paige_kate | Season 7 Finale Comment Fic Meme for Both Boys.

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Season 7 Finale Comment Fic Meme for Both Boys.

Here's the embed box. Thanks to

rainylemons for her help. Go forth and advertise!!

Okay, this came about because I saw an ad for a H/C comment fic meme, but it was only for Dean, which hardly seems fair to me. What about Sam? He's stuck trying to stop the remaining Leviathan alone and doesn't know how to help his brother. Dean is stuck in Purgatory and worrying about his brother.

So, this meme is for both boys. Reunion!Fics, fics about what monsters Dean runs into in Purgatory, maybe fics where he finds their parents or runs into Bobby or whatever you want, but it needs to be about the fallout from the finale last night. Have fun, any question, PM me. Please respect other people's prompts, no flaming or bashing, lovers of both boys welcome.

Master Post

Delusional/Hallucinating Sam by

queerly_it_is An alone Sam is never a good thing, and Sam uses his mental...issues to cope with things. I'm thinking the hallucinations might show up again hardcore, just so he has someone to talk to again.

A world of bonus points if Michael is one of them.

Hyperventilate by

verucasalt123 I would love something where Sam freaks out and hyperventilates once he realizes he really is all alone - and that he has no idea where's Dean, where's Castiel, that he has no one to go to...

I just want sad, desperate Sam not knowing what to do, thank you

Essence by

rokhal Crowley gives the boys his blood while telling them it might not be his. He also specifically tells them not to trust him. Yet, there's no sign that the bone/blood weapon will even work until it does. No sign, at least on screen.

Sam *knows* that the vial contains Crowley's blood. How? He can smell it. All that demon blood drinking before and with Lucifer. It's changed Sam. Write the missing scene where Sam reveals this to Dean.

Untitled by

dontknowmyname Sam can hear Dean's voice in his head, like he's still there
(sorta like Lucifer, but he's talking back and it's keeping him sane

Like, what would Dean say to make me feel better, what's the humor in this situation.

even making a mental note not to - douche up the car- this time

He snaps one day, thinking this is the one time that Dean isn't coming back , maybe Gabrile was right... But should he really let go?

(Gen please)

An Unlikely Partnership by

mollrach13 Sam is not dealing with being alone well. He worries himself into an epic case of the flu (or other illness/condition or your choice). For some reason, it is in Crowley's best interests to take care of him. He does so grudgingly and with much complaint.

Basically: Crowley taking care of sick!Sam.

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Oh, wow! What an unexpected treat, and what a nice way to start the day!

I do so enjoy the boys' interactions in this fic. It feels very true to where they are in Season 7. Sam, being willing to admit, even offer, truths that he would have hidden in prior years to protect Dean and himself from having not-completely-humaness pointed out and dealt with. It's like Sam's pennance, being ultratruthful and just internally cringing, waiting for the blow. And Dean, in Season 7, taking the revelations and consciously trying not to overreact or attack Sam, being worthy of the truthiness. Just wonderful. Love this interaction in your fic as it shows how much they've grown and how much they've come back together as a team: an even stronger team than they were even at their best in past years 'cause of the trust. :-)

Oh, yeah. Read it again and I want to add, I love how Dean tries to cover/cushion what he said by making a joke about Crowley's animal and how Sam goes with it. I also love the Dean/Sam banter/shark about self-righteous college kids and the woes of hamburgers w/ corn syrup. Really turns the mood around. Thanks again!

The last angels in the universe are hiding in Purgatory.

Hell is too nasty. Earth has the rebel-leader-turned-mad-god Castiel on it, and plenty of angels have died on Earth in the last five years. Heaven is a graveyard. Purgatory is bleak and irrelevant and still holds a few stray Leviathan that didn't make it out the portal, but they're easy enough to avoid, and Purgatory is the one place no one would ever look for an angel.

They don't take kindly to Castiel showing up.

Thanks for the prompt!

One of the coolest things about this show is that the characters are allowed to change and grow through the seasons. I'm so glad to hear I managed to capture some of this. Sam is still kind of neurotic and self-absorbed -- but he's way more mature about it now. And the fact that Dean knew about when Sam broke his Lucifer-shut-off switch while it happened proves how Dean's matured to give Sam the security to tell him these things.

I was worried about mood whiplash in the last bit, but I guess it worked out all right.

This season was like Supersize Me, Food, Inc., The Omnivore's Dilemma, and twenty conspiracy theories had one big angry mutant-squid baby. The Leviathan are a monster for my generation. It's awesome.

So glad you liked it!

I want all the reunion fics... ♥ So seconded.

The empty space where the reviews should be is one of the stupidest things I've ever seen.

I love how smart and matter-of-fact Sam is about how crazy-stupid it is to talk to his hallucinations -- and his willing delusion that once Dean gets back, he'll be able to ignore them. You made Sam's long-conditioned fear of Michael and Lucifer immediate and real, just from Sam's reactions to them. The faint uncertainty of whether Michael and Lucifer are independent characters or personifications of Sam's doubt and self-loathing really makes me wonder whether Sam has any hope or if he's just running on pure grit by now. (Either way, they're the brainstorming partners from Hell.)

Ah, Sammy, yelling at invisible people in a diner. He's got his priorities, and normal is no longer one of them. Thanks for this fic.

I really liked that in the show Sam admitted to things like the Lucifer shut off switch failing which he wouldn't have years prior. I like to see them coming back together in a more mature, partnership type way. And I really loved how you showed that here. The mood shift, therefore, wasn't abrupt. It was true to Dean and Sam's typical response to emotionally sensitive topics. Say what you have to, then quickly move on to something funny to avoid the schmoop. (Though I wouldn't mind the schmoop from time to time.)

Thanks again!

Meanwhile, a farmhand watches a strange man in a trenchcoat and white scrubs whisper intently to a hog before dropping it with a brief touch to its forehead, then vanish, taking a ham with him.

Aw thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it! =D

Yeah I left it undecided whether they're actually talking to him (whispering through the 'bars' of the cage or something) or if Sam's just snapped being on his own again. I'm really glad all the reactionary stuff worked, I didn't wanna try and explain 180+ years of mental conditioning by listing details haha.

Sam really doesn't care about normal, doesn't care about much of anything if his brother's been taken from him.

Thanks for reading! <3<3

Awesome prompt is awesome.

This is fantastic, and THANK YOU for making Michael take on the appearance of young John instead of Adam. It's such a wonderful visual.

I wish the writers remembered the show as much as we do lol! They could make it look like their connecting story lines like they used to :)

Awesome work! Thanks for sharing.

I forgot about ELLEN! <3

Thank you! Yeah I like the idea of Sam being cracked enough that one of his torturers appears to him as his father.

Glad you enjoyed! =D

We can have two fills, right? Let's have two fills. This one doesn't really answer the prompt all the way, so it barely counts, right? Right?

Sam had bought himself a label-maker the first time he wandered into a department store while Dean was gone. He'd reorganized the Impala's trunk. Again, though the Impala didn't remember the first time like he did. To secure the guns, he'd used foam, straps, and snaps because he didn't like the way the corners of velcro tended to curl and scratch his hands. He'd gone all the way and labeled the gun slots with the label maker: a place for everything, and everything in its place. At the end of it, there was a place for Dean left empty, and he just had to grab Dean and put him back -- it was stupid. But he got a lot of use out of that label-maker.

Sire blood
Cadaver blood
Cure base

Sam really didn't want to get those jars mixed up.

He'd finished burning the vamp an hour ago, and he thought the blood was starting to kick in. His head hurt, on top of the stress headache he'd been working around for the past two months, and the coals outside were brilliant where they peeked rosy through cracks in the ash. Sam heard a dozen birds and scurrying things moving through the dark woods, through the walls and closed windows of the shack.

There was no one close enough for him to hear their heartbeat. But he heard light soft coals fall muffled one upon the other as the bonfire smoldered.

He paced around the cabin and prodded his gums with his tongue.

He really had no idea how far he needed to push this -- where the tipping point was -- but there was a serious timing issue. He had to still be comatose by the time Jodie got to the shack. How should he word the text message? Something urgent, yet not-suicidal.

He prodded his gums some more, with his fingers. It'd been an hour and fifteen minutes. He was a little keyed-up -- when why shouldn't he be keyed-up? He was just about to . . . about to get a message to Dean and teach him the mantra that would let Sam connect a portal direct between the two of them, that would let Sam find him anywhere. And the blood should be kicking in. Assuming Sam even could get turned like a normal human, and wasn't just digesting the vamp's abilities.

He'd wait until he felt fangs.

He paced. Looked over his equipment and the note for Sheriff Mills on the floor, rearranged the railroad tie he'd dragged in, yanked on the bolts for the cuffs. He laid down on the tie, letting his face dangle toward the shack's leaf-strewn linoleum. It felt unstable. He tried lying beside the tie, and that pulled him naturally into the recovery position, but his arm would be asleep. He stalked out to the car and brought in a blanket for padding.

Each snap and crumble of the coals felt like a raindrop striking the back of his neck, like biting into lumpy corn grits -- startling and tactile. He checked his pulse.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe fast.

He listened to something scrabbling along a tree branch fifty yards away, to the earthworms popping up out from their burrows, and to the thousands of tiny claws shifting around in the beams of the shack. He couldn't taste the vamp's thin blood anymore. Was he hungry? He was a little hungry. His head still hurt, but now the moonlight was making it worse.

He was thirsty, too, but now that he thought about it, he hadn't had anything to drink for the past . . . since coffee. He'd had coffee. And blood.

Weak, nasty blood.

His gums itched. There still wasn't anything under them.

Sam drummed his fingers on his thigh and stalked around and around the shack, squinting in the moonlight, muttering the mantra for Dean. An owl swooped softly to the ground behind him. Something died in its claws. The natural cycle. Something deep in the woods behind Sam spilled its hot blood on the owl's claws.

Unless it had been a bug. Sam hadn't quite paid enough attention to the owl's prey.

He hoped he didn't try to eat Dean when he found him.

A mosquito hummed in on jet-engine wings and landed on his hand. Sam squinted at it in the harsh moonlight and watched with morbid curiosity as it fed.

It fed, like a mosquito on a normal person. When its gut swelled red, Sam slapped it, smearing bug carcass and his own blood over his skin. The world didn't need vampire mosquitoes.

God, he was hungry. Sam sniffed his hand and realized he was in a potentially dangerous transition period: not yet dead, hungry, full of human blood. Assuming he was actually turning.

He licked his finger and scrubbed the blood off. In an anxious moment, he stuck his finger back in his mouth and prodded his gums again, mostly-human iron hitting his tongue, and in a startling savage reflex, something at the base of his lips squeezed, thin skin tore, new tracks and folds of tissue stretched and rippled. Sam found himself grimacing automatically, lips drawn back to safety the same way his eyes stayed closed while he sneezed. He'd pricked his finger. The new teeth, loose-rooted, clicked against his old teeth.

He panted, beginning to shake, and squeezed his nicked finger into a fist. Gradually, the fangs relaxed and eased back into the folds of his gums. He'd turned. He'd done the first part. Now he just had to put it to use.

He darted back into the shack and opened his bag. Giant plastic syringe, thin soft rubber tube, personal lubricant, duck tape. He taped up his finger, then smeared lubricant on the blunt tube, and in fits and starts, threaded it up his nostril and down into his throat.

It really wasn't fun.

Coughing, and resisting the urge to sneeze and puke at the same time, Sam wrapped the open end of the rubber tube around his head and duck taped it to the back of his neck, out of range of his teeth. More tape secured the tube to his hair. It would be a bitch to remove, but.

He sent Jodie the text: just the location of the shack, a time six hours from now, and "Please come. Everything's under control."

He mixed his sire's blood into the cure base, peeled the label off the jar of cure base, and re-labelled it "Cure."

He cuffed his ankles to the railroad tie, and for fifteen minutes recited a Tibetan meditation meant to prepare the soul to confront the denizens of the underworld. He burned incense and gunpowder in a brazier, sending up a flare of harsh light and scent. He marked up his forehead and hands with the hot ash. He dedicated a few words to Kali, wherever she was, a "Sorry" and a "Promise I'll get back to fixing the world when I get Dean back." He got the jar of cadaver blood, cuffed his wrists to the tie, and with what little maneuvering room was left to his hands, he tipped it to his lips.

It was foul. He choked it down, forcing himself to swallow despite the dull sting of what he suspected was formaldehyde, despite the sick emptiness of it; it was death, not the stolen life he needed, that he was taking in -- assuming he wasn't just giving himself botulism. His guts rebelled. His lips went numb, spilling blood down his chin. His neck grew weak. The jar fell from his hand. His body imitated death, and with a push from the ash on his skin, Sam slipped free from it and into the void.

He drifted.

He drifted in emptiness.

He became aware again of the passage of time, and as he watched, with dull, bodiless curiosity, time passed slowly in great waves. He had been drifting for eons and not come to rest. He was patient.

More eons passed.

His patience ran out.

There was nothing to rest on, no form, nothing to orient by, no destination, and Sam realized that instead of a leaf fluttering to the earth, he was an astronaut drifting untethered through space. An astronaut with no skin. He had no sensation, but he knew, with a primal horror, that the gap he'd fallen through was unfathomable, that it was a gap, a chink, a dead space. There was no psychopomp to direct his travel. He hadn't been reaped.

This must be what happened to socks when they disappeared.

He was a sock.

He was lost.

His thoughts coiled tight into the mantra he carried for Dean, but the void yawned all around, and nothing could distract him from it, nothing could give him purchase in it, nothing could guide him through it, and Sam had failed.

*So I'm taking a lot of liberties with your prompt, but hopefully it's close to what you were looking for. I kind of combined yours and some others I saw.*

Sam’s gut reaction was to storm out of the lab and demand answers from the remaining leviathans before he beheaded each and every one. He definitely would have done just that if it wasn’t for the quiet voice he heard when he reached for the machete in his holster. It sounded so familiar, so comforting, and the next thing he knew he had somehow made it to the impala.

The second his hand reached the cool metal on the damaged car Sam heard the voice again; louder this time.

It’s all over now, baby.

Sam spun around to find the parking lot still empty, but when he turned back to the car there was a dark figure sitting in the passenger’s side. Someplace in the back of Sam’s mind there was a piece of remaining sanity that shouted at him not to believe his eyes—or his ears. Then there was that voice saying come on, Sammy, move your ass and he could never ignore that voice.

“Dean?” He whispered as he slid into the driver’s seat. “How’d you get out here?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“I thought you were gone.” Sam couldn’t move. He sat there staring at his brother.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“What do we do now?” He turned his eyes just long enough to scan the immediate area. “The leviathans are still out there.”

“Well, they’re monsters and what do we do to monsters, Sam?”

“Kill them.”

“There’s your answer.”

He nodded slowly as his hand twitched over the holster. There weren’t any leviathans around that he could spot, but he was sure most of them were still inside. He turned back to Dean and just watched his brother for a second before interrupting the moment.

“Thanks for coming back, Dean,” Sam said softly. His head dropped and he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do next.”

“You finish what we started,” Dean ordered. “And be careful, Sammy.”

When Dean reached for the door Sam reached for his arm. The two shared a long moment of silence; they’re eyes saying everything their words couldn’t. Sam opened his mouth to speak, but it got caught in his throat.

“Dean,” he choked, “please don’t go.”

“I’ll be there when you need me, Sam.”

“Where?” Sam asked.

“Hey,” Dean pushed his fist into Sam’s shoulder with a smile. “What did I say about asking stupid questions?”

“I’ll find you, Dean.”

“Of course you will, Sammy.” Dean’s smile brightened. “If anyone can it’s you. Not until you kill the rest of those damn mutations though.”

“Dean,” Sam started. “I can’t.”

“You will.” Dean demanded. “The world needs a hero again, and you’re just the man for the job. ”

“But I can’t do it alone.” Sam stared down at his hands.

“Does it look like you’re alone?” Dean asked. Sam slowly looked up with a hesitant smile. “Let’s go get those sons of bitches!”

He didn’t have a plan of action and he had no idea where to begin. It was definitely crazy, and for the first time in years Sam was okay with crazy. He wasn’t alone and that’s all that mattered now.

Edited 2012-05-23 17:23 (UTC)

The taste of the cadaver blood, tainted and stale, flashed through his formless mind. The mosquito perched on his hand. The suff of the owl's wings. Pacing and anxiety. His plans. His certainty.

A terrible need to vomit seized him, and he doubled up against the tie, fangs straining out from his gums, before heaving blackened blood and the water from the cure all over his forearms. He strained again. The feeding tube kinked in his throat, making it worse, and his guts cramped. He managed to puke again, his body managing to scrape up food he didn't even remember eating, then strained, dry-heaving again and again into the mess all down his front. He realized that he was back. His heart was thundering and his vision was going black. Before the world went away again, he heard a footstep on the floor.

Sam woke up after dawn. The light hurt his eyes, but that was practically normal lately. He was still cuffed -- his note had been emphatic on that point -- but there was a crinkly silver emergency blanket draped over his torso and his wrists had less vomit on them than he'd expected. His mouth burned. The feeding tube was hooked under his palate and caught under his tongue; with some maneuvering, he managed to swallow it back into place. When he lifted his head, the slight movement almost made his vision black out.

Jodie Mills was sitting crosslegged on the floor, hugging herself against the cold and watching him grimly. "When do I take the cuffs off." Her intonation was completely flat.

Sam slowly, painfully inched his head toward his hands and rolled his finger down his gumline. A fang extruded, the muscles that had worked it just hours ago now numb. It pulled free without resistance, leaving behind a small hole and a tiny string of flesh. He examined it blearily. Jodie looked on, stone-faced. "Now's good," Sam croaked.

Jodie fished around in her jacket pocket for the handcuff key, which Sam had left for her taped to the note, with the words "handcuff key" in neat block print underneath it. She released his wrists, then his feet. Sam rolled onto his back away from the railroad tie and felt pins-and-needles flare through the arm he'd been lying on. The feeding tube was still making him nauseous, the soft rubber impossibly tough and sharp against his throat.

"Explain," Jodie demanded in a low voice, "the chainsaw."

"On the note," Sam whispered, staring up at the rafters. There had been a ceiling here, once. He'd have to remember this shack, show Dean.

"Sam Winchester!" Jodie exploded, thumping the gritty floorboards with her fist. Sam winced at the noise. "'Remove my head if the cure fails.' Remove. Your head. You dragged me out here at six-am to kill you. That saw's not cheap. I know you don't carry two-stroke mix around with you. 'Everything's under control'? What were you thinking?"

"Didn't know if dead man's blood counted," Sam explained, scrunching his eyes shut. "As feeding." He picked another fang out of his mouth and flicked it away.

"Well, thanks for leaving the mother of all suicide notes," Jodie hissed, gesturing at the three-ring binder that held Sam's indexed research on Purgatory and the spell to open the portal. "Oh, wait. No. You wanted suicide by cop. You disappear for six months -- tell me, where the hell is Dean?"

Sam felt all his muscles lock up. "Read the binder."

Jodie rose and hovered over his face. "I was too busy making sure you didn't choke on your own vomit, or wake up and escape. You cruel, selfish child. Why me? I did not want to see you turn into a monster and put you down, Sam."

Sam groaned as the realization hit him -- why Jodie, of all people. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I trusted you. I needed -- someone has to do that spell." He pushed himself up onto his elbows, then to a slouch over his lap, and began to detangle the duck tape around the feeding tube from his hair. It wouldn't come. "Dean disappeared before my eyes," Sam mumbled. "Again. He's in some . . ." Frustrated, he yanked the tape out, taking a bundle of hairs with it. ". . . afterlife."

"He's dead?" Jodie asked softly.

"Maybe technically?" Sam's voice cracked, and he slowly drew the tube back out through his nose. It trailed acid in its path, burning. Tears started from his eye on the same side, as he got the last of it out and tossed it away. "I had to get a message to him. The spell I found, to open a door, it's two-ended. Dean needs to be saying the words the same time I'm performing the ritual. It's Purgatory, where he is; all monsters go to Purgatory, so I --" Sam's nose was running, and he cut himself off with a sniff. "-- I had to get down there. Vampire's the only monster there's any coming back from."

Jodie crouched beside him. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders, and Sam tensed to stop himself from falling against her. "Couldn't you just send actual monsters down there with a message?" she asked.

Sam blinked. He honestly hadn't thought of that. "Oh. No, the last thing we need is an all-Purgatory bulletin that Dean Winchester's in town. However that works. But --"

"Is he okay?" Jodie interrupted him.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. They were watering hard from the stomach tube scraping back up, and his nose was running worse and worse. He scrubbed his face against his shoulder. "It didn't work," he croaked. "I didn't find him."

Jodie tugged him closer and draped the emergency blanket around him. Sam sniffed and wiped his face on his shirt and took shallow, shuddering breaths. He'd been running so long without shelter, and he was so very tired.

Edited 2012-05-23 18:33 (UTC)

Thanks! Glad you liked it! =D

mad_server from

hoodie_time sent me, with this prompt:

Crowley (or, possibly, Meg) tricks Sam into drinking demon blood (as in, Sam doesn't know that's what he's doing until after he's done it) so he can go into Purgatory for Dean. (handwave the Leviathans however you want.) He goes, he gets Dean and Castiel, who's used so much of his grace keeping them safe that he has no healing power left. The nature of Purgatory kept Dean's alcohol withdrawal in abeyance, but when Sam brings him back, it all hits him at once--it's so bad he nearly dies. Sam knows he can't help Dean if he's going through withdrawal himself, so he has to keep drinking demon blood. (Crowley, or maybe Meg, no doubt convinces him of this.) Once he's over the withdrawal, Dean figures out what's going on with Sam and is horrified and guiiiiiiiiiiiilty. And really pissed off with Crowley. Dean and Castiel have to get Sam off the demon blood. They find somewhere to lock him in, but they have to listen to him screaming. Aaaaaaaaaaaagnst and self-loathing for Dean, and possibly flashbacks to Hell for both of them, and Cas can't do much to help, but whatever he offers, Dean refuses it because it's ALL HIS FAULT. And then Sam's all better and there are hugs and puppies. And maybe crying. But definitely hugs.

Aw, thanks for filling this for me. It's so sad. I loved it. And we can definitely have two fills! No law against it!

Thanks! Thanks for posting such a cool prompt!

I know the feeling, but their making episodes for us, so it's a 50/50 thing

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Page 5 of 7

Season 7 Finale Comment Fic Meme for Both Boys.

Re: Filled: Essence

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Re: FILLED: Delusional/Hallucinating Sam. 4/4

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