Well, I kind of fell in love with this comment I used as an example, so how about:
Sam, Dean, gen, set in season 4. PTSD!Dean has a flashback to hell on a hunt and almost gets himself and Sam killed. Cue guilty, upset Dean and awesome, comforting Sam.
Filled: How It All StartedsinnerforhireSeptember 27 2009, 19:46:38 UTC
This is a comment fic I did for another meme, but it hasn't been posted anywhere but my journal, so I hope it's okay to post it here, as it fits the prompt exactly.
When John goes upstairs after the six o’clock news, he’s not at all surprised to hear Dean’s lusty, relentless wails spilling out from the open nursery door.
“It’s just colic,” the pediatrician had said. “It’s common in firstborn children. He’ll grow out of it in a couple months.”
He knows it’s wearing on Mary--the frustration, the helplessness--and he knows that, as Dean’s father, it’s his duty to help in any way he can. It’s just that Dean is so tiny. At six weeks, he’s still on the small side of the growth chart, and John is so afraid that his rough laborer’s hands will hurt his precious, delicate son without him meaning to.
He steps into the nursery. Mary looks up and sags a little with relief. “John, please,” she begs, stepping forward. “Do something.” Mary’s shadowed eyes glisten with tears and John feels a sudden ache in his chest at the hopeless
( ... )
Dean/Castiel. Since seperating from his brother all Dean has had is hunting. He pushes himself too hard and almost gets killed on a hunt because he is so exhausted. Castiel to the rescue/comfort.
Sam, Dean, gen. Since waking up in his coffin and having to claw out of his own grave Dean has suffered from claustrophobia. He gets trapped in an enclosed space during a hunt and has a panic attack. Luckily Sam is there to soothe and comfort.
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Sam, Dean, gen, set in season 4. PTSD!Dean has a flashback to hell on a hunt and almost gets himself and Sam killed. Cue guilty, upset Dean and awesome, comforting Sam.
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I love how you've cut it up into little sections, how it's kind of staccato, the way Dean's thoughts are. Lovely.
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When John goes upstairs after the six o’clock news, he’s not at all surprised to hear Dean’s lusty, relentless wails spilling out from the open nursery door.
“It’s just colic,” the pediatrician had said. “It’s common in firstborn children. He’ll grow out of it in a couple months.”
He knows it’s wearing on Mary--the frustration, the helplessness--and he knows that, as Dean’s father, it’s his duty to help in any way he can. It’s just that Dean is so tiny. At six weeks, he’s still on the small side of the growth chart, and John is so afraid that his rough laborer’s hands will hurt his precious, delicate son without him meaning to.
He steps into the nursery. Mary looks up and sags a little with relief. “John, please,” she begs, stepping forward. “Do something.” Mary’s shadowed eyes glisten with tears and John feels a sudden ache in his chest at the hopeless ( ... )
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