comment fic meme!
Following the results of the poll we took last month (don't make it easy on us or anything, guys, haha!), we've decided to hold a comment fic meme once every three months. This gives everyone time to write and prompt to their heart's content, and allows us mods to keep up with y'all. And we're starting right now!
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“Oh, thank God. Alright, come with me, we gotta go, now.” Dean’s breathing all heavy, and Sam wants to ask what’s wrong but the shadows are spinning in front of his face and he can barely keep one foot in front of its brother, let alone form the words to ask what’s wrong.
“We’re gonna be fine. There’s a back door over here that we can go through, just follow me.” All of his weight is draped across Dean’s slumped and shaking shoulders. That just doesn’t seem fair, since Dean is the one who’s been unable to breathe due to pounds of metal crushing his ribs. Sam tries to struggle away, because he can certainly walk on his own, but Dean just grabs onto his wrist and keeps him in place.
It must have been cold down in the basement; Dean’s skin is blessedly icy against Sam, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He’s been so hot, cooling down makes him sleepy again. Dean’s having none of that, though, insisting in Sam’s ear, “You can sleep when we get in the car. All you gotta do is walk through this door, and the car’s parked right outside. Jesus, you’re burning up. I knew this was a terrible idea.”
Shadows follow them as they amble down the narrow alley driveway, and one of them is shaped just like a little girl. Sam jumps -- they were hunting a little girl, and she was after them, trying to hurt Dean -- he grips tightly to his brother’s shoulder and moans, because he can’t tolerate the world spinning around him as swiftly as it is.
At least the little girl melts away into the pavement as they approach the Impala. Drizzles of blood fall down the sewers like so much rain and muck, and despite his exhaustion, Sam flinches away and tries to scurry back toward the house.
“No, no, just stay with me for a few more seconds. Stay with me, Sam,” Dean growls in his ear. His head bobs in what Sam thinks might have started as a nod, but ends with his chin smeared against his chest, jaw slack. “Okay. We’re at the car. I’m gonna get you sitting down in the backseat, so you can sleep.”
Sam makes a move to sprawl out against the familiar, well-worn leather bench, but the raven is perched in the center, its beak wide open in a terrifying avian grin. “No no no. Dean, there’s a -- fuck, I can’t tell if -- I can’t.”
Dean just pushes him, and he tumbles into the Impala, keening as he goes. “Just go to sleep, and I’ll wake you up when we get back.”
Sam sleeps.
--
He tosses and turns in bouts of dreamless slumber and nightmarish lucidity. Several times, he hears Dean’s voice bellowing at him, and cannot help but smile, because he’s got someone to follow back through the steaming fog to reality.
--
Sam clings to his big brother, riding out the tide of fire that ebbs and flows atop his mattress, shaking with the fear that he will be left alone amongst the flames.
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“I hauled your gargantuan ass into the Impala, out of the Impala, into this room, into the bathroom, and into bed, all without breaking a sweat. I swear, they should give me some sort of Olympic medal for that shit.” Dean pauses to laugh, but the sound is choked and strained. “Why didn’t you tell me it was that bad, you asshole? You clocked out at 104.7, which is so beyond the realm of covering up it’s not even close to funny. You should have told me--”
A smear of a giggle oozes out of the corner of Sam’s dry, cottony mouth and puddles on his stained t-shirt. “Dude, I told you so many times that I wanted to stay home. You called me Samantha, and said that only pansy girls got the flu. You cannot even attempt to pin this on me,” Sam insists, as his hand connects with a glass of lukewarm water and brings it to his lips, hands trembling with exertion.
“Whatever, man. As soon as you’ve kicked this My Little Pony, rainbow-spewing nonsense, we’ve still gotta go clean out that poltergeist.” For a moment, it seems as if Dean’s hands will reach for Sam’s head, card through his baby brother’s hair as they did so often when they were younger.
The tender moment is shattered when Sam lets out a tremendous, retching cough that sets all his joints to aching simultaneously. Dean’s common sense returns to him in a flash, and he shoves his traitorous fingers into his pockets, propelling himself out into the kitchen to ‘fetch Her Royal Highness some tomato and rice soup, with an ice cube if she asks very sweetly’.
Sam pretends he’s not imagining a soft body at his side, curly blonde hair brushing against his cheek, warming up his icy bones and chasing away the chill that’s settled below his sternum. She’s gone, anyways.
Still, Dean returns with a bowl of carefully chilled soup and a spoon, only to find Sam slumbering peacefully, arms twined around a pillow and murmuring something that sounds suspiciously like ‘Jess’ under his breath. If Dean were feeling particularly cruel, he’d shake Sam awake, prod him into eating, call him a few more names before letting him drift back off. Isn’t it time the kid got to have a happy dream, though?
Dean leaves the soup on the nightstand, and lets Sam continue his sojourn from the world.
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And the hallucinations are awesome. Ravens, people, extra doors. Still, he figures it out in the end!
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It's hard to know wht's real and what's not. Even when I KNEW that pillow wasn't really there, I kept reaching for it. Although, I was pretty sure the melting gift-bag was a hallucination, since it was floating in midair and changing from green to purple as it melted. :P
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Gotta admit though, I totally laughed out loud at “G’way, little girl. It’s naptime.” LOLOL.
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Doesn't Sammy always need a good snuggle? Poor guy. We fans sure do love to torture him! Thanks for reading :D
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Scary, funny, and tender all at once, that's not an easy trick o pull off. Wicked hallucinations! I had trouble sorting out what was real. (That's not a bad thing.)
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