I'm like one who asked if you wrote for Sam too. I was thinking one where he wakes up from a nightmare sick and he and dean at first think hes just sick from the nightmare but then realize he has a stomach flu because he's burning up
Here you go! Enjoy s1!Sam having some freaky nightmare premonition about s4/demon blood!Sam, and resultant concerned!dean. Also, I have no idea where “whiter than Natty Ice” came from, but it just felt right.
This was worse than being possessed, because here, Sam was in full control.
He felt his arm lift, the tendons in his wrist flex as his fist clenched, the shift of weight between his feet as he stood his ground, preparing to summon up the newly-nurtured infernal powers within to choke the life out of his brother, who stared with wide green eyes, horrified at the thing his Sammy had become.
“S…Sam…” Dean rasped, face gone white, freckles spotting garishly in the absence of blood. The 1911 loosened in his grip, then tightened again, and the set of his jaw hardened once more as instinct overrode rationality – kill or be killed it was, then. Sam was gone, a black-eyed monster in his place. “Sammy, c’mon, don’t make me shoot you.”
Sam, lucid in this distorted nightmare world, inhaled to fill his chest and lifted his arm for the final, deadly strike, gritting his teeth against the hellish humming in his veins. “I told you,” he growled, voice gone deep and demonic. “It’s Sam.”
His fist clenched once more, and Dean’s head exploded like a wet grapefruit, crimson meat and ribbons of gray meninges splattering the wallpaper. Headless and lifeless, his body crumpled to the ground, limbs twitching, loaded gun clattering to the floor, the barrel still smoking, bullet fired too late.
“Sam!”
The sudden boom of his brother’s voice – very much alive, and loud, urgent – woke Sam with a jolting start, and he flailed against the sheets, flinging pillows. “Hhhmu-what?!” His heart pounded, and he blinked frantically, struggling.
Dean reached over from the opposite bed and turned on the light, the brightness momentarily blinding them both. His green eyes were very wide, almost shining, pupils shrinking rapidly. “Another nightmare. Bad one, from the sounds of it.”
Sam, dissolving gradually back into reality, panted heavily, catching his breath. Sweat dampened his T-shirt and stuck it to his back, plastering the hair to the nape of his neck and temples. Fuck, it was hot in here. His stomach churned, and he glanced over at the digital clock on the nightstand. 4:57 AM. Damn, almost 5. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice raspy with sleep. “’m fine. Sorry.”
“Mmm.” Dean didn’t buy it. He rested back on his elbows, rubbing an eye. “Like hell. You’re whiter than Natty Ice. Wanna talk about it?”
The animation of Dean’s brains splattering the wallpaper was still fresh in Sam’s mind – c’mon, Sammy, don’t make me shoot you – I told you, it’s Sam –
The dull burn of acid at the back of his throat made Sam wince, and he shifted his legs over the side of the mattress, leaning over to rest heavily into his palms. The heels of his hands dug into his eyes, rubbing away both sleep and heartburn. Nausea roiled disconcertingly, and he exhaled harshly, willing it away. “M’fine, Dean. Just a nightmare. Not a little kid anymore.”
Dean sat up, too, and their knees almost knocked in the small space between the two queen beds. ‘You’ve been havin’ nightmares since Jess died six months ago,” he began, baritone gone uncharacteristically soft. “I’m just sayin’, it might help t’get some stuff off your chest, is all.”
Sam lifted his head to glare wearily at his brother, although it came across as more of a pained grimace. He felt nauseous and woozy, like he had the spins. “I told you, Dean. Don’t wanna talk about it.” He brought a fist up to his mouth, feeling a surge of acid crawl up his throat.
Dean noticed, and cocked an eyebrow. “You okay?”
“I said I’m—”
“Sam, I swear, if you say you’re fine one more time—”
The trash can was nestled between Sam’s bed and the shared nightstand. Hastily, Sam reached down and grabbed it, bringing it up to his chin just in time. Bile burned his throat and nose, coming up in a wrenching wave like hot foul water, and tears streamed down his face. “Oh, God,” he gasped between heaves, clutching the can for dear life. The fuck did this come from? The nightmare? He doubted it. More like the greasy half-raw burgers Dean’d brought back from that diner across the street—
“Whoa, easy,” Dean coached, his voice lost in the awful tide of Sam’s sickness. He reached out to steady his sick brother, offering physical comfort as well. “Easy.”
Sam was helpless, body locked and set to his stomach’s expulsions, and he focused solely on trying to breathe whenever he could. He felt Dean’s warm hands on his shoulders, his forehead, pushing his bangs out of his face, helping him hold the trash can steady.
“Sam,” came Dean’s voice from the fringes of Sam’s misery. “I got you. It’s okay.”
And Sam did feel got, knowing that Dean would not let him fall over, or drop the trash can, or puke on his bare lap. His brother’s hand was hard, rough, callused, worn tough by years of shotgun-wielding and grave-digging and wrench-turning. It was the firmest, most familiar sensation Sam had ever known, next to John’s hands, but when John was all discipline, Dean was comforting, solid, steady.
“Here, c’mere,” Dean was murmuring, gently disengaging Sam’s quivering fingers from the trash can, lowering it onto the floor beside his feet. “You’re a mess, Sammy. Lemme help.”
C’mon, Sammy, don’t make me shoot you.
In the aftermath of his exertions, damp with fresh sweat, panting like a runaway horse (eyes and nose running disgustingly and lips slick with bile, man, he could use a tissue, Dean was getting him one right now) Sam decided to let the nickname slide, submitting himself instead to his big brother’s efficient and capable ministrations, rehearsed and sympathetic and comfortingly familiar.
He’d tell Dean about the nightmare when the sun came up and made it less real, and for now, he’d let Dean keep calling him Sammy when it counted.
((More nightmare Sam content? A flashback to when Beelzebub was carrying Adam? Az trying his damn best? It’s all here, folks! I’m pretty proud of this... maybe now you’ll see why they weren’t all too surprised to see Sam in that spell. ;) -Mod))
—
Samandiriel was staring at them.
Distantly, Beelzebub knew that they couldn’t really be in the room with them. Samandiriel was dead. Gone. Still, a part of their feverish mind was convinced that somehow, some part of Sam had stuck around to torment them for their crimes. It wouldn’t be the worst thing God had done to punish them since the Fall.
Crunch. A dead butterfly was smashed between Samandiriels fingers. Beelzebub shuddered at the sound, leaning over the bed to vomit again. Their stomach felt as though it was turning to ash. Maybe it was. Anything felt possible.
“Honeybee.” Samandiriel whispered, and Beelzebub shook their head desperately, stomach still trying to expel the nonexistent food in it. “Honeybee, are you with me? Are you with him, Beelzebub?”
“Stop it.” Beelzebub gasped, and something lifted itself from their back. Had a hand been on their back? It felt so surreal.
There was a new voice now, and a hand in their hair, smoothing it out of their face. The hand was burning hot, and they were so cold that they leaned into the warmth, feeling themselves shaking. “Honeybee?” The voice was soft, and it took a moment to place it in their memory, but once they did they could have sobbed in relief.
“Azzy?”
“Yeah, Honeybee. I’m still here. I haven’t left.” The hand that wasn’t holding back their hair began rubbing gentle circles on their back as Beelzebub processed. How long had Asmodeus been in here? They were faintly aware that their siblings drifted in and out of the room for varying lengths of time. They couldn’t remember where one shift ended and another began- how they processed time was off.
“Are you with me?” Asmodeus murmured, helping them sit up a little more. Beelzebub nodded faintly, feeling the room spin. A sudden sharp pain in their stomach nearly made them vomit again and they hissed, curling up a little. Some instinctive part of them worked on keeping the link blocked to their siblings- they didn’t want anyone to experience this pain.
“Stop that.” He sounded sterner now, wrapping an arm around their shoulders to keep them from collapsing. “Stop wasting your magic to block the link. We can take it, Honeybee, I promise. It’ll be okay. Focus your magic on keeping yourself here, okay?”
Beelzebub almost nodded again, but was cut off by the snapping of bones and they turned their head to see Samandiriel stalking towards them, shattered wings out, leaking blood and feathers as they went. “NO!” They yelled, causing Beelzebub to wince because it was way too loud, they couldn’t handle this. “DON’T YOU DARE. THIS IS YOUR BURDEN. HE’LL ONLY MAKE IT WORSE ON THEM IF YOU DON’T HANDLE IT.”
Beelzebub shook their head once more, twisting their face around to hide from the apparition. “No.” They whimpered, and they heard Asmodeus sigh shakily.
“Still stubborn, huh Honeybee?”
No. Just terrified. They can’t voice that out loud. “Sorry.” They whispered, unsure if they were talking to Sam or Asmodeus. Both, maybe? They were so tired. Everything hurt.
“Shh, it’s alright. Why- why don’t you just rest? You’ll feel better after you rest.”
The flower crown fell to the floor, they could hear the crunch as something stepped on it, getting closer to them. “Yes, yes, rest. Rest, I am so tired. Let the little beastie kill you already, please, please-“
“No!” Beelzebub was aware they sounded desperate now, grabbing onto Asmodeus arm, trying to make him understand. “No, don’t make me, I-“
“I’m not going to make you do anything, Honeybee, breathe. It’s okay-“
“It’s not okay. Nothing is okay! They’re- can’t you see them?”
“...see who?”
Samandiriel sighed. “You’re crazy...” They sang softly under their breath. “Absolutely crazy...”
“Make them go away.” Beelzebub whispered, finally looking at the apparition, who stared back at them with dead eyes. “Please. I don’t want to talk to them.” It was so hot, they felt like they were burning up, why was it so hot?
Beelzebub felt their brothers grip tighten around their shoulder, and a wave of magic sweep through the room, banishing any presence within it. They closed their eyes, hoping, nearly praying that the nightmare would be gone when they opened them.
When Beelzebub finally did open their eyes, Samandiriel was closer than before, bloody hands outstretched to touch their face, and Beelzebub couldn’t bite back the wall of pure panic that left them and they hid their face in Asmodeus’ shirt, positively shaking with fear. “Nononono-“
“There’s no one else in here,” Asmodeus whispered. He sounded almost as scared as they were, trying to figure out what’s going on. “Honeybee, tell me what I need to do to help you.”
“You can’t, I- I- I’m sorry, I-“
“Shh, you don’t need to-“
“You- you did your best. You tried. Thank you.” Beelzebub cut him off, feeling the familiar darkness coming over them again. Their body had overspent itself, too panicked and pained to stay conscious. “Don’t- don’t forget to wake me up, I don’t- please, don’t forget.” They were rambling, unsure of what they were even talking about yet somehow desperate for Az to understand.
His hand returned to their hair, gently running his hand through it as he tried to calm them down. “I... I won’t. I won’t forget. I promise.”
Beelzebub allowed themselves to be comforted by the promise, and as the darkness overtook them they were almost able to ignore the taste of blood in their mouth and the sound of crunching wings in their ears.
//as I said before I’m reading lord of the flies in class and the way sam talks in Dead Butterflies is v close to how The Lord of the Flies talks in the book (at least in my opinion) and idk if it was purposeful but the use of the word “Beasty” also reminds of it
((Well, the way Sam talks was sort of based on that, actually! There’s a lot of symbolism based on what they look like and other details mentioned about them! Beastie wasn’t an intentional reference to the book, it was actually a reference to a nickname I headcanon Beelzebub had for Adam. If you guys want a freaking paragraph on nightmare Sam and their symbolism I will write one, do not test me -Mod))
