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

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.

RE: Fill: Through the Years 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

--

Thirty-one years old. Black to green, snarls to smiles, broken woodwork and devil’s traps, Dean’s throwing away every hammer in the entire Bunker.

Time for a vacation, Sam?

The world slows, spins lazily by, beer and sunglasses and sparkling water on a random lake, whispering promises of the future.

Crybaby pie on the side, Sammy?

--

Thirty-two years old. Death and more death, deception and lies, magic spells and dangerous games, Dean’s spiralling far away, oblivious and obvious.

That should be you up there, Sam.

The world will burn one day, because of them, burn and burn and burn, like everyone they’ve ever loved.

Forgive me, Sammy.

--

Thirty-three years old. Frightened monsters and spreading darkness, fear and death and an absent deity, Dean’s valiant fighting – for once, not against him.

Welcome back to the Cage, Sam.

The world disappears in iron bars and trauma, smirking witch and scheming demon, furious big brother.

Hold on, Sammy.

--

Thirty-four years old. Darkness and death, held at bay by a miracle, stillness and surprise, Dean’s taking advantage of the new world by celebrating as only he can.

C’mon, live a little, Sam!

The world has lived and died around him already, decades upon centuries, memories overlaying others, confusing and exhausting.

You look exhausted, Sam.


--

Thirty-five years old. Quiet solitude, simple pleasures, hopeful tomorrows and vanishing yesterdays, Dean sitting quietly beside him as he remembers, mourns.

For once, everything’s good – what’s wrong, Sam?

The world calls it depression, black clouds lurking overhead, sadness beyond expression, grieving what once was, what could have been, pain in peace.

Hey, hey. I’m here, Sammy.

--

Thirty-six years old. Familiar feelings, dark silence, closed doors and sad music, Dean knows by now that words won’t chase away the clouds.

Dinner, Sam!

The world of aching sadness lit by a candle, stuck awkwardly into a key lime pie, melting wax dripping in pink rivers onto sticky foam, cheesy smiles and god-awful singing.

No words, but that’s okay.

RE: Fill: Through the Years 2/2

[center-galaxy.livejournal.com]

This is beautiful. It's everything I could've ever wanted. Melancholic, but also there's a hopeful end. Thank you so much for filling this!

RE: Fill: Through the Years 2/2

[shangrilada.livejournal.com]

oh holy what this is my favorite anything

RE: Fill: Through the Years 2/2

[madebyme-x.livejournal.com]

This is beautifully sad and melancholic. I loved the format, and the poetry of your words and how they flowed. Wonderfully written - thank you so much for sharing :)