ohsam | OhSam Triple Play 2016!

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OhSam Triple Play 2016!

It's November 2, an auspicious (if ominous) day for our darling Sam, so to herald his introduction to The Red Stuff, let's revisit an annual tradition. Welcome to the OhSam Triple Play 2016! This year, we're offering a focus on a reoccurring theme in Sam's life: blood.

"Blood" could be interpreted in many ways. Family don't end with blood. The demon blood addiction. Injury. Familial woes. Blood magicks. Simply the color red. If it can be related to blood, even vaguely? IT'S ON POINT.

BOOST THE SIGNAL

And here's how we play!

Step One (mandatory): Write a three-part prompt.
1.) Pick a setting
2.) Pick an additional character or characters (Sam is assumed, naturally.)
3.) Pick an H/C scenario, with Sam as the focus. Other characters can share the misery, but Sam should get the brunt of it. That's how we roll. :D

You can make as many prompts as your little heart desires, one set per comment, but it would probably work best if kept simple. For instance: 1.) West Virginia 2.) Dean 3.) knives, or 1.) Bobby's Panic Room 2.) Mary 3.) demon blood withdrawal.

Step Two (optional): Fill a prompt!
Participants can choose to make visual art: create a drawing, painting, photomanip, or video based around an offered prompt set. All three points must be addressed. The art can be doodled or extravagantly detailed, artist’s choice. And, of course, Sam should be the primary focus of the h/c. Please reply with your art under the prompt you choose, and either put the art beneath a cut or supply a link to it, with appropriate header and warnings! (See "Posting Guidelines" in the left sidebar.) As subject lines are no more, please begin your fills with the word FILLED and a TITLE in BOLD.

Step Three (optional): Fill a prompt!
Participants could also choose to write a ficlet, again with Sam as the primary victim of our dastardly h/c scenarios. (No minimum or maximum word count is required; just go where the muse takes you, as long or short as you'd like.) Again, please reply with your fic under the chosen prompt set, using the appropriate header and warnings. (See "Posting Guidelines" in the left sidebar.) As subject lines are no more, please begin your fills with the word FILLED and a TITLE in BOLD.

If more than one author or artist wants to work with the same prompt, have at it! The ideal goal is to make a Triple Play, where a prompt set gets both art and fic – the art potentially inspiring the fic or the fic inspiring the art. But no matter how it's sliced, we get lots of delicious Sammy h/c! Have all the fun … at Sam’s expense. ;)

The usual courtesies apply:
→ If you notice that your fic is not on the master list after a decent amount of time (say, three days), please poke us in a PM. We might have missed it.
→ Anon posting enabled.
→ NO SPOILERS FOR UNAIRED EPISODES.
→ 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.
→ Spread the Sam love - pimp this meme!

Masterlist

My love will laugh with me before the morning comes by

caranfindel
1. A deserted road
2. Jess
3. Bleeding out

Maybe Together We Can Get Somewhere by

center_galaxy
1. The Impala
2. Ghost!John
3. Car accident

Whauksis by

crowroad3
1. New England in the fall
2. Dean
3. The hunter hunted

Binding by

fairyniamh
1. In a mirror
2. Lucifer
3. Banishing sigils gone wrong

Appointment in the White City by

crowroad3
1. A fancier than Winchester motel room
2. Balthazar
3. Sam's covered with blood. He can't remember how it happened or whose it is

Follow You Down by

tuesdaytoo
1. A cave or mineshaft
2. Any character - except they're actually a hallucination
3. Sam's bleeding and he's got to get to the surface before he passes out. But someone's trying to prevent that.

And From The Bunker Shall Come The Anointed One by

wetsammy
1.Bunker
2.Dean
3.Curse/Curse box

Time to say goodbye by

amberdreams
1. A field of wildflowers
2. Dean
3. It's time to say goodbye

The Descent by

lennelle
1. The Cage.
2. Lucifer and Michael.
3. Withdrawal. (Exactly how much blood did Sam drink before saying yes and falling in??)

Mercy by

lennelle
1. A church
2. Godstiel
3. Purifying the boy with demon blood as a "mercy"

To-do List by

lennelle
1. Bobby's house
2. Bobby and/or Dean
3. Unclean

Next of Kin by

lennelle
1. mental hospital
2. jody
3. next of kin

Collateral Damage by

lennelle
1. Bobby's house
2. John
3. A hunt goes wrong and John only has himself to blame as he cleans Sam's blood off the kitchen table they used for emergency surgery.

In the Precious Blood of the Lamb by

laughablelament
1) A kind of Kansas purgatory
2) Dean
3) rib-cracking spiritual seizure

Fix You by

center_galaxy
1. the impala
2. wee!dean
3. skinned knees

An Ocean Away by

center_galaxy
1. A dock
2. Bobby
3. Missing something important

The Collector by

lennelle
1. Impala backseat
2. John
3. Coughing up blood

Falling Leaves by

center_galaxy
1. A field of wildflowers
2. Dean
3. It's time to say goodbye

The Tide Rolls In by

broken_cinders
1. A lighthouse
2. Dean
3. Permanent injury

Battlefield Dressing by

wetsammy
1. College dorm room
2. Brady
3. Blood spill

Home for Christmas by

broken_cinders
1. Sioux Falls
2. Bobby
3. Sexual assault

Pressure Bandage by

themegalosaurus
1. A lecture hall at Stanford
2. A professor/classmates
3. Passing out

Here I go, turn the page by

caranfindel
1. snowy woods
2. Kevin
3. Where did Sam get to? Better follow the footprints. The bare and bloody part is disturbing, though.

The Recorded History of Sam Winchester by

indiachick
1. a natural history museum
2. Castiel
3. Castiel can perceive the blood on this dinosaur tooth/chunk of meteorite/bit of fossilized wood, even though it's older than human life on earth. He can also tell whose it is. Sam's. How?

The Holy Man and The Creature by

lennelle
1. A secret meeting place.
2. Dean, Castiel, Bobby
3. The devil walks the earth. The abomination who freed him must be destroyed by the righteous.

Soulsearching by

holyhelly
1. Abandoned church
2. Castiel
3. Soulfisting

Until We Close Our Eyes For Good by

tuesdaytoo
1) Throughout the years (pre-series to now if you wish or whatever span of time you like)
2) Dean (as his main constant; add other characters as you see fit)
3) Depression

Unclean by

zara_zee
1. A mental hospital, post re-souling
2. Dean and Bobby
3. 'Self purification'

Once Upon a Time by

center_galaxy
1) abandoned ruins of castle/other such structure
2) dean
3) sam pricks his finger on a statue - blood loss is disproportionate to magnitude of cut (perhaps because of some sort of spell/curse)

Phosphorus by

crowroad3
1. Rooftops
2. Ghost
3. Sometimes Sam thinks there's stardust in his veins.

Protection by Ксения Огородникова
1. The bunker
2. Dean
3. After Sam finds out Lucifer is on the loose again, he finds every protection and purification sigil in the MoL library and starts carving them onto his body.

Soda-Can Walls And Gravel Roads by

wetsammy
1) Seedy trailer park
2) Dean
3) Insomnia

बिन्द by

crowroad3
1. Wrapped in blankets on a couch/bed
2. Dean and/or character of choice
3. Having demon blood in him makes Sam susceptible to a supernatural illness

Grief is a fungus of the heart by

holyhelly
1. A dock
2. Bobby
3. Missing something important

Asclepias curassavica by

crowroad3
1- The Bunker
2- Mary & Dean
3- Blood related illness

Spells for the Watchers by

indiachick
1) A narrow spit of land
2) Rowena
3) Blood spell

Ponderosa by

crowroad3
1) locked in a small room
2) John and Dean
3) the smell of something dead

Tree Falls by

crowroad3
1.) the woods
2.) Dean
3.) nonverbal

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sam’s hands are shaking a little, but you don’t need steady hands to wrap gauze around a leg, and he doesn’t have time for stitches anyway. Of course it would be Wednesday night that the chupacabra showed up on campus; Thursday morning is his only 9 AM lecture and he’s already missed two sessions of that class this term. Those weren’t monsters. They were Brady’s fault. But Sam couldn’t explain, didn’t want to cause more problems than Brady’s already causing himself, and the professor had been pissed enough by his vague excuses to put him on a warning. One more absence and Sam risks failing the class, which means maybe losing his scholarship. If he loses his scholarship, everything falls apart. He’s already working two part-time jobs, constantly frustrated by the sleep deprivation that he’s fighting every night while he writes, every morning as he drags himself to class. It’s like he’s swimming in mud, watching everybody else with their money and their leisure time breezing along. He doesn’t. He’s lucky to be here at all. But he’s constantly shaky, more caffeine than blood, and he’s sure that the weeks upon weeks of just holding it together are to blame for the fact that the chup’ got the drop on him before it fell.

He killed it, in the end, drove a thick stake of oak through its heart and buried its rough-scratchy body in the arboretum. But he’s bleeding, still, from the great deep gash that its claws dug into his thigh. He tries not to think about it, focuses on binding his leg tight as he can, focuses on hurrying. He checks the clock. Shit. 8.30 and he has to cross campus. He pulls on a fresh pair of jeans, looks helpless at the pile of blood-soaked towels on his bedroom floor. He can deal with it later. He just has to get going.

When he stands, the wave of pain from the wound in his thigh washes dizzy up to his head and he almost falls over, catches himself before he can crumple back onto the bed. Fuck. He closes his eyes, breathes in, and bends over awkward and stiff-legged to grab his backpack from its place on his desk. He slides a stack of notebooks into his arms at random, grits his teeth and limps out of the door.

The stairs down to ground level nearly undo him, but the elevator is always broken and Sam doesn’t have time to wait. Out in the chill of the February morning, he hunches his shoulders and shuffles grimly on, distracted from the cold wind through his too-thin jacket by the furnace-hot agony throbbing in his thigh. He’s worried about putting weight on it, worried about it bleeding, so he lurches forward inefficiently, dragging the useless leg. The thought of how he must look, stupid gangly hobbling scarecrow, ties a tight knot of anxiety at the back of his brain; but the bulk of it, the forefront, is just hurry hurry hurry and so he does, presses on until at last the tiled roof of the humanities building comes into view. He checks his watch through blurry eyes. 8.57. Okay.

On the door of the usual lecture room is a note saying that they’ve moved upstairs. The spiral binding on Sam’s notebook is digging into his fingers, the corner of it cutting tight into his arm. He grips on tighter as he hoists himself up the staircase, resigning himself to putting weight on the leg, trying not to think about the creaky give of the gauze. Close, close, close. His heart is hammering in his throat, skip-skipping like it does sometimes after the nights when he loses count of the coffee shots, when his whole body starts missing the beat.

It’s 9.01 when Sam pushes open the door to the lecture theatre; Prof Childs is there, but she’s still shuffling her papers at the lectern at the front of the room. He feels relief so acute it’s like his whole body unclenches. Okay. Okay. He can do this after all.

He’s scanning the room for an empty seat when he steps forward awkwardly, twists his ankle and the tear on his thigh tugs open and he gasps in pain. For a moment he thinks he can hold it together, but the red hum he’s been suppressing grows louder, grows deafening. The blood roars in his ears, nausea building at the back of his throat. Sam holds himself for a second, fighting it, swaying on the spot; an iron band of agony tightening around his leg. Black spots dance over his vision. Then all in a moment, he feels himself break. His gorge rises, his stomach cramps and he folds over forward, his notebooks clattering on the floor, the room greying into merciful oblivion as his limbs give way. Before he closes his eyes, he sees some girl he half-recognises (Kelly? Keira?), mouth open and eyes wide, her face a distorted, terrified mask.

When he comes round he’s still lying on the floor, though somebody’s arranged him in the recovery position. The lecture theatre is emptying. The stragglers stare at him over their shoulders as they hurry past. “Sam,” says a voice, disembodied and distant; and Stephen, his study buddy on this politics course, looms over him from nowhere, blinking anxious and scared.

Sam’s mouth tastes of vomit and the air smells of blood. He scrabbles for a hand-hold, tries to sit up, but the wooden floor is slippery and the jolt to his leg sets off a pain so sharp that he’s grateful to fall back again.

There’s the hollow sound of a pair of high heels and Professor Childs looks over him, crouches down to get close. “There’s an ambulance on its way,” she says.

“No,” says Sam, and he lifts a hand to scrub at his face, try to get himself together. His fingers are trembling violently, setting off a shiver that racks through his whole body. “I’m okay,” he says.

“You’re bleeding all over the floor,” says Stephen tightly.

“Sorry,” Sam says. He looks up at Professor Childs, upside-down behind his head. “I was… I didn’t want to be late for class.”

She frowns. “I dread to think,” she says, “what happened to keep you away from my previous classes, Sam.”

He’s not sure if she’s joking. Even stringing her words together for sense is proving difficult. All the elements of what Sam’s seeing have started to jumble together oddly, Stephen’s face shifting and rearranging like a puzzle. Like a Picasso. Oh shit. Jess is going to kill him if she finds out about this.

“… happened, Sam?” Stephen is saying.

“A dog,” Sam says. It’s not plausible, not really; won’t hold together once they get him to hospital and cut open his jeans. But if he’s adamant enough about it, what else are they gonna say? Mountain lion? Bear? Neither is likely, downtown.

“The fuck did you do to it?” Stephen says; and then, absurdly, “You love dogs!”

Sam laughs, although the sound tails off into a wheeze as the movement begins to hurt. Then the clash of the double doors of the hall, and voices, the rattly wheels of a gurney.

“Okay,” says a voice, and there are hands underneath him, the room lurching as he’s lifted and set down.

“I’ll go with him,” says Stephen. Sam wants to say, don’t worry, but actually the thought of somebody familiar at his side is unbearably tempting.

The medics roll him along to the elevator. While they are waiting, there’s a hand on Sam’s arm, and he opens his eyes to find meet the professor’s serious gaze. “Send me an email when you’re better, Sam,” she says. “We’ll work something out.” She shakes her head. “There’s no point killing yourself over this class.”

Sam closes his eyes, tries to regulate his breathing, but the stifling panic that her words have triggered stacks up heavy, bears down on his chest. He thinks about the deadlines, about his precariously balanced routine; thinks about missed shifts, missed essays, missed hours of class. He’d thought, coming here, that he was coming to something settled. In actuality it’s not so different to life with Dad. Everything still feels tenuous. It’s all hanging by a thread.

An image of the chupacabra swims into his mind, its hairless body crumpled in its fresh-dirt grave. Sam thinks about the weight of the earth, packed damp and solid around it; thinks about the soil clogging its airways, its nose and throat. He feels like that sometimes, like he’s struggling to breathe through something thicker than air.

“It’s okay,” says Stephen, and he’s walking beside Sam as the trolley rattles its way out of the door. His fingers, dry and warm, find Sam’s; and he squeezes Sam’s hand reassuringly.

“Yeah,” says Sam. He’s still calculating, the overstuffed hours hanging oppressively over his head. He’ll just have to. He can take his laptop to work, next week, can swap his afternoons for night shifts which are usually quieter and try to make up the classwork he’s gonna miss the next couple of days. And if he puts off seeing Jess next week as well, that gives him an extra evening as well as time for his leg to heal. He doesn’t want to miss seeing her, has cancelled on her too many times, but in making the plan he feels a space start to clear in his mind. It’s an air pocket. He can do it. He can breathe. Head above the water. “It’s okay,” he says.

This is wonderful!!!

I love every word of this! The idea of Sam hunting solo at Stanford has always fascinated me, and I love how you worked that into the fic, as well as mentioning Jess ad Brady and including some new characters too.

Sam thoughts as he struggling to deal with his life at Stanford ring so true to me; he's idolized this future of normal, but in reality, it's still hard and in similar ways.

Thank you so very much for filling the prompt so wonderfully! Take care :)

Oh poor Sam! I wish they showed something like this in the show. How tough it has always been for Sam to balance everything!!
I guess it is easy to infer based on the fact that aside from the trials he always seems to go on no sleep!

Oh the heartbreak. I loved it. Sam being so used to fighting through pain and to being alone in his distress even when there are others around him is so true to character. Great job.

(Reading everything way too late) oh my heart. Lovely and touching and ow.

Sorry, my memory is horrible and I knew I'd read it a while ago already, but didn't think I had responded to say how much I loved it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

OhSam Triple Play 2016!

FILLED: Pressure Bandage (1/3)

FILLED: Pressure Bandage (2/3)

FILLED: Pressure Bandage (3/3)

RE: FILLED: Pressure Bandage (3/3)

RE: FILLED: Pressure Bandage (3/3)

RE: FILLED: Pressure Bandage (3/3)

RE: FILLED: Pressure Bandage (3/3)

RE: FILLED: Pressure Bandage (3/3)

RE: FILLED: Pressure Bandage (3/3)