ohsam | Happy Birthday, Sammy!

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

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.
• 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:

• 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From: (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.

From:

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."

From:

dreamlittleyo.livejournal.com

"Dean," he starts, guilt in the sound of his brother's name.

"Don't," Dean cuts him off. "It's not— You don't have to explain, okay? Whatever your reasons, you got a right to 'em. You don't owe me anything." But he says it like he wishes the words weren't true.

"Why are you here, Dean?" Sam asks, only this time the question is soft and serious. He's staring at his brother's profile, willing Dean to look at him. Hating Dean's caution, his hesitation, his obvious doubt. Dean doesn't think he belongs here, and that's on Sam. Sam excised his brother from his life. Necessary or not, he still feels like shit about it.

"I got your message earlier. And like I said. I was in the neighborhood."

"Why?" Sam asks.

Then Dean does look at him. "You know why, Sammy." Dean's mouth quirks in an uncertain shadow of a smile, and a moment later he nudges Sam with an elbow. "Happy birthday, little brother."

There's too much affection in Dean's voice, too much weight in the words. And Sam's not thinking right. He can't be. Because if he were, he would jostle Dean back. He would ignore the way Dean's tone is warming his chest and making him ache. He would pretend away the mess of wrong feelings like he's done a thousand times before.

Instead he leans in, and there's no time to second guess.

No time for the widening of Dean's eyes to scare him off.

Kissing Dean is nothing like he imagined. But then, when Sam has allowed himself to fantasize about this, he hasn't wasted his time on realistic fantasies. He shouldn't be surprised—isn't surprised—when Dean doesn't close his eyes, or melt against Sam, or reach to twist greedy fingers in his hair. Sam shouldn't be surprised that all he gets is frozen stillness, shocked disbelief unmistakable up close.

Sam abruptly retreats. He curls in on himself and covers his face with his hands. He's mortified. His chest hurts.

Silence crashes in on him, heavy and suffocating. He could almost believe he's alone in his room. Dean is so quiet beside him Sam could convince himself his brother isn't here. This could just be a hallucination. Or better yet, a dream. An awful dream Sam won't remember through tomorrow's hangover. Unwelcome and unreal.

Then Dean breathes a shaky exhale. Real enough. Christ, he'll never look Sam in the eye again.

"Fucking hell, Sammy," Dean mutters.

But he doesn't sound angry. He doesn't sound disgusted. He doesn't even sound that surprised. Mostly he just sounds tired, and Sam cautiously lowers his hands and straightens his spine. Takes a moment to brace himself, then turns to find Dean watching him with a dangerously careful expression.

"You already knew," Sam realizes.

For fuck's sake, all this time tearing himself apart trying to keep this one filthy secret, and Dean knew.

"How?" Sam sounds more wrathful than he intends.

"You're a terrible liar, Sammy. Always have been."

Sam doesn't have the fortitude to be offended. He has other priorities at the moment. "Why aren't you angry?"

Dean shrugs again. "No point. I'm sure as hell surprised, though. Didn't figure this was why you called me tonight. Not after you went to so much trouble walking away in the first place."

"But you're not—" Sam starts to protest. "You don't— You weren't supposed to know."

"We can go back to pretending I don't," Dean says. "Is that what you want, Sammy?"

He's always hated when Dean calls him Sammy, but somehow he doesn't mind this time. Maybe it's the way Dean says it, all complicated and... Scared? For a moment Sam is wildly confused. What does Dean have to be scared of? Sam's the one whose secrets have just been laid bare.

But there's an unspoken weight to Dean's question, and it gives Sam pause. He hesitates, watching Dean now every bit as closely as Dean is watching him. He doesn't trust his own perceptions where Dean is concerned. Sam's never been able to look at his brother with an impartial eye. He doesn't know now if what he's seeing in Dean's eyes is anything more than Sam's own hope projected where it doesn't belong.

From:

dreamlittleyo.livejournal.com

"Is it what you want?" Sam counters, throwing the question straight back, brazenly upping the stakes. Closely as he's watching, he catches the faint widening of Dean's eyes, the guilty parting of Dean's lips. The caught-out instant before Dean tries to backpedal.

"I don't really get a vote," Dean says.

But Sam's seen everything he needs. Maybe it's still the tequila giving him courage, or maybe it's inevitability driving him. Maybe he and Dean were always bound on this exact collision course, and Sam has been denying himself too long to see it. The reason doesn't matter anyway. Sam is already moving.

This time, kissing Dean is exactly like he imagined. Dean reaches for him, frames Sam's face with strong hands as Sam climbs clumsily astride his brother's lap. Dean's mouth opens at the first pleading touch of Sam's tongue. He lets Sam take, take, take with all the desperation of a need too long restrained.

Sam doesn't want to stop, but he recedes obediently when Dean finally pushes him away. They're both breathing hard. Dean's lips are swollen from Sam's kiss, and the sight leaves Sam lightheaded.

Then he realizes Dean looks sad, and Sam's brow furrows heavily. "What's wrong?" He's greedily aware of Dean's heat, their bodies pressed close in all the right places. Dean's spine shifts beneath Sam's hands. His face smoothes to a more guarded expression.

"You're drunk, Sammy," he says gently. "And you're going to regret this in the morning."

"No," Sam denies instantly. He won't regret this. Not tomorrow. Not ever. How can he regret finally, finally having what he wants. Dean in his arms. Dean right where he belongs.

"Trust me," Dean insists. "You wouldn't have run away to California if this was what you really wanted."

Sam burns to protest. He wants to argue until Dean sees just how wrong he is. If Sam had known he could have this—if he'd known he was even allowed to hope—he wouldn't have run in the first place. But Dean is wearing a stubborn look Sam recognizes. The one that won't be swayed even by the soundest reasons. No one can out-stubborn a Winchester; not even another Winchester.

"I won't regret this in the morning," Sam still says, because he has to try. But Dean is already shifting beneath him, pushing Sam off his lap, twisting from Sam's arms. Sam lets him go, because he knows holding on will only make Dean slip away faster.

"Get some sleep," Dean admonishes as he rises from the bed.

"Will you still be in the neighborhood tomorrow?" Sam asks, barely resisting the urge to stand follow Dean toward the door.

"Sure, Sammy."

"Promise me," Sam demands fiercely.

Dean looks the slightest bit taken aback, but says, "I promise. You can buy me breakfast."

"And we'll talk about this again in the morning?"

Dean blinks at him, sympathetic but skeptical. "You won't want to talk about this."

"But you'll hear me out if I do?" Sam presses. "I mean it, Dean. If you're gonna leave now, you have to promise you'll listen tomorrow."

Dean huffs a quiet sigh. "Fine. If you really want to talk about all this tomorrow, I'll listen." It's not rocket science figuring out Dean considers it an easy promise, because he doesn't believe Sam at all. But that doesn't matter. He's said the words. Sam can hold his brother to them.

"G'night, Sam," Dean says, and then he's gone. Out the door so fast Sam barely believes his brother was there in the first place. But Sam is almost sober now. And when he glances down, he sees his brother's lock picking kit on the floor, fallen from Dean's pocket somewhere between breaking in and making a hasty retreat. Sam leans down and picks up the pouch, balancing the soft leather in his hands.

He sleeps better than he expects. And when he wakes to daylight and the ringing of the phone on the bureau, he smiles so wide his cheeks hurt.

The phone is just close enough to reach without getting out of bed, and he answers with a yawn. "Dean?"

"Yeah." Dean's voice is gravel. Sam doubts he slept a wink. "So. Breakfast?"

"Pick me up in ten minutes," Sam says. It will give him just enough time to brush his teeth and get dressed.

He and Dean have a lot to talk about, and Sam doesn't want to waste a single second.

Edited Date: 2016-05-03 02:30 am (UTC)