like a morning of pale spring still clinging to winter's chill
weecest, ~8k — chapter one of two
There’s a creature in the front seat with Dean.
Skin as pale as the snow clinging to the branches swooping outside the windows and limbs as thin as them too. Mouth like a cupid’s bow, except Cupid wouldn’t be so cruel, so just a bow then, long lines and curves so pink and full that it makes heads turn and eyes stare.
It makes Dean’s head turn and Dean’s eyes stare.
Except he shouldn’t be staring, not at him, this fragile flower wilting in the dusk of winter with a nose tipped in pink and hair that once shone so brightly in the summer sun, now dulled by the grey light of snowy days.
Wincest Writing Challenge - January
Prompt: salt and burn | partner: @just-another-busy-fangirl
Pairing: Wincest | Rating: PG | Wordcount: 1,342
Summary: Sometimes the worst ghosts are those in our hearts.
A/N: Thanks to @anotherwinchesterfangirl for her help <3
1995 - Bangor, Maine
“But, why salt?” Sam shifted from foot to foot as he stood next to the open grave. The salt inside the metal canister made a soft s-s-s-s noise as he moved it from one hand to the next. “I mean, you’re gonna burn the bones. That seems pretty final to me.”
They’d finally agreed that, at twelve years old, Sam could join them on his first salt-and-burn. The rules were clear - Sam would be relegated to shovel holder and salt carrier while his dad and brother took point in dealing with the spirit.
John wiped his brow leaving a dark smudge across his forehead and then pulled himself out of the grave. The dirt piled to the side smelled moldy and Sam wasn’t sure how the two of them could stand it. Looking up at John, who was sweaty and covered in that dirt, it seemed nothing could effect his father.
“It has to do with purification. Salt helps connect the ghost back to the earth and to its bones. Then we send the spirit on its way by burning the bones.” John said, and then signaled Sam, who shook out grains all along the opening.
As he moved along the eight-foot long hole, he stared at the uncovered dirt walls of the grave with its small roots and rocks imbedded there and back up to the granite headstone of Mrs. Evelyn Whitsett. Anywhere but at the glimpse of white bones lying below him in the broken casket.
The spectre appeared before Sam had finished with the salt. He was knocked to the ground hard, his head bouncing off a rock. The shrieking noise it made was unbearable, but it was cut short as Dad swung an iron crowbar that cut Mrs. Whitsett in half.
Sam looked over at his brother who was moving swiftly on the opposite side of the grave. Dean poured out the gasoline and then held an open packet of matches in his hand. Their eyes connected, and Dean gave him a quick grin before lighting them up. In that orange-yellow sulfur flare for the split second before he dropped the matchbook into the hole, Dean’s face shone bright against the surrounding darkness.
As Mrs Whitsett’s bones burned below them, John extended his hand and pulled Sam to his feet. “Good job. You and Dean make quite a team.”
His brother jogged over, and pushed Sam's hair aside to check the scrape on his cheek. Sam made a noise and shoved Dean’s hand away. The smell of gas and smoke turned his stomach. He wiped his mouth and looked back at his brother.
“So, is she happy now?”
Dean cocked his head to the side, as he grabbed the crowbar and shovel off the ground. “Is who happy?”
“The ghost. After you salt and burn its body. Is she happy now?”
Dean paused and exchanged a quick look with John before handing Sam the salt canister. “Sure. I guess so.”
Sam glanced at the burning grave, and then ran to catch up with his brother and dad who were already walking through the gate without a look back.
2001 - Kearney, Nebraska
Standing in the drizzling rain of a Nebraska bus station, a ticket to California in his hand, Sam thought of that night. It had been his rite of passage - his krypteia. Dean had patched up Sam’s cut back at the motel room, his gentle fingers applying antibiotic cream and butterfly bandages under dim bathroom light, while their dad ordered pizza.
It was a good memory to pull out when things went to shit. And tonight, it all went to shit.
The sound of the Impala’s engine as it pulled in the bus station parking lot made his heart beat faster. He knew that Dean would follow him here. He also knew that Dean would never leave their father.
“Sam, c’mon, get in the car. Talk to me about this.” The cockiness of that night so long ago was replaced by desperation as Dean walked up. “You don’t need to leave right now. Let's find a place to talk.”
Raindrops splashed across Dean's cheeks and caught on the ends of his eyelashes, and Sam struggled to remember if they ever had to salt and burn a corpse in the rain. There was that time in Akron. The dirt had been slick and heavy as they struggled to dig out the coffin. After all that work, the matches wouldn’t light, no matter how much the two of them tried to protect them from the wet wind. In the end, Dean had pulled out his favorite Zippo lighter, a heavy nickel one that Bobby had given him. Ever faithful, the Zippo stayed lit and Dean threw it into the grave without a thought.
Salt for purification, Sam thought. Bring the soul back to earth, back to its body, so you can send it on its way. “No. Nothing to discuss, Dean. I’m going to California.”
His brother ran a hand through his wet hair, making little droplets shake off with the motion. Sam wished he had a camera with him to capture the image, to keep it in his pocket always.
“Maybe I could meet up with you there. It would be easy to--”
“No. I don’t want you to.” His abrupt answer caused Dean to look up, searching Sam’s face. Now’s the time to light the match and set this thing on fire.
The two of them had been dancing around whatever this was between them for months. Since spring had turned to summer, there had been touches and looks. They had skirted the line, quiet whispers in the dark while John was gone on a trip, but Dean hadn't taken it further. Sam needed it, and the need grew and floated like a ghost, hovering between their double beds in every cheap motel room they stayed in, their dad’s snores keeping it at bay.
Sam tried to talk to Dean. His brother dodged the conversation, which was easy because something this big, something this important, couldn't be discussed over pancakes with their dad sitting next to them.
The situation would continue to eat away at the two of them. Sam needed to leave hunting and Dean would never leave John. It didn't matter how much they wanted to be together in the end, because those two things could never exist in the same world.
Better to kill it off quickly then wait around for their feelings to turn bitter and die a slow death. Better that Dean went back and forgot about Sam, then stay and learn to hate him.
Salt and burn time.
The big Greyhound bus rolled up in front of him and opened its doors with a hydraulic hiss. Sam picked up the duffel bag at his feet, and Dean went to help him. Their eyes met for a moment and then Sam looked away. “I don’t want you to follow me. I don’t want you to call me. Just leave me alone, Dean.”
He stepped up on the bus and didn’t look back.
2008 - Pontiac, Illinois
Bobby said salt and burn. Several times. He insisted on it and when Sam said no for the third time, Bobby packed up his Chevelle and took off for Sioux Falls. And then the old man drove back to Pontiac two hours later to argue it one more time.
This time there would be no salt and matches, because Sam had no intention of sending off Dean's spirit to whatever comes next. He already knew what that was - an eternity of hell. He wasn't about to make that permanent by destroying Dean's body. There had to be a way to bring his brother back and Sam was going to find out what that was.
And if he didn't-- well, Sam would be joining him soon enough.
Sam finished tamping off the loose dirt on the top of the grave with the back of the shovel head, and gathered up his gear to head for the car. He stepped carefully through the trees that hid the grave from the main road, and didn’t look back.
Words: 2.5k Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Temp Canon Character Death
A/N: Written for the spn-j2-xmas exchange on LJ. Giftee: aeipathetic
It wasn’t planned and it definitely wasn’t something they ever talked about doing, but Sam and Dean found themselves settled down in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of the South Dakota plains.
It was only supposed to be a short-term hole up, something that would allow Sam to get back on his feet after everything in Cold Oak went down. It was more at Dean’s insistence than anything else, because if Sam had it his way, they would have left the next day. But Dean argued tooth and nail, and the scar at Sam’s spine ached with every reason Dean littered at his feet. There was something in Dean’s expression every time he asked Sam to give him a few more days, that somehow melted every single rebuttal that Sam could come up with.
And so, spring eventually turned into summer and somehow the anxiety Sam felt in his bones, slowly dwindled into comfortability and dare he say it--normalcy. Dean smiled at him more, his gaze less worried and more relaxed. They created a new routine, one that was lacking in all things that were written in their dad’s journal and abundant in the soft cotton feelings of finally being safe.
Wincest Writing Challenge - December
Prompt: Decorating the Christmas tree | partner: @leahlisabeth
Pairing: Wincest | Rating: PG | Wordcount: 537
Summary: Sam reflects and Dean recovers at Rufus’ cabin on Christmas Eve.
They were Sam’s favorite snowflakes. Fluffy and as big as goose down feathers, they were the kind that would float from the sky and cling to his lashes and the tips of his hair. When he was a child, he read that the temperature in the upper atmosphere is what forms the shape and size of snowflakes. The bigger the flakes, the smaller the storm.
They’d spent a week at Rufus’ cabin already, nothing but the silence and the snow and each other for company. As Dean’s injuries improved, his mood declined. He was itching to get back on the road, convinced that the sound of asphalt under the wheels would heal his broken leg faster.
Sam adjusted the last candle, before stuffing the pack of matches back in his pocket. He tilted his head towards the sky and closed his eyes. No cars, no voices, no threats. It was a balm after the last hunt ended bloody.
The front door of the cabin opened and Sam could hear Dean’s crutch drag across the wooden porch. When Sam turned to look, Dean was staring at the tree.
“What is this?”
“It’s Christmas Eve.” Sam bobbed his head and pushed the toe of his boot through the white powder. “Was feeling grateful. Thought we should celebrate.”
Dean hobbled off the steps, plowing a trail through the snow with his bad leg to stand next to Sam. He leaned in to get a closer look at the branches. They were filled with lights, winking bright in the twilight. “Where did you find a string of Christmas lights? I thought Rufus was Jewish.”
“Actually, some Jewish people put up trees, especially those with interfaith families, although many of the more orthodox…” Sam cut himself off at Dean’s annoyed look. “Well, that’s not the point. Besides, they’re not really a string of lights.”
Dean moved closer to the tree, and his eyes went wide as he realized what they were. “You put real candles on the tree?”
There were no ornaments or decorations in the small cabin, and they were twenty five miles from the closest town. Dean was recuperating, so Sam had to make do with the small white votive candles that he found in the closet next to the lanterns. He spilled just enough wax on each branch to secure the small aluminum containers. His careful placement of the candles and the snow was enough to avoid any danger of starting a fire.
In the growing shadows, the small white lights flickered as the brothers stood shoulder to shoulder looking on.
“It’s awesome, Sam.” Dean adjusted his stance, moving the crutch to take weight off his wounded leg. “So, what are you grateful for?”
Sam watched as the fluffy flakes swirled around his brother, one of the white curls landing on the purple-yellow bruise on Dean’s cheek before melting into nothing. “You know, the usual. Candy canes and eggnog.”
Dean snorted. “Sugar addict.”
“Slacker.” Sam set his hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezed before heading back to the porch.
Dean looked once more at the lighted tree and smiled, before turning his face to the sky, catching a few snowflakes on his tongue. Maybe a few more days here in the woods wouldn’t hurt.
Wincest Writing Challenge | Round 3 | Going to the Movies
Prompt: “What’s in the box?” -Se7en, (Dean, 3x01) | Partner: @dreamsfromthebunker
Pairing: Wincest
Rating: Teen and up
Warnings: Implied Major Character Death (but not in a very sad way)
Words: 1400-ish
Nondescript. That's what it was. Textbook nondescript. Small and unadorned. Fade-into-the-background beige. Utilitarian. The kind of cash box you'd see grade schoolers counting change out of at lemonade stands or PTA bake sales. All in all, a completely inconspicuous box. Or it would have been, had Sam not gone out of his way to hide it.
Dean noticed it when they first set up residence in the bunker, and it's reasonable to assume that that's the same time Sam acquired it, since hiding something like that on the road would have been difficult. It was pushed up against the wall under the head of Sam's bed, a fact Dean would have never discovered if Sam had not messed with Dean's iPod (nothing but Nickleback? Seriously?) causing Dean to plan a retaliation prank that involved shrimp shells under the floorboard.
Sam deserved his privacy, of course, Dean respected that fact enough to not open it. Well, and it was locked. But mostly the privacy thing. Dean put it back where he found it and idly wondered if whatever's in it will absorb the fishy garbage smell that's going to permeate Sam's room in a few days.
When Sam discovered the source of the smell a few days later he didn't say a word, although he did look pointedly from Dean to the toilet and back one night as Dean was brushing his teeth. Dean, after swishing about a gallon of Listerine through his mouth, called a ceasefire.
It was nothing but sheer nosiness that had him rooting around in Sam's room a few days after, only to find that the box disappeared from its hiding place. That, more than the existence of the box, piqued his interest. Storing something under a bed wasn't all that unusual. Moving it once you realize it’s been discovered, is.
Dean occasionally caught sight of it over the years, always a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, passing by Sam's open door as it was slipped it into some drawer or cubby or rucksack away from Dean's prying eyes. He considered asking Sam about it from time to time but in the end always decided it was best to not risk the rejection. Logically he knew it wasn’t really a rejection. Logically he knew that Sam was entitled to have privacy. Logically he knew it was his own jealousy and insecurities that would make it feel like rejection. But pain is pain whether it's logical or not and, as with all things of an unpleasant emotional nature, Dean preferred avoidance.
For their first few years there, Dean never spend much time in Sam's bedroom. It seemed both of them preferred Dean's memory foam mattress to Sam's old springy one (even if Sam did crack a joke or two about the Princess and the Pea at Dean's expense) and the nights they spent together were always spent there. It wasn't until after a certain unwanted house guest had taken up temporary residence that Sam made it a point to ask Dean into his room.
Some people cleanse a home by burning sage, Winchesters purify with love.
So it was there, in Sam's room, wrapped up in little brother arms and post coital bliss, that Dean finally mentioned it. He was lying on his side, sleepy and sated enough to not care that Sam was tucked up behind him in a definite big-spoon, little-spoon configuration. The edge of the box was just visible, poking out from underneath the writing desk against the wall.
“Sammy,”
“Hmm?”
“Whatcha got in that cash box you're always trying to hide away, anyway?”
Sam chuckled softly behind him, tightened his arms and pulled Dean a little closer to him, “s'all my millions of dollars is all.”
Dean smiled, too warm and content to be put off by Sam's deflection. “Pshh, it's probably your secret shameful porn collection or somethin'. Either way, half o'that's mine you know.”
“All yours.” Dean thought he heard Sam say, just before he falling asleep.
A few mornings later Dean woke up to find Sam sitting cross legged at the foot of the bed, the box open in his lap as he ran his fingers over hundreds of small slips of paper inside. Dean rubbed his eyes and sat up for a closer look. The slips of paper were all different. Various colors and weights, some he recognized as motel notepad paper, some looked like ripped parchment or blank newsprint, others were just plain notebook paper. All were written on- blue and black and red ink, pencil, marker, something that looked suspiciously like dried blood- though he couldn't make out any of the words.
“It's uh, a prayer box. Kind of,” Sam explained without looking up, “It started out as one, anyway. The idea is you write down your prayers and put them in the box and that's. Letting them go. Go up to god or wherever.
“So, let go and let god? Like in AA?”
Sam smiled, “Yeah, a little. But after a while I didn't just put prayers in here. I put everything I wanted to let go. Wishes or memories or regrets. I write them out, then they go here. And it's like. Being unburdened. It doesn't always work of course. Some things-” Sam cleared his throat and Dean looked up to see his eyes well with tears, “some things are in here more than once. Some things are in here a dozen times or more.”
Sam closed the lid but didn't lock it, and slid it across the bed to Dean.
“Sam, I- this is private, I don't need, I mean you don't have to-”
“I know I don't have to,” Sam cut him off, “I know Dean. I just, I used to be embarrassed by it you know? By having prayers. By thinking this would actually, I dunno, lighten my soul or something. But all these scraps of paper? They're all me. Parts of me. And I- I don't want to feel ashamed of any of it. And I know you won't- I mean. I trust you with it. With all of it.”
Dean traced his fingers over the edge of the lid, careful and barely touching.
“Sam, I- I don't know what to say--”
Sam leaned in and kissed him, a fine interruption as far as Dean was concerned, and he found he really did know what to say, it just wasn't the kind of thing that needed to be said with words.
Dean looked through the box a little that day, though despite being granted permission it still felt like he was somehow invading Sam's privacy.
“Dear god, please let me complete these trials” and on the same paper, “Dear god I think I'm dying. Please just let me finish what I started first”.
Scribbled on a scrap of cardboard, “please please please make it stop make it stop”.
Big block letters on parchment, “It wasn't my fault.”
Seven matching mini post-it notes, “Kevin” written on each one.
Yellow steno pads worth of “Dean's gone and I don't know what to do please help me” and “maybe it should have been me” and “god was never reading these” and “the smell of burning hair” and “please don't make me go back” and “dear dad, happy birthday. love, sam”.
Blue and white card-stock, “dear god I love him so much.”
They never talked about it, after. Sam didn't hide it anymore. It sat on his desk and collected more prayers and wishes and memories and regrets. Dean added a few as well- declarations, mostly, ones that were still too big for him to say aloud. One year at Christmas Dean replaced the beige metal cash box with an elegant wooden one, charmed and blessed and carved with sigils to protect both the physical construct and the sentiments within.
It would become a constant comfort in their lives. Their secret keeper. Their silent confidant. A place where there was no judgment, only grace and forgiveness. An extension of their love and trust in one another. And so it met its eventual end as anything of worth should, through salt and fire. The last offering it received was not a secret, nor a prayer, but a promise, slipped into its gaping maw as the funeral pyre burned around it.
A/N: Listen to this cover of Toxic by Yael Naim while reading! :)
Smoke fills the air when the music hits, white sparkly lights in the shape of a heart twinkle behind a lone chair on the stage. Hungry eyes wait feverishly to be fed and Dean’s tongue is curled up tight in the back of his throat. He’s been here before, but this time is different. This time he’s not looking to escape into perfume and a nicely decorated rack. No, this time is different and every bone in his body is on high alert, his fingers curling anxiously around a glass full of top shelf whiskey. Usually he takes the cheap stuff, but tonight is a special night and he feels like celebrating.
When the first bass note drops, candy apple red high heels appear from under the curtain. They shine like poison, looking for a gullible sucker in the audience to fall victim to their spell. Behind the shoes, follows a death sentence dressed up in fishnets. The first leg goes on forever and when it stops, another hint of lacy red appears through the curtain. And before the room can take another breath, there she is--spinning like a red devil onto the stage and when she stops, the crowd gasps and whistles.
Dean watches the back of her body, watches as every inch of her skin shines like some kind of diamond filled sky. She’s topless and her arms hug herself as her spine curves back and forth, looking like some love goddess who belongs to a lamp--and she’s here to grant everyone their last wish. Her right hand unfurls like a flower, lifting from her body and rolling into the air magically. When it stops, her body shimmy’s downward until she bounces in a crouched position. The sequins that are sewn into the lacy fabric around those hips, hypnotizes the room and causes Dean to stop breathing.
When she finally turns around, Dean’s eyes feast on the heart shaped pasties that sparkle with jewels. They hide those blooming petals from view and Dean’s throat works around a swallow, because suddenly he’s thirsty for other things besides top shelf whiskey. He watches as her long, long legs straddle the chair, his eyes transfixed as she rolls her stomach up, her hands trailing up her ribs and getting lost in her curly, brown hair. Her red painted mouth opens into an ‘o’, and Dean’s falling down her throat, on his way to Neverland. She’s beautiful in the spotlight, moving like some slow motion dream--right out of a magazine. There’s a hundred pairs of eyes on her, but she scans the room and locks onto his. She mouths the words of the song, ‘you’re dangerous...i’m l o v i n g it.’
Dean feels the razor sharp points of those words, feels them hit his chest like arrows, feels himself bleed out in the middle of the room, feels himself smile despite it, because he’s a fucking masochist. The room around him fades away, and it’s just her and him. The lit up heart behind her, turns to red as her hips move forward and her back arches away from the chair. She spins in her chair until she lands sideways, slides from the seat until her back is on the chair and then she lifts her legs slowly into the air. Dean watches as her red heels dance in the air, watches as his molars ache for just one lick of that sweetness, for the poison that will surely kill him. And his dick nudges itself against the inseam of his pants, agreeing to the terms of death before him.
Her head falls backwards, her hair falling in curls that are a whisper away from touching the floor, her taut throat on display for all to see. It stretches like it should be behind glass in a museum, it shines in the light and sprouts from her collarbones like a gift. And then just as fast, she is up off the chair, her legs twirling her seductively until she drops to her knees at the edge of the stage, where she paints an aching portrait of want with her body.
Dean watches as men at the front of the stage lean forward and throw money at her, some are brave enough to dip their fingers under the band of her lace panties. He watches every foaming-at-the-mouth patron pay their respect, every single one of them boiling a murderous hue of jealousy in his veins. They don’t deserve to touch her, don’t deserve to let their eyes drown in her beauty. Dean shifts in his seat, clearing his throat, trying to keep the growl of his heart from echoing between his lips.
She slithers closer to the edge and winks prettily at one patron who rolls a hundred into her panties, his fingers dragging slowly back out, tracing down her thigh as he sits back down. She blows him a kiss and sits back up, turning her attention back to Dean. Dean who sits with a stiff dick and a raging wave of possessiveness in his chest. She smiles seductively at him as she lifts her body from the floor, her hips rolling like ocean waves, the glimmer of glitter and sequins captivating the crowd once more. She blows him a kiss and a few dozen eyes turn to see where it lands, the heat of blush painting his cheeks with guilt.
Dean swallows, his heart racing in his throat, his palms sweaty and his tongue dragging across the top of his mouth. Watches as she makes a show of circles around the chair before she saunters back to the curtain, where she looks over her shoulder and then disappears as slowly and wickedly as she had appeared. The song ends just as the curtains dance behind her exit, and the crowd erupts and hollers loudly from their seats. Dean sits unmoving, but finishes the rest of his glass of whiskey and then gets up from his seat as the announcer comes on stage.
“Give it up for that red vixen, Carmen!!” The announcer claps with the crowd before adding, “She’s something, ain’t she?”
“Yea..” Dean mumbles to himself as he finds the front exit, his dick still whining in his jeans. And when he gets outside there’s some pretty things eyeing him up and down, asking if they can take care of him, their eyes tracing the outline of his dick. But he pushes by them and heads for his car around the corner.
Twenty minutes later, he’s pushing his little Brother through the motel room door, and ripping his clothes off before the door even clicks behind them. Dean spins them both around and crashes his Baby Brother against the back of the door, because he won’t make it much further. Dean can’t get his jeans down fast enough, his fingers simultaneously trying to push his down and pull down Sam’s sweats. Sam smiles at him devilishly, the stain of red still painting his lips, the tease of glitter still covering his skin. And Dean can’t take it, feels like his skin will melt right off his bones and expose his heart for what it really is, what it’s always been--a monster. But Sam’s grin turns into a full smile and Dean shoves Sam harder against the door, because his heart is hungry and there’s only one taste that can salve it’s growl.
“Did you like her?” Sam whispers, sucking in his bottom lip and biting it questionably, his eyes batting beautifully.
Dean stares at his beautiful Brother and then leans forward to capture his lips, his teeth nipping to bite, his tongue wild for the taste of copper--for the mark that his kiss will leave.
“I loved her.” Dean mumbles against Sam’s jaw, lifting his Brother’s legs to wrap around his hips. “I love you.” Dean pants into Sam’s collarbone, his lips dragging achingly against the heart shaped glitter that’s still there.
Sam cries out when Dean finally pushes in with nothing but spit slicking his way. It’s a little too fast, too rough--but Sam’s nails claw at Dean’s back and urge him further in, welcoming the monster inside of him to feast heartily. And Dean’s heart swallows as much as it can, claiming every inch of the Brother it adores.
Later, when Sam asks if Dean will always loves him, Dean will kiss his Brother’s swollen lips and drag Sam’s hand over his own heart as he whispers, “Yes, because the monster of my heart says so.”
52 Weeks of Sam & Dean (Ao3)
buticancarryyou vs @whoaeasytiger
Prompt #40: Monster Said So (Ao3)
(suggested by: @tipsysam)
See Rose’s Version (Ao3)
This is a list of all of my fics, old and new, all in one lovely place for easy sharing (and finding). I will include links to those that are also on Ao3, as I write there under the name innerglow. All fics will be listed in the order of most recent - oldest. {Artwork in graphic was commissioned from @sketchydean.}
** = popular
Under a read more, as this will be updated as new fics are written. <3
*Updated - June 1st, 2021
Wincest:
A Dark Reflection (In You, In Me) [on Ao3 only] - Written for the 2019 @spneldritchbang - For as long as there’s been time, there’s been stories of the true Boy King who would one day come to rule all of Hell.This is the story of Sam Winchester’s destiny and how he rose from the darkness inside himself to choose his own way. {29k, boyking!sam, visions/hallucinations, blood/gore/horror}
sunny-day-sky-blue [on Ao3 only] - Sam just wants to be beautiful.{Or the one where Sam buys a dress and fights with himself and all the ways his insides never quite match his outsides.} {3.2k, trans!sam, gender identity, body dismorphia}
** The First Time I Saw Your Face [on Ao3 only] - When Dean Winchester is three years old, he sees color for the first time. {Inspired by that old tumblr post that talked about soulmates seeing color for the first time when they meet.} {4.3k, falling in love, soulmates, schmoop}
Spring Will Come Again [on Ao3 only] - Written for the @spnj2xmas exchange for 2016 - After Cold Oak, the Winchester's take a break and enjoy Dean's last year. {2.5k, post 2x22 (ahbl)}
** A Brother’s Lament (A Slow Death) [on Ao3 only] - Written for the spn-j2-bigbang for 2016 - (Post Swan Song AU) Dean Winchester loses his Brother to a big, gaping hole in the ground and spends the years following, trying to follow Sam’s wishes–but finding instead, that he’s slowly losing himself, too. We follow Dean on a five year timeline, of present and the past, down a road that is just as troubling as it is full of grief. Piece by piece, we start to see just how a loss so devastating, can make someone teeter off the ledge of sanity, into the darker sides of their own desperation. {46k, post 5x22 au, angst, horror themes, serial!killer tendencies, violence, soulless!sam, etc}
** 52 Weeks of Sam & Dean [Ao3] - Various ficlets written throughout the year for a challenge between @whoaeasytiger and me. Still in process until the end of 2016. {29+k, WIP, angst, schmoop, flowery, etc}
Limerence [on Ao3 only] - Limerence (noun): The state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person, typically experienced involuntarily and characterized by a strong desire for reciprocation of one’s feelings. {2.3k, unrequited, schmoop, ice skating}
Untitled - Casper is Sam’s favorite movie {under 1k, stanford, angst}
Everything You Touch [Ao3] - Sam thinks he ruins everything he touches, and then he buys a cactus. {1.4k, angst}
** A History of Reasons [on Ao3 only] - The Winchesters’ lives hang in the balance, as the fate of the world lies in their hands. Insurmountable odds have Dean ready to cross the golden line he’s always sworn never to cross and Sam is ready to (once again) sacrifice his life for the world. And as time runs out, together they both recall memories of their past. {19k, angst, schmoop, 10x23 au, samulet fix it}
Untitled - Dean listening to ‘Nothing Else Matters’ and smoking a joint {under 1k, schmoop, drugs cw}
Untitled - Dean wasn’t a musician, even though his hands were calloused enough to be one. {under 1k, flowery}
Untitled - They’ve barely gone 3 miles down the road, when the strong smell of iron and death crawls from the backseat and waifs under Sam’s nose. {under 1k, angst, 10x23 coda}
** The Shrine of Our Love [Ao3] - Sam dances. Dean watches. {under 1k, dancer!sam, schmoop}
** To Rise, We Must Fall [on Ao3 only] - Sam wants to find Dean after he goes missing from his bedroom post 9x23. But when Sam does find his Brother, Dean is not as he used to be. Sam wants to fix Dean, but Dean proposes a different idea. {11k, s9, boyking!sam, demon!dean, horror, spn-reversebang 2014}
Sammy’s Birthday Flowers - On Sam’s eleventh birthday, he wakes up to find a single sunflower in an empty coke can on his nightstand. {under 1k, schmoop, sunflower!verse}
A Monster I Know - You see, the thing is, I know you. {under 1k, flowery}
A Dream Denied - I have always been denied. I’ve gone through my entire life feeling like I am a fraud for simply breathing. {under 1k, flowery}
A Tragedy - He looks at you and he asks you to do the one thing you don’t know if you can ever do. Let me go, he says. {under 1k, flowery}
Untitled - Dean shaves and Sam mourns the loss of it. {under 1k, s9, breakup scruff}
Sam’s 31st Birthday [on Ao3 only] - Dean sends Sam off on a little hunt, while he stays behind and prepares a birthday surprise for Sam. {3.4k, schmoop, s9, domestic!dean}
** The Sacrifices We Make - Sam blows out a breath of air as he sits inside the old confessional. The wood complains in squeaks beneath his weight and he can’t stop his heart from racing. Where does he start? What does he say? {1.7k, angst, 8x23 au, amulet fix it}
** Untitled - Sam’s in the passenger seat, but Dean’s never missed him more. {under 1k, angst, s9, post gadreel fallout}
** Everything’s For You [Ao3] - When Dean comes back from hell, he doesn’t know what he was expecting. But this, this was not even in the picture. {2k, s4 au, angst, mcd}
Four Leaf Clovers - Dean is Sam’s lucky charm. {under 1k, schmoop}
Untitled - Sam learns it was his hands that killed Kevin. {under 1k, angst, 9x09 coda}
** Lucky Charms - Dean has always been Sam’s lucky charm. {under 1k, schmoop}
Untitled - Sam reminds Dean that he is smart, worthy. {under 1k, schmoop}
** Sammy’s Garden [Ao3] - Dean Winchester is 68 years old and he misses his Brother with every aching bone in his body. {under 1k, angst, old!chesters}
** Untitled - Ezekiel sees Dean through Sam’s eyes {under 1k, schmoop}
Sunflower Promises - Sam’s leaving for Stanford, but Dean wants to make him a promise first. {1.4k, schmoop, stanford, sunflower!verse}
When You’re Not Around - The first thing Dean sees is a road. {1.2k, angst, s8/s9, suicide cw}
** Burnmarked [Ao3] - You’re Sam Winchester; you’re on fire and burning away. {1.6k, angst, self harm cw, depression cw, suicidal idealization cw}
Untitled - Years after their visit to the sunflower fields outside of Lawrence, Dean starts to have vivid dreams about them. {1.4k, schmoop, sunflower!verse}
Untitled - Dean used to sing to Sammy when he couldn’t sleep... {under 1k, schmoop, weecest, sunflower!verse}
In The Aftermath [Ao3] - Takes place directly after Sam fell into the pit and deals with how that loss affects Dean. {2.7k, angst, post swan song, dean pov}
The Anthem - You spend half of your life longing for home. {1k, trials!sam, 8x23, angst, sucidal idealization cw, depression cw}
The Places We Call Home [Ao3] - It's Sam's 18th Birthday and he thinks everyone's forgotten it--most importantly Dean. But Dean gives Sam the best gift he could ask for. {2k, schmoop, pre-stanford, first time, nsfw}
** The Amulet - After the trials, Dean finds something surprising in Sam’s things. {under 1k, trials!sam, schmoop}
Flipping The Coin - Lucifer is inside of him, but he ain’t gonna let him win. {under1k, angst, swan song, lucifer!sam}
Never Letting Go of You [Ao3] - They get back to the bunker and Dean takes care of Sam. {1.2k, angst, h/c, s8, trials!sam}
Untitled - Dean goes to check up on Sam, who lies asleep on his memory foam mattress. {under 1k, angst, trials!sam, s8}
Untitled - Sam’s mouth gaped open as he watched Dean smoke some weird smelling stuff, he guessed was weed, through a crack in the bathroom door. {under 1k, weecest, shotgunning!kink, nsfw}
Reminding Sam - Sometimes you just have to remind your Brother who is in charge {1.5k, soulless!sam, nsfw}
Untitled - He tries to pinpoint the exact moment it happened. {under 1k, flowery}
Untitled - They’re so consumed with these feelings for the other, but they stuff it down and are unwilling to admit them. {under 1k, angst, unrequited}
Sam/Dean (Gen):
Untitled - Dean used to talk about Mary all the time. {under 1k, angst}
Sam:
** Untitled - They’ve barely gone 3 miles down the road, when the strong smell of iron and death crawls from the backseat and waifs under Sam’s nose. {under 1k, angst, 10x21 coda}
Sam’s Confession - “Please forgive me,” He starts as a gut wrenching pull of grief twists inside his stomach. {under 1k, angst, 8x23 coda}
Untitled - Something snaps inside of him; it’s deep and it’s twisted. {under 1k, angst, 3x11 coda}
Untitled - Sam would never tell Dean about how his mind is still cracked and the cage memories still seep through. {under 1k, angst, hallucifer, hell trauma}
** Untitled - Sam blames himself for a lot of things... {under 1k, angst, suicidal idealization cw}
Dean:
Untitled - The minute her feet sound on the stairs, Dean starts to wonder if he’s been dead all this time. {under 1k, angst, 12x03 coda}
** The Fire - You’re four years old, and your life just went up in smoke. {under 1k, angst, pilot}
Sastiel:
Our Destinies [on Ao3 only] - The first time Castiel sees him, he doesn’t even have a name yet.He is just a soul in his hands, handed to him by his Father. Given unto him with the strictest of warnings: “This one is important, Castiel. I need you to take extra care of him. He has a great destiny to fulfill. And it will be yours, to make sure he does.” {1k, schmoop}
Untitled - Sam visits Cas at work {under 1k, s9,}
Untitled - Cas sees Ezekiel inside Sam for the first time. {under 1k, s9}
Untitled - On each shoulder blade lies a nasty scar, the skin red and violent-looking. {under 1k, angst, s9}
Untitled - Sam sees Cas’ wings for the first time {under 1k, wing!kink, schmoop}
Untitled - Cas saves Sam from the cage {1.2k, horror cw, soulless!sam}
Untitled - Sam finds Cas’ trench coat in the trunk {under 1k, angst, s7}
Untitled - Cas heals Sam of his scars {under 1k, angst, self harm cw}
Sadreel / Sezekiel:
Answered Prayers - Ezekiel sees Sam Winchester for the first time. {under 1k, schmoop, s9}
Have A Little Faith - Ezekiel tries to save Sam. {under 1k, s9}
** The Light Inside of Him - Being inside Sam feels like he’s sitting in a church with beautiful sunflower stained glass windows to see through. {under 1k, schmoop, s9}
SamJess:
Untitled - She appears to him when he’s in the cage {under 1k, angst, hell trauma}
SamSarah:
Untitled - Sarah’s death and a life Sam could’ve had. {under 1k, angst, s8, 8x22 coda}
Untitled - What if it was Sarah Blake and not Amelia. {under 1k, fluff, s8 au}
Denny:
Untitled - All of Dean’s life, he’s been in charge; been the one to command and lead. But Benny takes the reigns from his hands, makes him squirm with the need to be overtaken. {under 1k, nsfw, s8, purgatory}
