These are prompts 1-8 from the livejournal community 64damnprompts. I plan to do the 56 remaining prompts in seven more seperate chapters. Events from the show are referenced through "Playthings," so be warned if you haven't seen that far yet. Most material deals with Sam's thoughts and feelings post-"Hunted." This is my first time writing serious post-Jess Sam, so I hope I do well. Um, I'm studying modern literature right now, so that influenced my writing style for these pieces. Feedback is adored. Enjoy.



Prompts One through Eight


1. 2am

Dark and quiet. Almost (not really but thinking maybe possibly with some work) drifting off. Sound of covers rustling, sound of crappy mattress springs creaking.

"I'm just so damn tired of this."

Don't say anything in response. Don't wanna have this discussion again. Gonna keep hunting, Dean. Not going to Amsterdam. Roll over, get some sleep. Don't wanna hear your voice 'til morning, don't wanna hear anything but lets-get-some-coffee and are-you-gonna-sleep-the-day-away-Sammy-gotta-hit-the-road.

Not different, Dean. Still Sam. Please god Dean stop being so goddamn tired all the time. Don't wanna go evil kill somebody be a soldier be a burden hurt you. Just sleep, Dean. So tired, just sleep. Maybe have to kill your brother in the morning, so sleep now. Sorry so very very sorry.

Please just sleep.


2. metaphor

Sometimes it's "My brother's made of steel. He can do anything."

Sometimes it's "My brother's an old man. I've never seen him so close to crumbling."

And he wishes for the times (oh so long ago now, a golden age) when the days he thought the former outnumbered the days he thought the latter.


3. sky

Wakes up when the engine cuts out, rolls his head to see brown leather getting out of the car. Hears the clinking of the nozzle being lifted from the pump. Looks up and sees the grey ceiling, scrapes his hand along it, lets fuzz build beneath his fingernails. Before she was rebuilt, there were ink stains and little holes and dimples in the fabric above the backseat, decades-old testaments to a nomadic youth. They're gone now (so much gone now so much), but he still sees them in his mind.

So stupid, thinking his world would ever be bigger than this.


4. lost scene

Sees them when he dreams. Not that kind of dream, not the kind that's useful. Just the kind that make him want to (want to what? want to vomit? scream?) stop dreaming.

Dead dead dead. All dead.

Soothing voice, cool hand on feverish forehead. Never knew it. Maybe knew it, can't remember it. Oh, so nice, so soft lovely sugar-cookie heart-break fantasy. Don't leave, don't leave. Gone in a whirlwind of flame.

Gorgeous smile, more gorgeous soul. Study together, eat together, sleep together. Gonna marry this girl. Gonna keep her close. Love you, miss you, last message in reverse. Last touch was a drop of blood. Never shoulda been you. Never never, sweet girl. Burnt offering to a false god.

Whiskey eyes, molten and sharp and so full of a pain that is finally finally twenty-two years too late understood. Good man, bad man, hard man that loved his family too much to actually love them. Maybe he woulda been a man who played catch at dusk in the front yard if he'd been able to just be a dad instead of an avenger. So many years of hatred for the old man, and things were just starting to patch up because of some goddamned common ground that never shoulda been. Gone too now, and he can't get the coffee stains out of the cuff of that pair of jeans.

Smartass, horndog, hero. Never say I love you, it's a chick thing to say. Always look up to you, even when you end up shorter. Sorry for leaving, can you come back? Not you anymore. Different. Wears your skin, this man sitting so close, but not fooling anyone. Not the same. Lost so very much. So scared these days. Gonna end up evil, gonna try to hurt someone. Terrified little Sammy, and he needs you. Come back, please. You're the only one who can. Lost you in some whispered words and a secret you kept for too long. What can be whispered to bring you back again?

Dead dead dead, all dead.

Everyone who matters.

Gotta bring the last one back.


5. degrees

Gotta buy back his soul. Save a girl, earn a bit. Lose a girl, devil's gonna take him alive. Notching his way back up, but one good slip and it's all for nothing. Get an inch, keep the inch. Lose an inch, lose himself. The fall's much longer than just the height he's climbed.


6. seize the day

"Not gonna live forever."

It's funny how the most off-handed comments by a waitress trying to get him to try the rhubarb pie can make his food taste like sawdust. He watches Dean ask for the check, smile a little for the girl. Seem easy about it.

Different, different Dean outside the diner. Dean throws the car into reverse harder than he should, gravel rattles against the underbody as the wheels tear ruts in the parking lot. Gets back on the highway.

"Stupid bitch."

Dean's so pale sitting beside him that he could count every freckle on that fear-pinched face if he wanted to. Not sure if he's glad he wasn't the only one so affected or not. He thinks not.

Doesn't want to live forever. Just doesn't want to die the way he thinks he's gonna.


7. opposite

He sits on the high stool, listens to the gentle tinking sound of his teeth repeatedly catching the lip of his beer bottle. Stares across the table. Pushes the newspaper towards Dean, tapping his index finger on the article he thinks they should look into.

Dean grunts something noncommittal, doesn't give the article more than a perfunctory glance.

They sit for their own personal eternity, him looking at Dean, Dean looking far, far away.


8. passions run

There aren't many opportunities to be alone. He takes what he can get.

He breaks down in the shower one morning. He fiddles with the showerhead because it was obviously made for people under six foot and it's that crappy soft water anyway that makes his skin feel slimy even after he's clean and never seems to rinse the crappy motel shampoo out of his hair. Suddenly he realizes he's sobbing.

It's just the little things that drive him over the edge. He's scared, so scared. Doesn't want to be special. Wants to know what happened to Ava. Wants to know what's going to happen to him. He beats on the shower wall, probably scaring the next room's occupants out of their wits. He doesn't care.

Wants to call out for Dean. Wants the one person left in his life (and if he's being honest the most important person ever in his life at all) to help him, help him through this. Dean would never let anything hurt him, no never never never.

Feels so stupid for crying, feels like he's less than a man. Schools his breathing. Doesn't want Dean to hear.

He rests his head against his forearm, watching a stream of tepid water pour from his chin with burning eyes. Feels the rivulets run down his shoulders, his back, his calves. Washes his face extra hard. Doesn't acknowledge the salt tears swirling down the drain with what feels like a little part of himself.

By the time he emerges from the bathroom, he looks just fine. Dean brushes past for his turn. He tells himself that Dean will never know. That's good enough for now.