Author's Note: Welcome to the 1st annual "25 Days of Hurt Sam" where I write holiday hurt!Sam stories based on prompts given by you! Got a holiday related prompt that you want to see turned into a story? Have a Christmas plot bunny that's bouncing in your brain, but you're too busy to deal with it? Then, you're in the right place. For the month of December and up until New Year's, I will be writing little hurt!Sam stories based on prompts you give me. So, how do you submit a prompt, you ask? It's really simple! Just leave a review with what you would like. Prompts can consist of a word (example: snowflakes), a first line or phrase (example: Sam had always hated ornaments) or a situation (example: Sam falls through thin-ice. Dean and Castiel have to save him). In order for your prompt to be filled, please observe the following ground rules
First, I am a Gen author. I don't write slash of any kind. Sorry! I do accept cannon pairings though.
Second, I only write stories T and below. Do not give me an M-rated prompt. Nothing about rape or lemons or anything like that!
Third, Sam must be hurt in this story. You can be specific about what you want Sam to endure (example: hypothermia) or you can leave it up to me. Either way, Sam will be the one that gets the brunt of the hurt and someone else will take care of him.
And lastly, requests are fulfilled in the order they are submitted on a first come, first serve basis.
So, without further ado, here's the first chapter! I hope you guys enjoy. This song just reminded me of Sam and Jessica. Anyways, this is set in early season 1. Please enjoy!
"Met my old lover in the grocery store,
The snow was falling, Christmas Eve."
—Dan Fogelberg—"Same Old Lang Syne"
He was burning.
The frozen food aisle felt heavenly on his scorching skin and he was tempted to remain there forever. Dean; however, was waiting for him back at the motel and his brother didn't take kindly to Sam stalling when it came to dinner. It was Christmas Eve in Illinois. Snow gently fell from the darkened sky and White Christmas seemed to be on repeat in every grocery store he had been in. Still . . . this was his first Christmas back with his brother in four years. He wanted to make it special. He wanted to make sure he had gotten all of Dean's favorite foods. After all, during Stanford he had been with—
"You make up your mind yet?" He froze, unsure whether he was hearing the feminine voice correctly. "Sam?" The tone was perfect. She had always spoken with an undercurrent of bubbliness and that was one of the first things that had attracted him to her.
"Jess?" He turned around, half-wishing he was wrong and half-praying that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. But no, there she stood—Jessica Moore, dressed in her favorite pink sweater and blue jeans. Her golden hair had been pulled up into a ponytail and little Christmas light earrings dangled from her earlobes. Her eyes held an inquisitive spark in them as her lips curled upwards in a small smile.
"Course," She replied. "Who else would it be?"
Images of a fire filled his mind. A woman burning on the ceiling. Blood dripping down from a cut and Jess screaming and God, no, why would this happen—
"Hey," She touched his sleeve softly, eyes full of concern now. "Are you all right?" He wanted to laugh at that. It had been almost two months since she had died and every night, he relived her death. Every night, he was helpless to save her. He missed her and he was still no closer to finding the demon that took her away from him or his absentee father.
No, Sam Winchester was far from all right.
"Jess, how are you—?" Her slender arm darted past him and reached for the handle. She opened the door and after a quick glance, she pulled out a chicken TV dinner and placed it in the red basket that Sam had brought with him.
"Remember the week before finals last year when you ate like ten of these and nothing else?" Her smile was firmly in place and he wanted nothing more, but to memorize her and commit every detail to memory. He had no idea why she was here—he probably should care about that, being a hunter and all—but for as long as she graced him with her presence, he wasn't going to waste a second.
"I miss you." Sam blurted out. Not a day went by where he didn't think of her. Not a second passed where he didn't wonder what might've been if he had stayed by her side.
"I'll be back once Winter break is over." She promised and he let himself believe her for a few precious seconds. Then with a small grin, she added, "You could come with me, you know. Mom would love to meet you. We could have Christmas dinner together." Sam had forgotten how many times they had had this conversation. Every time December had rolled around, Jessica had tried to convince him to go home with her and meet her family. Sam had always refused though. There was something about Christmas without Dean—without his family—that made him feel like an outsider. He didn't have a place to go home to. He didn't have a father who was proud of him and couldn't wait for him to return to hear about the promising start of his law career.
"I wish I could." He told her honestly, something pricking the back of his eyes. Not tears though. Winchesters never cried.
"Maybe next year." She said softly.
"Maybe." He echoed. They stared at each other for a few more seconds before Sam faced the frozen food section once more.
"Sam?" A different voice questioned, this one distinctively masculine and familiar somehow. The youngest Winchester turned back around, only to find Jessica gone and Dean now in her place. His older brother eyed him oddly. "Dude, I've been calling you for like the past ten minutes." Sam idly glanced at his phone and saw numerous missed calls. Funny, he hadn't even heard his phone ring . . ."Hey, you feeling okay?" Without waiting for an answer, Dean placed calloused hand on Sam's forehead. It felt like ice and Sam unconsciously leaned into it, savoring the momentary respite from the fire. "Shit."
"What?" He mumbled drowsily, staring at his brother's concerned expression.
"You've got a fever," Without another word, Dean was tugging him to the Impala, all thoughts of TV dinners thrown by the wayside. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" The grocery store dissolved into a blur and before he knew it, Sam was sitting shotgun, a blanket draped over him and a very concerned older brother kneeling in front of him. Dean's green eyes scanned him, cataloging any injuries while simultaneously mapping out a strategy to deal with whatever illness had taken hold of him.
"I didn't feel sick." He had felt like he was warm when he had left, but that had been it. Though, now that he thought about it, he did feel kind of tired and his head was killing him.
"Well, meds and then bedtime for you, Samantha." Dean retorted quietly as he got into the driver's seat. The car started up, the familiar rumble of the engine lulling Sam into a sense of calm. This was his home—this was what he had wanted to come back to during Christmas break.
He drifted in and out of sleep for the rest of the car ride. He remembered Dean giving him some medicine before helping him to bed. He recalled waking up after a nightmare and Dean being beside him once again, whispering reassuring litanies that he would deny he spoke in the morning. He took more medicine after that and then slept for a long time.
When he awoke—this time conscious—Dean was sitting at the kitchen table, presents spread out on the surface of it. Sam beamed.
This was home.
"Merry Christmas, Sammy." Dean told him with a rare, unguarded smile.
And yeah, he still had a fever, his girlfriend had been murdered, their father was missing and they weren't any closer to finding the demon that had been the source of all their troubles, but for this moment—this second in time—there was no where else he would've rather been.
"Merry Christmas, Dean."
Author's Note: So, there you go! I hope you enjoyed this little story. I look forward to getting your prompts. Think of this as a Christmas present from me to you. Please review and request if you get a chance!