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

[leah-elisabeth.livejournal.com]

Sam and Dean go out for Sam's birthday. Sam goes to the bathroom and doesn't come back. When Dean follows he finds a bathroom covered in blood and no little brother.

[tarotgal]

Apparently it is possible to feel a quick surge of panic just from reading a prompt.

[trendykitty.livejournal.com]

Sam's all alone in the bunker with Dean having run out of town for the day. He's feeling a bit morose since no one has mentioned his birthday and frustrated with the dead ends they're up against on the Amara case. He starts cataloguing yet another room full of the Bunker's seemingly never-ending archives to clear his head a bit and mistakenly touches a cursed object that allows him to teleport when he blinks. The first time it happens - he finds himself in some far-reaching place which happens to be the last place he read about while doing research. As he learns to control it, he begins to take advantage of the power and decides it's the best birthday present ever, until the curse turns bad and Dean has to come to his rescue.

[shangrilada.livejournal.com]

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.

FILLED: Cupcake 1/1

[lennelle.livejournal.com]

Sam's eyes are streaming, red and raw, barely open. He's sneezing every two seconds and he can barely catch a breath. Dean has said 'bless you' about fourty-two times before he gave up, and that was just within the space of an hour.

This has been going on for two weeks and it's steadily getting worse as the days get warmer. They're in some small town in the country where cattle are going missing, it's not a big hunt but things have been going slow these days. One of the local farmer's gazes at Sam thoughtfully.

"Seems like you might have hayfever, son," he says. Dean almost chokes trying to keep himself from laughing.

Sam smiles politely, eyes blurring. "It seems so, mister," he pauses to hold his breath against another sneeze, it goes away, "Mister Arnolds. Have a nice day."

He grabs Dean's shoulder and pulls him away. He hears the farm house door click shut and he bursts into a fit of sneezes.

"Bless you, bless you, bless you, bless you," Dean says.

Sam yanks a tissue out of his suit pocket and blows his runny nose. He slips into the passenger seat and tries to catch a breath.

"No new information," he says, "This case isn't going anywhere."

"Yeah, it's kind of a bust," Dean agrees, he eyes Sam critically, "You look like you got ditched by your prom date, Samantha."

Sam doesn't have the energy to scowl, a hot shower then bed sounds like the best thing in the world...

He must drift off because next thing he knows Dean is shaking him and they're parked outside of the motel. He blinks his eyes clearer, though they still hurt like hell so they're squinty most of the time anyway, and stumbles towards their motel room. There's a giant sunflower climbing up high next to their door, it gazes down at Sam and he starts sneezing so fast and hard that everything goes black for a second.

Dean grabs him and steers him inside. "I reckon we should bust out the NyQuil, have ourselves a birthday celebration," he suggests.

Sam nods, then pauses. "Birthday?"

Dean laughs. "Yeah, doofus, your freaking birthday."

"It's May 2nd?" Sam asks, glancing at the clock, then stopping when he realises there's no date on the clock.

"Yeah, I mean, I know we don't usually do the birthday thing but I thought we settled it a couple days ago that we'd go for drinks, but I guess you're not feelin' up to that now, huh?"

"Huh," Sam agrees, plonking himself down on the nearest bed. Dean grabs him some fresh tissues and wipes his nose for him like he's four years old, then he fills him up with NyQuil, Sam is way too tired and itchy to complain.

He shrugs out of his jacket and kicks off his shoes, falling back into the bed with his shirt still tucked in. Dean hauls him back up and forces him to change into sweats before letting him lie back down again. Sam watches Dean shuffle around the kitchenette, propped up on pillows, then there's a cupcake right in front of his face with a candle on top.

"Make a wish, Sammy," Dean orders, smiling. The cake is pink with a frosted butterfly on top. Of course. "They ran out of princess cakes but I thought this would do," Dean says.

Sam blows out the candle.

"What'd you wish for?" Dean asks, he sets the cake down on the bedside table, then stretches out next to Sam.

"Won't come true if I tell," Sam scowls, his eyes are starting to droop. He feels Dean's arm snake around his shoulders. He frowns. "Are you cuddling me?"

"No," Dean says.

"I think you are."

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Right."

"Right. Happy Birthday, Sammy."

"Happy Birthday, Dean," Sam replies, he falls asleep to Dean's laughter.

END

[shangrilada.livejournal.com]

Sam has a chronic illness--CF? Diabetes? whatever floats your boat--he's been dealing with since birth or very close to it. John and Dean did their best and Sam assumed that was the best it could be. He gets to Stanford and finally schedules his first doctor's appointment, expecting just a prescription refill, and meets a doctor who's really horrified that Sam's settled for the condition he's in. Sam has a lot of feelings about the fact that he could have been feeling a lot better for the past eighteen years.

[familybizness.livejournal.com]

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

Filled: Addict

[center-galaxy.livejournal.com]

Drinking helps fill the void left behind by a blond haired, blue eyed, beautiful, kind woman who took John by the hand and promised him a home and a life filled with love. She'd been his everything--his wife, the mother of his children--but she died so many years ago and there's nothing but the gaping hole in his heart and the warm buzz that Jack Daniels gives him.

Dean knows better than to speak of her and Sam doesn't have any memories of her to begin with so they all move on with their lives, a patched up family that's held together with hunts and frozen dinners. And John drinks because that's all he can do. Never while he hunts--sure, he'll have a few sips of beer right before, but he's always in control before a hunt--and his boys know never to question his drinking.

But as the years go by, and the memories get harder to deal with, and Mary's voice haunts his dreams, John drinks more. He crawls into the bottom of a bottle just try and get some rest and Dean is smart, Dean knows to keep Sam away when he gets like this, knows that John can't control himself when he gets like this.

John isn't an addict; he just needs a way to cope.

He's a hunter and a good father. He teaches his boys how to survive in this world full of monsters and creatures that go bump in the night. He loves Sam and Dean fiercely and he's willing to die for them. But sometimes, he has his moments--a barbed comment here, a sarcastic remark there--when all he wants is to be alone. The boys are pieces of Mary and Sam, especially, he's just so much like her.

Sam, always asking so many damn questions. Why don't we ever talk about Mom? Why can't we ever stay in school? Why can't I have friends over? Why? Why?

Why?

And as Sam grows up, he begins to talk back. He's different than Dean, more book smart, more willing to challenge his orders. Sam never listens, never obeys without a fight. Every order has to follow with an explanation. Every decision is questioned repeatedly, why, why, why?

And John loves both of his sons, really, but some days he loves Dean just a little bit more. Dean never questions. Dean always listened. If John says jump, Dean will say, "how high?" If he asks Sam that . . . why, Dad?

John is so sick of hearing that word.

So John drinks, Dean follows orders and Sam is kept out of his sight.

Until, he's not and Sam is there and he's asking questions, so many questions, and John doesn't have the patience for this. So he drinks and really, he can stop anytime he wants, but why should he stop when the alcohol numbs him to the world? But Sam is there and he's asking about why they can't be normal, why they can't have fun, why can't they--

And John hears nothing but his heartbeat thudding in his ears and the room darkens and he just wants everything to stop.

When the world comes back, Sam is crying, his cheek is red and John's fist is the one who caused it. He's hit his son. Mary's pride and joy is on the floor, looking horrified at him, like he's the monster and not the hunter.

Dad, why?

But then Dean is there and he's taking care of his brother, and John is alone, left to his bottle. Dean is the father here and John is the predator. Dean is the protector and that's why Sam looks to him first during hunts. He loves Dean, respects him and John is just . . . there.

And now, he's hit his son and this is the end for Sam and him, he knows.

So, John does what he always does, and drinks.

Being an addict is the only way he can survive. Maybe one day, his boys will understand that. But if not, there's always the welcoming embrace of Jack Daniels to welcome him home.

[kettle-o-fish.livejournal.com]

Sam's wall falls and either causes a medical emegency or supernatural condition-- regardless, Sam is comatose or catatonic or something in between. Can Dean take care of him? Is it too much? What are Sam's birthdays like through the years?

[cowboyguy.livejournal.com]

Oh, jeez, this is so heartbreaking and beautiful and I think I might have to write it.

[kettle-o-fish.livejournal.com]

Sam. Pneumonia. Camp Chitaqua.

[quickreaver.livejournal.com]

*saaaaaalute*

[quickreaver.livejournal.com]

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.

Filled: California Dreaming (1/2)

[center-galaxy.livejournal.com]

Days pass slowly after Sam leaves.

The Impala feels cold, devoid of any humor or life really now that there's only an empty passenger seat next to him. John stopped picking up his phone regularly after Sam left, truly leaving Dean to his own devices. Dean, for his part, stares at his phone every night, wondering if he should be the one to bridge the gap between he and Sam. But on the night Sam left, Dean had seen the heartbreak in his eyes, the tears misting his vision, as his little brother renounced everything that had been his life until the moment he got his acceptance letter.

I want to be normal!

John had screamed, threatened and Sam had shouted back until his voice was hoarse.

And Dean had . . . said nothing.

Nothing at all.

What could he have said, as he watched his life crumble to pieces around him? Which side should he have taken? He never expected Sam to leave, but he also never expected John to disown him. So he stood there, like and idiot, and waited for it all to be over.

And then it was and Sam was gone.

But now, a year has almost passed and Sam's birthday is coming up. It'll be his first one alone and the more Dean thinks about it, the more sure he becomes. He has to go to California. He needs to see his brother again, needs to make absolutely sure he is safe and alive and just . . . having fun. Even if Sam tells him to go away, even if he orders him to never return, Dean has to go.

So he does.


Sam is a mess.

"Dean?" His brother repeats, for what must be the fourth time since he opened the door and found his older brother in front of his dorm room door. Dean is about to say something when Sam's face quickly alights with horror, "Who died?"

And this is why Sam left, Dean thinks, because his little brother automatically assumed that the only reason Dean would be here would be to notify him of some horrible event.

"No one died," Dean tells him softly, "I just . . ." He puts his hands in his pockets and lowers his voice, afraid someone will hear how he really feels, "I wanted to see you. Happy birthday, Sammy."

"It's Sam." His little brother interjects, out of habit and Dean laughs and soon, Sam is as well, and then they're hugging and Sam's crying and maybe he is a little too.

People pass by, confused, but Dean doesn't give a damn. For the first time since Sam left, he feels complete again.

"Come inside." Sam ushers him in, shutting the dorm room door behind him. The room is cramped, maybe smaller than some of the more seedy motels they've stayed in, and with the array of textbook and papers everywhere, there's barely any place to stand without knocking something over.

"I thought we could get lunch." Dean tells his brother softly and Sam nods, flipping a few of the books shut. Dean can barely make out their titles, Psychology for Beginners, Intro to California Laws, Comparative World Literature and jeez, Dean hadn't realized how much work Sam would be doing out here. For some reason, he just pictured Sam at the beach, surfing.

He'd clearly been wrong.

"Sounds good." Sam replies, peeling off his faded Stanford sweatshirt and then his white t-shirt. When he reaches for a green shirt off the bed, Dean notices the purple bruise on his brother's side. It's big enough to almost look like someone punched--

"Get into a fight, Sammy?" Dean forces himself to keep his tone light. He doesn't want to get Sam angry by insinuating that his little brother can't handle himself in a fight. He knows Sam can, but that doesn't stop him from wanting to kill whoever hurt his brother.

Sam winces, quickly pulling his shirt on, "Uh, yeah, nothing too bad. Some guys were picking on this girl at the bar. I--"

"Rescued her," Dean completes quickly, sighing somewhat, "Sam, you don't have to be Superman."

"It wasn't a big deal, Dean." Sam informs him, "Really, I'm fine."

Dean doesn't buy it from the way Sam is favoring his left side, but he decides not to press it.

"So, what's good around here?" He changes the subject.

"There's a nice pasta place by the beach if you want to do that."

"It's your birthday, Sam. Whatever you want."

The smile that graces Sam's face is brighter than the sun and for the first time in months, Dean finally feels like he can breathe again.

[steeplechasers.livejournal.com]

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.

FILLED: Bad Creek Fairytale

[crowroad3.livejournal.com]

Sam: all cusp and sinew, light risen on May and he’s running, along the drive to the creek, where tangles of green lose his ankles quick, and Dean finds a pool, trout and tannin, and they risk, laughing, leeches for birthday fish.

*

Dean fries them up, cracks a beer. Wraps library-lifted tales from three towns ago.

No neighbors near. Honeysuckle and kudzu, and Dad an interstate gone, path of a thing with no name.

He’ll be back, Dean says, lets Sam sad-smile, nearly arch, older than yesterday.

Dude, Dean says, tosses the kid a can.

Roughhouse the dusk away. Fireflies.

*

Couch. Shackhouse bumped by bats, an owl.

They sleep on the same sheet, TV sorry and low.

By midnight Sam is dog-days, one sweat away from nothing, mumbling Dean’s name in hot pants.

Jesus, Sammy, what is it.

Sam’s eyes lift to blank, go back, black; spine stiffens like line and pulls, screams taut.

*

Dad!

Dean dials, crouches, gauges what he can.

Been sick before, both of them; heat-sick, spell-sick, ague; been cut bad, bled, wood-lost and full of sick-fear; gouged, clawed before their time--

Not like this.

*

Three and Sam gasps three times, flat-out stops, goes river-color while Dean shouts and pounds and breathes for, weeps when he starts again, flannel-to-face.

*

Dad.

Pick up.

Dad.

*

There was, once, a honeychild who went down to the stream and never came out. Fish-form now. Last hope of a desperate mother.

There were, once, sisters who drowned and lived again in the runoff.

And six stories that were the gospel of Bad Creek.

And time.

*

Dean runs to the water, dumps back the dinner-remains, fish-whisker and bone, blood, a cup of, more than one.

Look, I don’t know who we offended, but you gotta give him back.

Please.

Spring rustlings. Moss-fumes.

The water curled around his ankles. Leather and water and he kneels in it, lets the creek talk trash--

about his little brother, and all the banks he’ll teeter on. Kneels and breathes a lungful, chokes it clean again.

Please.

Tears, wet, up the drive to cup his brother’s head.

*

Daybreak, an engine.

Honeysuckle trembling on the verge. Green-eyed boys grown into.

The day breaks and Sam is thirteen, and breathing.

[chellexxx.livejournal.com]

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

xxx

FILLED: 4500

[steeplechasers.livejournal.com]

One dark humid three AM Dean does the math, knowing that Sam's too deep in fever dreams to see what he's doing or care. May 1st, 2011, or something like it. And counting backwards, minutes meaning weeks, weeks meaning months, seconds meaning years. When he hits the number on the bottom of the complimentary motel notepad the air in his lungs strings its claws into his throat and he stops breathing.

--

He's careful about birthdays as they have always been a point of hurt: people are gone, people have died. Most of the time Sam is in that state of not quite wanting to be. So Dean tends to forego the cake, though he can't stop giving gifts, but gifts without wrapping paper, gifts without physicality. A favorite lunch spot, a touch on the arm.

There was that year without him, wherein he assumes there was cake, as there was a girl, a lawn, a dog--but he knows Sam never told her what a birthday was like in their lives. Probably ate her Albertson's-bakery funfetti with a smile on him and a deep black ache in his heart but never told her.

There was the year after, and Dean too busy watching Sam die (again, again) to think about a new year, a new number. When Sam turned thirty he was comatose in a hospital bed. (Again, again, again.) Going, and far too fucking young, and they never celebrated. Dean couldn't bring himself to. Kept imagining whatever box-mix cake he'd make being tasted on two tongues.

--

This year, though, this year, with Jesse and Cesar in the rear-view mirror, and Kentucky coming up fast, Dean says, so how about your birthday? And hopes the number isn't blinking neon behind his eyes. It was years ago, five years since he came out of that pit, but Dean knows the wounds are fresh, still, and pulsating.

Four thousand five hundred years is a pain you can't snuff out.

--

Sam says he can get a cake, if he wants to. Says it real quiet. So Dean doesn't get a cake--drives an hour to find the closest Chick-fil-a, a slice of that lemon meringue pie, sticks a single candle in it. Safe.

So Sam smiles about it when he gets back, the meringue half-melted, the candle bent in half by the plastic lid of the box, open it, Dean says, and Sam does. They light it with Dean's Zippo and Sam blows it out before the wick has a chance to turn black and sits there, his smile unfolding, settling, his breath slowing.

He begins to rub his thumb and index finger together, anxiously.

Four thousand five hundred and thirty-three years.

Don't do the math, Dean says, and it's very quiet, and he puts his hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezes the muscle there a little. Being firm, being strong, being there. Sammy.

--

Near three AM Sam finally touches the pie, and in the half-dark he and Dean pull it apart with plastic forks.

My chest feels tight this time of year, Sam says, half-drunk on the lateness of the hour. It's well May third by now. Every year I think it'll get better and it doesn't.

Just gotta breathe through it.

Sam says, Never thought we'd live to be this old.

[(Anonymous)]

Teenchesters. Dean is bored one day and decides to have a little fun with Sam by hypnotizing him. Sam does something embarrassing under Dean's instructions and is mad. Dean apologizes and comforts Sam.

[cherry916.livejournal.com]

S11. It's been a really crappy year for Sam. To add up to his crap hole of a year Sam get kidnapped by angry hunters who think he is to blame for Amara/the darkness. All on his birthday no less. Casifer knows where Sam is and plays games with Dean about where Sam is. Cue BAMF!Sam who is injured and manages to escape himself.

[twin-feathers.livejournal.com]

Might take me a couple of days but I'm gonna take a shot at this one :)

[madebyme-x.livejournal.com]

In the middle of the night in the bunker, Dean's awoken by Sam's scream, but he when gets to Sam's room all he finds is a blood trail that leads to a secret door...

Art (or fic) prompt

[madebyme-x.livejournal.com]

In a thick forest, the moon bright in the night sky, Sam gets shot with a arrow (feel free to make it a poisoned arrow if you like!)

RE: Art (or fic) prompt

[cowboyguy.livejournal.com]

Yes, please!

Art/Fic Prompt

[madebyme-x.livejournal.com]

I want some more badass, Sam f*cking Winchester; sniper rifle Sam? Sam lifting something really heavy to save a bunch of people? Sam and a motorbike? Wounded Sam finding and killing the monster, saving people, and just being the Sam that we saw on 11.17?

[madebyme-x.livejournal.com]

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.

[quickreaver.livejournal.com]

GASP!

[cowboyguy.livejournal.com]

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?

FILLED: Behind Blue Eyes 1/?

[lennelle.livejournal.com]

Sam is mid-cough when Zeke comes out to play. Or not... he's not exactly the playful type. He does that freaky blue eye-flash thing and suddenly Sam's sitting up straight, better posture than Sam could ever accomplish anyway. He turns to look at Dean, wearing that constipated-angle face he always has when Dean sees him.

"What's wrong?" Dean asks, because Zeke only comes out when it's urgent.

"Sam is sick," Ezekiel tells him. He doesn't blink, Dean noticed that a couple of weeks ago and now he can't get it out of his head. "I must heal him."

"Well, that's why you're here," Dean points out, "Can't you do that, you know, quietly?"

Ezekiel frowns. "Sam is unaware, you do not need to worry," he says, "But he has a viral infectious disease of the upper respiratory tract. It is only small but it will greatly hinder his recovery given how weak he is. I will need to remain on the surface where I'm strongest for at least two days."

"A viral infectious what?" Dean's still on the first half of the conversation.

"A common cold," Zeke explains. Dean groans.

"You can't do that," he says, "Sam's gonna notice if two days are missing, especially when it's his birthday tomorrow."

Zeke tilts his head to the side thoughtfully. "I have put him in a dream, if that makes you feel better," he tells Dean, "He's still talking to you, in his mind."

"That's kinda creepy," Dean admits, he sighs, "What am I supposed to do, just leave him locked up in his own head?"

"He's safe," Zeke assures him.

"What about tomorrow?" Dean asks, "I made him a freaking birthday cake for the first time in... well, ever. And Charlie is coming 'round, Kevin's here. We'd have more people but Garth is MIA and you kinda vetoed Cas."

Zeke glances away. "I can play the part of your brother, if you like."

"No! No, I just want my brother, okay? You said he'd be healed weeks ago but he's not and you're still here."

Ezekiel's jaw stiffens. "I am doing my best. If you wouldn't ask me so often to use my powers for anything other than healing your brother then I would have left by now."

Dean sighs. "Come on, man, that's not fair. Charlie was dead, you expect me to just leave her like that."

Zeke doesn't say anything. "This is how it is. Sam must remain where he is until the virus is gone."

TBC (I'll finish this later :))

[madebyme-x.livejournal.com]

Sometimes, Sam needs to take a quiet moment to look through his memory box.

[cowboyguy.livejournal.com]

Awww, Sammy...

[chaos-slave.livejournal.com]

Sam and Dean on a case, either the monster or it's just an accident but Sam falls off a balcony, roof or down the stairs and ends up spending his birthday in the hospital.

[de-nugis.livejournal.com]

Season Eleven

Sam's died on his birthday at least once, hasn't he? And Cas's explorations of popular culture must have included reading Harry Potter, or at least having it dumped in his head by Metatron. Cas conceives the idea that any birthday celebration for Sam should also incorporate elements of a Death Day festivity like the Hogwarts ghosts get. Perhaps he invites Billie. Sam is, uh, touched. (Let's assume that Cas has been conveniently de-Lucifered. Or not, if you want to go really morbid.)

ETA: Sam/Cas or gen would both be fine with me.

[de-nugis.livejournal.com]

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.

[quickreaver.livejournal.com]

HMMMMMM!

[(Anonymous)]

During the last part of "Red Meat (11.17)" -- Sam is finally leaving the hospital the day of his birthday (feel free to include some hospital stay in it if you want and the last scene of the episode). Dean is happy, things are looking up. Or are they? Sam... He knows his birthdays suck!

[familybizness.livejournal.com]

Sam can't get warm

FILLED: Cold Flesh 1/?

[lennelle.livejournal.com]

It's Cas' fault, Dean says. Sam would disagree but he can't speak through chattering teeth. Cas didn't do this, Cas isn't Lucifer. Still, Sam thinks it's best for Dean to rage about it, if his anger isn't directed at Cas, a dead angel that he can't even pummel, then at least he isn't taking it out on something else. Like the car.

Dean does most of the talking these days. For Sam, either his tongue feels too frozen or his words just don't come out making sense. He can see the hurt on Dean's face when Sam tries to speak, so Sam doesn't speak, not any more if he can help it.

Bobby set the fireplace up in Rufus' old cabin, now it's blazing hot, lighting up the room with flickering orange. Sam's sitting just far away enough to to get burned, but he would shove his trembling hands into the fire if he could, but that would upset Dean, he thinks.

Dean hadn't liked it when Sam had tried to cut some of the Hell out of himself, and no matter how hard Sam had tried to explain, Dean didn't understand. Dean had said, "Jesus, Sammy," and shoved Sam off to Bobby like he's some little kid before disappearing for two hours. He was bleary-eyed and unsteady on his feet when he came back. Sam was tucked up on a cot by the still-warm fireplace, shivering under four blankets. Bobby had shouted at Dean under his breath and their conversation had gone like this:

"You can't be leaving without saying where, Dean. Or have you forgotten that there's an army of flesh-eating shape-shifters rampaging out there?"

"I didn't see any Leviathan, Bobby. As you can see, I'm still in one piece."

"Barely."

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are. You know who else isn't fine? That brother of yours, you can't leave him alone, you know that."

"He was with you, Bobby."

"Yes, but he needs you."

"And sometimes I need a break."

Sam had tuned himself at that point. He didn't really want to hear any more, he had shut his eyes and dreamed of icy fingers crawling under his ribs.

Now, Sam sits by the fireplace, like he usually does, and runs the conversation over in his head. He tries, at least, his head isn't what it used to be and things tend to get mixed up and turned around while they pass through. He glances down at his gloved hands, they're still shaking, he doesn't think they'll ever stop. The tips of his fingers are almost constantly blue and numb. Dean won't take him to a doctor, for one thing, he doesn't trust doctors not to be monsters, for another, any normal doctor would take one look at Sam and print him out a one-way ticket to the psych ward.

Besides, there's nothing they could do. There's no cure for Hell.

Sam shudders when Lucifer leans over and licks up the side of is face, he jolts away, wishes he could push him back, but Satan never liked the word 'no'.

"You okay, Sammy?" he hears Dean ask over his shoulder. Sam doesn't turn around, he's sure Dean's face will have melted off or his chest will be slashed open, the walls will be stained red, he keeps his eyes down and says that he's fine.

"Poor baby," his mother coos from his right, she brushes an icy hand over the cheek that's still covered in Lucifer's saliva, "Are you seeing things?"

"Just you, right now," Sam tells her softly, quiet enough that Dean won't hear.

"I'm here, baby, don't worry," she says softly. "I'm here."

"No, you're not," Sam replies. He dares to look up. She's smiling at him with black, cracked lips. Her hair has burned off, one of her eyes is missing, that side of her face has melted. She's nothing but the charred remains of a memory he doesn't have.

"Are you cold, baby?" she asks, ignoring him, "Your hands are shaking. I know how you can get warm."

"You're not real, you're not real," Sam reminds himself. His mother places a seared hand over his and squeezes. She feels so real, she looks real, he can even smell cooking flesh, but maybe that's just a memory from the cage.

"I'm not cold any more," she tells him, "Do you know how I got warm?"

Sam finds himself shaking his head even though he thinks he knows.

"Fire is pure, Sammy," she says, "It'll wash everything away. It won't hurt and you'll be warm. Always."

Sam glances at the fireplace, there's a fire guard locked in place and only Bobby has the key. Sam wonders where he might find it.

TBC

[de-nugis.livejournal.com]

I saw a calculation somewhere that Swan Song probably took place before Sam's birthday. So what if soulless!Sam got hauled out of hell on Sam's birthday, or Sam's birthday came very soon after he got back topside? That would probably be before he met up with the Campbells. How would soulless!Sam, just getting used to being back and just starting to wonder about himself, celebrate a solitary birthday?

[cowboyguy.livejournal.com]

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.

FILLED: Nightmare

[familybizness.livejournal.com]

Dean’s eyes snap open.

The room is dark, the heavy pitch-black of three in the morning, before the sun starts to creep back over the horizon. Automatically, he lifts a hand to his face, gauging how close he can bring it to his eyes before the outline starts to resolve itself. The dark is comforting. A year ago, he and Sam used to occasionally fall asleep with the bathroom light on out of laziness, but they don’t do that now.

The thing is that it’s never perfectly dark in hell.

“We’re going to have to talk about it at some point, Dean,” Sam said as they were getting ready for bed, but it’s only been three days and how is Dean supposed to articulate everything when he hasn’t even fully come to grips with the fact that this is real?

He hasn’t slept through the night yet. He’s done two and three hours at a time, here and there, waking up to Sam regarding him like he’s a puzzle to solve (and he very much does not want Sam to solve this puzzle, he wants a drink and a hunt and a little brother who finds him simple and obnoxious and makes fun of his cassette tapes). All he’s eaten so far is bread.

Sam’s body makes different shapes in the dark now. He looks over as his eyes adjust, taking in the curled up ball of his brother. Sam used to sprawl. Sam used to sleep unguardedly.

And Sam’s breathing has never sounded like that, like he’s pushing air through a wet grate. So something’s wrong.

Sam’s asleep, muscles twitching, rapid eye movement betraying the fact that he’s dreaming, and Dean hesitates for a minute, but then he lets out a low moan laced with horror and Dean’s shaking him. “Sammy. Sammy. Heyheyhey.”

Sam jerks upright so fast Dean has to jump back to avoid their heads knocking together. He’s gasping, panting, staring straight ahead.

Dean approaches slowly, because Sam’s been known to wake up swinging. “Dude. You okay?”

“Dean?” He says it like it’s unbelievable, like it doesn’t make any sense.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“No, you were…you were gone…”

“You were dreaming, Sammy. Hey. Are you with me? I don't think you're all the way here.”

“Dean?”

“Are you sick?” He lays a hand across Sam’s forehead. No fever, but he's clammy as if he's going into shock.

“Dean.”

“Yeah, Sam. Hey. It was a dream. Focus, okay?”

Sam meets his eyes for the first time, and shit, he’s crying. He grips Dean’s arms over and over, hands roaming the way Dad taught them to check each other for breaks, but Dean’s not broken, Dean was just sleeping. “I’m okay, Sammy. Shit, what did you dream?”

Sam lets out a sob that probably started life as a laugh. "It wasn't a dream, Dean, God, it was...it all happened."

"What did?"

"Hell. You." He ducks his head. He's ashamed.

“You need us to talk about it."

"No. No, we don't have to, I'm okay."

“Bullshit, you're not. God, Sammy, don’t cry…”

“Not.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“What did they do to you, Dean?” Sam shivers so hard he falls forward a little, and Dean catches him, pulls him close. “I have to know what they did to you. I have to.”

He can’t speak. There aren’t words.

“I know. I know. It’s selfish. Dean, I’m sorry – but you were gone, you were gone for months, and I – “

“Hey. Hey.” He grabs Sam’s shoulders and forces him upright. “You were gone for half an hour and I sold my damn soul, Sam. I get it. I get it, okay? God, Sammy. I’m sorry.”

Sam goes boneless in his arms, shaking. “Every time I close my eyes I see them hurting you. I have to know how much of it was real.”

It was probably all real. It was probably much worse than anything Sam could have imagined.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s over now.”