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hoodie_timeThis is the post where you can submit prompts for Writing Between the Lines: A Dean-focused hurt/comfort fic challenge, which is not a regular fic challenge! You can find out more about it HERE.
Rules for prompting:
Comment to this post with a prompt/prompts. How do I prompt, you ask? Well, your prompts should be intros or tidbits of fic you’ve written - anything from a single, starting line to a story, to a few lines, to a short paragraph. These can be tidbits you’ve written specifically for this challenge, or excerpts that you’ve previously written, but don’t have the time/inspiration to finish. Pretty much anything!
The only thing you should not submit are tidbits of fics that have already been posted elsewhere.
Yes, this is a Dean-focused h/c challenge, but unlike the finished challenge fics, your prompts don’t have to explicitly include h/c. (I’m not going to expect you to write a one sentence h/c fic.) They should, however, at least allude to some kind of sick! hurt! or angsty! Dean action.
Example prompt: Dean has this habit of getting deathly sick in Nebraska that’s really starting to piss Sam off. And when he says it pisses him off, he means it scares the hell out of him.
Prompts can be as short as you’d like and as long as 200 or so words. This is just a guideline. If you go over that limit, that’s totally fine, and I’m not going to be checking word counts or anything, but I would like to keep the prompts fairly short as the minimum word count for the challenge fic itself is quite low.
You may let the prompt speak for itself, or add to it some brief comments on where you imagine the prompt going. Although the writer doesn’t have to take things in the direction you give here, (in this challenge, the fic tidbit itself is the prompt) there will also be writers who enjoy and are looking for this kind of input, no worries.
You CAN specify if you have a preferred genre for your prompts, e.g., gen, Sam/Dean, etc, which the writer will then follow. You can do this by putting the preferred genre in your subject line. If you don’t give a preference, writers can choose to write whichever genre they’d like.
All genres/pairings are welcome, however this is not an RPF challenge. Please focus on the fictional characters only.
No spoilers for future episodes or character bashing in your prompts, please.
You can leave as many prompts as you’d like, but one prompt per comment, please. If you've got a few, comment with each separately.
Please review your prompt(s) before and after you’ve posted it/them for spelling errors, etc. These aren't quite like a regular prompt; they really are a little sliver of fic, so I suspect we all want to make them as pretty as possible. ;)
FAQ:
Q: If I leave a prompt, do I have to later make a claim?
A: No. This isn’t an exchange, it’s a challenge, and a pretty low-key one. So, you don’t have to prompt to claim, or vice versa. Although, of course we’d love to have you do both!
Q: Can I prompt anonymously?
A: I wouldn’t recommend it for this, since you won’t be able to edit your prompts. You can, though! Just make sure to review your prompts carefully first.
If you have any questions about the fic challenge that aren't answered above, or in this post, feel free to PM me, or e-mail me at hoodietime [at] gmail [dot] com.
That's it for now. Prompt away! ;) And claiming prompts will take place from March 27th through to April 9th, so keep those dates in mind.
I’ll be putting up a numbered master-list of prompts, so you can find your fave prompts before claiming opens. Once claiming opens, only one person will be able to claim each prompt. You’ll be able to make up to 3 claims.
ETA: This post is now CLOSED for new prompts.
Thanks, everyone!
Rules for prompting:
The only thing you should not submit are tidbits of fics that have already been posted elsewhere.
Example prompt: Dean has this habit of getting deathly sick in Nebraska that’s really starting to piss Sam off. And when he says it pisses him off, he means it scares the hell out of him.
All genres/pairings are welcome, however this is not an RPF challenge. Please focus on the fictional characters only.
FAQ:
Q: If I leave a prompt, do I have to later make a claim?
A: No. This isn’t an exchange, it’s a challenge, and a pretty low-key one. So, you don’t have to prompt to claim, or vice versa. Although, of course we’d love to have you do both!
Q: Can I prompt anonymously?
A: I wouldn’t recommend it for this, since you won’t be able to edit your prompts. You can, though! Just make sure to review your prompts carefully first.
If you have any questions about the fic challenge that aren't answered above, or in this post, feel free to PM me, or e-mail me at hoodietime [at] gmail [dot] com.
That's it for now. Prompt away! ;) And claiming prompts will take place from March 27th through to April 9th, so keep those dates in mind.
I’ll be putting up a numbered master-list of prompts, so you can find your fave prompts before claiming opens. Once claiming opens, only one person will be able to claim each prompt. You’ll be able to make up to 3 claims.
ETA: This post is now CLOSED for new prompts.
Thanks, everyone!
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Dean is still traumatized after the events of Yellow Fever
Date: 2011-03-13 09:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 09:39 pm (UTC)"I can't believe you frosted your tips!"
"Yeah, Sam...you feeling ok?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, why?"
"Nothing, it's just..." Dean sighed, "...nevermind. I'm going to go shower and sleep. We're driving in early tomorrow, so get your books ready tonight."
"Ok," Sam shrugged, watching Dean kick up the dust on the floor as he walked down the hall to the bathroom. Sam turned back and caught his father glaring at him.
"That Stacy-girl dyed his hair two days ago, Sam," Dad said in disbelief. "This is exactly what I'm talking about! How the hell can I trust you on a hunt when you've got your head so far up your own-"
"I'VE HAD EXAMS! I've barely seen him! And he's been wearing that FRIGGIN' HAT ALL THE TIME-"
"BECAUSE HE LOOKS LIKE A-"
"HEY!" Dean bellowed from bathroom, shirt off and scowling. "AT LEAST I GOT LAID!"
"By Stacy?" Sam asked smiling.
"Of course by...oh SHUT-UP!" the bathroom door slammed and Sam heard the groan of the old waterpipes as the shower started up. He laughed and looked back over to see his father smiling too.
"Where the hell did he just come from anyway?" Dad asked, glancing at the door.
Sam shrugged, "Impala's been here all day."
"I thought he was napping," his Dad shrugged back.
Sam arched an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Dean only napped when he was sick, and Dad accused Sam of having his head up his own...
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 10:16 pm (UTC)Dean looks good. Nice even. But his eyes give him away. Razor sharp and in-human, but not animalistic either. Something different entirely.
‘Sam, who is that?’
He tears his eyes from Dean, fixes them on Jessica instead, says ‘my brother,’ and wonders who he really sees as the intruder here.
---
Notes: Feel free to make of this what you'd like, but to whoever is interested this was supposed to be a serial-killer sort-of AU of SPN. Dean is schizophrenic, has nightterrors and nightmares since he saw his mother burn as a kid. While Sam was in Stanford, he was in a mental institute but he's back and looking for John. Follows Canon story-/timeline, except monsters exist only in Dean's head. Sam has to watch out for him.
Never got past this excerpt, so yeah, my heart breaks at giving it up, but maybe someone will be more successful with this.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 11:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-03-14 04:32 pm (UTC) - Expandno subject
Date: 2011-03-13 10:20 pm (UTC)Dean eyed the impatient hand, one eyebrow reaching for his hairline and touching the still bleeding cut, before his gaze slowly traveling up to meet Sam’s face. “My card, my ‘getting us signed in’,” he replied, sounding all of five years old. Taking his wallet out, Dean searched for a usable credit card, taking it out to parade it in front of Sam’s nose.
Sam’s fingers were almost a blur as he reached out and snagged the prancing card from Dean’s loose grasp. The expected ‘Hey!’ of protest that a surprised Dean let out was promptly ignored as Sam turned the card to read the name on it.
“It’s not your card, it's... Jack B. Hauer's –funny, by the way. Hadn’t pegged you for a fan- and the only thing that you have is a concussion, which means you probably can’t even see straight, never mind actually sign straight... need I remind you of what happened the last time you even tried?”
Some wounds cannot be healed at will
Date: 2011-03-13 10:20 pm (UTC)"What’s wrong? What happened? Is he in pain?"
"That is right. Your brother is in more pain, than humanly imaginable."
"Well then fix him already, will ya?! Or what? Do you guys get celestial kicks from watching him suffer?"
"Sam… Your rage is speaking right now. Believe me, there’s nothing I wouldn’t give to ease his agony. But some wounds cannot be healed at will. Not even by my kind."
"Well then, why don’t you stay away from him? If you can’t save him… "
"He can save us, Sam. And thus it will come to pass."
"Look at him!" – Sam was yelling at a friggin’ angel of the Lord and wasn’t sure he cared. He’s killed Alastair, so there. – "Look at what you’ve done to him!"
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 10:20 pm (UTC)There was no answer. Dean was frozen in place, his eyes canted straight ahead and slightly upward.
Sam followed his gaze but saw nothing of interest except the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. "....Dean?"
Dean's voice was a strangled whisper. "Can't.... Can't see, Sammy.... Shit, I can't see a damn thing!"
(please keep it gen.)
no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 07:12 pm (UTC)*squeeeee* Awesome prompt!
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 10:30 pm (UTC)It's July in Texas, high noon, and Sam is digging his brother's grave.
Dean is flickering in and out of sight a few feet away, almost invisible in the flat glare of the sun. It's a bad sign. Dean's got his own personal reaper; he knows the score, knows what happens if you don't move on. The only reason he'd stick around is if he had some serious unfinished business. Sam may not really get love anymore, but he'd have to be stupid not to understand that Dean's unfinished business is him.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 10:34 pm (UTC)Dean figured that answering ‘dead’ or ‘in Hell’ would probably lead to someone calling the guys in the pretty white coats and lock him up in one of those pretty padded rooms. He figured he could go with the safest answer. “My car.”
Sitting behind the wheel of the Impala had been the only place lately where Dean could breathe without feeling that crushing weight on his chest. The only place where he could let the tears fall and blame it on the wind.
Nothing else in the world but a strong engine purring ahead of him, responding to his call; nothing like an empty road ahead to drown in the illusion of leaving all his troubles behind.
It was a sense of freedom that he couldn’t get anywhere else, not even in Lisa’s arms. It was a temporary relief that lasted as long as it took him to spare a glance to the empty passenger seat. And then everything would come crashing back.
no subject
Date: 2011-04-01 09:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:Just had this idea of Dean in a mental insitute
Date: 2011-03-13 10:51 pm (UTC)So he stares up at the door, at the sounds behind it. At the woman dressed in white that comes in and looks at him with a fake smile on her face.
He refuses to see her, none of this is real, it can't be.
So he lets her put the pills in his mouth and lets her help him swallow them down, because worst case scenario, they'll just turn into maggots as they go down.
She pets his head and he sits there, staring at the door. Any moment now, Alistair will be there and the screaming will begin again. Any timee now.
The waiting is worse than the pain.
And all around him the doctors go about their business, they aren't real, nothing is.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 11:09 pm (UTC)---
“Another week at least,” Dad says through the phone.
Dean grips the phone harder. “A week?” He thinks his voice sounds calm, but he can’t really tell through the angry static in his head.
“I know, son. It can’t be helped. I’m sorry.” Sorry. He’s always sorry. “Keep an eye on things. Look out for Sammy. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Yes, sir.” The words scrape across Dean’s tongue.
Dad hangs up and Dean forces his fingers to relax. He can feel Sam’s eyes burning into the back of his head.
He sets the phone down carefully, doesn’t look at Sam.
“How long this time?” Sam asks in hard voice. Dean thinks Sam’s too young to be so cynical.
He turns. Sees Sam looking at him from the far bed, TV remote resting on his thigh. “Another week,” he says. “At least.”
Sam nods, a muscle knotting in his jaw as he turns back towards the TV.
+++
Two days later, they run out of money. Even the reserves Dean keeps stuffed inside his duffel are gone.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 11:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2011-03-13 11:11 pm (UTC)It’s the last thing Dean remembers.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 05:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:Dean/Sam, preferably
Date: 2011-03-13 11:15 pm (UTC)Why did he do it? Because he’s a little pissed and more than a little drunk and it’s about fucking time Sam learned a couple things.
See, Sammy. You’re not the only one with secrets.
The thing is, he knows Sam’s learned the wrong secret. The secret isn’t the fact that Dean fucks guys sometimes. The secret is the guys Dean fucks.
It’s an important nuance. Yes, fucking nuance. He knows what it means.
So he’ll just have to keep trying until Sam gets it.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 11:25 pm (UTC)Dean had gone first, nailed her up on the splinteriest piece of wood he could find and then got down to business. It took three days before Alistair judged her to be sufficiently tortured.
Dean's hoping to last at least that long, hopefully longer.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 01:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2011-03-13 11:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-15 03:58 am (UTC)Dean with a head injury, or maybe not...
Date: 2011-03-13 11:33 pm (UTC)“Shh.” Sam took one of his brother’s hands in his own. “C’mon. It’s time to eat.”
“Sam, no. Sammy, I can’t—” he struggled a little, turning his face back toward the wall, brushing the fingers of his free hand above it, over the radiance of the lamp. “I can’t…”
“Hey. Shh.” Sam rested a hand on Dean’s head, turned him gently away. Sometimes that was enough. “Come on, Dean-o. Dinner.”
His brother made a soft noise, a sad little sound. He didn’t usually fight, though. Was generally malleable.
“Shh,” Dean repeated. “Shh.”
--
Everything about his brother was quiet. Had been for as long as Sam could remember. Now Dean stood under the sycamore tree, very still, breathing lightly. His hands hung loose and open and once they trembled, slightly, and then were still.
His eyes were open, wide, and Sam tried not to notice the way they flickered, tracking all over the place. As if the world was full of secrets in plain sight—secrets that weren’t meant for someone like Sam.
---------------
There's a bit more to this, but I never managed to get a clear idea of what was going on. I was playing with some of the ideas that came up after At Bay, though the idea here was some sort of permanent head injury since childhood...Sam as a caretaker. There's was some more SamnDean-ish interactions I left out of this bit.
If no one else picks this up, I might go back and give it another look-see.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 11:33 pm (UTC)Scratch that, Dean thinks blearily, as he pours himself another glass. Nothing helps. But it’s the only thing that he can get down and keep down. Not that he’s tried much else, but what he has tried has come right back up and what the fuck ever, that’s fine, Dean doesn’t need to eat anyway.
He’s been sitting with his father’s body for nearly two days now, only agreeing to leave for short periods of time if Bobby comes and spells him for a bit. “Should get going on the -- ceremony,” Bobby had said, after the first twenty-four hours had passed. “Unless you think we should bring him somewhere else.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Dean had answered. And it doesn’t. Wherever they decide to burn him makes no difference.
Really, Dean thinks, in the long run nothing ever makes a fucking difference.
**************
This is an from an old prompt I found here on hoodie_time that had to do with Sam coming from Stanford because John had died and he and Dean need to take care of things. I stuck Bobby in there, so I must have it as really AU, LOL. . .I have a lot more written but I can't seem to get at it, and grief-stricken!Dean! is a particular fave of mine -- whoever would like to bring this to fruition, I'll be eternally grateful. . .
(hope I did this right, if not get rid of it). . .
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 11:43 pm (UTC)The room is white and the moulding is pale, shining in the sunlight.
The boy's name is Ben.
Dean sits on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, hands hanging loose. He watches the boy, and the boy watches him.
After a while, Ben leaves. Dean stays, and watches the shadows of birds on the pale wall.
Birds fly into windows, sometimes.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 11:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:Viel zu groß ist das Schmerz / Für ein durchschnittliches Herz...
Date: 2011-03-13 11:58 pm (UTC)------
Dean had always wondered why, for a good chunk of his childhood, John had switched off the radio every time a love song came on. He hadn’t had the courage to ask, though he suspected it had something to do with Mary’s death. After about ten years, John had finally been able to listen in stony silence, occasionally allowing a tear or two to fall; after twenty years, he had started to sing along again.
He hadn’t made it to twenty-five.
Though he didn’t understand, Dean recognized the same discomfort in Sam after Jess died. So despite his rules about who had control of the music in the Impala, he changed the station the first time a love song came on. The look of sheer gratitude Sam shot him prompted him to give his brother that bit of support for months until Sam told him it was okay to leave it.
But now, with Sam driving back to Bobby’s from Carthage, the first notes of Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” were very nearly the last notes the Impala’s radio ever played, so violently did Dean turn it off.
Cas blinked. “Dean?”
“No more love songs,” Dean growled.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 11:59 pm (UTC)++
“That damned dog,” she exclaims, trying to cut through the apprehension that's just filled the room, watching the boys' faces, “it barks all the time. If I've told them once I've told them a thousand times that it's cruel to keep that poor thing chained up in the yard, especially in this weather.”
She sees Dean relax, his shoulders losing a fraction of their tension. Sam glances at him, his face questioning, and Dean returns the look, at once seeking and giving reassurance. The communication is silent, fleeting, but unmistakable.
Dean puts down his empty coffee mug. “I'll get the bags from the car.”
“Dean...”
But Sam's brother is having none of it. He makes a small but quelling gesture with one hand, shoves his feet back into his boots, shrugs into the jacket that's not nearly adequate enough for the weather, disappears through the front door. Sam makes a queer huffing noise, his expression at once worried and annoyed, and she can tell this isn't the first time this non-conversation has taken place between them.
“Is he all right?” Marjorie knows he's not, but can't help but ask anyway.
Sam shrugs. “He doesn't like dogs. Not anymore.”
no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 12:00 am (UTC)++
So here he was, spiking a nasty fever in a grubby motel room outside of Providence, the wound puffy and inflamed and oozing fluid, two threadbare blankets pulled round his shoulders, leg propped up on pillows, and hair still damp from Sam holding him up under the tepid spray of the motel shower, while his brother glared at him, and told him in no uncertain terms that if his temperature went up even one more tenth of a degree he was dragging Dean’s ass to the nearest ER, FBI or no FBI.
Dean tried to make Sam understand that the first and only thing that would happen then would be that they’d be arrested and shipped off to federal custody—separately. But he didn’t think he was being as cogent as he would’ve liked, because Sam just rolled his eyes, and said that was better than Dean loosing a leg to gangrene in the filthiest motel room east of the Mississippi.
Dean wasn’t sure that it was better, but all of a sudden his teeth were chattering too hard for him to form words properly, so he just flopped his head back against the pillows, and tried to get his body under some kind of control.
A thought floated up into consciousness—something he would have thought of earlier, if he hadn’t been so fucked up.
“S-s-sam,” he gritted out, his voice sounding strained and weak, even to him, “we’re only an h-hour or so away from B-b-boston, right?”
“Yeah,” Sam replied, warily.
“I know someone there—in Cambridge—who I think could help us out here.”
+++
This has been sitting on my hard drive for a while (there's a bit more to it, too). I imagined it as a mid-S2 SPN crossover with Fringe, but the claimer is welcome to crossover with something else, or make it into something else entirely.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 12:07 am (UTC)That's okay! Feverish!Dean, yayyyy! My very favourite. ;)
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:Gen, please.
Date: 2011-03-14 12:00 am (UTC)This was going to be the starting point for my latest story ("Home"), but it never quite fit, so I bequeath it to all of you.
___________________________
"Dean's got bruises on the heels of his hands, blood seeping and darkening under the skin."
Re: Gen, please.
Date: 2011-04-09 06:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 12:04 am (UTC)++
“Hey, you okay?”
“I'm fine. Get off me,” Dean jerks his hand away, as though he's not the one who was clinging to Sam a moment before. Sam just rolls his eyes, pulls back with both palms outward in a gesture of peace, then has to lunge forward again as his brother's legs nearly give way under him. This time Dean doesn't try to disengage, looks up at Sam, glassy-eyed, his face flushed. “Shit,” he mutters, “Fucking freezing.”
“No, you're not. You've got a fever.”
no subject
Date: 2011-03-20 03:37 pm (UTC)Heeeee. Oh, I love you. <3
Great prompt too. Feverish!Dean is like the king of my heart.
(no subject)
From:Sometime after Swan Song...
Date: 2011-03-14 12:05 am (UTC)“You glad to be home?” Lisa asks.
“Home,” Dean agrees, pushes off towards the front door after her.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 12:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 12:13 am (UTC)It doesn’t take long to realize he’s not getting up, can’t get up. He’s landed on his back, head mercifully cradled in the deep pile of leaves the kids were playing in earlier that afternoon, and as he gazes up to the broken second story window Dean knows the leaves are the only reason he’s still alive. But as he catches sight of Sam through the shattered glass, frozen in place and clearly disoriented, Dean wonders if there will any mercy at all in his survival.
no subject
Date: 2011-06-04 02:27 pm (UTC)=) enjoy it! I loved it!
<3 msa