It's our 6-month anniversary!

[ratherastory]

OMG YOU GUYS!

Can you believe that it's been six months already? 282 members, 347 people watching! And it's all thanks to YOU! You fabulous people, you!

You know what that means, right?

Comment-fic!

Hurting Sam is a necessary part of celebrating our six-month anniversary. So have at it!

Comments

Re: destroyed!Sam, rebuilding!Dean, post-cage, gen or slash 2/4

[winyumi]

Sam must not really believe that though, because on the next hunt, he finds himself falling from a second story balcony, and he's praying as he goes that when he hits the ground, it shatters his skull.

Of course, he lands ass-first in a hedge instead.

"Hey, Sammy, you alright?" Dean calls from above.

He looks a little shaken, but his voice is steady. He's holding it together until he knows how bad it is. Sam can hold it together for his brother, too. It's the least he can do for his brother.

"Fine Dean." He lifts a hand and gives a shaky little wave. "Go nail that sonofabitch. I don't need your heavy ass landing on me, okay?"

Dean nods and disappears.

Sam shifts in preparation for levering himself free, and a thousand raw scrapes whine at him, but they're all drowned out by the nerves in his right thigh, screaming Red Alert. He looks down. It's dark out, only a sliver of a moon, and his eyes haven't finished adjusting yet. Before he fell, he had a flashlight, but he doesn't know where it landed. He can't see anything, but his thigh sure hurts like a bitch.

The Sam in his head is disdainful. "God, it's just a scratch," he sneers.

"Yeah, thanks," Sam snaps. He starts struggling his way upright violently, and almost calls out as something buried in his leg twists and tears free. There's a rush of warmth and wetness in his jeans, way too close to his crotch for comfort.

"Or not," the Sam in his head says. "But whatever. It's not like it would be the end of the world if..." he drifts off.

"If what," Sam hisses. He lunges and lurches out of the hedge, falls to all fours almost instantly, panting. Whatever got his leg, it ripped out from deep. It's really bleeding now. He should get himself up, stagger to... somewhere. The car, for the first aid kit. Dean, for assistance. He should. He has to.

"You know what, Dumbfuck," the Sam in his head says, and smirks.

"Dumbfuck, there's the word I was looking for." Dean's voice comes from inside him. "Are you seriously going to sit around with your thumb up your ass, after impaling yourself on a hedge?"

He's lazy, we've always known that," Dad says to Dean. "That's always been his problem. When the going gets tough, he whines and gets sulky. Makes it harder on the rest of us, but he doesn't care. You never have cared about what you were doing to the family, huh son?" Dad asks him, and Sam shakes his head. He never cared, not enough. He made it harder on everyone else, and thought it was his right to do so.

"I'm gonna get up," he promises them, even though he knows they're not real. "Just give me a minute, Dean."

But Sam stays down on his hands and knees. He needs a few minutes to gather his strength. The grass is thick and the turf is wet under it. The area's been having heavy rains up til today. There's cold water soaking up into his jeans, and warmth has spread down his inseam to meet it. He shivers. He feels lightheaded, but it's too dark to tell if the world is actually spinning or not. He needs to get up and find Dean, like he said he would.

Instead, he lowers himself down and rolls onto his back. He's just going to rest for a minute, then he'll find his brother. With the moon so weak, the stars seem brighter than usual. He stares up at them idly. He's cold, and now his back is getting wet, but he's been colder. It was much much colder in the cage. Burning cold. Like the stars twinkling above.

"Hey? Sam?" Dean calls. He sounds far away.

"Yeah. I'm right here." he answers. His own voice echoes in his head. It's empty, with Dad and the fake Dean gone again.

"What are you doing?" The real Dean's approaching, feet swishing in the grass. He's not running, so he must've taken care of the ghost already.

"Star gazing," Sam says. He'd lift his head and take a better look at Dean, but he doesn't feel like moving.

He doesn't know why he's surprised when Dean doesn't say anything to that. Dean in real life is not Dean in his head. Sometimes he forgets, but he shouldn't. Dean in real life doesn't call him a dumbfuck for watching the stars.