It's my birthday! Let's have a comment-fic meme!

[ratherastory]

Okay everyone!

It's my birthday ! I am stuck at work, on a night shift, and I am sick. I think my birthday needs to be a lot more awesome than this, so I declare an impromptu comment-fic meme!

It's my LJ, so you guys know what I like. SPN, h/c, all that. BUT! If you have other fandoms you want to include, RPF, crossovers, whatever, then have at it!

Ground rules:

HAVE FUN!

Prompt as many times as you want! One prompt per comment. In the subject line specify the fandom and whatever else you want.

Please write to as many prompts as you want! Multiple fills per prompt are encouraged. Reply to the original prompt, and if you need multiple comment-boxes for your reply, please reply to the previous comment to keep linking simple. In the subject line write FILLED: [Your Title] and applicable warnings.

I will, naturally, compile a master list as we go.

lelaro: Sam teaches Dean about social networking.

pedal_blur: The boys hole up at Bobby's while Dean is sick. Sam pitches in to help around the house.

claudia_priscus: Sam help takes care of Bobby's zombie bunny problem.

wrath_n_raiths: Doc Benton succeeds in putting out Sam's eye.

mercuryblue144: Sam 'n' Dean try to fit on a twin bed, with dubious results.

harrigan: Pillow Talk. Or, Sam teaches Dean something. :)

ratherastory: The guys wrap up a case, and Danny finds out that Steve's been hiding an injury, all the while he's been running around and fighting like a ninja. He yells at Steve and takes care of him at the same time.

Comments

Filled: Doc Benton and One Eyed-Sam

[wrath-n-raiths.livejournal.com]

A/N 1: Happy Birthday!!
A/N 2: I tried to write h/c...I'm pretty sure it devolved into horror or at least angstness somewhere in there. :/


Dean comes down the stairs and Sam’s screaming, screaming things he never imagined Sam saying ever. Some of it's Latin.

“JESUS CHRIST OH GO-OD DEAN PLEASE” is what Dean actually understands, and the tone is enough to drag him downstairs like one of those poor cartoons with the cane hooked around its neck. He staggers into this shitty little room and Sam’s strapped down and the Doc’s standing over him with a tiny ice cream scoop and there’s something in it, looking at him.

Dean startles awake in the dark and he’s lying on the floor at Bobby’s house with a pillow, even though the couch isn’t taken like it usually is. Like it is when Sam’s-damn, he’s up now.

His feet drag all the way up the stairs, heavy like they were in his dream. If he’d been faster, god, if he’d come down five minutes sooner, maybe- He walks into Bobby’s guest room and Sam’s propped up on one arm. His head turns and it’s like something from a nightmare. One was blue and the other was red, Dean thinks hysterically, and Sam stares back at him with one good eye and one raw gaping hole and says, groggily, “Dean, is that you?”

Sam's half-blind it's Dean's fault. The thought alone shoves Dean forward and closes the gap between him and his disfigured little brother. He sits down next to Sam and tries to ignore the smell of burnt meat (because that sick fucker wanted to make sure Sam didn’t bleed out or anything).

“Heya, kiddo,” he says, “How you feelin’?”

“Dean,” Sam replies, “Dean, he took my eye.” His voice is low and rough with panic even doped up on Bobby's good stuff and Dean kisses his forehead and puts his arm around Sam.

“Yeah, he did,” he agrees, “But he’s not gonna take anything else, ever again.” Sometimes the thought of a job well done comforted Sam more than any words Dean could come up with, any “jerks” or or “you’ll be fine” s. Tonight isn't one of those times.

“Jesus Christ, Dean,” Sam continues, “I’ve only got one eye. “

“We’ll work it out,” Dean promises him.

“My depth perception alone-god, my research on-your deal-just weeks-“ Sam fumbles across his chest, like making sure he’s still there or maybe trying to use him as some kind of leverage to get up. Dean pins his hand and Sam glares at him. The impact of it is no less with one eye you’re making Sammy angry and Sammy has to be happy always happy or he might leave us but Dean holds on because fuck, there’s no way Sam is thinking about Dean and his deal right now. Sam twists uselessly in Dean’s arms, furious as hell to not be getting his way, just like when they were kids.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Dean tells him, “Sammy, it's okay, I’m gonna take care of you. I promise”

Sam presses his head against Dean’s chest and Dean strokes his hair as Sam sobs and snots all over his shirt. He doesn’t stop talking, because if he does then he can hear Sam whispering, and what Sam is whispering is not something Dean wants to hear.

“Why didn’t you let him kill me,” Sam’s crying, over and over, and Dean strokes his hair and says calm things and doesn’t answer him, even though he knows what he wants to do and what he wants is to cry and say Forgive me, I wish to god I'd been there. But those aren’t the words Sam wants, so Dean doesn't say them. What Dean needs is to comfort Sam and make him feel better for always. He’s pretty sure it’s on his bucket list.

Sam’s tired and in shock so he falls out again pretty quick. Dean gets out of the bed but stays with Sam, sits on his right side and stares at the ruin of his face, the yawning black hole of his eye socket. Memorizing his failure. I’m so sorry, he mouths into the silence, but Sam doesn’t see it. He’s not the one who needs to.

//’What’s Hell like?’ Sam asks the silence. ‘You wouldn’t like it,’ Dean replies, ‘It isn’t-it’s worse than being dead.’
‘So is this,’ Sam whispers, like it’s a kindness, like he’s glad he can share this, at least, with Dean.

Dean falls asleep and dreams of Sam’s eye, in its bloody metallic cradle, and it's looking back at him with the last scrap of forgiveness left in Sam’s body.//

*