Challenge 4: Writing Between the Lines / PROMPT POST

[hoodietime]

This is the post where you can submit prompts for Writing Between the Lines: A Dean-focused hurt/comfort fic challenge, which is not a regular fic challenge! You can find out more about it HERE.

Comments

[jennytork]

Dean was mid-sentence when he stopped walking so abruptly that Sam had to do a strange little shuffle-step to keep from walking smack into his back. "Dean! What the hell...."

There was no answer. Dean was frozen in place, his eyes canted straight ahead and slightly upward.

Sam followed his gaze but saw nothing of interest except the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. "....Dean?"

Dean's voice was a strangled whisper. "Can't.... Can't see, Sammy.... Shit, I can't see a damn thing!"

(please keep it gen.)

[saphirablue]

Um, *looks around*, I hope it's ok to comment on prompts (if not tell me and I immediately delete it).

*squeeeee* Awesome prompt!

[sistabro]

A/N: The Sam here is robo!Sam, in case it wasn't obvious

It's July in Texas, high noon, and Sam is digging his brother's grave.

Dean is flickering in and out of sight a few feet away, almost invisible in the flat glare of the sun. It's a bad sign. Dean's got his own personal reaper; he knows the score, knows what happens if you don't move on. The only reason he'd stick around is if he had some serious unfinished business. Sam may not really get love anymore, but he'd have to be stupid not to understand that Dean's unfinished business is him.

[adrenalineshots]

“Lemme ask that in a different way,” the other guy said, leaning back casually. “Is there some other place you’d rather be right now?”

Dean figured that answering ‘dead’ or ‘in Hell’ would probably lead to someone calling the guys in the pretty white coats and lock him up in one of those pretty padded rooms. He figured he could go with the safest answer. “My car.”

Sitting behind the wheel of the Impala had been the only place lately where Dean could breathe without feeling that crushing weight on his chest. The only place where he could let the tears fall and blame it on the wind.

Nothing else in the world but a strong engine purring ahead of him, responding to his call; nothing like an empty road ahead to drown in the illusion of leaving all his troubles behind.

It was a sense of freedom that he couldn’t get anywhere else, not even in Lisa’s arms. It was a temporary relief that lasted as long as it took him to spare a glance to the empty passenger seat. And then everything would come crashing back.

[zara_zee]

Okay, so I would like to claim this. Is this how I do that?

[zara_zee]

No, it's not. Okay, I've figured it out now! :)

Just had this idea of Dean in a mental insitute

[liliaeth]

Dean tilts his head, as he stares at the door and the sound he hears coming from right behind it. None of this is real, any moment now, Alistair will snap his finger and he'll be right back on the rack or in front of it. Even after years of cutting in other souls, he still doesn't know which of the two is worst.

So he stares up at the door, at the sounds behind it. At the woman dressed in white that comes in and looks at him with a fake smile on her face.

He refuses to see her, none of this is real, it can't be.

So he lets her put the pills in his mouth and lets her help him swallow them down, because worst case scenario, they'll just turn into maggots as they go down.

She pets his head and he sits there, staring at the door. Any moment now, Alistair will be there and the screaming will begin again. Any timee now.
The waiting is worse than the pain.

And all around him the doctors go about their business, they aren't real, nothing is.

[anonymous]

Such a classic set-up for hooker!fic. Teehehe.

[purple_carpets]

Oooh, when do we start claiming? *wants*

[maypoles]

March 27th! ::bounces::