himself to do it.

And the devil whispers in his ear, “Come on, bunk buddy, you heard him! Jump!”

Sam’s heart picks up as he moves forward, fire rages beneath his feet and he’s not there. He’s not in the fire. He’s not melting and burning to ash. He’s not falling to an eternity of torture.

“We had so much fun the last time you jumped.” Lucifer purrs next to him.

With a loud bang, the rooftop door explodes outwards, red-hot metal crashing down in a million sparks. And the flames are on the roof.

“On second thought, let’s just stay here. You used to get so cold, now we can get you nice and hot!” The sheer, gleeful insanity that emanates from Lucifer makes Sam sick.

Wherever he goes, hell follows him, it seems. Fire at his back. Falling to his doom. And isn’t this what it always comes down to?

He’ll always have to jump.

He’ll always have to fall.

“Jesus, Sam!” Dean yells up, panic in his voice now, “Get the hell down from there, or I swear I’m coming up to get you!”

Get the hell down. Huh. That’s pretty funny. He can do this though. He’s done this before, he reminds himself. If he could do this to save his brother, his world and everyone in it, then he can damn well do it for himself.

Yes, Sam always knew it would end like this. A place too high, a fall too far. A jump too big.

Foot at the edge of the precipice, Sam let’s himself fall forward. As he soars through the air he muses. it’s not the fall that he’s afraid of.

It’s the landing.

The End

Not birthday related, and somehow season seven was the first thing that came to mind... Oh well ;)

[center-galaxy.livejournal.com]

Gen, Season five. It's Sam's birthday and he's sick. Nothing major, but with the Apocalypse coming and hunters out to get them, Dean doesn't want to take any chances and asks Cas to come and watch Sam while he's on a hunt with Bobby. Cue a trying-to-help-but-failing-miserably Cas and a sick/somewhat exasperated Sam trying to get through the day.

[center-galaxy.livejournal.com]

Gen. Season 7. A poisoned birthday cake lands Sam in the hospital with Bobby to keep him company while Dean gets the antidote from whatever angry person they've pissed off. There's just one problem: Bobby still hasn't forgiven Sam for what his soulless self did.

[center-galaxy.livejournal.com]

Gen. Season 8 or 9. Charlie has the perfect gift for Sam. Too bad that when she shows up at the bunker, the place is in shambles, the boys are missing and she can't get in contact with Cas. BAMF!Charlie please and whatever injuries you want to give to the boys.

[tarotgal]

Sucks to be sick and/or in the hospital on your birthday. Luckily, Dean's there to try to cheer Sam up.

Bonus points: Sam's cheered up the second Dean gets there, but he hides that fact because he enjoys watching Dean keep trying to come up with new ways to make him feel better.

FILLED: Solo (1/1)

[shangrilada.livejournal.com]

It's so stupid, that on a solo hunt taking down a really nasty pride of chupacabras, the thing that lands Sam in the hospital on his sixteenth birthday is a migraine.

Okay, so it's not just any migraine. It's a three-day, intractable migraine, complete with touch sensitivity that wouldn't let him lie in his bed, auras that left him barely able to see, and the kind of bone-splintering pain that had him curled up on the bathroom floor, wishing that his brother or his dad or hell, any-freaking-body would show up and drive him to the hospital so he wouldn't have to call an ambulance for a headache.

He ended up walking the three miles to the hospital. So, needless to say, he's feeling just fantastic.

He is feeling a lot better, actually. They're pumping him full of painkillers, and he has an IV dripping in saline to replace the fluids he's lost the past few days. It's not the first time he's been hospitalized for a migraine, but is the first time he's done it alone. John's never going to let him go out on another solo hunt after this. Yet again, the baby's more trouble than he's worth.

He calls Dean and leaves a message, telling him the hunt's over but he can't make it back yet, with enough mystery in his voice that he hopes Dean will be intrigued enough to span the three states and find him without Sam having to actually ask. Because he doesn't need Dean. Obviously. He was just calling to let him know not to expect him. He feels half pathetic and half like an evil genius.

It works, obviously. Dean comes barreling in and is immediately scanning Sam, looking for casts or bandages or limbs lopped off.

"It's just a headache," Sam says, even though the noise of Dean entering and the light the opening door brought in have reverted him to being pretty sure he's going to die.

"Headache my ass," Dean says easily, settling down in the chair by the bed and propping his feet up next to Sam's. Sam grimaces and readjusts himself.

"I'll be out by tomorrow," Sam says.

Dean hums a little and checks the IV bags. "What are they giving you, let's see..."

Sam's always loved this. Dean coming in, acting like he knows what the hell he's talking about with medical terminology and prescription dosages. He'll argue with doctors just for the sake of arguing.

Sam sniffles a little and folds his arms over his head.

He hears Dean leave and re-enter, and then there's the soft thwack of a cold cloth over his forehead. The painful shock of it turns heavenly, but if he lets Dean know how much he's helped, that might be all he gets.

So he whimpers, partly to keep up appearances, partly because goddamn, he's so tired.

"Shhh," Dean whispers. There's a soft squeeze on Sam's hand. "It's okay."

Sam exhales and lets himself cry.

[tarotgal]

Worst birthday ever. The hunt goes bad. The innocent dies. Dean gets hauled away and framed for murder. Sam gets injured. Cas arrives too late to help.

Good thing they're in a time loop and have a chance to get it right... eventually.

Bonus points: This time, Sam's the one who doesn't realize the time loop's happening and keeps getting pissed off when so much goes wrong on his birthday (little does he know how bad it's gone before).

Oh! Extra bonus points: Sam gets injured a different way every time loop!

[(Anonymous)]

Sam opens a cursed box on his birthday. It activates a truth spell which dean takes advantage of. angsty sam guilty dean. Preferably in the bunker

FILLED: Somewhere Older Than I Was

[crowroad3.livejournal.com]

Cursed: one cake.

It’s got sprinkles, and something that shines; crystals, edible stars.

Sorry, Sammy, Dean says, was the only one they had left.

The candles (33) are arson aboard a snowfield. Too much sugar and shortening. Dean’s eyes crinkle up, and Sam's seen, pre-thirty, pre-twenty probably, maybe too young to know there were monsters.

Blow.

Sam does.

*

There’s whiskey after, and the bunker’s warm library-light, optics and stars. Dean hands over a box, violet-wrapped and bow’d, some sort of retro department store-looking--

Dust-puff inside. Old book. Symbolled cover. Gold leaf and alchemy.

*

Three AM: Sam stumbles sinkward, pukes up cake, sweats out sugar, sweats out a fever in Dean’s bed while his brother mutters just--

Just spill it, Sammy. You’ll feel better.

He does:

I never wanted to come home, from Phoenix, from anywhere.

I wanted kids.

I remember everyone I hurt, soulless. Everyone I killed.

I still feel like a worthless piece of crap.

I’m still not pure. Never will be.


Attack of the shakes.

Dean sits heavy, cold-waters his cheekbone. Brushes; leans.

Shh.

So sorry, Sammy.

So sorry.

*
Thirties: You take stock. Or you start to.

Dean burns things, breaks the curse, lockboxes the book, watches Sam sleep, stir, sleep again.

Mixes up juice with a pinch. Sits, penitent.

Cure for a truth hangover: Salt.



*Title from Heather Nova’s “Sugar”

[emmatheslayer.livejournal.com]

Sam/Brady, Sam is missing home ( Dean romantic or brotherly ) Brady notices it Sam's birthday and decided to take him out they hook up and Sam wants more Brady is reluctant

[emmatheslayer.livejournal.com]

Sam/ castiel , with demon Dean lost in the wind Sam forgets his birthday but cas does not forget and makes him a cake even though he is sick season10 au

[justalittle-mad.livejournal.com]

With everything that seems to happen on Sam's birthday (getting killed, Dean's deal coming due, ect.), it's easy to assume it's curse. Cue Dean/Cas/Bobby trying to prove that isn't the case. Bonus points if it goes ridiculously wrong in a funny way rather than the usual angst and bloodshed.

[amberdreams.livejournal.com]

It's Sam's 33rd birthday - and everyone knows there is something magical about the Power of Three. And now Sam experiences this in person - Eleven times over!

[amberdreams.livejournal.com]

Dean decides Sam deserves a nice normal present this birthday, so he fixes up a picnic basket of Sam's favourite rabbit food and drives them out to the countryside. Of course, he should have known something would go wrong, but he really wasn't expecting Sam to step into a fairy circle and come out as a Unicorn.

[trendykitty.livejournal.com]

I love this! Someone write this PLEASE!

[crowroad3.livejournal.com]

What if your body and your soul don't have the same birthday, Sam?

[indiachick.livejournal.com]

Ooh I'm going to ponder madly.

Sam/Dean, college!Sam

[(Anonymous)]

It's Sam's freshman year at Stanford, and all he wants to do is run home to his brother. But he made his decision and he's sticking to it...except for those nights when he gets drunk and calls Dean.

FILLED: Messy as a Secret Shared [1/3]

[dreamlittleyo.livejournal.com]

Sam has never experienced a birthday without his brother.

There are a hundred things he took for granted—maybe as many as a thousand—and month after month he's been tripping over them, one by one. His first year at Stanford has been a whirlwind of whiplash, from the excitement of new experiences to the gut-wrenching disorientation of losing every constant he's ever known. And of course the single truth underlying everything, even though there's no one he can tell: he misses Dean.

He misses Dean every single day, his brother's absence twisting like a black hole behind Sam's ribs. Easiest to ignore when he's busy, but still perpetually there.

His freshman year is almost over, and nobody on campus knows it's Sam's birthday. How can they; he hasn't told them. And even if some sullen part of Sam's brain wishes for noise and people tonight, for a roomful of his new friends to distract him, the rest of him knows better. He would be terrible company right now, and none of those things are what he really wants anyway.

"Dean," he says, holding the dorm room's shitty phone in his hand (he hasn't saved up enough money for a cell phone yet), talking to his brother's voicemail as though Dean is actually there. Except Sam isn't really talking. Now he's spoken Dean's name, he doesn't know what else to say. His head is too fuzzy. He's drunk, and his chest aches, and he's never known how to say any of the things that really matter.

Four hours ago Sam dug up a fake I.D.—the only one he'd kept when he stopped hunting—and he bought a bottle of awful tequila. He hasn't drunk much of it in the time since, but it's never taken much alcohol to knock Sam flat.

"You should be here, Dean." The words are slurred and sloppy, blurry around the edges. He sounds drunk. He'll probably feel stupid tomorrow. He'll definitely feel guilty for calling Dean. There's a reason he's maintained radio silence since he boarded the bus to California.

There are a dozen reasons, really. But Dean is the only reason that matters. Dean and the messy, ugly, impossible things Sam feels—wants—when he thinks about his brother too hard.

"Fuck," Sam breathes after a cringing pause. "Fuck, Dean, m'sorry. I shouldn't have called."

Then he hangs up, dropping the handset too hard back into its cradle, untwining the fingers he's tangled in the cord. He flops onto his back on the hard, skinny mattress of his bed. His desk lamp is the only light in the room, and he can see moonlight in the dark sky outside. The ceiling above him is dirty and gray and boring, but Sam stares at it anyway. It doesn't do a very good job of holding still. Sam must be even more drunk than he realized.

"Fuck," he says again, louder. He's glad his roommate is gone. Glad to have the claustrophobic room to himself tonight.

He doesn't intend to sleep, but he startles awake at a quiet sound—the click of a door close by. He jolts upright, his brain sloshing a little with the movement, and his eyes dart for the door. It's closed. Dean stands beside it, tucking his pouch of lock-picking tools into the pocket of his leather jacket. Dean's expression is painfully familiar, a thin attempt to look cool and carefree when he's really just trying not to look guilty.

Sam grins. He can't help it. If he were sober he would guard his reactions. He would tell Dean to leave. He would make them both miserable, and for what? His own selfish secrets?

Fuck that. Sam's tired of feeling lonely, and it's his goddamn birthday.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sam asks as he kicks his legs to the floor and sits on the edge of his bed. Facing Dean. Still smiling too wide.

"I was in the neighborhood," Dean says, and the casual tone is so forced Sam barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. A moment later Dean crosses the minuscule room and sits beside Sam, bracing his hands on the edge of the mattress. His fingers curl tightly enough to dent the thin sheets.

"Hi," Sam says, feeling giddy and warm as he stares at Dean.

"I didn't get you a present." Dean's not looking at Sam. He's not looking so fiercely it has to be deliberate, and when he shrugs the gesture looks stiff and...sad. Dean looks sad, and Sam's heart creaks painfully in his chest when Dean adds, "Wasn't sure you'd want to see me."

[lennelle.livejournal.com]

Sam wakes up on a psychiatric ward with no clue as to how he got there. The time setting and reason is all up to you, could be due to a curse, real life illness, body swap etc! Bonus points for including Dean!

FILLED: Because the Beyond Called

[mentholpixie.livejournal.com]

Follow the link! (http://mentholpixie.livejournal.com/34000.html)

[familybizness.livejournal.com]

Sam is drunk and lost in thought about his worst birthday ever. Dean believes he knows which birthday that is, but he's wrong.

(The rest is up to you.)

[familybizness.livejournal.com]

Sam's had a recent head injury and doesn't remember, among other things, Cas. Dean is forced to go on a hunt for a few days and leave Cas in charge of his damaged brother.

Filled: Whatever Lies Beyond This Morning (1/?)

[center-galaxy.livejournal.com]

The man in the rumpled trench coat regards you with a curious tilt of his head. His chestnut hair is messy, like he hasn't combed it in days, and his tie is wrinkled. The man seems a bit perplexed by everything in this mysterious motel room (much like you--Sam, your name is Sam--was just a few days earlier) and picks up the tattered phone book in the drawer before tossing it aside.

"Sam?"

A tap on your shoulder jolts you back to this reality that still makes no sense. You woke up yesterday remembering nothing but the fact that you had fallen off a cliff and that your head ached with pain, perhaps from the loss of your memories.

"Sam, this is Cas." The older man--Dean, you remind yourself, your older brother. So he says. You haven't been able to see one piece of legitimate I.D. to prove his story, though you did find a box of fake I.D.s in the glove compartment of that death trap he calls "our car".

Can waves awkwardly.

"He's going to stay with you while I . . ." Dean bites his lower lip as he struggles for words. He's been doing that a lot since you woke up. Any question you asked was met with silence, followed by a hasty reply and then a don't worry about it, Sam which effectively ended all conversation.

"While Dean attends to business." Cas completes, seemingly proud of himself for his vague reply.

You just nod. Honestly, it doesn't matter to you whether Dean stays or goes. It's probably best he leaves. You need to get yourself to a police station. Someone is sure to have filed a missing persons report on you by now. Or at the very least, you could confirm your identity.

"Right." Dean glances at you and it's times like these, when his gaze pierces yours, that you feel something stir within you. Some sort of memory, buried deep, trying to resurface. You know him somehow, deep down, a part of you does and it's crying out, begging your mind to put the pieces together.

But then he looks away and it's gone.

And you feel nothing once more.

Dean grabs a duffel from the bed and leans towards Cas, whispering something. Cas nods his head and then, without so much as a goodbye, Dean is gone and you're left with another stranger that you can't recall.


"Sam."

It takes three tries of saying your name before you finally look away from the TV and regard Cas. Three times is a record for you. Perhaps you are improving.

"Yeah?" Your voice is hoarse to your ears. You can't recognize it and it's almost like a monster is within you and your body wants to reject it, but it can't. You wish you could remember, but whenever you reach for the memories, your head pounds and you have to stop.

"Are you hungry?" He holds up a piece of bread with peanut butter on it. The peanut butter is spread haphazardly though and it make you want to chuckle. This man--Cas--he doesn't know how to make a PB&J? You get up from the bed and move towards the table. Peanut butter and jelly are everywhere and you reach for a paper towel to start cleaning it up.

"Sam. I'm supposed to take care of you." Those cerulean eyes lock onto yours and it stirs something within you. You know those eyes. They've haunted your dreams and saved you from nightmares. Those eyes have saved you from horrors you can't recall. You want to ask him how you know him, but you're afraid of another lie.

"Cas . . ." No, there's more to his name. Dean calls him Cas, but you call him . . . you've prayed to him, sought his help when you were lost and you called out for him--

Your brain burns and you gasp as the wave of pain courses through you. Cas grips you and leads you to the bed.

"Breathe, Sam." His steady voice coaches you, while he places two fingers to your forehead. It must be a trick of the light for you swear they glow, but it's over in the briefest of seconds and then the pain is blissfully gone. The man in the trench coat grins at you and all feels right in the world.

But you still don't remember him.

[chaos-slave.livejournal.com]

AU, Sam's 17th birthday present was a hunt that went south, landing him in the hospital facing months of recovery. Sam's 18th birthday was him receiving his first daily living aid as he leaves the hospital.

It can be a wheelchair, braces, cane. Totally up to the writer what happened to Sam and who gives it to him.

FILLED: 1/

[lennelle.livejournal.com]

Sam jumps a little when someone's hand rests gently on his shoulder, followed by a quick, "Sorry, man."

He can imagine what Dean's face must look like, pinched with worry, he reckons Dean might have made it his permanent expression over the past year. It must be tiring spending most of your time making sure your blind-as-a-freaking-bat little brother doesn't fall into a pothole.

"I thought you were sleeping," Dean says apologetically. Not that it makes any difference, eyes open or closed, Sam can't see anything.

"It's okay," Sam mumbles, already pushing the hospital bed covers off his legs, he can feel Dean bustling around but he can't tell what he's doing just by listening. Sam hasn't really picked up that superhero hearing that blind people are supposed to have yet, things are mostly just black and indistinguishable.

"It's the big day, Sammy!" Dean says and Sam can hear the smile in his voice, it's a little infectious and Sam finds himself grinning even though he's not particularly excited about The Big Day.

"I can't believe my youngest is eighteen already," his father says, Sam hadn't even known he was in the room. It's kind of a lot scary when you know all about monsters and their existence but you can't even do a thing to protect yourself. Sam can't shoot a gun any more, he can't draw a devil's trap, he can't even walk in a straight line by himself.

"Yeah, time flies," Sam remarks bitterly, the last year has been the longest and most painful year of his life, he's lucky he only lost his eyesight in all honesty. He finds his fingers brushing of his numerous surgical scars, the largest stretching across his stomach. He's almost glad he can't see what he looks like.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean sighs, "Don't mope before the day's even started. You're bustin' out of rehab!"

Sam huffs and gets to his feet, he takes a few steps, hoping to God he'll miraculously end up in the bathroom. Of course, he doesn't, he bangs his knee against a table before Dean comes to his aid. The rehab centre was supposed to help him to gain independence, so far the only positive outcome of living with other blind kids for the past couple of months is that he can read again, with his fingers this time.

Showering isn't what it used to be, he's not aloud to lock the door in case he slips on his way out of the tub and splits his stitches, and he spends most of his time in there trying to figure out which bottle is the shampoo.

"You done yet, Murdoch?" Dean calls, Sam can already hear him letting himself into the bathroom. He barely has time to cover his modesty.

"Dean!"

"I'm not looking!" Dean promises, Sam feels another towel being place around his shoulders, "Let's get you dry, we've got to make a stop on the way home."

Sam nods, biting his tongue. It's a crappy birthday to begin with because he can't see anything and he woke up in a hospital bed like he has done so often for the past year, but at least it won't be as bad as last year. He'll probably just wait in the car while Dean and Dad do whatever they have to do then they'll take him back to Bobby's and cook up some steaks or something.

[familybizness.livejournal.com]

Sam is attacked by a bear.

[lyryk.livejournal.com]

The first time Sam discovers what anxiety is truly like: it's his birthday and Dad and Dean (or just Dean) are out on a hunt and unreachable.

Filled: Empty Worlds (1/2)

[(Anonymous)]

Sam had been forced to take algebra twice because of a Dad losing his paperwork from the last school. To make it worse, his teacher was boring, droning on and on for hours and then assigning far too many practice questions. If Dean had been home, he probably would’ve dragged Sam out of school for the day and gone to the movies, but he and Dad were on a week-long hunt and wouldn’t be back until the evening.

“Sam, you got an extra pencil?”

Sam handed over the writing utensil, knowing he’d never see it again. After what felt like hours, the bell finally rang, releasing him from the horrors of algebra. Sam kept his head down, weaving through the students like a ghost; no one knew it was his birthday tomorrow. Dean had told him that since they moved so much, with hunting and all, it was best to not make attachments. Sure, Sam was lonely, but Dean was right. Better to keep to their own.

The house they were squatting in was about a 10 minute drive. Sam could jog it in about 25 minutes, 20 if he was in a hurry. Sam didn’t bother running; the faster he got back to the empty house, the sooner he would be sitting around waiting for his dad and Dean to return.

The woods were quiet. Sam walked, trying to savor the cool air. He was 13 tomorrow. That was a big birthday, for some kids. He’d heard one kid in his class talking about his parents getting him his very own television.

All Sam wanted was for his family to get back safely.

The afternoon passed slowly. Sam forced himself to finish his homework. He did a little research for Uncle Bobby, played some solitaire. The evening rolled around; Sam took to pacing in front of the window, ears straining for the sound of the Impala.

Sam finally forced himself out of the pattern, turning to survey the dark room. It was nearly midnight.

Dad had told him not to call. Sam shook his head, going for the emergency phone. They’d said 5:00pm.

“C’mon, pick up,” he muttered.

“This number has been disconnected. Please—“

Sam grit his teeth together, tossing the phone down. Dad had forgotten to pay his cell phone bill again.

Sam glanced over at the clock again. Midnight.

“Happy birthday to me,” he muttered. His eyes anxious strained through the dark night, looking for his family.

***
Sam spent the entirety of his birthday waiting for Dean and his dad to return.

They didn’t.

By the time night fell again, Sam was panicked. He called Uncle Bobby, Pastor Jim, anyone he could think of, but none of them picked up, probably off on hunts of their own. Sam didn’t even know where they’d gone for the hunt, just that it was in the mountains outside of town and they were camping out to hunt some kind of harpy.

Sam had no friends. No one to call.

“Forget it,” Sam growled. He shoved his gun into his waistband, spray paint and flashlight in his pocket. He had just enough cash to call a cab. Thankfully the guy was seedy enough not to ask any questions when Sam asked to be dropped off in the middle of nowhere.

“You gonna need a ride back, kid?”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Sam said. He looked apprehensively into the dark. “I’ll figure it out.”

Sam’s flashlight was a decent one, but not strong enough to make Sam feel like he could actually see everything. Every noise made him flinch. He’d gone on a couple hunts, but they’d mostly been a few spirits or some smaller monsters.

“Dean? Dad?”

[familybizness.livejournal.com]

Tell me the story of the time young Sam ran away to Flagstaff and got a dog named Bones.

[chaos-slave.livejournal.com]

S2. When Sam and Dean working with John to get the Colt make their first attempt, Sam doesn't get away and he's roughed up pretty bad by Luther after John and Dean take Kate. Once they get Sam back they take off out of town before stopping for the night to tend to Sam.

I'd like to see some John taking care of an injured Sam, how bad is up to the writer.

[leah-elisabeth.livejournal.com]

Sam's 5th birthday sucked. His father wasn't there. And he and Dean were square in the sights of the thing he was hunting. Dean gets sent back in time to that day and gets the opportunity to fix things and give Sam one happy birthday memory.