ratherastory | Fic meme!

Awesome meme! :D

How about the one where Sam has to shave off all his hair and Dean is the one who mourns the loss the most.

the one where there are no demons, Mary lives, but the Winchesters still manage to turn Christmas into chaos^^

The one where they're dealing with the fallout from Sam's baby dying.

wait, no.

The cracky one where Sam and Dean meet Shrek.

The one where Dean's deaf and he gets kidnapped by Santa's elves at Christmas.

The one where Sam and Dean fight over who gets the last popsicle in the GOOD flavor, and Cas does not understand the issue and feels that other things are more important.

What about the one where Sam and Dean are trapped by the wrist and they have to decide which one uses the hacksaw to cut them both free before they drown/burn/suffocate..?

The one where Danny Williams meets Sam Winchester.

The one where Dean is so congested and cranky that he blows out both his eardrums when sneezing and doesn't realise it until he's well and Sam is horrified and awesome taking care of his grumpy-assed big brother.

In which Dean has a traumatic Hell flashback - complete with all the bells and whistles - and Perry licks his face until Sam comes to draw him out of it.

The one where Danny Williams and Steve McGarrett tried living together and "it didn't work out."

(Sorry for the giant images. I can't seem to resize them.)

It's kind of ironic that, after the giant fuss Sam put up about his hair all their lives, that now he doesn't seem all that worried about having it all shaved off. Sure, Dean's always been at him to get a proper buzz cut, and Sam was the first to point out that he's finally getting what he always wanted, but somehow Sam just doesn't look much like Sam anymore with only thin stubble doing nothing to hide the ugly scar that snakes from his right temple to all the way behind his ear.

By all rights, Sam should be freaking out, but in the end it's Dean who derives the most comfort when Sam stretches out on the sofa, sprawls in Dean's lap and lets his brother pet the soft fuzz that's growing back in slowly, until they both fall asleep right there in front of the staticky television.

It's Sam who notices the funny smell at first, but it takes a while to identify it as a crack in the furnace, which means that they have to turn the heat almost all the way off so the whole house doesn't go up in a ball of flame. Dean thinks it would be cool, but the look he gets from Dad tells him it would be a really bad idea to voice that thought aloud. There are no repairmen available until after Christmas because it's the holiday season, they're busy, and anyway it's not like they can afford the holiday rates.

Sam tries to help Mom with Christmas dinner, but his mashed potatoes turn out weird and lumpy, and the turkey doesn't thaw in time for it to be cooked properly. Dad trips over the dog, who's been underfoot in the kitchen all day, hoping for scraps, and somehow sprains his ankle amidst a string of curses each more colourful than the last.

In the end Mom makes hot chicken sandwiches from yesterday's leftovers, and they pile together on the sofa —Dad with an ice pack tied to his ankle— and watch 'It's a Wonderful Life' on the TV until Sam falls asleep on Dad's shoulder and Dean curls up in Mom's lap and nobody says anything about it at all.

"What if she's not dead?"

Dean looks up from where he's been reading the obituaries, startled. Sam is sitting cross-legged on his crappy motel bed, staring at the photos of Jess he keeps in his wallet, hair falling into his face.

"What?"

"What if she's not dead, Dean?" Sam turns eyes on Dean that seem to take up half his face. He's lost a lot of weight since they left Stanford, is gaunt and hollow-eyed, the haunted look never leaving his face these days. "I've been thinking about it," he insists. "They never found her, right?"

"Sam..."

There's no good way to tell your little brother that denial is not a healthy choice for dealing with his dead baby. There's a selfish part of Dean that kind of wants to let Sam cling to this hope, futile as it is, because at least then it'll give him a reason to keep going.

Sam fiddles with the cuff of his jeans, already beginning to fray. He's going to need new clothes, soon. "Do you think... when we find Dad... Do you think he'd help us look for her?"

Someone has replaced Dean's lungs and heart with a ball of molten lead. It hurts to even think about drawing breath.

"Sure, Sammy. Of course he will."

Sam shuffles uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "This wasn't really what I was expecting," he whispers to Dean.

"Dude, preaching to the choir."

The ogre glares at them from the head of the rough wooden table where he and what appears to be a wife and multiple children are all sitting down to a meal. The meal looks perfectly ordinary, too, if a little disgusting by human standards.

"Can ye not read?" the ogre shouts in a heavy Scottish accent. "No intruders! Do I come barging into your homes while ye're having supper? No! It's the height of rudeness, isn't it, Fiona!"

The ogre's wife nods. "It is. Next time, you should write ahead to let us know you're coming, at the very least. You're very lucky Shrek here hasn't tossed you out already with a flea in your ears."

"Um, I don't think they're the monsters we're looking for," Sam whispers again.

"Yeah, you think?"

The ogre rolls it's eyes. "Oh, yes, monsters. Just because people are dying mysteriously, it must be the ogres who live in the woods and don't bother anyone at all. It's absolutely logical!" it says sarcastically. "Look, next time dispense with the formalities and just come with your mob with torches and pitchforks, it'll save us all a lot of bother."

"We're very sorry to have intruded," Sam stutters, and he and Dean tuck their tails between their legs and hightail it out of there with very little regard for their own dignity.

The one where Sam gets old and retired enough to forget Latin.

Awwwww. This one gives me the warm fuzzies.

"Why can you not each just take one of the remaining popsicles?"

Dean rolls his eyes as though Cas has just said one of the most ridiculous things ever and, okay, Sam is inclined to agree with him. "Because, Cas, one of them is grape-flavoured, and grape tastes like ass. So it's Sam's turn to get the gross popsicle."

Sam socks him in the arm. "No way. You pulled that trick the last two times, so I kept track this time. It's your turn to get the grape one, quit trying to weasel out of it!"

"I am not! It's totally your turn."

Sam opens his mouth to argue, but before he can so much as manage a word, Castiel steps forward, takes the cherry popsicle out of the box, unwraps it and promptly puts it in his mouth. When Sam and Dean gape at him, he smiles around the popsicle with red-stained lips.

"I have not had a turn yet. You two may share the grape popsicle."

BWAH! :D

The one with snow angels and Perry snapping at snowflakes and extremely spiked hot chocolate.

*I can haz gud spelling? No, can't haz.*

Edited 2011-12-13 18:56 (UTC)

Okay, it's a dirty trick, but Sam figures it's better that than both of them dying. Dean's better-positioned to survive this, and anyway, they both know Sam is broken beyond fixing and has been for a very long time.

So he feels a little bad for sucker-punching his brother and taking the hacksaw from his limp fingers, but not nearly as bad as for what he's going to do next. Tying a good tourniquet with only one hand and his teeth is hard, but Sam has found that he can do pretty much anything when he's properly motivated.

The wound bleeds a lot in spite of the tourniquet when Sam has finished sawing, and he's pathetically grateful that Dean stays unconscious throughout, because it's damned hard to saw through bone, not to mention horrifiying. The water is up to their chests, now, blood swirling in crimson eddies around them. He tries to make sure Dean's arm stays elevated by his shoulder, makes sure Dean is floating on his back. Eventually the water will lift him all the way up and out of here, and maybe someone will find him.

Sam looks down to where his hand is still trapped, and takes a deep breath. If he's lucky, he might not pass out while he's sawing. If he's really lucky, then he will pass out, and none of this will matter at all.

So potent! Oh, I could mother them both...

"It's gotta be the growth hormones in the milk these days, I swear to God. I mean, what even?" the little blond man sputters, gesturing expansively up and down at Sam.

Sam flushes a little and hunches his shoulders more. "Um."

"Don't mind Sammy, he's always been a mutant freak."

The blond guy arches an eyebrow. "Oh, don't give me that, you're almost as bad. I swear to God, first Steve, now you two, what am I even supposed to make of this? What the hell are you doing in my crime scene, anyway? Are you friends of Steve's? It wouldn't surprise me if you were."

"Uh, yes?" Dean ventures, and the guy's features darken.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You're lying through your teeth." A moment later he has a gun in his hands, trained expertly on them. "On the floor, both of you, and hands where I can see them. Now!"

When they're face down on the floor, fingers laced behind their heads, Dean twists a little until he's facing Sam.

"I hope you realize this is all your fault."

oh, so cute and I can totally see this happening^^

Fic meme!

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