Prompt-a-licious
Why look, back to back postings. Sorry for the spam. :P
So, in response to the most recent prompts (you know who you are), I give you fic(let)s. All rated and categorized with fandom, etc.
Enjoy. :)
legoline
SPN: Gen, G
A fic set on Christmas in Dean's last year, and how they celebrate it or - or not
He's sleeping when he hears Sam's voice coming from the bathroom. Dean rolls over, glances at the clock to see it read a little past four-thirty in the morning. Outside, he hears the tappity-tap of ice against the window, and he curses at the thought of being trapped indoors all day.
Dean tries to bury himself down into the blankets, seeking warmth and sleep, but Sam comes out of the bathroom, closing his cell phone. He pauses in front of Dean's bed.
"Dean?" he whispers. "You awake?"
Dean grunts intelligibly, and Sam takes this as a good enough answer. He sits down on the bed next to Dean's legs. "Hey, I was thinking we could go out today. Do something. It's Christmas y'know."
The It's your last Christmas remain unspoken but strong.
Dean could argue, could fight or be pissy, but he decides he can give Sam this much. After all, next year Sam's going to be doing this on his own.
So, Dean says, "What did ya have in mind?" and Sam just smiles.
- - - - -
Dean sleeps in the passenger seat, head tilted back and resting against the seat. He opens his eyes a few times, sees rolling hills of crystal white and smoke rising in little dragon's tails from chimneys in the distance. The sun's a purple fog seeping over the bleary horizon.
Sam keeps fidgeting in his seat, and Dean can't tell if he's nervous, excited, or just had too much to drink before they left. Dean goes back to sleep, satisfied that Sam'll wake him when they get there.
- - - - -
They stop on the side of the road with nothing but snow-lace laden trees surrounding them.
"Where are we?" Dean mumbles, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand.
Sam doesn't answer. Only says, "Make sure you're dressed warm." He climbs out of the car and walks around to the trunk.
- - - - -
They walk through the forest together, boots crunching softly through the layered snow and ice. Sam's holding his phone in front of him, studying it thoughtfully as the small screen flickers and changes with his every step.
In a clearing where the trees bow under the weight of the snow, and the sun sneaks through the frosted branches in little pinches, Sam stops. "We're here," he tells Dean and closes his phone, puts it away in his pants' pocket.
Dean looks around. Everything is endless white, twisted bark and looped branches, fallen plants and heaping drifts, is covered in the snow. His breath spills from his lips in a hot cloud, rising against the early morning sun. He glances back to Sam. "What's this?"
Sam fidgets again. "Look. I..." He stops, scratches the back of his head and turns his eyes to the cold sun. "I haven't been honest with you about some things."
Dean raises his eyebrows.
"When, um, when I was a baby, the demon...the one that killed Mom. He...he dropped some of his blood in my mouth, and well. I've been talking to this guy who's studied demons and folklore--that's who I called this morning--and he said I might be able to take advantage of this."
"Take advantage how, Sam?"
"By saving you. Getting you out of your deal."
"Sam..." Dean begins. He doesn't want to have this fight. So little time left, and he's grown weary of the arguments with Sam and callused to the lack of hope between them.
"No, Dean, I won't die. I promise."
"How? You know how the deal was made."
"I'm going with you."
"Going where?" Dean asks skeptically. He doesn't like Sam's elusion and secrets. The world is too quiet, and his breathing much too loud, and he clenches his hands into fists for more than warmth.
Sam sighs and explains that on Christmas, if anyone has made a deal with a demon, their soul is given back to them on that day.
"Why's that?" Dean interrupts.
"Because. It's the day that's celebrated as the birth of Christ. The one who was written to have triumphed over death and the devil. So, today, your soul is yours, and the demons can't touch it."
"But tomorrow, I go right back to having less than a year to live."
Sam nods. "Yeah. See, look, the man I talked to...You have a year to live from when you made the deal, so you're supposed to die in 2008? Well, what if 2008 doesn't come?"
Dean can only stare. He's not following Sam's nonsensical rambling.
"The demon blood? Yeah, well, um, I can time travel, and I'm going with you. We're going to go back into the past, and 2008 doesn't have to come for you. The demons won't be able to get you. I won't leave you. I'm not going to stand back and just let you die either." Sam pauses and lifts his eyes to Dean's. "What do you say?"
- - - - -
Somewhere in a forest, there are two sets of footprints that lead to a clearing before they stop, cast only temporarily in ice and cold. They'll melt away when spring comes, bringing warmth and sunshine in its palms, and no one will know that there were two sets of footprints.
Somewhere in a forest, there are two brothers that walk to a clearing before they stop, protected forever from hell and fire. They'll go on their way, driving from state to state and moving from year to year, and only they will know that they're safe at last.
rivers_bend
SPN: Gen, G
Sam or Dean finds something in the Impala that they thought they'd lost?
His head in the trunk, Dean was almost positive he'd never find that extra round of silver bullets he had bought less than three weeks ago. Cursing under his breath, he shoved aside some of the weapons they hadn't used since--Well, he couldn't remember how long it had been. After all, it wasn't like they needed an underwater harpoon every day.
Beneath the weapons, his hand closed around what felt like a book. He frowned, confused, and tugged it out into the light. It was a notebook. Red and dog-eared, cover bent back. When Dean smoothed the top pages down, he read, Sam Winchester: Creative Writing.
Odd. Dean was sure that Sam had gotten rid of all traces of his college material a long time ago. Must be Sam had forgotten about this one.
Dean sat down on the edge of the opened trunk and flipped through the wrinkled pages curiously. At the top of each page was a number and an underlined statement--a prompt of some sort--followed by Sam's familiar cursive, slanted harsh to the right, dark and heavy on the pages.
Somewhere in the middle of the notebook, Dean found a page that was titled, One of your earliest memories. Dean stopped, smiled when he read about the summer he'd taken Sam, stumbling child on chubby legs with hair on his eyes, outside to catch fireflies while Dad sharpened knives and listened to the weather report on the radio.
Dean closed the notebook and tucked it safely back under the weapons where he had found it. If he was lucky, Sam would never go looking for it and Dean could keep the fireflies.
vorpalblades
Project Runway/Top Chef: RPS, PG
Dale [Top Chef]/Kayne [Project Runway]
Later, after Kayne had asked him out and Dale, figuring he had nothing better to do that night had agreed, Dale would wonder why he had said yes in the first place. It wasn't like they really had anything in common.
Dale was a food guy. He was a messy housekeeper, left crap laying all over the place and put nothing back where it belonged. He wore crude t-shirts and ripped jeans. Belched when he ate and laughed at it later. He liked to watch cheap porn with bad plots and tight abs and keep the volume turned up too loud.
Kayne. Kayne, well, he didn't do all that. He was proper and soft-spoken in his smooth Southern dialect. Clothes perfectly cut and he decorated with flowers and patterned fabrics. Everything had its place and his porn, Dale found, was romantic sap shit.
But, for whatever reason, things seemed to work. So much so that when Kayne said, as they lay together, sprawled half-dressed on Dale's couch, "What're we goin' to do about us?" Dale asked him to move in.
Once their Top Chef and Project Runway friends heard about the new relationship, there wasn't a moment of piece.
"We should just throw a fucking party and get it over with," Dale grumbled after hanging up the phone with an overexcited Brian who was just happy to see Dale in a relationship at last.
Kayne looked up from his sketches. "I'll do it you want to."
"Seriously? Because if you're bullshitting--"
"Yeah. It'll be fun. Besides," Kayne laughed, laying down his colored pencil he was using to shade in some floofy dress he had just drawn, "I've got to tell CJ to get the time difference between California and Chicago figured out so he stops calling us at one in the morning."
- - - - -
They held the party in Dale's apartment. The day of, Kayne kicked him out, told him to go to town and shop for dinner supplies, so he could clean the apartment in peace. When Dale protested--it was his apartment after all--Kayne kissed him on the lips, pushed him out the door and locked it behind him.
That night, everyone greeted Dale and Kayne warmly. Uli hugged Dale and told him in her crisp German accent that she was happy to meet the man Kayne hadn't stopped talking about, and Casey mentioned to Dale later that he finally seemed happy. Even Hung had a congratulatory slap on the shoulder for the two guys.
The food was perfectly done--not that anyone had been expecting less from Dale--and Kayne had decorated and cleaned things beautifully. Everyone laughed and drank into the early hours of the morning.
After the guests had left and the apartment was quiet, Dale and Kayne laid down together on Dale's bed.
"Your designer friends are fucking crazy," Dale said affectionately as Kayne curled into his chest, forehead coming to rest on Dale's shoulder.
Kayne murmured unintelligibly, exhaustion overtaking him. He mumbled something that sounded like, "Talk later. Lemme sleep," and Dale reached down to cover them with a fallen blanket. He pulled Kayne tight to him and closed his eyes to sleep.
equinox_blue
SPN: Gen, PG-13ish
Songfic. Set to "This Fire" by Franz Ferdinand, "i bet you look good on the dancefloor" by The Arctic Monkeys or "Sugar, We're Goin' Down" by [FOB].
Am I more than you bargained for yet
I've been dying to tell you anything you want to hear
Cause that's just who I am this week
Lie in the grass, next to the mausoleum
The cemetery was quiet, hushed in the early morning just before dawn, and Sam whispered, “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
Dean remained on his back, staring at the stars being erased by the pink sunrise in the faraway distance. The grass was cold, wet and heavy with dew, and Sam shifted, sitting up to rest against the tombstone of a beloved mother and wife.
“I may not be able to control myself, you know that-don’t you? I’m afraid you’re going to get hurt. What if I do something? Say something? It’s got to be believable around her or else she won’t help us contact him.”
Dean swallowed, watched the day begin. “I’ll be fine, Sammy. Just do whatever you’ve gotta do.”
- - - - -
Drop a heart, break a name
We're always sleeping in, and sleeping for the wrong team
“Don’t you know who I am?” Sam asked Ruby. “You better remember it.”
From her position in the chair, Ruby glanced to Dean, who was standing behind Sam. “Does your brother know we’re fucking?” she asked Sam, keeping her eyes on Dean. “Does he know you’ve turned your back on everything he’s tried to protect you from?”
Sam snorted, glanced behind him, eyes furious but not black. Not yet. There was still hope. “Dean?” The sound of his name was an insult, a slap across the face, and Sam chuckled. “Dean’s never cared so long as it saved his own ass.”
- - - - -
We're going down, down in an earlier round
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
Sam punched Dean, sharp and hot across the face, crack of flesh and bones, and Dean fell to the ground, holding his cheek.
“Get up,” Sam growled, kicking Dean in the side. “Don’t make this harder for me than it already is.”
Dean wiped his mouth, spat blood and foam onto the dirt. He rose unsteadily to his feet. If this was what it meant to save him from death and save Sam from Hell, he wasn’t sure he was liked this.
“All right,” he nodded, fists rising up in front of his face. “Do it again. Make it look real. He’s gotta believe it when he shows.”
- - - - -
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded god complex, cock it and pull it
In the cemetery, waiting, face beaten to hell, eyes swollen black and blue, breathing through a blood-crusted nose, Dean stood next to Sam. Both silent, both apprehensive, both wondering if the demon would believe that Sam was truly willing to sacrifice his brother’s soul for a chance to command the army of Hell.
Then-a voice from behind them. A “Hello boys, good to see you,” and they turned, Dean slower than Sam, and they faced the monster who held Dean’s soul in his hands.
“Sammy, always a pleasure. Heard so much about you.” The demon, eyes red and hot, looked from brother to brother, and asked, “You’re willing to give me Dean now for the chance to lead Azazel’s army?”
Sam nodded. “Dean’s all yours. He’s weakest now. I made sure of that.”
The demon smiled. “So you did.”
“Then have him.” The words planned ahead, the signal made ready, and Dean pulled the Colt from beneath his jacket and aimed. Shot through the demon’s forehead, hole burning black, and the monster wheezed, sparking and screaming, and collapsed numbly to the ground.
Warmth flooded through Dean, a weight lifted and forgotten freedom returned, and when Sam looked over to Dean, asked, “Did it work?” Dean nodded silently.
“I think,” he whispered, “I think it did.”
tigriswolf
SPN: Gen, R
So, say NotDean comes back(or his vengeful lover/sibling/child) and NotMeg re-possess Sam, turning Sam into NotMegSam, and then NotMegSam goes on a rampage with NotDean. Good times. (And of course, NotDean would stay in Dean's skin the whole time.)
He was waiting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed as he sharpened a stolen hunting knife, running his finger along the blade until metal sliced flesh and he hissed in satisfaction when blood was drawn. He kept his eyes, lowered and focused, only occasionally glancing up to the unconscious person tied to the chair in the middle of the room.
Just as the bound person began to stir, he set the knife down on the bed and walked closer to crouch in front of the person.
The other man shifted, opened bleary eyes beneath shaggy bangs, and for a moment, appeared confused and dazed. Then a flash of black, sharp and vicious, and he smiled.
"Been a while since I've seen you out of the pit."
The crouching man laughed lowly. "Sam gone?"
The demon in Sam's body nodded, testing the strength of the ropes against his wrists. "You?"
"Dean's as good as dead."
"Then let me outta here. I'm ready to tear up this goddamn town."
- - - - -
Dean preferred his knives, sleek and sharp, and Sam loved the taste of gunpowder. Their appetite for fire was insatiable, the both of them.
Wearing Winchester faces, they were welcomed inside with smiles and hugs by many who knew their father. Wearing Winchester faces, they slaughtered everyone whose house they entered with blackened eyes.
In Bobby's home, Sam lifted him by his throat against the wall. Spit and sneered, "Stupid old man. Thought you could protect them?"
Dean slashed the hunter's throat, cut deep into innards and muscles. While Dean wiped the blades of his precious knives clean, Sam licked Bobby's blood off his fingers and chuckled at nothing funny.
- - - - -
Ruby found them south of Colorado where they burned down an elementary school and hanged the teachers on the playground.
She came to them, spouting curses and holding the Colt, prepared to kill.
"You're ruining everything," she hissed, teeth bared.
Sam looked to Dean and Dean to Sam, and lips curled in vicious smiles.
She didn't even have time to react. They slaughtered her. Cut her open and then, only when she begged, did they end her misery with the gun she had tried to turn on them.
There was a prison less than a hundred miles away. Dean decided that murderers would be fun to become acquainted with, and Sam smirked at the bloody sunset.
azephrin
My Little Pony: Erm, crack? PGish
My Little Pony
It was a beautifully sunny day in PonyLand. The apples were a glorious red and the flowers were sparkling pink. As Mother Blossom finished packing a picnic basket, she sang quietly to herself. It was the annual PonyLand Picnic, and she was looking forward to seeing some of her unicorn friends who had flown in for the special occasion. It would be lovely to talk with her oldest and dearest friend, MoonDancer.
As she was adding some yummy carrots to her basket, Baby Blossom ran into their quaint home.
"My goodness," Mother Blossom said, "what are you doing? You seem all out of breath."
Baby Blossom, who was recently going through a "stage" according to Mother Sunshine when Mother Blossom discussed her daughter's recent behavior, glanced with wide eyes from the picnic basket to her mother.
"Mom? I've got something I gotta tell you," she said.
"Are you looking forward to the picnic as much as I am? I certainly hope so. It'll be quite the lovely occasion. Here, let me make us some warm apple tea."
"No. Mom. I--" She paused, looked down at the ground and then back up. "Momma, I'm in love."
"Love?" Mother Blossom echoed. "Why, don't be silly, honey. You're much too young for love. After all, I know when you're in love. I'll find a nice stallion for you to love."
"What if I don't want a stallion?"
"Oh, honey, not right now, of course. You're too young to be having babies. But soon, you will. And you'll have your little precious bundles to care for."
"Mom, please."
"Please what? More apple tea? Well, sweetie, the water can only get hot so fast." Mother Blossom laughed. "Oh, if I could cook things faster, why life would be absolutely splendid, don't you agree?"
Baby Blossom sighed. "Mom. I'm in love with someone right now."
"And who would that be?" Mother Blossom asked, humoring her daughter's trivial fantasy. Oh, Mother Sunshine had been right when she warned Mother Blossom to keep a close eye on her young daughter.
"Baby Morning Glory," Baby Blossom answered.
"But she's a girl."
"Yes."
"You can't love a girl. You can't have baby bundles of joy that way."
"Mom, I like girls."
"For friends, of course."
"No," Baby Blossom replied. "For more than friends. I kissed her the other day, and we're going to move in together soon."
Mother Blossom turned around, away from the cheerful teapot with its magical PonyLand water getting ready for apple tea. She was going to say that perhaps Baby Blossom was just being silly and had been spending too much time in the happy PonyLand sun. But, Baby Blossom was already out the door, and Mother Blossom heard the quiet laughter of Baby Morning Glory from outside the house.
Mother Blossom sighed, shook her mane, and thought it would be quite the pity if Baby Blossom missed the picnic this afternoon. After all, the unicorns were coming to town, and it would be lovely to talk with her oldest and dearest friend, MoonDancer.
asthrosknot
SPN: Gen, PG
Prompt is ash, teddy bear, doritos any fandom
Sam was in the middle of watching Bride of Chucky on TV when Dean entered the motel room, holding a big, blue stuffed bear and reeking of fairground food.
Glancing from the bear to Dean, Sam grumbled, "You know you can't use the excuse that it just followed you home."
Dean laughed, tossed the bear on the bed next to Sam and said, "He's kinda cute."
As Chucky screeched devilishly on the screen, Sam snorted and pushed the bear off the bear. "Win it for some girl and she didn't want it?"
"You always have to assume the worst, don't ya?"
"She had a boyfriend and you didn't know about it and he threatened to kick your ass."
"He was a big guy, Sammy, don't rub it in."
Snickering, Sam reached down and ate a handful of Doritos from the bag between his legs. He shook his head. "Why do I always miss you getting threatened by some overprotective boyfriend? You've gotta videotape this shit for me from now on."
"Ha, ha, you're so funny," Dean grumbled as he walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. On screen, a woman screamed and Chucky grinned happily as she died.
- - - - -
Sometime during the middle of the night, Sam heard someone whispering his name. He rolled over, eyes still closed and grumbled, "Shut up, Dean." There was a moment of silence, and Sam began to sink back into sleep when the hissing voice started again.
He opened his eyes, prepared to throw a pillow at his older brother, and instead of seeing a sleeping Dean, two beady little eyes stared at him over the edge of the bed. Sam blanched, stiffened and sat up straight in bed.
"Dean!"
Sam flicked on the light to see Dean's fuzzy blue bear standing on the floor next to Sam's bed, glaring up at him. The bear's mouth twisted and it hissed, "Kill you, Sammy."
"Dean!" Sam yelled again, and Dean finally began to stir in his own bed.
"What the hell you yellin' about?" Dean mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He looked blearily at Sam, squinting through the light, and when Sam pointed at the menacing looking bear, Dean's mouth dropped open. "Shit."
Sam started to climb off the bed to get to one of the guns, but the bear scampered toward him quickly and bit into his leg. Swearing, Sam tore the bear off him and threw it against the opposite wall. Teeth marks, deep and painful, dripped blood from where the bear had bit him.
"Nasty little fucker, ain't it?" Dean hissed, eyeing the bear, mouth wet and red, that was running back to the beds. Too short to climb on the mattress and attack the brothers, the teddy bear resorted to running circles around the bed, tracing the boys' movements.
"It bit me!" Sam exclaimed. "It actually drew blood!"
From the floor, the bear growled angrily.
"Hand me that bottle of beer on the nightstand next to you," Dean told Sam. "We're going to torch the little bastard."
Carefully, keeping his arm well above the bear's reach, Sam handed the half-finished beer to Dean, who was holding his lighter. Dean edged towards the end of the bed, enough to draw the bear closer. Just as the bear approached, prepared to attack, Dean dumped the bottle of beer on the bear's head and dropped his lighter.
"Duck!" Dean screamed at Sam, who leapt off the bed as Dean followed him to the ground. There was a whooshing noise and the bear screeched manically. When the bear had finally stopped wailing, the boys peeked over the top of the bed.
A pile of ashes flamed on the ground, and Dean stood up to throw one of the heavy motel blankets over the fire. He turned back to Sam and sighed.
"What the hell kind of bear was that?" Sam asked, as he sat down to examine his leg.
"That was my fault?" Dean gaped. "How 'bout you don't go watching anymore dumb ass movies and giving the stuffed animals ideas." He rolled his eyes and stomped on the blanket on the ground. "Geesh, Sammy, what were you thinking?"
_sapphiredreams
SPN: Gen, G
Wee!Winchesters or adults remembering the past, 25 cent candy/toy machines
Sam was fascinated with the twenty-five cent machines.
"So, your quarter turns into that?" he'd gape whenever they found a machine and John slipped a coin into Sam's hands to give him a big pink gumball, a neon bouncy ball or a little shiny trinket.
Dean, because he was the big brother and sometimes the big brothers just gotta set their little brothers straight on some stuff, tried to explain that the quarter didn't become the toy. But Sam, stubborn since the day he was born, held steadfast to his belief. Dean eventually gave up. Sam would believe exactly what he wanted to and no one--not even Dean--could convince him otherwise.
One year, sometime in September after Sam's latest excitement at receiving a rubber frog from one of the machines, Dean knew what he was getting Sam for his birthday the next year.
For months, Dean took paper routes, shoveled snow or mowed lawns. He helped the old lady neighbor carry bags from her car to the house and he even did extra cleaning jobs for the young couple down the street. He took his dollar bills, crinkled and worn, to John.
"Can I get quarters for these?" he asked whenever he got paid.
John narrowed his eyebrows, confused. "Should I ask what you're up to?"
"Nothin' bad," Dean answered. "Somethin' for Sammy."
That was a good enough answer for John, who emptied his wallet, switching out quarters for Dean's bills.
Sam's birthday rolled around, and Dean saved his gift for last. From his secret space in his room, he came into the living room where John was reclining on the couch and Sam sat on the floor, surrounded by newspaper wrapping paper.
"I got 'cha something," Dean said to Sam, holding the present behind his back.
Sam looked up, big eyes curious. "Really?"
"Yeah," Dean replied and pulled the object from behind his back and handed it to Sam.
Sam laughed, big grin as wide as his face and kicked his legs. He wrapped his arms happily around the jar nearly as big as him that was filled to the brim with quarters.
mellaithwen
Gilmore Girls: Het, G
Literati (rory/jess) and just...books
They're in her grandparents' basement, sorting through forgotten treasures and lost memories, when Jess calls out, "I didn't know your grandpa owned the original version of this." Rory turns around from where she's sitting in an old rocker to see Jess walking away from the dusty bookshelf, waving the novel like a trophy.
"I'm not surprised," she replies. "I'm sure they've got the original blueprints on how to build Rome down here." She rises to her feet, meets Jess in the middle of the room where he's thumbing carefully through yellowed pages. Dust drifts up in clouds, catching the pinches of sunlight that squeezes in through the small window. "I wouldn't have taken you to be the reader of romance books," she says after he's flipped the book over to reveal its title.
"This, is most definitely not a romance book," he says defensively. "It's a classic. You can't argue with it."
Rory crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows, not amused. "Believe whatever you want. I bet you can ask a hundred people, and you'll still be the only one who says it's not a romance book."
Jess frowns, lips narrowing, and sets the book off to the side. "If I did admit it was a romance, would you make fun of me for it?"
"Never," she answers, fighting back the smile on her lips.
"I don't believe you."
"Oh, really?" She leans forward and kisses him, if only to stop her from laughing at the determined look on Jess' face. When they meet, he threads his fingers through her hair and sighs into her mouth. "Besides," she says, pulling apart to brush their noses together, "there's something cute about a guy who gets excited over finding an old copy of Gone With the Wind."
Jess groans, frustrated. "How many people are you going to tell about this?"
She smirks. "Everyone that'll listen."
So, in response to the most recent prompts (you know who you are), I give you fic(let)s. All rated and categorized with fandom, etc.
Enjoy. :)
legoline
SPN: Gen, G
A fic set on Christmas in Dean's last year, and how they celebrate it or - or not
He's sleeping when he hears Sam's voice coming from the bathroom. Dean rolls over, glances at the clock to see it read a little past four-thirty in the morning. Outside, he hears the tappity-tap of ice against the window, and he curses at the thought of being trapped indoors all day.
Dean tries to bury himself down into the blankets, seeking warmth and sleep, but Sam comes out of the bathroom, closing his cell phone. He pauses in front of Dean's bed.
"Dean?" he whispers. "You awake?"
Dean grunts intelligibly, and Sam takes this as a good enough answer. He sits down on the bed next to Dean's legs. "Hey, I was thinking we could go out today. Do something. It's Christmas y'know."
The It's your last Christmas remain unspoken but strong.
Dean could argue, could fight or be pissy, but he decides he can give Sam this much. After all, next year Sam's going to be doing this on his own.
So, Dean says, "What did ya have in mind?" and Sam just smiles.
- - - - -
Dean sleeps in the passenger seat, head tilted back and resting against the seat. He opens his eyes a few times, sees rolling hills of crystal white and smoke rising in little dragon's tails from chimneys in the distance. The sun's a purple fog seeping over the bleary horizon.
Sam keeps fidgeting in his seat, and Dean can't tell if he's nervous, excited, or just had too much to drink before they left. Dean goes back to sleep, satisfied that Sam'll wake him when they get there.
- - - - -
They stop on the side of the road with nothing but snow-lace laden trees surrounding them.
"Where are we?" Dean mumbles, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand.
Sam doesn't answer. Only says, "Make sure you're dressed warm." He climbs out of the car and walks around to the trunk.
- - - - -
They walk through the forest together, boots crunching softly through the layered snow and ice. Sam's holding his phone in front of him, studying it thoughtfully as the small screen flickers and changes with his every step.
In a clearing where the trees bow under the weight of the snow, and the sun sneaks through the frosted branches in little pinches, Sam stops. "We're here," he tells Dean and closes his phone, puts it away in his pants' pocket.
Dean looks around. Everything is endless white, twisted bark and looped branches, fallen plants and heaping drifts, is covered in the snow. His breath spills from his lips in a hot cloud, rising against the early morning sun. He glances back to Sam. "What's this?"
Sam fidgets again. "Look. I..." He stops, scratches the back of his head and turns his eyes to the cold sun. "I haven't been honest with you about some things."
Dean raises his eyebrows.
"When, um, when I was a baby, the demon...the one that killed Mom. He...he dropped some of his blood in my mouth, and well. I've been talking to this guy who's studied demons and folklore--that's who I called this morning--and he said I might be able to take advantage of this."
"Take advantage how, Sam?"
"By saving you. Getting you out of your deal."
"Sam..." Dean begins. He doesn't want to have this fight. So little time left, and he's grown weary of the arguments with Sam and callused to the lack of hope between them.
"No, Dean, I won't die. I promise."
"How? You know how the deal was made."
"I'm going with you."
"Going where?" Dean asks skeptically. He doesn't like Sam's elusion and secrets. The world is too quiet, and his breathing much too loud, and he clenches his hands into fists for more than warmth.
Sam sighs and explains that on Christmas, if anyone has made a deal with a demon, their soul is given back to them on that day.
"Why's that?" Dean interrupts.
"Because. It's the day that's celebrated as the birth of Christ. The one who was written to have triumphed over death and the devil. So, today, your soul is yours, and the demons can't touch it."
"But tomorrow, I go right back to having less than a year to live."
Sam nods. "Yeah. See, look, the man I talked to...You have a year to live from when you made the deal, so you're supposed to die in 2008? Well, what if 2008 doesn't come?"
Dean can only stare. He's not following Sam's nonsensical rambling.
"The demon blood? Yeah, well, um, I can time travel, and I'm going with you. We're going to go back into the past, and 2008 doesn't have to come for you. The demons won't be able to get you. I won't leave you. I'm not going to stand back and just let you die either." Sam pauses and lifts his eyes to Dean's. "What do you say?"
- - - - -
Somewhere in a forest, there are two sets of footprints that lead to a clearing before they stop, cast only temporarily in ice and cold. They'll melt away when spring comes, bringing warmth and sunshine in its palms, and no one will know that there were two sets of footprints.
Somewhere in a forest, there are two brothers that walk to a clearing before they stop, protected forever from hell and fire. They'll go on their way, driving from state to state and moving from year to year, and only they will know that they're safe at last.
rivers_bend
SPN: Gen, G
Sam or Dean finds something in the Impala that they thought they'd lost?
His head in the trunk, Dean was almost positive he'd never find that extra round of silver bullets he had bought less than three weeks ago. Cursing under his breath, he shoved aside some of the weapons they hadn't used since--Well, he couldn't remember how long it had been. After all, it wasn't like they needed an underwater harpoon every day.
Beneath the weapons, his hand closed around what felt like a book. He frowned, confused, and tugged it out into the light. It was a notebook. Red and dog-eared, cover bent back. When Dean smoothed the top pages down, he read, Sam Winchester: Creative Writing.
Odd. Dean was sure that Sam had gotten rid of all traces of his college material a long time ago. Must be Sam had forgotten about this one.
Dean sat down on the edge of the opened trunk and flipped through the wrinkled pages curiously. At the top of each page was a number and an underlined statement--a prompt of some sort--followed by Sam's familiar cursive, slanted harsh to the right, dark and heavy on the pages.
Somewhere in the middle of the notebook, Dean found a page that was titled, One of your earliest memories. Dean stopped, smiled when he read about the summer he'd taken Sam, stumbling child on chubby legs with hair on his eyes, outside to catch fireflies while Dad sharpened knives and listened to the weather report on the radio.
Dean closed the notebook and tucked it safely back under the weapons where he had found it. If he was lucky, Sam would never go looking for it and Dean could keep the fireflies.
vorpalblades
Project Runway/Top Chef: RPS, PG
Dale [Top Chef]/Kayne [Project Runway]
Later, after Kayne had asked him out and Dale, figuring he had nothing better to do that night had agreed, Dale would wonder why he had said yes in the first place. It wasn't like they really had anything in common.
Dale was a food guy. He was a messy housekeeper, left crap laying all over the place and put nothing back where it belonged. He wore crude t-shirts and ripped jeans. Belched when he ate and laughed at it later. He liked to watch cheap porn with bad plots and tight abs and keep the volume turned up too loud.
Kayne. Kayne, well, he didn't do all that. He was proper and soft-spoken in his smooth Southern dialect. Clothes perfectly cut and he decorated with flowers and patterned fabrics. Everything had its place and his porn, Dale found, was romantic sap shit.
But, for whatever reason, things seemed to work. So much so that when Kayne said, as they lay together, sprawled half-dressed on Dale's couch, "What're we goin' to do about us?" Dale asked him to move in.
Once their Top Chef and Project Runway friends heard about the new relationship, there wasn't a moment of piece.
"We should just throw a fucking party and get it over with," Dale grumbled after hanging up the phone with an overexcited Brian who was just happy to see Dale in a relationship at last.
Kayne looked up from his sketches. "I'll do it you want to."
"Seriously? Because if you're bullshitting--"
"Yeah. It'll be fun. Besides," Kayne laughed, laying down his colored pencil he was using to shade in some floofy dress he had just drawn, "I've got to tell CJ to get the time difference between California and Chicago figured out so he stops calling us at one in the morning."
- - - - -
They held the party in Dale's apartment. The day of, Kayne kicked him out, told him to go to town and shop for dinner supplies, so he could clean the apartment in peace. When Dale protested--it was his apartment after all--Kayne kissed him on the lips, pushed him out the door and locked it behind him.
That night, everyone greeted Dale and Kayne warmly. Uli hugged Dale and told him in her crisp German accent that she was happy to meet the man Kayne hadn't stopped talking about, and Casey mentioned to Dale later that he finally seemed happy. Even Hung had a congratulatory slap on the shoulder for the two guys.
The food was perfectly done--not that anyone had been expecting less from Dale--and Kayne had decorated and cleaned things beautifully. Everyone laughed and drank into the early hours of the morning.
After the guests had left and the apartment was quiet, Dale and Kayne laid down together on Dale's bed.
"Your designer friends are fucking crazy," Dale said affectionately as Kayne curled into his chest, forehead coming to rest on Dale's shoulder.
Kayne murmured unintelligibly, exhaustion overtaking him. He mumbled something that sounded like, "Talk later. Lemme sleep," and Dale reached down to cover them with a fallen blanket. He pulled Kayne tight to him and closed his eyes to sleep.
equinox_blue
SPN: Gen, PG-13ish
Songfic. Set to "This Fire" by Franz Ferdinand, "i bet you look good on the dancefloor" by The Arctic Monkeys or "Sugar, We're Goin' Down" by [FOB].
Am I more than you bargained for yet
I've been dying to tell you anything you want to hear
Cause that's just who I am this week
Lie in the grass, next to the mausoleum
The cemetery was quiet, hushed in the early morning just before dawn, and Sam whispered, “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
Dean remained on his back, staring at the stars being erased by the pink sunrise in the faraway distance. The grass was cold, wet and heavy with dew, and Sam shifted, sitting up to rest against the tombstone of a beloved mother and wife.
“I may not be able to control myself, you know that-don’t you? I’m afraid you’re going to get hurt. What if I do something? Say something? It’s got to be believable around her or else she won’t help us contact him.”
Dean swallowed, watched the day begin. “I’ll be fine, Sammy. Just do whatever you’ve gotta do.”
- - - - -
Drop a heart, break a name
We're always sleeping in, and sleeping for the wrong team
“Don’t you know who I am?” Sam asked Ruby. “You better remember it.”
From her position in the chair, Ruby glanced to Dean, who was standing behind Sam. “Does your brother know we’re fucking?” she asked Sam, keeping her eyes on Dean. “Does he know you’ve turned your back on everything he’s tried to protect you from?”
Sam snorted, glanced behind him, eyes furious but not black. Not yet. There was still hope. “Dean?” The sound of his name was an insult, a slap across the face, and Sam chuckled. “Dean’s never cared so long as it saved his own ass.”
- - - - -
We're going down, down in an earlier round
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
Sam punched Dean, sharp and hot across the face, crack of flesh and bones, and Dean fell to the ground, holding his cheek.
“Get up,” Sam growled, kicking Dean in the side. “Don’t make this harder for me than it already is.”
Dean wiped his mouth, spat blood and foam onto the dirt. He rose unsteadily to his feet. If this was what it meant to save him from death and save Sam from Hell, he wasn’t sure he was liked this.
“All right,” he nodded, fists rising up in front of his face. “Do it again. Make it look real. He’s gotta believe it when he shows.”
- - - - -
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded god complex, cock it and pull it
In the cemetery, waiting, face beaten to hell, eyes swollen black and blue, breathing through a blood-crusted nose, Dean stood next to Sam. Both silent, both apprehensive, both wondering if the demon would believe that Sam was truly willing to sacrifice his brother’s soul for a chance to command the army of Hell.
Then-a voice from behind them. A “Hello boys, good to see you,” and they turned, Dean slower than Sam, and they faced the monster who held Dean’s soul in his hands.
“Sammy, always a pleasure. Heard so much about you.” The demon, eyes red and hot, looked from brother to brother, and asked, “You’re willing to give me Dean now for the chance to lead Azazel’s army?”
Sam nodded. “Dean’s all yours. He’s weakest now. I made sure of that.”
The demon smiled. “So you did.”
“Then have him.” The words planned ahead, the signal made ready, and Dean pulled the Colt from beneath his jacket and aimed. Shot through the demon’s forehead, hole burning black, and the monster wheezed, sparking and screaming, and collapsed numbly to the ground.
Warmth flooded through Dean, a weight lifted and forgotten freedom returned, and when Sam looked over to Dean, asked, “Did it work?” Dean nodded silently.
“I think,” he whispered, “I think it did.”
tigriswolf
SPN: Gen, R
So, say NotDean comes back(or his vengeful lover/sibling/child) and NotMeg re-possess Sam, turning Sam into NotMegSam, and then NotMegSam goes on a rampage with NotDean. Good times. (And of course, NotDean would stay in Dean's skin the whole time.)
He was waiting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed as he sharpened a stolen hunting knife, running his finger along the blade until metal sliced flesh and he hissed in satisfaction when blood was drawn. He kept his eyes, lowered and focused, only occasionally glancing up to the unconscious person tied to the chair in the middle of the room.
Just as the bound person began to stir, he set the knife down on the bed and walked closer to crouch in front of the person.
The other man shifted, opened bleary eyes beneath shaggy bangs, and for a moment, appeared confused and dazed. Then a flash of black, sharp and vicious, and he smiled.
"Been a while since I've seen you out of the pit."
The crouching man laughed lowly. "Sam gone?"
The demon in Sam's body nodded, testing the strength of the ropes against his wrists. "You?"
"Dean's as good as dead."
"Then let me outta here. I'm ready to tear up this goddamn town."
- - - - -
Dean preferred his knives, sleek and sharp, and Sam loved the taste of gunpowder. Their appetite for fire was insatiable, the both of them.
Wearing Winchester faces, they were welcomed inside with smiles and hugs by many who knew their father. Wearing Winchester faces, they slaughtered everyone whose house they entered with blackened eyes.
In Bobby's home, Sam lifted him by his throat against the wall. Spit and sneered, "Stupid old man. Thought you could protect them?"
Dean slashed the hunter's throat, cut deep into innards and muscles. While Dean wiped the blades of his precious knives clean, Sam licked Bobby's blood off his fingers and chuckled at nothing funny.
- - - - -
Ruby found them south of Colorado where they burned down an elementary school and hanged the teachers on the playground.
She came to them, spouting curses and holding the Colt, prepared to kill.
"You're ruining everything," she hissed, teeth bared.
Sam looked to Dean and Dean to Sam, and lips curled in vicious smiles.
She didn't even have time to react. They slaughtered her. Cut her open and then, only when she begged, did they end her misery with the gun she had tried to turn on them.
There was a prison less than a hundred miles away. Dean decided that murderers would be fun to become acquainted with, and Sam smirked at the bloody sunset.
azephrin
My Little Pony: Erm, crack? PGish
My Little Pony
It was a beautifully sunny day in PonyLand. The apples were a glorious red and the flowers were sparkling pink. As Mother Blossom finished packing a picnic basket, she sang quietly to herself. It was the annual PonyLand Picnic, and she was looking forward to seeing some of her unicorn friends who had flown in for the special occasion. It would be lovely to talk with her oldest and dearest friend, MoonDancer.
As she was adding some yummy carrots to her basket, Baby Blossom ran into their quaint home.
"My goodness," Mother Blossom said, "what are you doing? You seem all out of breath."
Baby Blossom, who was recently going through a "stage" according to Mother Sunshine when Mother Blossom discussed her daughter's recent behavior, glanced with wide eyes from the picnic basket to her mother.
"Mom? I've got something I gotta tell you," she said.
"Are you looking forward to the picnic as much as I am? I certainly hope so. It'll be quite the lovely occasion. Here, let me make us some warm apple tea."
"No. Mom. I--" She paused, looked down at the ground and then back up. "Momma, I'm in love."
"Love?" Mother Blossom echoed. "Why, don't be silly, honey. You're much too young for love. After all, I know when you're in love. I'll find a nice stallion for you to love."
"What if I don't want a stallion?"
"Oh, honey, not right now, of course. You're too young to be having babies. But soon, you will. And you'll have your little precious bundles to care for."
"Mom, please."
"Please what? More apple tea? Well, sweetie, the water can only get hot so fast." Mother Blossom laughed. "Oh, if I could cook things faster, why life would be absolutely splendid, don't you agree?"
Baby Blossom sighed. "Mom. I'm in love with someone right now."
"And who would that be?" Mother Blossom asked, humoring her daughter's trivial fantasy. Oh, Mother Sunshine had been right when she warned Mother Blossom to keep a close eye on her young daughter.
"Baby Morning Glory," Baby Blossom answered.
"But she's a girl."
"Yes."
"You can't love a girl. You can't have baby bundles of joy that way."
"Mom, I like girls."
"For friends, of course."
"No," Baby Blossom replied. "For more than friends. I kissed her the other day, and we're going to move in together soon."
Mother Blossom turned around, away from the cheerful teapot with its magical PonyLand water getting ready for apple tea. She was going to say that perhaps Baby Blossom was just being silly and had been spending too much time in the happy PonyLand sun. But, Baby Blossom was already out the door, and Mother Blossom heard the quiet laughter of Baby Morning Glory from outside the house.
Mother Blossom sighed, shook her mane, and thought it would be quite the pity if Baby Blossom missed the picnic this afternoon. After all, the unicorns were coming to town, and it would be lovely to talk with her oldest and dearest friend, MoonDancer.
asthrosknot
SPN: Gen, PG
Prompt is ash, teddy bear, doritos any fandom
Sam was in the middle of watching Bride of Chucky on TV when Dean entered the motel room, holding a big, blue stuffed bear and reeking of fairground food.
Glancing from the bear to Dean, Sam grumbled, "You know you can't use the excuse that it just followed you home."
Dean laughed, tossed the bear on the bed next to Sam and said, "He's kinda cute."
As Chucky screeched devilishly on the screen, Sam snorted and pushed the bear off the bear. "Win it for some girl and she didn't want it?"
"You always have to assume the worst, don't ya?"
"She had a boyfriend and you didn't know about it and he threatened to kick your ass."
"He was a big guy, Sammy, don't rub it in."
Snickering, Sam reached down and ate a handful of Doritos from the bag between his legs. He shook his head. "Why do I always miss you getting threatened by some overprotective boyfriend? You've gotta videotape this shit for me from now on."
"Ha, ha, you're so funny," Dean grumbled as he walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. On screen, a woman screamed and Chucky grinned happily as she died.
- - - - -
Sometime during the middle of the night, Sam heard someone whispering his name. He rolled over, eyes still closed and grumbled, "Shut up, Dean." There was a moment of silence, and Sam began to sink back into sleep when the hissing voice started again.
He opened his eyes, prepared to throw a pillow at his older brother, and instead of seeing a sleeping Dean, two beady little eyes stared at him over the edge of the bed. Sam blanched, stiffened and sat up straight in bed.
"Dean!"
Sam flicked on the light to see Dean's fuzzy blue bear standing on the floor next to Sam's bed, glaring up at him. The bear's mouth twisted and it hissed, "Kill you, Sammy."
"Dean!" Sam yelled again, and Dean finally began to stir in his own bed.
"What the hell you yellin' about?" Dean mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He looked blearily at Sam, squinting through the light, and when Sam pointed at the menacing looking bear, Dean's mouth dropped open. "Shit."
Sam started to climb off the bed to get to one of the guns, but the bear scampered toward him quickly and bit into his leg. Swearing, Sam tore the bear off him and threw it against the opposite wall. Teeth marks, deep and painful, dripped blood from where the bear had bit him.
"Nasty little fucker, ain't it?" Dean hissed, eyeing the bear, mouth wet and red, that was running back to the beds. Too short to climb on the mattress and attack the brothers, the teddy bear resorted to running circles around the bed, tracing the boys' movements.
"It bit me!" Sam exclaimed. "It actually drew blood!"
From the floor, the bear growled angrily.
"Hand me that bottle of beer on the nightstand next to you," Dean told Sam. "We're going to torch the little bastard."
Carefully, keeping his arm well above the bear's reach, Sam handed the half-finished beer to Dean, who was holding his lighter. Dean edged towards the end of the bed, enough to draw the bear closer. Just as the bear approached, prepared to attack, Dean dumped the bottle of beer on the bear's head and dropped his lighter.
"Duck!" Dean screamed at Sam, who leapt off the bed as Dean followed him to the ground. There was a whooshing noise and the bear screeched manically. When the bear had finally stopped wailing, the boys peeked over the top of the bed.
A pile of ashes flamed on the ground, and Dean stood up to throw one of the heavy motel blankets over the fire. He turned back to Sam and sighed.
"What the hell kind of bear was that?" Sam asked, as he sat down to examine his leg.
"That was my fault?" Dean gaped. "How 'bout you don't go watching anymore dumb ass movies and giving the stuffed animals ideas." He rolled his eyes and stomped on the blanket on the ground. "Geesh, Sammy, what were you thinking?"
_sapphiredreams
SPN: Gen, G
Wee!Winchesters or adults remembering the past, 25 cent candy/toy machines
Sam was fascinated with the twenty-five cent machines.
"So, your quarter turns into that?" he'd gape whenever they found a machine and John slipped a coin into Sam's hands to give him a big pink gumball, a neon bouncy ball or a little shiny trinket.
Dean, because he was the big brother and sometimes the big brothers just gotta set their little brothers straight on some stuff, tried to explain that the quarter didn't become the toy. But Sam, stubborn since the day he was born, held steadfast to his belief. Dean eventually gave up. Sam would believe exactly what he wanted to and no one--not even Dean--could convince him otherwise.
One year, sometime in September after Sam's latest excitement at receiving a rubber frog from one of the machines, Dean knew what he was getting Sam for his birthday the next year.
For months, Dean took paper routes, shoveled snow or mowed lawns. He helped the old lady neighbor carry bags from her car to the house and he even did extra cleaning jobs for the young couple down the street. He took his dollar bills, crinkled and worn, to John.
"Can I get quarters for these?" he asked whenever he got paid.
John narrowed his eyebrows, confused. "Should I ask what you're up to?"
"Nothin' bad," Dean answered. "Somethin' for Sammy."
That was a good enough answer for John, who emptied his wallet, switching out quarters for Dean's bills.
Sam's birthday rolled around, and Dean saved his gift for last. From his secret space in his room, he came into the living room where John was reclining on the couch and Sam sat on the floor, surrounded by newspaper wrapping paper.
"I got 'cha something," Dean said to Sam, holding the present behind his back.
Sam looked up, big eyes curious. "Really?"
"Yeah," Dean replied and pulled the object from behind his back and handed it to Sam.
Sam laughed, big grin as wide as his face and kicked his legs. He wrapped his arms happily around the jar nearly as big as him that was filled to the brim with quarters.
mellaithwen
Gilmore Girls: Het, G
Literati (rory/jess) and just...books
They're in her grandparents' basement, sorting through forgotten treasures and lost memories, when Jess calls out, "I didn't know your grandpa owned the original version of this." Rory turns around from where she's sitting in an old rocker to see Jess walking away from the dusty bookshelf, waving the novel like a trophy.
"I'm not surprised," she replies. "I'm sure they've got the original blueprints on how to build Rome down here." She rises to her feet, meets Jess in the middle of the room where he's thumbing carefully through yellowed pages. Dust drifts up in clouds, catching the pinches of sunlight that squeezes in through the small window. "I wouldn't have taken you to be the reader of romance books," she says after he's flipped the book over to reveal its title.
"This, is most definitely not a romance book," he says defensively. "It's a classic. You can't argue with it."
Rory crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows, not amused. "Believe whatever you want. I bet you can ask a hundred people, and you'll still be the only one who says it's not a romance book."
Jess frowns, lips narrowing, and sets the book off to the side. "If I did admit it was a romance, would you make fun of me for it?"
"Never," she answers, fighting back the smile on her lips.
"I don't believe you."
"Oh, really?" She leans forward and kisses him, if only to stop her from laughing at the determined look on Jess' face. When they meet, he threads his fingers through her hair and sighs into her mouth. "Besides," she says, pulling apart to brush their noses together, "there's something cute about a guy who gets excited over finding an old copy of Gone With the Wind."
Jess groans, frustrated. "How many people are you going to tell about this?"
She smirks. "Everyone that'll listen."