[Fic] emmram: A Life Less Lived
[ Gen ]
Title: A Life Less Lived
Writer:emmram
Status of work: Complete
Characters and/or pairings: Sam(s), Dean, Bobby
Rating: PG13 (reccer's rating)
Warnings, kinks & contents: [Click to read]SPOILERS until and including 6.13: Unforgiven, vague allusions to 6.22: The Man Who Knew Too Much, gore, torture, insanity, weirdness, present-tense, metaphor-abuse.
Length: 2492 words
Summary: This was written for dollarformyname's super-awesome prompt at the latest comment-fic meme at ohsam: "When Death re-souls Sam it doesn't quite stick. Every once in a while his soul slips free (maybe after a seizure?), his body walking around being a dick and not sleeping, while he gets to do the vengeful spirit gig for a couple of hours/days/weeks-it can vary-though he's not so much vengeful as disoriented and crazy, given the wall doesn't extend to his spirit form. So you have Dean, who sees all this redrum-on-the-mirrors chaos randomly breaking out around them, and Sam looking unsettlingly determined to banish the completely anonymous-“its identity is really not important, Dean, promise”-spirit that's latched onto him for no apparent reason, while trying to look all souled and innocent and kind of sucking at it. Whether or not Dean figures it out is up to the author. As is the winner."
Reccer's notes: A lovely dark fic that proves psychological horror is still the best kind. Features as much hurt!Sam as hurt!Dean, and beautifully illustrates Dean's slow mental collapse in response to Sam's terrible circumstances. Don't miss this one. It's brief but it packs a hell of a wallop.
[Short excerpt]A couple of months after he takes back control, his soul disappears. He doesn’t know why, or how, but he thinks good riddance anyway, because, hey, it’s one less distraction.
That is, until Dean wakes up one night screaming his name, and every glass object in their room-lightbulbs, mirrors, whiskey glasses-shatter at the same time. The air becomes impossibly cold, and Sam can hear the screaming, high and ethereal and too goddamn familiar-STOP IT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-and thinks: not this shit again. He convinces a shaking and confused Dean to check them out of the motel, pronto (“Please, Dean” and those stupid dewy eyes have never worked better) and sits back in the Impala to consider his options.