Prompt Responses
I asked for prompts over here. You guys delivered. This is what I gave back. More angst and crack than is healthy follows. Completely unbetaed, so I apologize in advance for all spelling/grammar/general errors of any. Also, LJ does not seem to recognize any of you as being actual users, hence the lack of linked names.
Legoline: Could you write a Coda to Crossroad Blues? Maybe how Sam watches Dean just slip through his fingers? And is afraid that he'll go and do something stupid?
It was a subject that Dean, even in his weakest moments when alcohol or exhaustion had let his barriers slip away, would not discuss. Yet, his silence answered every one of Sam’s questions following their time at Lloyd’s Bar.
“You would have done it, wouldn’t you?” Sam asked nearly a month later. He did not need to clarify what “it” was. The great sacrifice that neither would speak of and both would dwell upon of trading Dean’s life for their father’s.
Dean looked up from his newspaper to Sam’s curious eyes. He coughed, snapped the paper up to conceal his face and replied, “Looks like there’s a water spirit not far from here. We should check it out.”
“Dean,” Sam pressed, muting the television in their motel room as he put aside his cereal bowl, “I-I just.”
“You just what?”
“I’m worried, man, all right? You haven’t said hardly anything since that demon in Mississippi, and I-”
“You think I’m planning on taking the big plunge and making a trade with that bitch for Dad,” Dean finished without question in his voice.
Sam sighed heavily. “Yeah, yeah, I do.”
Dean lowered his paper but didn’t make eye contact. “If I’m gonna do something, Sammy, I’m gonna do it. If I’m not, I’m not. Nothing you can say will make me think otherwise.” Before Sam could protest, Dean grabbed the remote and turned the sound back on the television without saying further.
- - - - -
They exorcised a demon in Louisiana. The possessed man dragged Dean to the floor and spit blood in his face. “Your daddy says hi. Or at least,” the man chuckled with the demon’s throaty laugh, “he would if he could stop screaming for one moment.”
While Sam finished with the Latin incantation, Dean merely remained on the floor, holding his hand to the bloody specks on his cheek. Back in the motel room, he stared in the bathroom mirror and scrubbed his face until the skin was bright pink.
“Dean,” Sam said, coming into the bathroom, “stop it.” When Dean didn’t listen, Sam grabbed his older brother by the wrists and dragged his hands away from his face. Fiercely, Dean glared up at Sam, who said, “It wasn’t your fault.”
In a snapping gesture, Dean wrenched himself free of Sam’s grasp and slapped the washcloth into the sink where the water ran hot and steaming. “You can’t tell me that. You don’t know. You weren’t there,” Dean spat before pushing past Sam and leaving the room with a slam of the door.
- - - - -
Sam had to borrow a car to get to Mississippi when Dean didn’t come back to the motel room that night. Sam drove frantically, fighting back sleep as the trees and buildings flew past in black streaks on the empty highway. He looked down at the small clock, and he wondered if he was too late to save his brother.
- - - - -
At the crossroads where the weeds grew high and thin, Sam stumbled from the car. He hurried to the mound of disturbed dirt in the middle of the roads and dug madly, ignoring how the gravel scraped his skin and buried under his fingernails. When he finally hit the small tin box, he opened it up. Inside, a picture of his brother stared back.
Sam looked up, glancing around at his surroundings when behind him, a feminine voice said, “You’re too late.”
Whipping around, Sam saw a young woman with black hair coming from the other side of the crossroads. “You’re too late,” she repeated.
“No…”
She smiled with a tilt of her head before fading away and leaving Sam alone. He was ready to collapse to his knees under the knowledge that his brother, his only remaining family, was gone, until he heard a familiar voice approaching him.
“I think you made it right on time.”
Sam looked back, batting back his tears. Against the lightening horizon, Dean stood with his hands shoved in his pockets. “You’re too late for Dad. We…we both are.”
“You…” Sam began, trying to control his overwhelming emotions.
“I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t go through with it.”
Sam rose to his feet and against the rising sun, Dean smiled at last.
* * * * *
Equinox_blue: SPN/Heroes crossover. Sammich and Mohinder totally get together (in a fun, platonic, sort of way), and because they both have the most phenominal hair on their respective shows, they have a boys' night in and totally do each other's hair. Sam needs braids and pigtails, only because of the one picture of Jared in pigtails and sunglasses.
Sam had never had a favorite salon before coming to New York City. In fact, he had never really cared much about his hair at all. However, when he met the curly haired Indian, Sam could not pass up an opportunity to pamper his hair.
“You have amazing potential,” the stylist, who Sam learned was named Mohinder, gushed. “Really, I thought I had great hair.” Mohinder snapped his large wad of bubble gum. “But, you have amazing hair.”
“My brother gives me hell for it all the time. Says I use all of his shampoo.”
“Well! Of course you should.” Mohinder pulled a comb out and ran it through Sam’s hair. “What products do you use?”
“Dean-that’s my brother-he only likes the Wal-Mart stuff. Says it’s cheaper.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I know! Cheaper, yes, but my girlfriend? She had this amazing stuff. Herbal Essences. I used to steal it all the time and-” Sam stopped for a moment as Mohinder pulled out a set of ponytail holders.
“And what?”
“It gave me all this great body. Really, my hair was beautiful for days.”
Mohinder tapped Sam on the shoulder with his comb. “Let me tell you my secret: Mousse.”
“Mousse?” Sam repeated. “I haven’t tried that. Do you think it would help?”
“Well, with this whole ‘rugged and off the side’ look you’ve got going on here,” Mohinder replied with another snap of his bubble gum, “I think it would definitely keep your hair in place all day. You got a high activity job?”
“The worst,” Sam groaned as Mohinder began to gather large clumps of his hair and braid it. “Spend all my time tracking people down.”
Mohinder sighed dramatically. “I hear ya. It’s horrible.”
A few hours later, after Mohinder and Sam had swapped hair tips and tricks, Mohinder swiveled the chair around so Sam could look at himself in the mirror. “There!” Mohinder exclaimed. “What do you think?”
Sam reached up to his hair to touch the finely braided sections that Mohinder had pulled back into pigtails. “It’s the most beautiful thing ever…”
Mohinder smiled and then turned away for a moment. When he turned back around, he was holding a small bag with an unreadable bottle in it. “Here,” he said, “mousse. It’ll do wonders.”
* * * * *
Astrothsknot: Nip/Tuck-Supernatural. Sean is possessed by Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street. Dean and Sam have to exorcise him, but Christian won't shut the clinic. It must include a possessed breast implant called Millie who cracks really shitty jokes, with a fondness for hip hop.
“So,” he said, sitting down at his desk across from the two men, “tell me what you don’t like about yourself.”
One of the men smiled and jerked his thumb in the direction of the younger one. “I can tell you plenty of things I don’t like about him. But me? I’m great, thanks for asking, doc.”
Christian inhaled sharply in annoyance; he really did not have the time for this. “Is there some reason, then, that you’re here?”
Before Dean could cut in with any further cracks, Sam pulled out a photograph from inside his coat and slid it across the desk to Christian. “Dr. Sean McNamara. He’s your partner here, yes?”
Christian glanced up from the photo, but said nothing in reply.
Sam continued, “Has Dr. McNamara been acting out of sorts lately? Not himself?”
“His wife left him. Took their kids. Of course he’s not acting like himself,” Christian shot back.
“Because taking a scalpel to your anesthesiologist’s throat and telling her that he’s going to eat her for dinner is what must people do after getting dumped,” Dean quipped, leaning back in his chair.
There was a long pause as Christian looked from the two men-Sam and Dean, as they had introduced themselves-to Sean’s photo, remembering how he had walked in on Sean trying to murder Liz yesterday morning. Since then, Sean had remained locked in his office, ranting that he “was gonna cook ‘em up good tonight.”
Finally, Christian sighed, relenting. “What do you want with him?”
“Exorcise him. He’s been possessed by Sweeney Todd, if we’re not mistaken. The demon barber of Fleet Street?” Dean explained.
“Exorcise-” Christian gaped.
“Yeah, you’re probably going to have to shut the place down. Could get messy,” Dean began.
“I’m not closing the clinic. I have patients and staff to deal with, and I’m not closing it. You two are just going to have to deal with it.”
Dean and Sam looked over at one another and shrugged. They had worked in worse conditions.
“So, where’s Dr. McNamara now?” Sam asked.
- - - - -
As Christian led them through the clinic to Sean’s private office in the back, they stopped when they heard singing coming from a darkened room.
“Patient of yours?” Dean asked.
Christian shook his head. “The appointment’s not for another hour. Breast augmentation.”
As he talked, Dean walked over and opened the door to the room. Looking inside, he didn’t see anyone, but when he turned on the lights, a female voice wailed, “Ooh, sugar! You beautiful baby, come to Millie!”
Gun drawn, Dean approached the table carefully where a pair of silicone breast implants gleamed under the light. One of them wiggled. “Oh yeah, you are one good-lookin’ man. I wanna eat you right up! Mm-hmm!”
Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam and Christian. “Go take care of Dr. McNamara. I’ll deal with this.” Sam nodded and left with Christian.
“Turn on that music, will ya, baby?” the implant cooed. “Millie wants to dance tonight!” When Dean turned on the radio, a booming hip-hop song came through the speakers, and the implant did a little jump enthusiastically.
What seemed like hours later, after the implant had told Dean about Dr. Troy’s fine ass and what nice hands he had, Dean groaned. “Shut the hell up, would ya?”
“I would if I could, baby, I ain’t got no mouth to shut, so I can’t!”
Dean rolled his eyes, leveled the gun and shot. The implant exploded.
Christian, Sam, and the man that Dean assumed was Sean came running into the room. “You shot a breast implant!” Christian exclaimed. “You shot it! Do you know how expensive those damn things are?”
“Nope,” Dean replied, wiping goo from his gun. “Don’t care either.” Looking at Sean, he asked, “Feeling better, Dr. McNamara, or do we need to go through some more Latin chanting?”
“He’s good,” Sam answered instead.
“All right,” Dean said with a nod, “let’s get the hell out of here. I’ve had enough of this Florida shit.”
* * * * *
Mellaithwen: Crossover with all:
- Supernatural (Dean and Sam)
- Dark Angel (Max and Alec)
- Heroes (Sylar)
- Nip/Tuck (Christian and Sean)
- That 70s Show (Donna, Eric, and Jackie)
- Family Guy (Brian and Stewie)
- Gilmore Girls (Rory, Lorelei, and Luke)
- Futurama (Fry, Leela, and Dr. Zoidberg)
The wedding was for the best, they all decided. After all, Sam was the only boy that Donna could make eye contact with, and Donna was the only girl that Sam didn’t have to break his back trying to kiss.
Eric, of course, was firmly against the wedding. “She was my girlfriend first,” he pouted in the back of the church.
“Yeah, well,” Rory replied, “he was my boyfriend first.”
“Actually,” Dean pointed out as he passed by with the guest list, checking off people as he went, “he wasn’t your boyfriend. Your boyfriend was actually a shapeshifter. Sam and I wasted him about two years while you were off with precious Logan.” Rory rolled her eyes, and Dean smirked.
“Shapeshifter?” Alec said, coming into the conversation. “Yeah, sure, Dean, we all know about those. Considering,” he continued, “that you almost tried to kill me.”
Dean grinned. “But I didn’t, so we’re all good.”
Max, coming out of the dressing room in her pink taffeta bridesmaid dressing, groaned. “You certainly could’ve killed him. For all the good that he does. Pain in my ass.”
“Did someone say something about killing?” Stewie asked eagerly as he entered the church in his tuxedo with Brian by his side. “What a wonderful thing to discuss. I’ve always been fond of the Uzi myself…”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Okay, you guys discuss that, I’ve got to go and find Sam.” Making his way through the church, he was stopped by Christian, who was leaning against the pew with Sean behind him.
“Are you dating any of these girls?” Christian asked, glancing past Dean to where Jackie was sitting in the pew by herself.
“If I were, you’d still nail them, so what does it matter?” Dean replied.
Christian slapped him on the shoulder. “I like your attitude. Know of any special
ones? I’m rather picky.”
“Special girls?” Sylar said, slipping into the conversation. “There’s one that I know of….cheerleader in Texas.” He grinned wickedly.
“Yeah, yeah, let’s not go there again,” Dean groaned, remembering that mess Sam and he had been called in to fix by a certain politician named “Petrelli.”
“You are just sick,” Lorelei said with a dismissive shake of her head as she entered with Luke by her side. “Really. Men like you disgust me.”
Pushing past Fry and Leela who were arguing quietly in their reserved pew, Dean made his way to Sam’s dressing room where he knocked on the door quickly. “Sammy?” Dean called. “You in there?”
There was no answer. Hesitantly, Dean opened the door to find the room empty. There was a note taped to Sam’s mirror, which read, “Donna didn’t want to deal with Eric, and I didn’t want to deal with that crazy Rory girl. We’re eloping. Here’s coordinates to the place. Bring Jackie. Donna said she’s her maid of honor. Come be my best man?”
Dean cursed under his breath. Leaving the dressing room, he entered the church where all of the guests looked up in anticipation wondering where the bride and groom were. “There’s been a bit of a change in plans,” Dean said. “But, if you all go downstairs, there’s plenty of food for all you.”
A collective murmur went through the church followed by Dr. Zoidberg leaping up and exclaiming, “Food! Now I will eat like a rich man!”
* * * * *
Iamzulma:how about sam and dean struggling with a disability after a hunt? could be deafness or blindness, or even loss of a limb. i'd prefer that it'd be a permanent disability. (As an A/N: And who, I should add, gave me permission to do SUPER angst. Just to warn anybody.)
The last thing Dean knew was his gun.
He remembered the monster coming forward with its claws outstretched and rotten breath hot on his face. He remembered his hands on his gun, firing rapidly, bullets digging into the monster’s flesh, but to no avail. He remembered Sam screaming for him, trying to push him out of the creature’s way, trying to save him.
He remembered the silence. The blackness that followed and would not cease.
- - - - -
When he awoke, he felt Sam’s hand tighten on his wrist. “Dean,” Sam whispered, his voice stuffed and hoarse, as if he had been crying for some time.
Dean was unable to see, and he reached his free hand up to his face, searching for the blindfold that had been placed over his eyes. When he felt the edge of the bandages plastered over his eyes, he began to pick at the edge so that he could see again.
“Dean, stop,” Sam said, pulling Dean’s hand away from his face.
“Get this off my eyes. Dammit. I want to see.”
“Just…stop…” Sam sighed. “There’s something I need to tell you.” His voice was so pained that Dean lowered his hand back into his lap, feeling scratchy blankets covering his legs. Motel blankets. Not hospital blankets, which were always soft and warm.
“Sam? What’s going on?”
Sam sighed raggedly, and Dean heard him shift in the chair he must have been sitting in. “After that hunt…look…I-I don’t know how to say this, but…”
“Spit it out, Sam. I’m a big boy.”
“You’re blind, Dean.”
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, right.”
“No, I’m serious. That creature? Dean…it, uh…it took your eyes.”
“What?” Dean gasped.
“It ate them. Ripped them right out…God, I’m so sorry. I tried to get to you in time, but I couldn’t, and I’m so sorry, Dean, I’m so, so sorry,” Sam rambled frantically. He sniffed, and Dean was positive that he was already crying or close to it.
“Then…the bandages?” Dean asked hesitantly, reaching tentatively up to where his eyes used to be.
“Just there until we find you a glass pair of eyes or something. I didn’t know what to do. I called some people, but nobody knows anything.”
“You’re telling me that I could be blind the rest of my life?”
“I’m so sorry…”
“No!” Dean snapped, shaking Sam’s hand off him, as anger bubbled up suddenly inside him. “Don’t apologize to me. Answer the question. I’m going to be blind the rest of my goddamn life?”
Sam’s voice was distant and brittle when he answered, “Yes.”
“Well. Shit.” Dean laughed, but the sound was anything but happy. “What the hell am I supposed to do now? I can’t drive. Can’t hunt. I can’t even walk down the damn street by myself without getting hit by a car.”
“People do live normal lives…it’s possible that-”
Dean threw back the covers on his bed and swung his legs away from where he thought Sam was. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet. “Fuck that. Last time I checked, we don’t do normal, Sam. I’m not going to be like this.” Before Sam could say anything further, Dean pushed himself off the bed in an attempt to walk away. But without his vision, vertigo got the best of him.
He wobbled across the room that he vaguely remembered from the day before. Only a few steps away from the bed, he tripped over his own duffel bag and collapsed to the floor.
“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, rushing toward his older brother.
As soon as Dean felt Sam’s hands curl over his shoulders protectively, Dean shoved him away harshly. “Get away from me! Get away!” he screamed, trying to push himself upright. “I don’t need your goddamn pity!”
“Just let me help you…”
“I don’t need help.” Dean grabbed the closest thing he could find, which happened to be a flashlight, and he threw as hard as he could. He heard it crash against something hollow; he assumed it was a wall, but he didn’t ask Sam for confirmation.
Trying to push himself up to a standing position, he felt Sam’s hands gently touching his waist, and Dean lashed out. “Get away, dammit! Get away!” He toppled back onto one of the beds clumsily. His knees were sore from when he had fallen earlier, and the rest of his body screamed with pain from the creature’s attack.
“Dean, please.”
“Fuck you, Sam. Fuck you and your damn eyes,” Dean hissed. “Don’t talk to me unless you’ve found a way to make me see again.”
“All right,” Sam whispered, hurt. “All right, I’ll leave you alone then.” Dean heard his footsteps retreating and then the sound of a door opening and closing. When at last Dean knew that he was alone, he rolled himself over and buried his face into the pillows of the bed. That he could not cry tears seemed the cruelest punishment for his pain.
- - - - -
When the demon returned, Sam took Dean to Bobby’s house. “Just stay here,” Sam said. “I’m going to go out after it.”
“You expect me to just wait here?” Dean asked incredulously, walking around the small room Sam had shown him. While Dean still was not comfortable with his lack of vision, he found he could at least walk upright without feeling as though he was going to fall over.
“There’s not much more you can do,” Sam replied. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.”
Dean snorted dismissively. “Fine, whatever. I’ll just wait here like a good little boy.”
“Look, here’s your gun,” Sam was telling him as he handed Dean the weapon. “It’s not the Colt, but it might be able to at least stop the demon for a bit if it does come in the house.”
After Sam had left, Dean paced the small room. He had kept the window open, listening to the sounds coming from the forest where Sam and Bobby had gone. He hated simply standing back and waiting. This was his fight, too. The demon had taken both of his parents; he had just as much right to be out there as his brother did.
Unable to wait any longer, Dean moved out of the room, feeling his way to the door leading to the outside. The air was cool against his skin, and the only sound was the low murmur of passing traffic. He listened for a moment longer, and when he heard the wind hissing through the leaves of the trees, he headed in that direction.
- - - - -
In the forest, he walked with one of his hands held out in front of him to avoid any trees, and he held his gun firmly in the other. The demon could be coming out of anywhere, he knew. He had to be ready.
Just as there was a snapping of a twig behind him, he whipped around and shot. The body collapsed with a groan to the ground, and Dean rushed forward eagerly.
But when he reached it, he heard his brother’s voice weakly whispering, “Dean…”
Dean fell to his knees and ran his fingers over the face. He instantly recognized Sam’s long hair and bone structure, the contours of his skin, and Dean pulled back in horror. On the ground, he could feel Sam’s blood seeping through his jeans, and Dean grabbed his brother’s hand one last time.
Sam’s pulse was already silent beneath his skin.
The last thing Dean knew was his gun.