Happy Birthday, Sammy! - a commentfic meme
May. 2nd, 2016 12:12 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ohsam
BOOST THE SIGNAL
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.
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• Have fun!
Fills:
Somewhere Older Than I Was by
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crowroad3Sam 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
familybiznessJessica/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
shangriladaSucks 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_galaxySam'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
lennelleAU, 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
lennelleSam 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_galaxyJohn 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
lennelleSam. Pneumonia. Camp Chitaqua.
Aftermath by
shangriladaSam. Pneumonia. Camp Chitaqua.
Messy as a Secret Shared by
dreamlittleyoIt'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
mentholpixieSam 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_galaxyDean 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
lennelleIt'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
lennelleSam can't get warm
Bad Creek Fairytale by
crowroad3On 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
steeplechasersSam 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_galaxyJess 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
holyhellyGen. 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
familybiznessSam 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
crowroad3Sam 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
lennelleBlood 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_galaxySometimes, Sam needs to take a quiet moment to look through his memory box.
Heal by
foolscapperSam develops selective mutism, and will only talk to Dean.
(And sometimes, he won't even do that.)
In Memoriam by
backroadsspiritSometimes, Sam needs to take a quiet moment to look through his memory box.
Old Soul, New Body by
broken_cindersWhat if your body and your soul don't have the same birthday, Sam?
Thirteen Ghosts by
broken_cindersSometimes, Sam needs to take a quiet moment to look through his memory box.
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Date: 2016-05-03 03:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-03 03:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-03 02:31 pm (UTC)Fic Prompt (or art!)
Date: 2016-05-03 03:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-03 04:57 pm (UTC)Turns out Sam's been dead for years and that ghost that Dean's in town to handle has an awfully familiar face.
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Date: 2016-05-03 07:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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From:FILLED: Santa Lucias 1/2
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Date: 2016-05-03 05:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-03 05:08 pm (UTC)A father shouldn't have to bury his sons. Even at the end of the world.
FILLED: In The End 1/1
Date: 2016-05-06 01:03 pm (UTC)Bobby builds one pyre. He's not young any more, hasn't been for a long time, and his joints creak and his bones ache, but he builds and builds. There's no one to help because there's no one left. Rufus was gone before the Leviathans even busted out of purgatory, Jo and Ellen bit it sooner than that, Jody Mills hasn't been seen for five months, not since Sioux Falls went up in flames. And Cas... well, Cas destroyed himself as he destroyed the world.
Bobby sets the last piece of wood firmly in place and stands back. The pyre is big enough to hold two. He glances over to his truck where his boys are waiting, wrapped up in dusty white sheets. He moves Dean first, it's easier, there's less blood, he can pretend both of them are still in one piece. Dean still looks like Dean, if you ignore the hole in his head. One couldn't live without the other.
He spends a little time adjusting the sheets around Dean, making sure he's lying straight, it's all redundant, they'll be up in flames soon, but he's prolonging having to go back to Sam. He does, he forces himself, he can't leave him in the truck bed, apart from his brother.
It's soaked red where the sheet covers Sam's face, or what's left of it. He wonders if Sam might have lived if the Devil hadn't been in his head, maybe he got distracted, maybe that's what made him half a beat too slow.
Bobby had been there when it happened, he'd seen where the rogue Hell Hound lunged at Sam and ripped at him, tearing his left eye out of its socket, clawing away his cheek. Once he'd killed the beast, carved it open with Ruby's knife, Bobby had been there for all of the seven minutes it took for Sam to die, choking on his own blood and clinging onto Bobby's hand. The worst part had been when Dean had shown up.
The thing was, Heaven and Hell had locked themselves up, even they didn't want to deal with the Leviathans, and that meant there were no deals to be made, no miracles to be done, no lives to be given back. Bobby should have kept a closer eye on Dean, but he'd been grieving too, he'd been lost too. He'd slugged down some whiskey and watched as Dean tried to clean Sam up. Half of Sam's face was nothing but bone, teeth, dried blood and pulled meat, there wasn't anything that was going to clean that up. Nothing short of a miracle that didn't exist any longer.
Dean had said he needed a minute alone, then he had left the room and never come back, and Bobby had found him out back with a bullet through the roof of his mouth. He should have kept a closer eye on him. One couldn't live without the other.
He lines them up on the pyre, side by side, and feels in his pocket where the amulet lies. He'd found it in Sam's bag, right after Dean had left the room, he was on his way to tell him when he heard the gunshot. He keeps it for himself, and maybe it's not his to keep but he needs something to hold onto.
Bobby lights the match and tosses it onto the pyre, he watches his boys go up in flames.
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Date: 2016-05-03 05:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-03 07:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-03 09:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-03 09:26 pm (UTC)By the time he's wrapped up his Big Damn Hero routine though, Sam's...well...he's stopped screaming.
Filled: He's My Witch
Date: 2016-05-04 02:34 pm (UTC)Dean cursed his fumbling fingers as Sam’s yells grew louder. “C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered, feeling the lock give a little. “Don’t you dare die.”
It finally gave way, letting Dean burst into the room.
Dean had been trained from a young age to focus on the enemy. Ignore the victims, keep his mind on the goal to ensure a successful hunt.
He couldn’t this time.
Sam was tied up to a stake—a friggin’ stake—in the middle of the room. Fire billowed up from the edges, driving in closer to Sam’s body. The backwoods hicks who thought he was some kind of witch or demon were surrounding him, whooping and cheering. One guy was roasting a marshmallow.
Dean . . . Dean roared. He fired a few rounds into the ceiling, prompting screams and scattering of most of the onlookers. A few of the ringleaders turned, snatching up torches and pitchforks, but Dean wasn’t in the mood to play after trying to reason with them for the past two days. He swung his shotgun up; the salt shots sent two of them down, and the rest stood down.
“Sam!”
Dean took a moment and geared himself before running towards the flame. He leaped over it, nearly slamming into Sam.
“Easy bud, gonna cut you down,” he coughed out.
Sam was drenched in sweat, panting. He wasn’t screaming anymore, but his pupils were blown in panic.
Dean couldn’t pay attention to that now. He sawed away at the ropes, wrapping an arm around Sam’s bruised torso—the maniacs had beaten him before tying him up—to keep him from falling forward into the fire that was steadily creeping upward.
“Jumping in three, Sam.”
His brother didn’t respond, but leaned a little into Dean’s grip; he took that as an answer.
They made it beyond the fire, mostly. Dean forced Sam to stop-drop-roll from the flames on his pants and then dragged him out into clean air. There weren’t any sirens, probably because some of the police had been present in the crowd. Dean grimaced.
“Hospital?” he asked.
Sam was shaking, eyes unfocused.
“Burning, always burning,” he muttered.
“Sam, wha—“
He dropped like a stone, and started seizing. Dean sucked in a breath dropping onto his knees.
“No, Sam, Sammy.” He didn’t touch Sam for fear of doing something wrong. Finally Sam stilled. With shaking fingers, Dean reached out, pressing his fingers to his carotid. A steady pulse was reassuring, but only a little. His chest rose and fell.
“Wake up,” Dean said desperately. “C’mon, man, don’t let me down now.”
It took eight minutes for Sam to finally groan, eyes blinking slowly. “D’n?”
“Yeah, kiddo.” Sam was still out of it—Dean bent down, pressing his forehead to his brother’s and breathing. “You’re okay.”
“Mmm. Thirsty.”
“Yeah, c’mon.” Dean pulled Sam in close, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Your toes are a little singed, we gotta patch you up.”
“What happened?”
Dean winced, heaving Sam to his feet. “Don’t think about it, Sammy, the Wall.”
“Don’ like this town,” Sam muttered.
“You and me both.” Dean looked over Sam; covered in soot, bruised, and still there. How many more cracks in the Wall could his brother handle? He swallowed. “You and me both,” he repeated softly.
A/N: This came out shorter than I wanted, but I just had to post it, I mean, you referenced Firefly in your prompt, c'mon.
RE: Filled: He's My Witch
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Date: 2016-05-03 09:50 pm (UTC)Review
Date: 2016-05-04 09:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-04 08:53 pm (UTC)Dark fic because it can't be all cake and sunshine.
Bonus if Cas takes care of Sam after Dean's present.
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Date: 2016-05-06 07:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-06 07:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-06 07:12 pm (UTC)(And sometimes, he won't even do that.)
FILLED: Heal [1/?] (warnings for domestic abuse)
Date: 2016-05-08 09:36 am (UTC)Dean gives a grin you don't trust. It's handsome and strong and sweet, but so was your ex's, and you have a hard time finding faith to offer for that kind of charm. You hate that you have a hard time with it. Sam glances at you and smiles like it hurts to, but it's easy to relate to that kind of strained attempt at being a person. You smile back, and it's strained, too.
Before you leave in the car packed with excited twenty-somethings, heart pounding in your chest, you cross the yard a little. You make sure your cousin is there with you, a strong solid linebacker. You trust him, would trust him with your life, even if he still looks like the little boy who played in the mud with you in elementary school.
You offer Sam the glass dish, and your fingers feel tingly. Maybe this was a mistake.
It's okay, you remind yourself. After this, you'll go to the beach with your friends. It will be tiring, but fun, worthwhile. You offer Sam another strained smile, lips feeling chapped. "For you and Dean. Um. I never introduced myself... Here. It's -- not poisonous."
You're a great chef. It was the one thing your ex praised.
You expect a reply. The confusion that dawns into something pleasant is there on his face, and he takes the food from you; his hands are huge, fingers so long as they feather against yours, you almost recoil. But you don't. And you find it within yourself to be proud.
But Sam says nothing, just looks fondly down at the dessert before he looks at her.
He looks at her, the girl expecting something spoken back, and freezes. All he can seemingly do is bow his head, bangs pouring down from his ears, before he quickly wanders away. You imagine that maybe he doesn't leave his house very much either.
Your baby-faced linebacker cousin nudges you along, questioning the strangeness of your newer neighbors, and you go make memories with your loved ones.
***
You watch, sometimes. Like a birdwatcher, only with more guilt involved. But sometimes the blinds are open at just the right time. Dean leaves for work and Sam, well. Sam's just there. She's not sure what he does, but Dean's got some pretty long hours, and it leaves Sam sitting in the sweltering heat of summer with a towel around his neck. He's pulling weeds; they don't stand a chance against those hands. He only stops when a couple brandishing bibles wanders up, and you don't need to hear to know he says nothing at all. Shakes his head, wordless, always wordless, sends them away without so much as an utterance.
You wonder if you look as lonely as him, every time you're too afraid to step off your porch.
You hate that things have crippled you. Life needs routine now, needs silence and caution.
So with that in mind, you don't know why you wander out to offer him a bowl of ice cream. It's handmade, it's really good, and you tell him that with all the grace of a toad. Your heart feels like it's being gripped, strangled, trampled by the soft brown hair. Your ex's hair was a lot like Sam's. You shake away the thoughts.
"You don't talk much, do you," you say. He looks down at the bowl, closes his eyes, shakes his head. You've seen him talk to Dean. Never loudly, never within earshot, but words have fallen out of that little mouth before. You're a very observant person, after all. You have to be. The world isn't as safe as people think. The world is a 'look both ways before you cross Life St.' kind of world. At some point, a car hit you, some metaphorical semi, smashed your poor bones down. You think... maybe Sam knows.
He seems distant, like he's looking from the outside in.
FILLED: Heal [2/?] (warnings for domestic abuse)
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Date: 2016-05-06 07:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-06 10:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-08 09:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-08 07:36 pm (UTC)(Maybe Sam spikes a really high fever, too, because awwww Sammy, but that part's up to you.)
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Date: 2016-05-08 07:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-12 02:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-13 03:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-13 03:29 pm (UTC)