#sams whumptober 2023

[sam-loves-seb]

from way up there (you and i, you and i)

“You gonna tell me why we had to watch Tuesday turn into Wednesday or…” Ian doesn’t answer him. Not right away. It’s silent for long enough that Mickey shrugs it off and goes back to looking at the sky. He’s long since accepted the fact that Ian’s weird. He doesn’t dislike it or anything, it’s just how it is. So he doesn’t think much about the non-explanation. Until Ian finally speaks. “Today’s my birthday.”

s3: it’s ian’s birthday, and only one person remembered

whumptober 2023 -- day 5

prompt: pinned down

prompt: "It's broken."

[ ao3 | ko-fi | etc ]

[jasmines-library]

Can you do a Winchester brothers (mostly Dean) x sister reader where she is captured but they tie her to an anchor and drown her and the boys have to save her and bring her back to life

Sounds of Someday

WHUMPTOBER DAY 24: Prompt: “I thought they were with you?”

Fandom: Supernatural.

Summary: the request pretty much says it all. When you and your brothers split up during an unusual hunt, you get caught and become part of a witch’s ritual, which ends with your life slipping away and your brothers struggling to reach you as you are dragged away.

Warnings: Drowning, blood, capturing, character death.

Word count: 2.3k

Note: thank you so much for requesting anon! This was really fun to write. I hope you don’t mind that I included it in my whumptober series, I thought it fit interestingly with todays prompt!

MAST ERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

You and your brothers weren’t sure what you were hunting. There was no pattern- nothing set in stone to follow and every time you thought you had latched onto something in the lore, it would change unpredictably to something that contradicted what you’d just believed. At first, you thought it was a vampire. It had appeared out of nowhere, slinking in from the darkness. But then people started to go missing and the bodies were being discovered in strange ways: with nasty scratches, dark bruises or completely torn to shreds. Then, Sam led you on to believe it a spirit, looking to extract some sort of revenge. But you weren’t sure. Nothing was linear and it was making your head spin just thinking about it.

The town you were hunting in was quaint residence in the centre of Minnesota. It was surrounded by woodland and was fairly isolated from the rest of the world around it, making it the perfect stomping ground. It honestly surprised you that this place hadn’t cropped up before.

Your feet had begun to ache as you trudged slowly through the pine needles behind your brothers. You had a backpack slung over your shoulder which rattled as you hauled it higher up on your back. You had been walking for ages, training behind your older brothers who, given the fact they were much taller than you had managed to move at a much faster pace, having to take less steps due to their long strides. Sam had insisted that you stake out the woods in chance of finding something hidden nearby, but the area was vast and the three of you were yet to find anything in the hours of walking behind you. The sun had begun to dip below the horizon too, making it increasingly hard to gage your surroundings and keep your bearings.

“We should split up.” Sam said suddenly as you came to a fork in the path. It broke the silence that had gradually settled over you once you had run out of things to talk about.

Dean furrowed his brow. “What? Are you stupid, Sam?”

The tallest Winchester sighed deeply and slowed his pace to a stop. “We’re not going to find anything if we all huddle together. It’s getting dark and our best shot at finding something is if we split up.”

“That’s exactly my point, Sam. It’s getting dark and we don’t know what’s out there. Besides, there’s no way y/n is going out there on her own-“

“Y/n is old enough to go back to the motel alone-“

You scoffed, cutting him off with a stern look. “Do I get a say in this?”

“Y/n-“

“Dean.”

“You know we don’t like it when you go off alone-“

“I’m not a child, Dean. I can take care of myself.”

Your eldest brother let out a relenting sigh after shared an unspoken glance with Sam. The two of them had a habit of doing that. “Fine. But if you’re not back here within the hour then you’re in deep shit.”

You grinned, turning to head down the middle path.

“And y/n-“ Dean called out to you. You glanced back at him over your shoulder. “Keep your phone on.”

You nodded and made your way down the trail. Dean didn’t move for a while. Something nagged at him, so he stood as you wandered off into the trees, watching you with careful eyes. Little did he know that he wasn’t the only one watching you.

~

You had been walking for sometime. Too long. The woods had thickened and the darkness made it impossibly hard to tell the path ahead from the path you’d just taken. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were lost. And to make matters worse you hadn’t even found anything useful. You had considered messaging Dean for help; but that would involve admitting that you were wrong and you knew that if you did that you wouldn’t hear the end of it. You were reluctant, but when you reached into your pocket to pull out the device, you found that it was missing. You then considered turning back, you knew something was wrong and it was nearing an hour since you had left and were due to rendezvous with your brothers, so you would be able to reach them without worrying them…but that was when it caught your eye.

Dangling limply from a brunch, a piece of blood-splattered cloth hung. It was fresh, still dripping blood onto the muddy ground below it. It looked as though it had snagged on a branch. You reached out to collect it in between your fingers, turning it over slowly as your examined it. When you went to pocket it, there was a loud snap of a branch to your left.

Almost mechanically you had dropped the cloth and replaced it with the cool hilt of your pistol. You were on high alert, searching for the source of the sound. Then came other to your right. And then behind you.

You were surrounded.

You didn’t know where to direct your attention, whipping around to find your best course of action. But whoever or whatever was tailing you was smart and clearly outnumbered you.

Someone tackled you from the side, forcing you to the ground with a sickening thud. You screamed, startled. Delivering an upwards kick, you tried to throw the woman off of you, but her grip was firm as she rolled on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head and straddling your waist. There was another pair of hands working a rope around your feet and other around your hands. You tried to squirm, kick and scream, but a harsh slap left you disorientated as a gag was forced around your mouth.

~

Sam came to a halt at the rendezvous point. He was a few minutes late and was met with an antsy looking Dean, who was pacing and constantly glancing at the time displayed on his phone screen. Sam could see the gun he had loosely planted in his jean pocket.

Dean turned at the sound of footsteps approaching, but he was in no way revived. In fact the sight made his chest constrict. Sam was alone.

“Where is she?” Dean demanded, crossing the space between him and his younger brother in two large strides.

Sam furrowed his brow. “I thought she was with you?”

“No.” Dean fumbled in his pocket to bring up your contact number. “She texted me. She said she had found you and that she was gonna…”

Dean trailed off when Sam flashed up his screen to reveal an identical message. They had been played.

“Son of a bitch.”

“You think she did this?” Sam asked. It wasn’t something entirely out of character for you. You would often trick your brothers into getting what you wanted, or simply just for some peace and quiet.

“I-“

All ideas were cut short at the sound of a shrill scream, that caused both brother’s hearts to falter. Your scream. They would recognise your voice in a crowd of a thousand. Neither of them wasted any time as they darted towards the sound.

~

You had managed to make out three of them as they began to drag you through the woods over bumps. The pine needles gathered in your hair and clung to your clothes to poke at your skin. You knew that your brothers would realise quickly that something was wrong. It was hardwired into them. But one of them was doing something with your phone which you could only assume she had managed to snatch from your pocket somewhere along your trek.

You could only watch as they dragged you into a clearing. You were grateful when the upturned roots morphed into grass. The lake glistened under the moonlight and the start sky. It was the type of serene scene that you and your brothers would pull up at and sit on the roof of the Impala just to revel in the quiet. The thought only made the situation seem even sicker. When the women hauled you onto a dock, you sensed two more people lingering nearby. One of them held a weighted book and the other a set of chains fastened to what looked like some sort of anchor.

Your eyes flew open when the realisation hit you like a ton of bricks. They were witches. And you were part of their spell. You tried to dig the heels of your boots into the wooden slats and scrabble away, but one of them landed a kick to your stomach and dragged you closer again, hauling you up onto your feet and holding you tightly in their grasp.

One raised your hand, biting into it with a silver dagger and then squeezing it into a chalice. You’re screamed and bit into the gag. Then they began to chant. Old, foreign words that rang throughout your ears. But nothing stayed. Your mind was too hazy as your blood dribbled out of the wound. After the final word had been spoken, one of the male witches snatched you away and pushed you towards the edge of the dock. The water was dark and endless below you and you tried to teeter away from the edge but you were in a vulnerable position and with one wicked smirk and another chorus of chanting, you were sent tumbling over the edge and into the water. But not before you hear the faintest whisper of your name carried across in the wind.

~

There’s something irresistably poetic about drowning. You weren’t sure if it was the way that time slows to nothing the moment your body it’s the icy water, or the way that it was so quiet under the surface, but there was something about it.

Well, that was until you watched the bubbles escape from your mouth and your nose, rising up to the surface and the dissipating. You tried to kick the binds way, flailing to gain some traction on the water and pull yourself up the the surface so that you could take a desperate gasp of air, but the binds rendered you powerless as the anchor dragged you down down down into inky nothingness. Your lungs burned as you struggled to retain what precious air you had left in your lungs, jerking and twisting to try and get free, but the struggling left you tired and soon the last of the air rose from your mouth. The water assaulted your eyes too, blurring your vision even through there wasn’t much to see besides the white light of the moon above.

Somewhere above your there was a loud splash as Dean delved deep into the water, scrambling after you. He had watched in horror as your body pummelled off the side. He didn’t think he could urge is legs to go any faster as he ran next to Sam who helped him make quick work of taking down the witches. Once the odds had been evened Dean took the plunge after you.

His body nearly went into shock against the stabbing of the cold, but he paid no mind to it as he watched your body sink at an alarming rate. Your hair drifted around you like a halo as he urged his body forwards to catch up with you.

Somehow he managed to wrap a calloused hand around yours. He pulled you to his chest, palling at your stillness, and fumbled to release you from the anchor. Once the heavy weight was gone, he gave one hard kick after pushing your body so that it could drift to the surface, following closely behind and ignoring the burn in his chest.

When his head broke the surface the took a huge, spluttering gulp of air, sucking it in greedily. But you didn’t move. You didn’t squirm to keep yourself afloat, your chest rise and fall, you didn’t even blink.

Dean was then paddling his way over you you, lifting your body so that Sam, who was clinging to the edge of the dock with an outstretched hand could pull you into land.

“Come on!” He urged, gripping you under the armpits and pulling you back onto try land. Dean was inches behind, silently praying that you would be okay. But your heart had stopped.

“No. No no no.” Dean cried at your stillness. “Come on y/n. You don’t get to do this to us.”

He hovered over you, locking his hands in place to begin CPR.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He pleaded, breathing into your mouth. He could feel the resistance in your lungs. His chest tightened further.

“Dean-“ Sam’s voice wavered as he laid a hand on his shoulders.

“No. Shut up Sammy.” He shook his head and blinked away the tears and he pressed harder against your chest, winching at the sound of them splintering beneath the force of his compressions. “She’s fine. She’s fine.”

“Dean…”

You sat up abruptly, heaving a wet cough as you keeled over expelled the water from your lungs. Dean patted your back to help. Everything hurt, your head, your joints, your lungs.

“That’s it, kid. Let it all out.”

“They… they-“ you tried to speak, but your voice was horse and scared so it came out more like a whimper. You took in deep breaths.

Dean cradled you to his chest, rocking you back and fourth in his arms as you sobbed, shivering from the cold and the shock.

“You’re okay, kid.” Sam tried to reassure you.

“We’re here y/n. We will always protect you, no matter what. And as long as you are here, we will always keep you safe. I promise.”

<- DAY 23 ⛤ DAY 25 ->

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Taglist:

@deans-spinster-witch

@senjoritanana

@amaryllis23

[tsubaki94]

1 Sick/ Poisoned

AI-less Whumptober 2023

And so it begins. I'm taking water over my head again and going for both the AI-less Whumptober prompt list and the EctoberHaunt as well.

I'm going to be doing this list traditional with inks and promarkers and try to do the shorter Ectober digitally. Lets see how it goes.

[clintbartonswife]

it takes a village

Pairings: Peter Parker & irondad!Tony Stark Summary: tony gets a message from peter's kidnappers and makes a call. read part one first Whumptober prompt #6 : recording / 'it should've been me' Whumptober prompt #20 : 'you will regret touching them' Notes: brief descriptions of torture masterlist   || whumptober2023

"Sir, you have a message."

Tony wiped the sweat from his forehead, pushing his chair back and looking up to the roof of his lab. "Can it wait? I think I'm close to fixing the lagging issue in Rhodey's leg brace."

"You ignored their last message sir. This time they attached a video."

"FRIDAY, is that a yes or no?"

A few seconds passed as FRIDAY inspected the file, Tony stretching and wincing as his back made a loud cracking noise. DUM-E whirred at him with concern, going back to dusting when he shooed it away.

"No sir. It can't wait."

He sighed, twirling in his chair to face the nearest screen, grabbing his coffee from the table. "Put it up."

The mug fell to the floor, smashing and spilling the coffee all over the floor of the lab.

He was looking at Peter being thrown into a room, body limp and bruised. The angle suggested it was from a CCTV feed, though the resolution was surprisingly high. His heart dropped as the video skipped, showing the kid hammering at the door, yelling and screaming.

Tony couldn't tear his eyes away, tears gathering in his eyes as the video skipped forwards once more. Peter was curled in on himself in the corner of the room, rocking slightly back and forth in an attempt to self-soothe. Text popped up on the screen, stating that instructions would be sent in the next two hours.

As the screen switched to black he ran out of the room, grabbing the flip phone he had vowed to never use, dialling the only number saved on it.

"I need your help."

Tony paced across the tarmac, fiddling with the flip phone in his hands.

"They'll be here." Rhodey reassured, moving to place a hand on his shoulder, "Cap - Steve reached out first. He won't go back on his word."

Tony huffed, "I know it's just - they took the kid. I was so busy I didn't even think to -" He ran his hands across his face. "He's been there for three days already."

"We're going to get him."

Tony couldn't speak, settling instead for a tight nod.

His thoughts were stuck on the image of Peter. He was alone and afraid, curled up in the corner with bruised hands hugged in to his chest.

"How did May -"

"She's with Pepper now, at the tower."

"Pepper?"

Tony let out a self deprecating laugh. "No matter how she feels about me right now, she loves the kid almost as much as I do. May needs someone with her so..."

Rhodey just hummed, stepping back at the noise of an approaching quinjet. "We'll get him back. We just... need to get through this first."

Tony nodded, shaking his shoulders in an attempt to shake off some of the anxiety that threatened to choke him. Any dread that he had been feeling over this reunion was nothing compared to the last 8 hours, and with it came hope.

Hope was a dangerous thing, but goddamn did he need all he could get.

--

Tony cleared his throat, doing his best to appear put-together. It failed, horrifically, but he hoped that they wouldnt be cruel enough to point it out.

The quinjet door opened, revealing almost all of the old team. "Welcome back to the States."

Steve nodded in greeting, bearded jaw clenched and hands protectively crossed over his chest.

They stared at each other for a moment, unspoken words thick in the air. Rhodey broke it, stepping forwards.

"Thank you for coming. I'm sure we all... have a lot to say, but now is not the time."

Steve's eyes darkened with guilt as they passed over Rhodey's leg braces, offering another curt nod in response.

Natasha was the first to step off of the platform, offering Tony a tight smile. "Agreed."

"Just -" Tony's fist clenched by his side, "Please. I can't get him on my own."

"We wouldn't let you, man." Sam replied, "You got coordinates?"

"FRIDAY's working on it right now. So far she's narrowed it to Chicago."

"Then lets go."

Steve turned around, heading straight to the controls of the jet. Tony took a deep breath, looking at Rhodey for reassurance before following, door closing behind them.

--

The awkwardness of the jet was almost suffocating, Tony checking his phone every few seconds for any sort of update. Rhodey had positioned himself protectively in front of him, though not in a way that he was completely blocked from the view of the others.

Steve's body language was tight and guarded, eyes flitting over to Tony every few seconds before diverting to the floor, restraining himself from saying the words he had been sitting on for the past few months.

Tony's phone pinged, the man's face whitening as another video appeared on his screen. "They sent another one."

"Tony... you don't have to-"

He brushed Rhodey's concern off, jaw tightening. "No. I do." He clicked play with shaking hands, spare hand reaching up to cover his mouth in an attempt to withhold his shout of shock.

Peter was tied to a chair, head hung low. A woman was stood by a metal tray, picking up a cattleprod and jamming it into his stomach. A tear fell down his cheek at Peter's yell of pain, the other people in the jet jumping to their feet at the realisation of the nature of the video.

Natasha was the first to approach. "Tony -"

"Don't. I need to -"

The abuse continued, though Peter remained strong, refusing to let out another noise despite the attacks. Despite this, the pain was written clearly across his face, guilt eating at Tony like a disease.

"It should've been me" he whispered, throat tight.

Rhodey placed a comforting hand on his shoulder once again, grounding him and saving him from the anxiety spiral that was threatening to drag him down. He spoke in a low tone, attempting to hide his words from the rest of the group. "Breathe. You can't panic now. He needs you at 100%"

Tony choked out an agreement, placing his phone down on the seat and placing his head in his hands, willing himself to get it together. He had to be strong for Peter.

As his phone pinged again, he froze. Sam approached him carefully, picking up the phone and opening it when there was no argument.

"FRIDAY has a location," he said, "warehouse in Chicago, West Chatham. I'll give Steve the full address."

Natasha stood by Tony, close enough for him to feel her body heat, but keeping distance. "We'll get him. He's going to be okay. I promise."

--

The last twenty minutes of the journey felt like forever, Tony's mind racing with a million different possibilities. None of them were good.

As the quinjet began its descent, Rhodey moved closer to Tony, voice quiet. "You know I want to go in with you ..."

"I know. He - Peter will understand."

"Legs don't work the way they used to," Rhodey smiled, "But I'll get the meds out, ready for him."

"I appreciate it, Platypus. I mean it."

"I know its been a while since you've been alone with them, but they've still got your back. They won't let anything happen to Parker."

Tony nodded, fists clenching and unclenching as he pushed down the anxiety, willing himself to be strong. He wasn't allowed to be Tony Stark right now. His kid needed Ironman.

As he stood, he activated his armour, allowing the metal to give him courage.

"We go in quick and do this cleanly." Steve said, authoritative tone bringing Tony back to the prime of the Avengers. "We're still technically on the run. If we stay too long then -"

"They won't arrest you." Tony interrupted, keeping his eyes set on the door. "I've been negotiating since you went off the radar. I'm close to fixing it. Getting a pardon for your boy as well."

There was silence for a moment, uneasy and uncertain.

"Tony..."

He just waved them off. "Yeah, whatever. We don't have time to waste." Clearing his throat awkwardly, he pressed the release on the door.

--

The alarm blared through the building, Tony not stopping as he fought his way down the corridor, visor scanning for any sign of Peter.

"North east quadrant clear" Natasha announced through coms, "I found a map and am on my way to the control room."

Steve's voice sounded a few moments later. "North west quadrant clear. I'm heading towards you Sam."

"There's a lot of them here - I think they're guarding something."

Tony slammed his fist into the last man's face, kicking open another door and swearing as it turned up empty. "I've got nothing. He's got to be with you, Sam."

"The control room is barred from the inside," Natasha reported, exertion clear in her voice, "Door won't budge. The woman's gotta be in here."

Tony's footsteps faltered, not sure where to go. As if sensing this, Steve spoke.

"We're still making our way through this quadrant, we've got it under control. Go to Nat, Tony."

Pushing down the need to rebel, Tony followed the instructions, each step increasing with determination the closer he got.

"Stand to the side." He said, raising his hand and sending a powerful blast through the door once Natasha was safely out of the way.

Shouts of panic from the other side were ignored as he blasted away the rest of the door, barging in and hitting the first person he saw. Natasha was right behind him, carefully controlled fury powering her every move as she tore through the group of men.

Tony used this distraction to corner the woman, kicking her in the knees and sending her tumbling to the floor. "You will regret touching them" he growled, looking down on her in disgust, "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

She laughed, an obnoxious laugh, and attempted to sit up straight. "You know who I am."

He held himself back from hurting her further, the sane part of him knowing that Peter would never forgive him for lashing out in a rage.

Instead, he disengaged his helmet, looking her up and down with disinterest. "I've never seen you before in my life."

At her outraged shout, he stepped back, motioning for Natasha to incapacitate her. "You're going to jail now, where no one will ever know or care who you are. You are nothing."

"You cant - They'll never arrest me! You have nothing -"

"Shut up." Natasha sneered, hitting her once cleanly in the temple, and huffing as she crumpled. Sparing a kind look at Tony, she nodded towards the door. "Go get him - I'll make sure she's tied up and ready for the cops."

He nodded, hoping his gratitude was clear as he raced out of the room. "Cap? Do you have him?"

"We have him - on our way to the jet."

Relief rushed through him, speeding up even more in his desperation to see his kid. He burst out of the building, disengaging the suit as he stumbled up the quinjet ramp, colliding with Sam's chest.

"He's okay - he's okay." Sam reassured, "Take a breath, Tony."

He took a shuddering breath, eyes fluttering closed as he did his best to regulate himself. "Thank you."

"Of course."

Sam stepped aside, letting Tony rush to Peter's side.

"Mr Stark?"

His voice was weak and small, but so so alive.

Tony let out a tearful laugh, cupping Peter's cheek in his hand. "It's me, bud. I'm here."

"Knew you'd come" Peter smiled, blinking weakly, "Knew it."

"Always."

[dreamersbcll]

“I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me”

- whumptober, prompt no. 19

(stop treating me like a little kid. i’m not stupid)

——————————————————————————-

All her life, Tara has been pushed around.

It was hereditary, she supposed. The younger child always got the shaft. The eldest was gifted with wisdom, strength, and courage, and the younger one got a hug if they were lucky. It wasn’t fair. Tara was just as capable as Sam- even if they were five years apart.

But it never mattered what she thought anyway. Everybody looked down on her for who she was. Sure, she had a permanent limp and a scarred hand that would never entirely function the same- and maybe she was covered with more scars than kisses. None of that was her fault. Everybody in this group had some sort of stab wound or scar, some multiple. Yet Tara was always looked down on for her vices.

For a while, it didn’t bother her as much. It was pretty nice having Sam back and present in her life. She liked having someone to cuddle with and eat every meal with. It was also really nice having the twins near and Kirby and Gale available at the drop of a hat. It felt like a family. It was a scarred, dysfunctional, strange family, but a family nonetheless.

Everything was going so well. And then he returned.

Ghostface never left them alone, and when he came back, he came back with a fury.

The worst part was that her family, her friends, held a meeting without her— while she had a night class. Like she was a joke.

Surveying the room before her, she saw Mindy and Chad sharing the couch Sidney and Gale pacing the living room. Gale sat on the floor, Sam and Kirby above her, speaking in hushed tones. Nobody noticed that she had entered, too busy in their world.

Tara wasn’t an idiot. She knew he was back. They didn’t all gather like this on a whim for no reason. But what pissed her off the most was the fact that they were all having a meeting without her. Like her opinion wasn’t valued or needed. Like she was useless.

Determined to prove she wasn’t, she stormed in, eyes blazing in rage. As she entered the living room, the whispering stopped, and focused eyes grew wide in shock, the air suddenly ceasing.

Everyone but Sam shut up, and that infuriated Tara even more. How dare her big sister act like she wasn’t the most important thing in the room, like their relationship wasn’t worth anything. How dare Sam hide from her, especially after they promised to do everything together.

It's good to know Sam was still capable of breaking promises.

“Listen, she doesn’t get a weapon. You know it’s a bad idea. I can’t have that-” Sam whispered intently, her eyes solely on Kirby.

Kirby’s eyes widened at the sight of the furious Carpenter sister, and she elbowed Sam to get her to stop talking. “Sam, I think you should shut up now.”

Sam blinked. “What? Why? All I’m saying is that Tara doesn’t get a weapon, that’s-”

“-No, Sam,” Tara interrupted, getting in front of her big sister’s face.

Both Gale and Kirby moved away, sensing a family affair. The twins and Sidney quieted and watched everything go down before them. Mindy even got her phone out to record.

Without slowing down, Sam just furrowed her brow at Tara as if she was the one being unreasonable. “What? Tara, what are you doing here? This isn’t in the plan-”

Tara laughed coldly. Of course, Sam couldn’t remember Tara’s school schedule. Her thirst for power ended up in wanton disregard for her little sister. Typical. “-Quiet. Give me a fucking knife, Sam. A gun, maybe. I’m not going at this unprepared,” she hissed.

Her big sister snorted, shaking her head. Crossing her arms, she spoke to Tara like she was five years old again, enunciating slowly so her little sister could understand. “What the fuck? No. No, you’re not getting a weapon. I can protect you.”

Sneering, Tara crossed her arms. “Oh yeah? Like you protected me the last ten years? Like how you were there when Amber jumped me? Oh, wait! You weren’t there, and I suffered!”

As if the air was sucked out of the room, everyone stayed silent. They all knew it was a low blow by Tara, but not unwarranted. They were meeting without her, purposefully, as if Tara wasn’t a part of this whole shitstorm.

Sam sucked in a deep breath, her eyes darkening in anger. “That’s not fair, and you know it,” she whispered, glowering down at Tara.

Tara threw her hands up in the air. This was not the point. She would apologize later. “Give me a fucking knife, now. I’m not going at this bare-handed!”

“You can’t be trusted with a weapon!” Sam retorted back, her hackles rising.

Rolling her eyes, Tara got up in Sam’s face. “How do you know that? I’m sorry; I’m not predisposed to violence. I’m sorry, I’m not of Loomis blood. Give me the goddamn weapon, now,” she hissed.

Sidney, knowing it was about to get ugly, made a move behind her, closing in slowly, ready to pull her back. Gale and Kirby got closer to Sam, knowing it would take two to subdue the eldest. The twins stayed glued on the couch, watching intensely.

Chad interrupted the argument, clearly not knowing his place. “Tara, come on. Don’t act like this. You know we can’t give you a weapon. You’re like, small,” he gently said, shrugging.

Mindy slapped her head, groaning. Both Carpenter sisters glare at Chad, watching as the boy shrinks in on himself.

“Chad. Stay the fuck out. And just because I’m short doesn’t mean shit. Kirby gets a weapon!” Tara half-yelled, her hands clenched at her side.

Kirby shrugged. “Special Agent Kirby gets a weapon for obvious reasons.”

Tara groaned, narrowing her eyes at the woman. “Seriously? You're the one who taught me how to load a gun, and you’re using that cop-out answer?”

“She WHAT?” Sam shouted, whipping around to face Kirby.

The woman held her hands up in defense. “Hey, she said you okay’d it!”

“Kirby!”

Sam ran her hands through her hair, gripping onto her scalp. She breathed deeply, trying to control her anger. Tara could tell she was digging into a nerve, and she wasn’t about to back down.

Breathing out, Sam spoke through clenched teeth. “No. I’m not doing this anymore. Talk a walk if you’re so pissed. Come back when you stop acting like a little kid.”

“I’m not stupid, Sam! I know how to handle a weapon. I’m twenty-two years old. Let me have a fucking chance. If he’s back- if Ghostface is back- I should have something,” Tara retorted, her nails digging into her palms.

“If you’re going to act like a child, you’re not getting a weapon. Go cool off. Now,” Sam barked, pointing at the door.

Her anger boiling over, Tara blew up. She marched towards her room but stopped, facing the group.

“Fuck you, Sam. Fuck all of you. None of you give a damn about my safety- it’s all about you. All of you left me behind at one point or another. Especially you, Sam. God. I don’t even know why I fucking try!” she yelled, taking in everybody’s wide-eyed gazes.

Nobody said anything, nobody defended. The twins turned back to face Sam, the other four adults turning away from Tara as if she were a petulant, whiny child not worth entertaining. Like she was a stupid kid with no worth. Suddenly, Tara felt seven years old again, begging to her parents, who would never give her the time of day no matter how much she cried.

Turning on her heel, Tara made her way to her room. She didn’t spend much time in this room, as she slept in Sam’s, but she still slammed the door hard enough for the minimal wall decorations to fall. She didn’t fucking care. If they wouldn’t listen to her, she wouldn’t play nice.

She kicked at the piles of clothes lying haphazardly on the ground and angrily wiped the hot tears of shame off her face. God. She was such a little kid. Even at twenty-two years old, nobody could take her seriously. She almost died multiple times because of this Ghostface clown.

Was she not yelling loud enough to be considered?

Slumping onto the ground, she put her head into her hands, crying a bit. She didn’t care if anyone heard. It’s not like they were coming for her anyway.

Her phone ringing in her pocket stopped her crying session, and without looking at the I.D., she answered.

“What do you want?” she said thickly, wiping her nose.

And there he was. That stupid voice modulator was alive and crackling in her ear. But instead of fear, all Tara could feel was smug rage. Of course, he would target her when she was the only one without a weapon. How poetic.

“Hello, Tara. You look beautiful today, so why are you crying? Say, I’ve got an idea. Let's say we play a game, yeah?”

Instead of being wise and hanging up, or better yet, alerting her family, she decided to play along. What did it matter? It’s not like they would listen to her anyway.

“Alright. I’m listening. What’s your game?”

She swore she could hear him smile through the mask. Good. At least someone wanted her company. Even if he wanted to hurt her, Tara was brilliant. She was cunning.

Tara would show them that she was worthy of carrying a weapon, of being involved. She would show them what happens when you push her too far.

[abubblingcandle]

Chapters: 1/6 Fandom: Ted Lasso (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Colin Hughes, Coach Beard (Ted Lasso), Dani Rojas (Ted Lasso), Sam Obisanya, Isaac McAdoo, Roy Kent, Jamie Tartt, Keeley Jones, AFC Richmond Players (Ted Lasso), Rebecca Welton, Nathan Shelley, Leslie Higgins Additional Tags: road traffic accident, Graphic descriptions of injury, Blood and Injury, no one dies, Concussions, Post-Concussion Syndrome, Survivor Guilt, Exhaustion, Internal Organ Damage, Broken Bones, crush injuries, Trapped, Hypothermia, no one has a good time, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Therapy Series: Part 14 of Candle's Whumptober 2023 Summary:

Colin heard the accident before he saw it. “Fucking idiot,” Jeff cursed from the back of the bus. Before Colin could turn there was an almighty crunch followed by an ear-splitting tearing sound. Colin’s head snapped to the side with a jerk and he felt weightless for a moment. Time slowed. The bus skidded.

AFC Richmond end up in a bus accident on the way to a game and Colin has to contend with the near death of his closest friends

Whumptober Day 22 - Vehicular Accident

---

IT’S ALIVE!!! *frankenstein scene lightning crackles*

This fic has been through so many iterations from the first idea I had but I am finally happy with the structure and what will happen. And have finally managed to put aside some time to actually write it. Woop woop! 

[maschals]

Oct 29 - Troubled past resurfacing

I love me a tragic romance

[beewithknee]

of feelings and memories

day 4 of redactober 2023 !

(genderbent) sam/darlin'

For the first time in years, Darlin’ smiled as they woke up. Burying their nose in the sheets, they smiled at the bittersweet scent of coffee and peaches. Something so uniquely her.

Their sheets smelt like Samantha. Like comfort. Like home.

They rolled over, smile immediately dropping at the cold sheets they were met with. Where was the warm body they’d gotten so used to waking up next to?

“Sam?” They called out, hoping she’d come reclaim her rightful spot. The empty silence they were greeted with sent warning bells through their whole body. Their mate always let them know when she was leaving. A text, a note, anything.

“Samantha? You home?” They called once more, feet swinging over to hit the carpeted floor with a soft thud.

They shrugged on a hoodie, trudging the long hallways of Samantha’s house.

The open back door that greeted them didn’t bode well. The sun was up. Sam was nowhere to be found. Fuck.

“Samantha?!” They yelled desperately. Hoping for any sign of life from their missing mate. “Where the fuck are you? This isn’t funny. Please.” They barely breathed the last word out, heart thundering with anxiety.

They scoured every inch of her large backyard, finding no trace of her. They shifted, senses far more enhanced in that form. The scent of peaches was faint. Present but likely hours old, back when it was still dark out.

Thank god.

In the depths of the house, they heard a door click. The front door. 

Sam.

Their nails clicked loudly against the wooden floors as they scrambled through the house. Paintings shook as they bounded down the corridor.

There she stood, arms raised as she took her large sun hat off. She was wearing their flannel.

In the recesses of their mind, they registered that that was something she only did when truly upset and needing comfort.

They didn’t bother shifting back as they reached her, nose immediately pushing all over her body. Desperate to find any wounds she may have hidden away by the jeans and flannel.

“Wow dog-breath. Calm down. Hey, Darlin, what’s wrong?” She stopped, voice tired but a light smile on her lips. Her deep blue eyes shone with worry. Crouching, she cupped their face between her hands and pressed their foreheads together.

The immediate release of tension had them shifting back. She let it happen, staying at her spot by their side. “I woke up and you were gone. The back door was open. I thought-“ They shuddered at their mental patterns.

“Oh Darlin’ I’m sorry. No, it just wasn’t a good morning so I went for a drive. I was hoping I’d be back by the time you were up.” She explained gently. They rose, picking her up and trudging back into the bedroom. She laughed as they flung her down on the bed before scooting in on top of her.

“You only love me for my boobs, huh?” She teased, scratching gently at their back. “Oh duh, look at them.” They poked gently, watching as the flesh moved.

Odd but alright.

She smiled, kissing their head. “Why was your morning bad?” “Oh. It was nothing.”

“Sam, you only drive when your head won’t quit. Talk to me, c’mon.” They coaxed, squeezing her sides in a loving reminder.

“Ugh, it was just… the inversion. It’s all it ever is these days. Even after Quinn coming back, I thought they’d be more about him and everything but it’s not. It’s them. It’s Vincent. It’s his partner. It’s Shaw and Talbot. It’s everyone I didn’t save.” She sighed heavily, eyes dark. Haunted by memories she longed to forget.

“I just wish I hadn’t been turned. Maybe then I could’ve kept being a healer. I could’ve stuck it out. I could’ve been useful.” She bit her lip, turning away from her Mate’s knowing look. She didn’t wanna think about it.

“Samantha, you know what I’m gonna say. You were useful. You saved so many lives, and did everything you could. You can’t get caught in the ‘what ifs’ because it will kill you. And plus, you getting turned meant that we met. We get to have this.” Darlin’ gestured at their bodies, tangled up and peaceful.

Sam leaned forward and kissed them sweetly, lips tasting like her black coffee. “I know. And please don’t think I’m not so goddamn happy I met you. And that you love me, and that we get to be this. But, I can’t help it, I just wish I could’ve been better.” Tears lined her waterlines, dancing across her eyes. Her distorted vision let her hide from their gaze for a while.

She closed her eyes, burying her face in their hair. Her arms tightened around their back, bringing their bodies flat against one another; barely an inch of room between them.

“I’m so glad you weren’t in there. I wouldn’t have coped.” She admitted.

They smiled into her chest, “Trust me Fangs, it was good I wasn’t. I wouldn’t have let you out of my arms.” They laughed. “Plus, being a vampire allowed you to help Vincent, and save his partner. It’s not all bad, you know.” They gently reminded her.

She huffed under them, belly clenching from the movements. They found an odd comfort in the way she moved under them, so warm and alive.

It soothed a part of their hindbrain.

“That is true I suppose. God I’m-“ They tsked lightly, “No ‘sorry’s’ you know this. We’re okay. You’re alright.” They swore, tilting up and kissing her once again. She hated that they read her so well. Hated that they could predict what she was saying.

“I love you cowboy.” They breathed against her lips, heart stuttering with gratitude at her existence.

She sniffed, choking back her rising emotions, “I love you too.”

[boykingofhellsam]

BoyKingOfHellSam/Cursedobject's AI-Less Whumptober for 2023 Fics:

Due to the number of links I decided to add all the links in a single post to avoid clogging up the blog. Currently posted 4/31

Day 1: Drugging - Sam

Title: This Blood Burns Through My Veins.

Summary: Sam is forced to drink Demon Blood against his will. He hates how much he missed the power.

Day 2: Gunshot Wound - Sam

Title: As I Lay Here

Summary: Sam never wanted to see Dean die in front of him again. Roy and Walt make that impossible.

Day 3: Isolation - Lucifer

Title: Don't Leave Me Here

Summary: Lucifer didnt understand, he only did what he was made to do. He was a being of perfection. He just wanted God to see how flawed they were. Why was he thrown away? Why did he deserve this?

Day 4: Hiding An Injury - Lucifer

Title: I'm Strong, But Not Without You

Summary: Nick is falling apart, but he doesn't want Sam to know. He refuses to be seen as weak in front of his vessel.

[sam-loves-seb]

if you need to, darling, lean your weight on me

“Will you go somewhere with me?” he asks instead, his voice quiet and unsure. There are a million questions going through Mickey’s head right now, but he answers with, “Sure.” He doesn’t even hesitate. Ian licks his lips, nods his head a little. He shifts the keys in his grip, tries to take a few slow breaths. Mickey reaches over and cups the back of Ian’s neck, his fingers cold and the skin under Ian’s collar warm. Mickey squeezes gently, more of a reassurance than anything. He’d go with Ian anywhere. No questions asked.

// post-canon: ian is acting weird all day. mickey, eventually, learns why

whumptober 2023 -- day 7

prompt: radio silence

[ ao3 | ko-fi | etc ]

[jasmines-library]

Hidden On The Inside

WHUMPTOBER DAY 21. Prompt: “Near death experience” Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: During a hunt, you take a nasty hit which at first seems fine, but it's what's hidden deep under the surface that creates a problem. (I get it, i suck and writing summaries.)

Warnings: Internal bleeding, hospitals, surgery.

Word count: 1.5k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

You were a force to be reckoned with when it came to a fight. You were a strong and fierce opponent with an even stronger will. You had always been a fighter. Like Dean’s, your temper would flare up quickly in the face of any kind of challenge or injustice, and you typically responded with physical aggression.

You had been a hunter for many years, having grown up in the life much to your dads disapproval. When you were finally old enough, and after a lot of convincing, you were finally allowed to join your Dad on small hunts in the area. A ghost here, a vampire there. It was always the same routine—they'd enter a town, slip up, you and your dad would hunt them down before returning to the motel for some take out. But, one day when you were in your mid-twenties, your dad never made it home. It was that night that you met the Winchesters. They had given you a shoulder to cry on that night. It was a strange, yet kind gesture; to give a grieving stranger somewhere to feel safe. The three of you were thick and thieves after that night. You lived and hunted together and soon you began to feel as though a missing part of you had been filled. 

The three of you were hunting a pack of wolves. Child's play. But these wolves were abnormally strong, and it took almost all of your strength to push them back and kill them, but they were wearing thin too, and soon there was only a small handful of them left. One charged, baring its teeth at you. They two of you scuffled; quickly locked in a fight. As the fight dragged on with neither of you making much progress, the two of you tired quickly. But then in a flurry of moves, your opponent landed a series of punches and finally managed to fling you into the wall in a fit of rage. You hit the wall hard but didn’t make a sound. You just gritted your teeth and shrugged it off; you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of you. As the fight went on, the blows came harder and faster, with neither of you giving an inch. Until finally, he slipped up and you managed to jab him with your silver blade. 

“Are you okay?” Sam questioned as he sauntered back over to you after tossing the match onto the bodies. “I saw you hit the wall pretty hard.”

You rubbed the back of your neck dubietly. “Yeah. I’m fine. It was just a little unexpected.”

“Are you sure?” He drew in his eyebrows, creating little wrinkles on his forehead.

“Positive.”

~

When you told Sam that you felt fine, it wasn't completely a lie. At the time, you did feel ok, a little sore, but ok. Though as time went on and the world sped around the Impala, you began to feel off.  You ignored it, of course. You hadn't been injured that bad, you assured yourself. Nothing could be wrong. You had endured much worse and been fine, yet the uneasiness continued and a dull ache began to grow throughout your body as your skin paled.

“You okay back there sweetheart?” Dean asked, glancing back at you in the rear-view mirror when he noticed your absence in the conversation. Your silence was loud. 

“Peachy.” You hummed, avoiding his gaze. You knew you looked into his eyes he would know exactly what was up. It was like a 6th sense of his. 

“I’m only asking ‘cause you look a little pale.” He added. 

“I skipped breakfast this morning. It’s probably just that.” You shrugged “Quit worrying, Dean.”

He was right to worry though, because the moment you stepped out of the car, a wave of nausea hit you and you lost your footing slightly. Sam picked up on your stumble. 

“Woah. Careful Y/N. Are you sure you're okay?”

“I’m fine, Sam.”

He eyed you slyly. You weren’t one to be clumsy. Sam followed you closely as you hauled yourself down the steps of the bunker, much slower than usual as you fought the unease that contaminated your body. By the time you reached the bottom, a sheen of sweat had broken across your forehead, and you were short of breath, panting against the pain in your abdomen. 

You had barely made it halfway across the room when the lightheadedness kicked in and you had to grab the table to keep you from doubling over with your vision. Taking a step forwards and letting go of the table, your body swayed, causing bile to rise in your throat. You had just about stumbled to your room by clinging onto the walls when another wave rolled over you causing your legs to buckle and your body careen to the side and hit the ground with a groan of pain. You clutched at your stomach. 

Your vision swam as you lay there in a dazed state, fading in and out of your pain laced world. You weren’t sure how long it was before your heard footsteps escaping down the hall.

Sam knocked on the door. He hadn’t heard from you since the three of you arrived home over an hour ago and he had begun to grow worried. You didn’t look well at all when you forced yourself out of the impala. Your skin was paler than usual and clammy and alongside that your footsteps were all out of beat. When there was no reply, sam asked for you but his words went through one ear and out of the other, not even stopping in your mind.

He pushed the door open and froze at the sight of your body sprawled out across the cold floor. Your chest barely rose and fell.

“Shit.” Sam dived forwards, dropping his bags on floor. “Y/N?” He patted your face lightly, but all you did was groan. 

Gingerly, Sam eased your arms away from your stomach and rolled up the hem of your shirt. What he saw made him gasp. From your chest all the way down your abdomen, were deep purple bruises. 

“Dean!”

His older brother raced into the room at his brother's cry of distress, staggering to a stop when he saw the state of your body. 

“Get the keys.” Sam ordered, before scooping you up into his arms. 

The two of them made it to the car in record time. Sam manoeuvred himself into the back with you, as Dean made his way to the drivers side and started the engine. In typical Dean fashion, the car was going too fast, but neither of them cared. Sam held you close to remind you that everything was going to be alright even if you weren’t completely coherent. Dean focused on the road, cursing every red light they hit. At some point, he gave up stopping. 

When the Impala peeled into the parking lot Sam rushed inside carrying you still, Dean followed close behind. The two were frantic as they called for help which didn’t seem to come quick enough. It was a blur as the hospital staff took your fading body and rushed you into surgery. 

~

Dean’s leg bounced as he waited for the nurse to return from your hospital room. The pair of them hadn’t moved in hours, waiting anxiously for.. well anything. 

When the moment finally came and called out your name, they didn’t waste any time in going to meet her. And then came the news.

“Miss Y/n has suffered severe internal bleeding. The doctors have managed to stabilise her with surgery, but she will need to stay in observation for a while.”

Dean let out a sigh of relief. 

“You’ll be happy to know that she is awake and asking for the two of you.”

The nurse didn’t have time to say anything else because the two brothers had already left and flung the door open. 

“Oh Y/n/n…” Sam breathed when he saw you, hooked up to a multitude of machines. Despite your tired eyes, there was still a soft grin on your face. 

“Hiya Sammy.”

He took your hand. “How are you feeling?”

“A little sore. Whatever drugs they have me on are working miracles.” You let out a small chuckle. “I keep telling them I’m fine, but they won’t let me leave.”

“You’re not fine. Y/N.” Dean said sternly. “You’ve just come out of emergency surgery. You need to rest.”

You were silent. 

“I hate hospitals.” You murmured. They reminded you too much of your failures. 

“I know. It’s just a few more days and then I’ll take you home.” 

“Okay.” you sniffled. 

Sam ran his hands through his hair. “God, Y/N you had us so worried.”

“I’m sorry. I thought it was nothing, I really did.”

“It’s okay.” Dean reassured. “You’ll be alright. That’s what matters the most.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 20 ⛤ DAY 22 ->

Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

[builder051]

Whumptober 2023 day (something)— I have 3 prompts planned to be in this story, but it’s going to be a long multi-chapter ordeal.

*Warning* This chapter (well, probably this whole fic) is some heavy stuff. Poor mental health, depression, passing mention of suicide, death (canonical), grief, descriptions of war (Operation Iraqi Freedom), mentions of drug use… that’s all I can think of.

This is powers/No powers.

The dreams in which I’m dying

I find it kind of funny

I find it kind of sad

The dreams in which I’m dying

Are the best I’ve ever had

I find it hard to tell you

I find it hard to take

When people run in circles

It’s a very very

Mad world

—Tears for Fears

———

There’s a water main break in Sam’s building. His apartment has escaped the damage, but the water has been turned off for the entire complex. He’s fine without access to a shower or dishwasher, but the toilet and the tap pose problems.

Well, some problems. Sam could cope with a hand-dug latrine and bottled water for his toothbrush. The Air Force deems sanitation a necessity. Clean clothes and regular bathing are only priorities in the Civilian world. The thing is, Sam’s having enough trouble with his own problems. He hasn’t been sleeping well lately. If it’s not insomnia, it’s unpleasant dreams. Neither provide the opportunity to rest and recharge. Stress is steadily building, and the monuments run is losing its meditative properties. Either that or he’s becoming treatment resistant.

Autumn in general doesn’t agree with Sam. He begins sniffling when the leaves fall and clump in wet piles to grow fungus. He doesn’t take anything for it, not even what’s available over the counter. He likes to have as little on board as possible. It’s a habit from his flying days; being mission-ready required his body to be free of substances. hasn’t shaken the habit from his flying days. The Air Force’s definition of ‘mission ready’ calls for a body to be free of substances. No beer. No Benadryl. Certainly no Prozac.

It’s calendar that gets to Sam the most, though. He’s antsy when it’s time to turns the page to the next month. The weeks and days have slipped through the autumnal equinox and the start of a new fiscal year. He tenses even more as the days pass steadily toward Halloween. Sam would throw out his calendar if he thought he could function without it, but it stays stuck to the kitchen wall. He’d forget everyone’s birthdays and anniversaries.

Sam doesn’t actually know if that’s true. It’s more of a convenient excuse. The series of dates immortalized in his mind are far from celebratory. They shouldn’t matter. It’s certainly been long enough.

The lines of squares continue to spite him, though, as he marks through through the days passed. It’s the middle of October now, and Sam is caught in the middle of an agonizing countdown.

———

Twelve.

The day Riley’s parachute didn’t open. Sam watched him flip himself over as he struggled with the cord to his backup. What was supposed to be a lifeline wound up as a death sentence. Sam watched him plummet in slow motion, foolishly believing that he’d catch Riley by the ankles if he swam through the air fast enough. But gravity and physics were against him. Against them. Sam was only halfway between the helicopter and the sand when Riley hit the ground head-first.

———

Thirteen.

The day the enemy line backed up far enough for a crew to gather what was left of the corpse. Sam wasn’t picked for the mission. He’d wandered to a table of donated books and DVDs. One corner was overtaken with teetering stack of bibles. Sam meant to glance and move on, but he found himself rooted to the spot. If he’d ever believed in god, he certainly didn’t anymore.

———

Seventeen.

The day Riley’s remains left Kandahar for Regan National. Sam had seen the open cargo hold of the sleek passenger jet, but someone in an orange safety vest jogged around the plane and slammed it shut. Too late. All he was left with was Riley’s terrified expression. That, then a view of the bottoms of his boots. However impersonal, Sam would’ve preferred to see his friend off in a long rectangular box.

———

Nineteen, or so Sam assumes. Maybe twenty. Or twenty-one.

Sam knows the time it takes to get someone to back to their hometown and into a flag-draped casket is highly variable. He’d still found the feeling of anxiety overwhelming his grief. He felt excluded, out of the loop. Then it occurred to him that he have the right to be in it. In truth, he has no ties to Riley. But that didn’t keep Sam from holing onto strings of their bond, struggling to knit them back together.

———

Twenty-four.

The day of the funeral. Sam didn’t attend. He didn’t know it had happened. He’d entertained the thought of asking for leave, but there was no way he’d be approved. He’d get two days, maybe. At most. Too little time to make it stateside, let alone attend an event for which he didn’t know the date or time. Sam’s anguish made him want to try anyway. But in the end, he let logic win out.

———

Thirty.

A letter from Riley’s grandmother showed up for Sam at the makeshift post office. The message seemed canned, though Sam didn’t doubt its sincerity. Riley had been laid to rest. Sam was a good buddy who should’ve been at the service. He was always welcome to visit. Riley was in a better place now. Arlington. Not heaven. But that was Sam’s interpretation. He should’ve folded the pages back into the envelope and placed it in his bag of personal belongings. A better man would’ve. Sam’s angry disappointment backtracked through the previous six days. The image of a flag-draped coffin disappeared in his mind to be replaced with that of an elderly woman who had just outlived her adult grandson.

———

Thirty-one.

The day Sam dropped the torn pieces of stationery into the trash outside the mess hall. He didn’t watch the shreds flutter into the bin; he’d done an about face and headed out for the day’s mission. He hated every second he rode in the rickety rear-facing seat. Sam tried to hold it together, but he threw up during the HH-60’s descent back into camp. He hadn’t done that since before PJ school.

Laying low and slinking toward his bunk had been impossible; the rest of Sam’s unit was outside enjoying cigarettes and melted chocolate bars. It took him a moment to remember the American fascination with Halloween. A boom box thumped in the background with more crackle than bass, and Sam felt sick again. It was as if he was a ghost in the middle of the crowd. Someone passed a hand-rolled cigarette his way, and the sensation of invisibility was broken. He accepted the smoke, hoping it would get the taste of bile out of his mouth. Sam swallowed a gag when he realized he’d just dragged on cannabis. As he got in position to sleep, Sam was sure he would spontaneously combust if he ever smelled pot again. And Werwolves of London should be abolished from the earth.

———

This month is passing in the same way, no different from before. Sam tries reminding himself that he’s made it through the fall and winter months for six years running. Six Octobers. Two during deployments. One at his sister’s house. Sam hadn’t been reaching out for care. He’d just needed a place to sleep before he could sign his lease on the first of November.

Spending time with relatives or squadron buddies doesn’t lift his spirits. He’s far too troubled to open up. In the presence of others, Sam feels like he’s wearing a mask to hide his dour expression. The mask isn’t held in place with straps around his ears; it’s attached with nails that dig deep into his skull. Just thinking brings on throbbing pain. And there’s no dignified way to take it off.

Sam has yet to find proper support, if that’s what he needs to feel better. He imagines an outlet where he can emote without obligation to explain himself. Something with a balance of familiarity and anonymity. Support group feels too formulaic. Sam’s loss seems to close, too personal to be dissected as part of lesson in trust falling. That’s why he prefers to be the leader. He can cue and comfort much more easily than take the plunge to share.

Per his usual, Sam’s been ignoring what’s going on inside him. His issues haven’t yet caused the choking and vertigo of a real panic attack. Those tend to be as embarrassing as they are painful; Sam feels weak and guilty knowing it all stems from heartache. He knows he’s barely hanging on, though. Sam would gladly accept orders to repel to the ground in the whipping wind of the bird’s propellers and run into the middle of a firefight. That would be easier. A welcome distraction. Instead he’s suck wallowing in his marshmallow bed and existential thoughts, lying to himself and denying the fact that he’s past dark thoughts and well into depression.

Sam knows it’s not a fault, but truly a disease. He hates the idea of his body being slowly destroyed by ravaging sickness. And he has the terrible feeling that whatever he has may be contagious. Nobody ought to be around him right now anyway. Sam’s touchiness and vulnerability are turning him into a different person, someone irritable and rude and cold. The stupid broken pipe prevents him from melting his frost in a hot shower or a cup of coffee.

Perhaps the current situation in his apartment is a sign. Even in his current state, Sam wants to be more than than a lump in his bed. A psychopathic robot in the office. His suffering isn’t bringing Riley back. He’s known that from the beginning, but he’s aware that his actions are completely contradictory. There are lifelines. Sam knows the suicide prevention hotline number by heart. He scribbles it on the back of business cards and hands them out to new faces at the VA. But Sam’s nowhere near that far gone, and chatting with nameless, faceless strangers isn’t his style.

He has people he knows. He even has friends. His motivation is the size of a mustard seed, but Sam feels the push to try again at living his own life. The first step will be getting out of his place with no plumbing.

———

[elliot-needs-sleep]

Stopping the Cycle (aka Dream's a bitch)

Fandom: Dream SMP

Fic Type: Short Form

Prompt: "Make it stop."

Word Count: 442

TW FOR TALKS OF ABUSE, MANIPULATION, AND GASLIGHTING, AS WELL AS CHARACTER DEALING WITH THE EFFECTS OF THAT

----

Tommy wanted the thoughts to stop.

Dream was in prison.

He had his friends back.

He had his LIFE back.

So why did he keep returning to the little dirt hut he had hastily constructed to protect him from the night the first day he was in exile?

Why did he find himself sitting at the top of the cobblestone pillar, reaching far enough in the sky that the fall would kill him?

Why did he find himself believing the lies Dream had told him?

And that's how he found himself standing outside of Dream's cell in Pandora's vault, Sam standing behind him with his axe drawn, just in case the server's admin tried something.

He found himself choking on the inability to keep the tears out of his eyes as the man laughed at him, telling him that he knew he'd be back. That he was right all along.

"Make it stop." He hissed quietly between clenched teeth, eyes narrowing viciously at the imprisoned man. Dream had the audacity to look confused.

"I don't know what you mean, Tommy." His voice was calm, but Tommy knew the underlying tone. If he continued, there would be hell to pay. Tommy didn't care.

"The thoughts! They won't go away, all I hear is you and whatever fucked up lies you told me!" Dream chuckled, but he was not amused. That... was a sound of danger.

"Oh, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy," Dream started, looking directly into the teenagers eyes. "There is no way to stop it, because you know it's the truth."

Sam had to physically move Tommy away from the Dream before the former decided to climb through and beat his ass. And before Sam lost it on him too.

Tommy let him steer him towards the exit, pausing for only a moment at the front desk to hand him a letter.

"He's lying. That's the only thing he's good at. Scary thing is is that he makes you believe them." Sam said quietly, handing Tommy the piece of paper before continuing. "You've been through a lot. You should talk to someone, no adult should ever go through what you've gone through, let alone a kid." Sam glares towards to entrance to the cell blocks, and Tommy nods and walks away, back out into the world with even more questions then he had before.

_-_

'Sam, if Tommy ever comes in, please give him this letter.

I'm building a space for therapy. I'd like you to come. I believe I can help with what Dream did to you.

- Puffy'

_-_

Therapy.

They wanted him in therapy.

And he hated that he knew they were right.

[dreamersbcll]

“Learning everything ain’t what it seems, that’s the thing about these days”

- whumptober, prompt no. 9

(you’re a liar. you always lie)

——————————————————————————

Mother’s Day was a bullshit holiday. Father’s Day, too, while Tara’s at it.

The worst part of these holidays, besides the whole holiday thing, was how they were expected to be celebrated each year. There was some societal pressure always to honor thy father and thy mother. Thank them for giving life, for giving their heart to their kids.

That was a load of bullshit. The only thing Tara has to be thankful for is that her mother gave her a sister first. Other than that, it was all shit.

But that didn’t matter anymore because Sam was gone. She left Tara two years ago with all these bullshit holidays to buy overpriced cards for. All the feelings, memories, emotions- all dumped onto Tara’s lap for her to sort out. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all.

What else is Tara to do, though? It hurts to acknowledge her estranged father and her broken mother, but it also hurts to miss Sam. There was too much pain around Tara, a thorn that kept digging through her skin, cutting her clean open for the world to see. It hurts to hurt.

And it hurts to miss Sam, but it’s worse to know that Tara was the reason that she wouldn’t come home.

Despite all the people leaving her, Tara has to keep living. She has to set the table for four spots that would only be filled by one and take it down again like clockwork. She lays out four forks, spoons, and knives, knowing damn well she will only be cleaning one set of utensils and plates. But she does it every day, hoping that maybe, just maybe, someone would find their way back home.

Unfortunately for her, the only one who came home was her mother. And on Mother’s Day, at that.

Just as Tara was about to ladle the soup she made into her lilac-colored bowl, she heard the door unlatch. She knows the difference between the people who enter her house. Amber bursts through, the screen door slamming behind her. Her father used to come in shoulder first, grunting as he ran into the door. Sam came in quietly, closing the door behind her like it was a secret that she was there.

Her mother, on the other hand, threw open the door, stumbled in, and slammed it behind her. The house shook at its very foundation, wood planks rattling and the glass china tinkling in a chorus of screams. The house itself seemed to hold its breath, knowing that something was about to happen, something that would end in complete evisceration.

Tara closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She could hear the familiar footsteps of someone larger than life creeping through the hallways it typically stalked. Reaching over into the cabinet above her, she pulled out another bowl. Charcoal. The bowl that Sam had made for their mother years back.

“Black like her heart, get it?” Sam had joked, showing Tara the black bowl with a half-heart painted on the side. She had given Tara the very bowl that Tara ate everything out of. Lilac purple with a faint T&S imprinted on the side. It was one of the last things Tara had that wasn’t tainted by Sam’s temper and drug use.

She scooped some soup into her mother’s bowl, bringing both to the table. There her mother stood, wobbling in her stance, a delicate smile on her lips. Tara breathed in, knowing that smile. It was the one that ended with bloody noses and tear-streaked cheeks. It was the one that haunted her nightmares and stalked her dreams.

Gesturing to the bowl she laid down, Tara slowly sat in her chair. “Here, mom. I made us dinner. Sopita. Like Abuela used to make,” she offered, her voice light.

Her mother picked the bowl up, inspecting it, Tara holding her breath. Instead of throwing it against the wall or dumping it on the table like Tara expected, her mother sat down and began to eat. Not sure what to do next, Tara followed suit.

After a few minutes of silent eating, her mother spoke. “It’s nice to know that my other daughter appreciates me. Appreciate all the sacrifices I’ve made. You know it wasn’t easy raising you, Tara. You were always a problem child,” she remarked, slurping on her spoon.

Tara tried to breathe, clenching the table cloth wrapped between her fists. She knows her mother is drunk, and she knows that she misses Sam. The way her mother consistently missed her mouth, and avoided looking at Tara confirmed it. She knows she’s the child that her mother never wanted. She knows it all.

But she still chooses to fight.

“You’re a liar,” she quietly said, staring deep into her untouched bowl of soup.

The air shifts, and the tide turns, always against Tara. She always chose to swim against the current and not with it. Her pain and her hunger couldn’t help but drive her that way. She wanted more from a life that wouldn’t give her any.

Tara knows she shouldn’t fight. She knows how this will end. She’s sixteen and tiny, emotionally inept and drained. There was no winning. But she misses Sam. She misses her protector, her love, and her family. Yet she knows that Sam is long gone, and she’s fighting a battle that she will never make it out of intact.

Her mother straightens up and slams her hands into the table. The empty silverware shakes, soup spilling all over the table. Tara flinches violently at the action but still stays rooted in her seat. She has nowhere else to go. Her mother will always find her anyway.

“You ungrateful little shit. How dare you call me a liar in the home that I pay for, the food that I fund? I should wipe that smug look off your useless little face,” she hisses, leaning across the table.

Standing up quickly, Tara shouts. Nobody else was going to save her, much less hear her. She might as well be loud.

“You mean the food I fund and the bills I pay for? You don’t touch a goddamn thing. You haven’t for years. I don’t know why I ever expect you to. Ever since S-I mean, she left, you’ve barely been here!” she yells, shaking like a leaf.

Baring her teeth, her mother retorts back. “Maybe I would be here more if you were worth my time. I’m the one who birthed you and gave you life. You should be thankful!”

Tara curled her lip in disgust. “The only thing I’m thankful for is you leaving your mess all over town; at least then I don’t have to clean up after your sorry drunken ass constantly,” she retorts.

Christina Carpenter stands up, towering over Tara, and instead of reaching out to imprint pain onto her daughter’s skin, she grabs the tablecloth and pulls. Ceramic and glass dishes shatter onto the floor, soup and water spilling following suit. For a moment, the only sound in the Carpenter house was broken history. Tara watches as her gifted bowl shatters into pieces, and Sam’s favorite mug cracks into two.

And she can’t do a damn thing about it.

Her mother smiles smugly at the mess, tossing her spoon onto the cracked glass. Tara flinches at the noise of yet another piece of her home being thrown onto the ground, and her mother smiles wider.

��There. Now you have a nice big mess of mine to clean up. At least now you have some purpose in this home, as ever since Sam left, I never saw use for you anyways.”

With that, her mother slips out of the house, the house shaking with the slammed door that signified her departure.

Tara stared at the mess for a while, wondering if it was worth cleaning up anymore. It’s not like it was the last time she would have to tidy up after Christina. All her mother left Tara was destruction and pain, things that Tara couldn’t do much with except clean up and move on.

So she gets on her knees, letting shards of glass embed themselves in her skin. The blood would mix with the soup and tears around her, anyway. What was one more thing to clean?

All she had was time, anyway. Time and lies.

[abubblingcandle]

Chapters: 3/6 Fandom: Ted Lasso (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Colin Hughes, Coach Beard (Ted Lasso), Dani Rojas (Ted Lasso), Sam Obisanya, Isaac McAdoo, Roy Kent, Jamie Tartt, Keeley Jones, AFC Richmond Players (Ted Lasso), Rebecca Welton, Nathan Shelley, Leslie Higgins Additional Tags: road traffic accident, Graphic descriptions of injury, Blood and Injury, no one dies, Concussions, Post-Concussion Syndrome, Survivor Guilt, Exhaustion, Internal Organ Damage, Broken Bones, crush injuries, Trapped, Hypothermia, no one has a good time, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Therapy, Injury Recovery Series: Part 10 of Candle's Whumptober 2023 Summary:

Colin heard the accident before he saw it. “Fucking idiot,” Jeff cursed from the back of the bus. Before Colin could turn there was an almighty crunch followed by an ear-splitting tearing sound. Colin’s head snapped to the side with a jerk and he felt weightless for a moment. Time slowed. The bus skidded.

AFC Richmond end up in a bus accident on the way to a game and Colin has to contend with the near death of his closest friends

Whumptober Day 22 - Vehicular Accident

----

Sam’s chapter is here! The boy do be going through it but it gets better I promise!

Whumptober Day 13 - “I don’t feel so good”

Thank you to everyone who has been supporting my 5 month long whumptober and this fic as well. I have now officially hit 100k on whumptober which is INSANE! 

Two more days to go!

[leadaalexyswrites]

Keep her Safe

Dean and Lexi had been officially together for about 6 months now. They had picked up a hunt near Palo Alto. It was just a basic salt and burn, but Lexi and Dean decided it was a good excuse to drop by Stanford and say Hi to Sam.

The hunt went fine. It really was just a salt and burn which was a nice change of pace. Dean threw the shovel in the trunk of the impala. Just before he closed the door he turned and caught a sneeze in his fist which triggered a cough. For a moment he stood still and assessed himself. He was exhausted, more than he thought he normally would be after such a simple hunt. He could also feel a budding headache developing behind his eyes. Shit he thought. He did not want to be sick right now.

At first Dean thought he would try and conceal the fact that he was coming down with something to Lexi. He took care of people; people didn’t take care of him. More than the fact that his father had drilled into him at a young age that his brother was his to look after, Dean truly was a caretaker. It was in his nature. He didn't get sick often, and when he did, he usually pushed through it, not wanting to be a burden on anyone.

That night when he and Lexi got back to the motel room Dean wondered if he would make it to Palo Alto without Lexi figuring him out. He could feel that the flu taking hold of him was going to be a nasty one, and as much as he tried to soldier on, he knew he couldn't hide it from Lexi forever. Dean sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples, his face pale with a thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead. Lexi was rummaging through her bag, unaware of how miserable he felt. He took a deep breath and finally admitted,

"Lex, I think I'm coming down with something. I feel like shit,” Dean said with a sigh. Lexi turned to him; concern immediately etched on her face.

"Oh babe, really?" She asked.

He shrugged weakly.

"I thought I could tough it out, but it's getting worse,” Dean groaned slightly. He looked up at his girlfriend with tight, tired eyes. “I think you should book another room. I don't want you to get sick because of me."

Lexi walked over to him and pressed a soft kiss to his head.

"You're burning up sweetheart," she said softly and ran a hand through Dean’s hair. Without thinking Dean leaned into her tender touch. He wasn’t used to this. Having someone to make him feel better. To touch him with kindness and care. It made him feel things he didn’t know how to deal with. So, he just gazed at Lexi. She smiled at his faraway look.

"Okay, tough guy, get under the covers. Let me take care of you,” she said as she pulled the blanket and sheet down from the bed.

Dean hesitated.

“Lex, I really think –” he interrupted himself with a coughing fit. Lexi gave him a look that left no room for argument. Dean gave in and crawled into bed, feeling utterly drained, and let Lexi tuck him in. Honest to God tucked him in. He thought once again that this wasn't used to, but he had to admit, having someone take care of him felt strangely comforting. Lexi made Dean hot tea and lay next to him until he fell into a fitful sleep.

The next morning Dean woke feeling like he had been hit by a truck. Lexi continued to fuss over him. She got him soup from a little deli in town, which was a thing of beauty, and went out to the pharmacy and stocked up on cold and flu medicine.

It took a few more days, but Dean's fever began to ebb, and he started to feel a bit better. He even tried to crack a few jokes to lighten the mood, though his voice was still raspy. Lexi humored him and chuckled at his stupid jokes. He was grateful to her for the support she had given him.

They were just starting to think about heading toward Sam’s place the day after Dean had been completely fever free. He was sitting up on the bed reading a battered copy of Slaughterhouse Five. Lexi was curled against him dozing in and out. Dean looked down at her and smiled slightly when he realized she was wearing one of his sweatshirts. Little clothing thief. He thought with a chuckle. His smile faltered when he noticed the flush on his girlfriend’s cheeks. It was gone when a shiver ran through Lexi, even as she cuddled into him.

"Hey," he said, his concern evident as he brushed a bit of hair out of her face. "You feeling okay, Lex?"

She looked up at him and tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it came out weak.

"Mmm, I’m ok babe,” she said, her voice raspy.

But Dean could see through her attempt to downplay it. He reached out and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, and she winced at his touch.

"You're burning up," he remarked, worry lacing his voice. Lexi sighed and snuggled into Dean even more.

“I’m fine,” she said with a slight cough.

“Lex, it’s ok to just say ‘I’m not ok’,” Dean said. Lexi sighed.

“No irony in that statement,” she quipped back at him. Dean rolled his eyes. Lexi shivered and Dean’s brows drew together in a frown. He rubbed his hand up and down Lexi’s arm.

“You cold sweetheart? Surprising considering you’re in my sweatshirt,” he said with a teasing smile.

“I guess you caught me,” she replied.

“Guess it’s my turn to do some looking after” Dean said as he kissed her lightly. He got up and started the kettle for tea. Lexi, despite feeling rather awful, smiled as she watched Dean bustle around the motel room. He brought her some pills with the tea which she dutifully swallowed.

“Ok sweetheart, you rest up and get better,” he murmured and tucked her in.

Dean took great care of her over the next few days. Did everything that she had done for him and more because she let him. Unfortunately, Lexi's condition worsened. Her cough developed into a deep wracking bark, and her fever rose despite Dean's efforts to keep it in check. It was when she spiked a fever close to 105 and her breathing had become shallow and fast that he knew that this had become more than the flu. Lexi needed some real help.

"I'm taking you to the hospital, Lex," he declared, his voice firm. "You're not getting any better, and I can't just sit here and watch you suffer."

Lexi could only nod weakly in agreement. Dean wasted no time and bundled Lexi up in warm clothes, strapped her into the impala and tore off to the closest urgent care center.

Lexi was barely conscious when they pulled up to the emergency doors. Dean scooped her up in his arms and carried her, bridal style, into the emergency room. Dean called out for help, panic in his voice. Two nurses were there in a moment with a gurney firing questions at Dean.

“What happened?”

“What’s her name?”

“Your relationship? “Any allergies?”

Dean stammered through the answers as best he could. After a quick check one of the nurses started rolling Lexi towards the treatment room. Dean started to follow, but another nurse stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest.

“Sir, she’s in good hands. I need you to stay in the waiting room,”

“But I…” Dean started. The nurse shook her head.

“We’ll let you know when you can see her.”

Dean just stood in the middle of the emergency room for a moment. His thoughts racing too fast to hold onto any of them. When his brain finally caught up with itself, he staggered to a chair and sat. He lasted less than ten minutes before he was up and pacing again, his mind buzzing. What was happening? How bad is she? Is she ok? This is all my fault. Minutes dragged on like hours and all Dean could think about was how helpless he felt. He had never seen Lexi sick. Not like this. Injured? Sure. Scared? Definitely. But sick like this? No. Not his girl. He suddenly noticed he was clenching his fists so tight he was digging halfmoons into his palms. He needed to talk to someone. To hear a familiar voice. With hands trembling he pulled out his phone and dialed Sam’s number.

He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, you two on your way?” Sam said with a smile in his voice. Dean let out a shaky breath that sounded suspiciously close to a sob.

“Sammy,” Dean started, but his voice stuck in his throat.

“Dean? What is it? What’s wrong?” Sam’s voice changed in an instant. It was all nervous concern now.

“It’s…It’s Lexi Sam. She…” Dean swallowed. In the pause Sam jumped in.

“What happened to Lexi, Dean, is she hurt? Are you ok?”

“No…she’s, she’s sick…Sam. It’s really bad. I had to take her to the hospital. They took her away and I don’t know what’s happening,” Dean’s throat closed on the last word, and he choked back a sob. Sam’s voice came through.

“Dean, it’s going to be ok. Where are you?”

He held on to the sound of his brother’s voice like a life preserver. Dean told him the name of the hospital.

“I’m on my way ok Dean? I’ll be there soon, and we’ll figure this out,” Sam said in a moment.

Dean just nodded, not thinking that Sam couldn’t see him. He hung up the phone. He took a moment of comfort in the fact that Sam was coming. But it only lasted a moment. Dean’s thoughts were consumed with fear for Lexi. He couldn’t keep the worst thought away.

What if I lose her?

Sam rushed through the hospital doors, scanning the busy waiting room for any sign of his brother. It didn't take him long to spot Dean, who was pacing back and forth with an agitated energy that signaled he was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.

"Dean!" Sam called out, quickly closing the distance to his brother. He could see the dread in Dean's eyes, and it immediately sent alarm bells ringing in his own mind. Dean looked up at his brother, his eyes wide and frantic.

"Sam," he breathed, his voice trembling. Sam reached him and put a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Hey, any news?” he asked.

"It’s all my fault Sammy,” Dean burst out in a rush. “It’s all my fault. She’s here because of me. I couldn’t…I didn’t keep her safe. I should have kept her safe!” Sam could hear the near hysteria in Dean’s voice. “I should have brought her in sooner. Sam what if…what if we lose her. Sam, I can’t lose her,” Dean’s breath was coming in short sharp gasps, and he clung to the front of Sam’s jacket. Sam put his hands on his brothers’ shoulders.

“Dean, stop. Take a deep breath,” Sam said and started breathing deeply himself holding Dean’s eyes. Dean matched him and after a moment his shoulders dropped a little. “This is not your fault Dean. Do you understand? You could not have known this was going to happen.”

“No, Sam, you don’t understand!” Dean said, his panic rising again. “I’m the one who got her sick! She wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t been so careless, or if I had made her get another room.”

“Dean,” Sam soothed, forcing his brother to look at him. “Breathe. You are not to blame here. People get sick every day. There is no way you could have known. She’s gonna get through this ok?” Sam said gripping Dean’s shoulders again. Dean took another deep breath. Sam nodded encouragement and breathed with him.

“You’re right Sam…you’re right.” Dean sank down into a chair and put his head in his hands. After a moment he looked back at his brother who had sat down beside him. “Thanks for being here man. It…it means a lot.”

“Of course, where else would I be? Anyway, Lexi's tough as nails, and she's got you in her corner. She's in the best place she can be right now.”

Another hour or so went by when a doctor finally called for the family of Lexi. Dean jumped to his feet and rushed over; Sam was close behind him.

“How is she? Is she awake? Can we see her?” Dean asks in a rush.

The doctor glanced at Dean and Sam, his expression somber.

"She's still unconscious, and her condition remains critical. She’s been diagnosed with severe pneumonia, and she had febrile seizure shortly after being admitted. It’s not dangerous itself, but it does mean her body is under a lot of stress," he explained, his tone gentle but honest. "We're doing everything we can to keep her stable,” the doctor said. “You can see her, but she likely won’t be awake or very coherent for a while yet."

The doctor's words hit Dean like a physical blow, and he felt his heart constrict in his chest. Lexi was in critical condition. She wasn’t even conscious still. Hearing the words out loud only served to keep the fear in Dean pumping.

Sam, ever the steady figure of reason and strength, was still at his brother’s side. He could see Dean glaze over while the doctor spoke, so he jumped in.

“Thanks doctor, for looking after her,” he said with a soft smile. The doctor nodded and led them down the hall to a recovery room and left them. Before they went in Dean turned to his brother, his eyes wide and panicked.

"Sammy, she's... she's got pneumonia…she’s not even conscious yet. It’s been hours,” Dean was starting to spiral again. “God, this is all my fault. I should've done something sooner."

Sam placed a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean, this isn't your fault. You did everything you could. We'll get through this together, okay? Come on, let’s go in and see her.”

Dean nodded, grateful for his brother's support, and followed him into Lexi's room, his heart still heavy with worry and guilt. Sam remained by his side, ready to offer support as they stepped into the room where Lexi lay, connected to various machines, her face pale and fragile.

Seeing her like this, Dean's emotions threatened to overwhelm him once more. His hear pounded, his breath caught in his throat, and his hands shook slightly, but he couldn't afford to break down completely. He took a deep breath, his eyes locked on Lexi's still form, and he reached out and took her hand. He sank into the chair Sam brought him. He brought Lexi’s hand to his lips and kissed it softly. The he whispered, "You keep fighting, Lexi. We're right here for you. You're going to make it through this."

Lexi's eyelids fluttered open, and for a moment, she felt disoriented, unable to immediately grasp her surroundings. As the fog of confusion lifted, she recognized the hospital room and slowly pieced together the events that had led her here. Taking care of Dean. Getting sick herself. Feeling worse. Then feeling way worse. Dean rushing her to the hospital. She sighed, cursing her luck that the one time Dean opened up and just let her take care of him, she was the one who ended up in the hospital.

Her gaze shifted to the chair beside her bed, and she saw Dean leaned over, his arms crossed on the edge of her bed. His head down, fast asleep. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she watched him. His presence was comforting. She hopped he hadn’t been too worried about her. She knew he had a tendency to catastrophize, and something like her ending up in the hospital would not have been easy for him. Lexi sighed, which brought her attention to her body as she felt the crackle in her lungs. It hit her like a wave. Bone deep exhaustion, pain in every limb, and the shivery feeling of fever crashed into her. She moaned softly.

Dean must have heard her and sensed her small movements, as he stirred and snapped awake. His eyes widened with surprise and relief as they met hers.

"Hey there," he said, his voice thick with a mix of emotions, relief being the most prominent. "How are you feeling?" Dean leaned forward and touched her face lightly, running a thumb across her cheekbone.

"I'm... I'm okay," she replied, her voice soft and a touch hoarse. "Better, I think. Thanks to you."

Dean let out a sigh of relief, his features softening with genuine concern.

"You had me worried sick," he admitted, his voice trembling slightly. "I was so scared, Lexi.” The shine of tears in his eye gutted her.

Lexi reached out a trembling hand, gently cupping Dean's cheek as she tried to reassure him. "Hey, I’m ok," she whispered, her voice filled with warmth and affection. "I’m going to be ok Dean."

But despite her best efforts to comfort him, Dean seemed trapped in his spiral of guilt and fear. His eyes were still filled with worry and uncertainty, and his grip on her hand tightened.

“Lex,” he choked out. “I don’t…I couldn’t…” he was having a hard time getting words out. Lexi gripped his hand tighter.

“It’s ok Dean,” she said.

Tears flooded Dean's eyes, and he didn't try to hide them any longer. He let out a shuddering breath and tears streamed down his cheeks as he whispered, "God, I'm so sorry, Lexi.” Dean pressed his forehead to their clasped hands, hiding his face. His shoulders were shaking with sobs.

“I thought…” his breath caught in another sob “I thought I was going to lose you.”

Lexi’s heart broke.

“Oh Dean, baby no. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” she said, reaching over with her other hand and running her fingers through his hair. “What happened is not your fault. What ever gave you that idea?” Lexi asked earnestly. Dean glanced up at her and looked like he was about to say something when the door opened. Lexi almost shouted at the person to go away, but when she saw Sam her words died on her lips.

“Sam!” she exclaimed. Sam’s eyes found her and light up seeing her awake.

“Lexi, welcome back to the land of the conscious!” he said striding to her side sliding into the other chair. Dean hand turned away to get himself under control.

“Thanks Sam,” she said hoarsely. The moment with Dean was broken. She hoped now that she was clearly on the mend he could stop beating himself up about it, but knowing Dean, that probably wouldn’t happen.

Three days later Lexi was completely over being stuck in the hospital.

“Doc, please can I just get out of here? How long are you going to torture me?” she begged her doctor. He smiled indulgently at her.

“Not much longer,” he said as he checked over her chart. “In fact, I think you could probably be discharged by this afternoon.”

Lexi sighed dramatically with relief. Dean moved from where he had been leaning on the wall.

“Is that a good idea doc? She’s still pretty weak,” Dean asked protective concern all over his face.

“Dean,” Lexi started.

“Lex, you had a seizure four days ago. We need to know you’re good ok?”

“I can assure you, with the way Lexi has responded to the antibiotics and the fact that her fever is well down and hasn’t spiked in over 24 hours I am confident that she is on the road to recovery,” her doctor reassured. Dean didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. The doctor gave him a prescription to fill for oral antibiotics and a heavy-duty cough medicine and told Lexi he would start the discharge paperwork.

“Dean, seriously? Questioning my doctor?”

“Lex, I need to know you’re safe ok?”

“Dean, we’ve been over this. I’m ok. I’m safe, I’ve been well looked after not only by the staff but by you and Sam as well. I’m ok.”

Dean sighed and collapsed into the chair at her bedside.

“I’m sorry Lex. I just,” he paused for a second. “This really scared me. You went down so fast, and…” he sucked in a shaky breath “I just want you to be safe.”

Before Lexi could say anything else, Sam walked in with a big smile.

“Good news!” he said. “I’ve got it all worked out. You two are coming to stay with me at Stanford until Lexi’s back on her feet.” Lexi’s mouth dropped open.

“Sam, you don’t have to do that. We can just find a motel or something,” she said incredulously.

“Not a chance,” Sam answered. “I’m not going to let my future sister in-law convalesce in some crappy motel,” he said. Dean shocked them both by standing and engulfing his brother in a crushing hug.

“Thanks man,” he said his voice sounding suspiciously choked. “That means a lot.” Sam hugged him back, exchanging a look with Lexi.

“Of course, Dean,” he said softly. Dean let him go and stepped away.

They all chatted on and off for another few hours until finally Lexi was discharged. Dean set up a nest in the passenger seat of the impala much to Lexi’s delight. She snuggled into her warm cocoon, ready for an easy drive. She was glad to be out of there, and to be going to stay with Sam. As much as she hated putting him out, she liked the idea of recovering in a proper apartment and not a motel, and she knew it would do Dean good to spend some real time with his little brother.

“All set?” Dean asked as he slid into the driver seat.

“Let’s roll,” Lexi answered with a smile.