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May. 28th, 2019

Title: Agatha Chrisitie's Got Nothing On Me
Banner: Jen, thank you for helping to bring my story to life. That is what an artist does and I’m thrilled!
Recipient: candygramme
Original Prompt: Dean's Memory Foam Mattress Forgets Him, I didn’t know you could see that through a telescope
Synopsis: After a difficult case, a highly medicated Sam and Dean return to the bunker. When Dean realizes his beloved mattress has forgotten him, Sam decides to check the 'case' out by investigating like Agatha Christie, but his attempts are more Pink Panther!
Rating: PG for some words

1663 actual story words
Supernatural is not owned by me. It belong to Kripke and other letter of alphabet soup. No money is being exchanged as this is solely out of love of the show and characters


It was a dark and stormy night as the black beast prowled through the rain down the dark winding road toward home.

Inside two brothers were starting to recuperate from their last hunt for a rather vigorous poltergeist.

They had managed to send it on its way from the wine cellar it had been inhabiting, but unfortunately, for them, quite a few bottles of extremely rare wine had been destroyed in the process. Wine, which if anyone had noticed, had a rather unique stamp of ownership on them.

Shame ‘bout that.
Dean pushed his beloved Impala as fast as he dared on the return trip to the Bunker.

The poltergeist had rung Sam’s bell but good, resulting in a major concussion and a heavily medicated younger brother.

Usually, Sam just relaxed and slept while on the good stuff, but this time not so much sleep, but random babbling accompanied him on the trip home.

So far there had been a discourse on the evilness of ‘Paw Patrol’ cause only a sadist or demon could have come up with that one, a long diatribe on why Pluto was no longer classified as a planet and how sad that was cause maybe Uranus missed it, as well as miscellaneous remarks concerning Vikings discovering America, why were groups of cats called Clowders, why God invented the Platypus from leftover animal parts just lying around, unused diamonds in the rain on Jupiter and Saturn, with Dean’s personal favorite being questioning if the Lays commercial showing Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head eating Lays chips were them committing cannibalism?

Needless to say when they pulled into the garage, Dean was ready to put Sam to bed, take a shower and hit his memory foam mattress that remembered him.

Getting Sam to bed seemed easy enough as the younger Winchester practically jumped in his and promptly pulled the covers over his head all the while muttering about bananas in grocery stores being mutants.

Dean with one thing on his mental checklist down, scurried down the hall for a hot long shower before trudging off to sleep himself.

All was quiet in the Bunker…for now.
If Dean had thought to check on Sam before going to bed, he would have found his sibling trudging toward the kitchen like a drunken sailor.

Sam had woken hungry for donuts knowing deep within that Dean had them hidden somewhere.

He was hungry and dammit he wanted SUGAR!!! NOW!!!

As he tottered down the hall, his mind wandered back to diamonds on Jupiter and how it would be oh so helpful if he could figure out a way to get there and snatch a few bags full.

Thinking of being a space pirate and hunting space treasure reminded him of the treasure he was seeking: SUGAR!!!
A through search showed
Kitchen: No donuts
Garage: No donuts
Baby (Never to be admitted to calling her that out loud) No donuts
Storeroom, range, dungeon: Nothing

Shuffling toward the library, Sam came to a complete halt as he heard a sound that he had rarely heard in his life; Dean sniffling.

Ambling in, he realized the library needed searched for where Dean, his meanie brother, had hidden the donuts.

Looking up, he saw Dean looking out the bunker’s telescope, shoulders shaking and quietly crying.

Moving his hands up and down like scales, Sam debated whether to search for donuts or talk to Dean to see what was going on. Dean, donuts, Dean donuts…

Internally sighing, but still wanting SUGAR!!! He quietly approached his brother and asked what the problem was.

“Did you know if you think hard enough, you can see every bunker of the MoL, including what’s going on inside with this thing?!? I mean, I know these guys were here alone, but ….Tokyo seems the most normal, but man you do NOT want to know what they get up to in Rio! We gotta catch a case down there, Sammy!”

“I didn’t know you could do that with the telescope.” Not thinking of phallic symbols, not thinking of phallic symbols. It’s been way too long. “Umm, is that why you are, not crying, cause you don’t do that, but having problems with…allergies?”

“No, no, I’m okay. Just go on with what you were doing. And why are you out of bed? How are you even awake?”

There it was, thought Sam. Changing the subject to focus on me so we don’t have to discuss our bitty feelings.

Smirking, Sam let out a long, slow, whiny remembered from getting his way in childhood, “Ddddeeeeeaaaannnnn! Talk to me!”

Shoulders cringing from the ear piercing shriek that would have had cats worshipping in awe, Dean broke.

“It’s my mattress, Sammy! It’s my memory foam mattress!” Chest heaving, came the mournful words of, “Its forgotten meeeeee!”

“Huh? It’s a mattress, so how could it forget you?”

“I don’t know, Sam! It’s just hard and all the places that conformed to my body are now nonconformists! The little dips and pouchy out places are simply gone and I don’t understand why.

We, we had an understanding I thought. I loved my memory foam mattress and thought it loved me back! Did I offend it or upset it somehow?

I just feel so lost!”

Being the awesome younger brother he was, Sam offered to check out the bedroom for Dean.

Still distressed, Dean agreed.

Sam was thrilled because now he knew where the donuts were and Dean, well he’d given him the perfect reason to scope out the room and find the SUGAR!!!

Anyone walking the halls of the bunker would have seen a rather strange sight. A six foot four inch Sam trying to hide while peering around a door checking out his brother's room. With his head bent to the side, Sam didn't realize in his medicated state that hazel eyes looking into a room while trying to hide his rather large, but magnificent, body would be impossible to ignore.

If the one seeing this was already puzzled, what they saw next would have had them heading for a psych eval. Sam dropping to the floor and undulating much as a snake would, entered Dean's room and tried to sneak up on the bed. Under the mattress, around the mattress, prodding, pinching, and jabbing at it like a drunken boxer.

Finally Sam pulled himself to the side of the bed away from the door and raised his upper body to peer intently over the bed.

The mysterious watcher would have seen two wide pupiled eyes and a broad forehead staring intently around the room with a scrutiny usually reserved for dissecting how a bride looks on her wedding day.

Drawers were opened, closets checked, clothing inspected.

Dammit! No donuts.

Down the hall could be heard a broken voice muttering about a lost love and broken trust.

It was a strange time in the MoL Bunker.
In another part of the Bunker, a silent being watched the antics while laughing so hard her sides hurt.

Hearing an ‘Let me get your attention’ cough, she looked up into the amused face of one of her favorite relatives.

A simple raised eyebrow and her name “Aite “ saw her slumping down into the soft chair she was ensconced in.

With a sigh, she fessed up. “I’m sorry Bacchus, but seeing your personal wine destroyed upset me so much, I decided to do something about it. Nothing permanent. Just some retribution.”

Looking down at the young looking goddess, Bacchus, couldn’t help but smile. He missed her and since Zeus, in a temper tantrum, threw her from Mt Olympus he only got to see her every few hundred years or so on a trip to earth.

“Aite, blame the evil spirit, not the ones there to stop it. These two were saving lives, not acting as temperance agents. Please cease.”

“The Magicks will wear off with the sunrise, Bacchus. It’s nothing dangerous, just a little humiliation. I swear by Mt. Olympus.”

Quickly going through her memories, the older god realized she was being honest. “Very well, I’ll allow this to play out.”

Snickering, he added “Donuts? Really?”

“Wait til the morning.”

Quickly sending the two men off to a dreamless sleep in there own beds, the two watching sat patiently waiting for the morning sun to rise.
8AM came too quickly for the tired men after the busy two days they’d had. Both shuffled into the kitchen not exactly welcoming the new day.

As they sat drinking coffee, neither were aware of the strange dreams the other was dwelling on, but they definitely noticed the quick looks each gave the other when they thought they were not being observed.

Finally Sam broke the uneasy silence.

“So, I, uh had a really strange dream last night. I’m guessing it was the meds cause seeing you cry was really bizarre.”

An indignant Dean started. “Dammit Sam, I wasn’t crying!” Realizing what he’d admitted he tried to pass it off.

“It could have been allergies like you said, maybe dust from the telescope, reactions to your meds…I don’t know. I just know I. DO. NOT. CRY!”

Sccooooorrrrrreeee! Thought Sam as he smirked at Dean saying “So a shared dream? Dream walking? Trickster?”

Still wearing a deer-in-the-headlights look from admitting to crying, Dean mumbled something about getting dressed and, in a Dean Winchester, manly way scurried from the kitchen.

Giving a mental fist pump over getting one on his older brother left Sam feeling warm and tingly. Until…

“Sam, why in the hell are my clothes scattered all over my room? My drawers are all open and everything gone through!”

A moment of silence.

“And where in the hell are my donuts?!?”

Victory was Sam’s.

Two silent watchers observed the scene laughing and enjoying the antics of the younger brother.

Deciding it was time to go, they took their leave remembering to remove all traces of their passage.

They even remembered to take the popcorn.

Scripted On my Fingers

For the Sammy Big Bang
Scripted On my Fingers
Author: Crucis
Artist: The incredibly talented Jenn Shep. Thank you for all your hard work! A writer can create a story, but an artist makes the written word come to life.
Artwork: https://imgur.com/f2ishnR
Rating: GP for some language
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. They are the property of Eric Kripke and others of the alphabet squad. No money is being made. It’s done purely out of love for the characters and the show.
Summary: A seemingly routine hunt has horrific consequences for Sam when he is critically injured. While waiting for rescue, he contemplates his life, his history and relationships.

*Hawks Nest State Park is located on 370 acres (150 ha) in Fayette County near Ansted, West Virginia. The park's clifftop overlook along U.S. Route 60 provides a scenic vista of the New River, some 750 feet (230 m) below

Mngwa* – East African – A large gray cat, stronger than a lion and able to move without a sound. It’s covered in bald spots, because its victims are sometimes found with tufts of its fur in their hands*

Fingers of One Hand by Sonny James and Carole Smith

They thought they had killed the Mngwa and had headed back down the hiking trail. Taking a moment to catch their breath, they had stopped for a quick view of a gorgeous night sky found only in the mountains away from the cities.

It had taken 2 days with an overnight stop to travel from Kansas to Hawk’s Nest in West Virginia, but once they’d gotten wind of several suspicious deaths in the popular tourist area, including two who had large tufts of hair in their hands, they knew it was time to move.

Sam’s ‘laptop dancing,’ as Dean was prone to call it, had coughed up the legend of the Mngwa. While the brothers couldn’t figure out how it had gotten in the Appalachians, everything fit, even the bits of hair.

First stop has been the coroner’s office. Only one of the victims was still there, but the brutality of the death has shocked even these seasoned Hunters for whom death was a daily companion.

Next the brothers had pulled their gear, i.e. weapons, holy water, salt, extra ammo and casually headed up the trail. They’d chosen one of the lesser traveled ones to avoid awkward questions and quickly reached the 750 ft summit.

When Sam had won the “Who will play bait argument?” Dean had waited a few feet in the dense forest undergrowth for their target to show.

Both had felt when the donkey sized predator had begun to draw toward its target. Each knew the large, catlike creature had to be dealt with fast as there was no exact knowledge on how to kill the thing.

It had been decided to simply shoot it with everything they had to weaken it, then move it off trail so they could decapitate and burn.

The plan had worked like a charm. When it had approached Sam, the two had hit it with all the guns they had. The weakened creature had fallen to the ground and quickly decapitated. As it was after 11 pm, no one had been around to hear the gunshots or see the final end of the Mngwa.

They simply didn’t know.

300 or so, feet from ground level, the second Mngwa had leaped from a tree and knocked both men to their knees. Sam, being the first one to rise and therefore seen as the greater threat, was attacked more strongly than Dean who was attempting to get up to go to his baby brother’s aid.

Unfortunately, he’d gotten to his feet just in time to see Sam tumble off the side of the trail and down toward New River.

He could hear:
His brother scream
The underbrush being torn up due to Sam’s passage
Sam’s body hitting rocks and trees and he tumbled headlong toward the bottom…
New River rushing below.
The sound of Sam’s screams until they were abruptly cut off, the last one sounding far, far away…

Sam knew he was in trouble the moment he could no longer feel ground beneath his feet.

He felt the broken ribs from the large rocks protruding up from the cold ground.

He felt the broken leg from the massive tree it had twisted against.

He felt the broken wrist and dislocated shoulder.

And he knew he was heading toward a river that the bitter November weather would have made iceberg cold.

Finally coming to a stop, Sam could hear the rushing of the churning river to his right and was grateful his fall had stopped before entering the churning water.

Sam Winchester hated falling.

Oh sure, falling down on your fanny was one thing, but a fall of any distance ranked close to Dean’s Death (yes capital letters) or Gabriel and the Mystery Spot.

In spite of Gabriel finally taking a stand, Sam still hadn’t quite forgiven him. A life built on blood, sorrow and loss hadn’t come close to prepare him for the agony of his brother’s death.

So, falling:
Out of a chair, no big.
Off a bed, okay.
From one story to another, dealt with by gritting teeth and tight smile.

But a long fall took him to a place he never wanted to return to, a place of pain, of sorrow and regret. Mostly though a place of extreme soul destroying torture.

The Cage.

For all eternity Sam knew he would remember the feeling of his body out of control, the loss of gravity and light as the ground closed over him and Adam.

After a fall of forever, and yet over all too soon, they’d wound up in a place no one should ever be.

Images of pain and agonized screaming, sheer terror and unimaginable horror flashed like quicksilver through his mind.


He quickly forced his mind from his younger half-brother. Dwelling on that loss would drive him crazy. Those memories had played a large part in his insanity after the wall had fallen.

Guilt drove Sam Winchester and he was a master of that particular emotion.

Mentally pulling himself into the present, Sam made a quick assessment.

Multiple broken bones
Dislocation of right shoulder
Broken leg or possibly legs
Sprained wrist
Definite concussion
Broken right arm
Bleeding from mouth and nose – oh yeah internal damage an absolute.

Unable to move, he knew he’d have to wait for Dean to find him.

But it was cold, so very cold due to the November weather and a light snow on the ground.

Knowing the average temperature was around 35, the brothers had dressed warmly. Warm for walking on the cold ground, not tumbling down and lying on it.

As the chill seeped in, he took a look around and realized rescue would be a bitch. Still above the tree line, he knew he’d never be able to move more toward the more level ground of the riverbank.

All he could do was wait.

Realizing he ran the risk of falling unconscious, Sam slowly turned his head to his left. He saw his left arm caught between his side and a sharp edged rock projecting out of the ground.

His elbow was bent with his forearm and hand reaching toward the sky. His hand was open as if to catch a softball preventing a home run.

Seeing his hand upwards brought a memory of visiting Jess and her family one year for a holiday.

Jess’ dad had loved old country music and Sam, while not a huge fan recalled one of the songs she had really liked.

Oddly enough, it seemed appropriate.

On the fingers of one hand on the fingers of one hand
Life can all be counted on the fingers of one hand

Count your little finger on the day you born
See the fingernail it's protection from the thorn
Protection from the thorn of life it shields you as you grow
The nail is a guardian until you're a child no more

Dean, his shield and protection. Whether it was a bully at school or dad on a drunken rampage, Dean had protected him even from himself. He may have raged and fought against what he thought at that time to be his brother’s refusal to see him as an adult, but he always knew, always, Dean was there.

Even during their worst of times, the two had always come back together, sometimes cracked and broken, but he always felt protected.

A child no more

He could admit he’d always been Dean’s child. Compliant at times, rebellious at other’s, Dean was his brother first and then his dad.

While he could no longer be considered a child, he was still Dean’s kid. Dean’s to love, shield and protect even when Sam fought ‘against the goads’.

He had and would always have shelter wherever Dean was.

He wondered if Dean knew how much his younger brother loved and needed him. Did Dean know that Sam respected more than he had anyone else? Did Dean understand he was as vital to Sam as Sam was to Dean? Did he truly understand what he’d meant when he told Dean he had looked up to and wanted to be like him since he was four years old?

Count your second finger as you come of age
Right and wrong is clearer when you reach this page

Exactly when one came of age was unclear as Sam continued to study his fingers.

Was it when you could walk and talk? Dress yourself? Understand the consequences of your actions or when you began to question the actions of others?

‘Funny’ thought Sam. He’d walked and talked early, but the world had still been an exciting place with new places to explore with each move. He’d still seen everything through eyes and a life unjaded by the shadow world the family inhabited.

Then had come the questions.

Why? Why didn’t they have a mom? Why was it necessary to constantly be on the move? Why did this creature they were looking for have to die if it wasn’t killing?

Why wasn’t anyone listening to his silent screaming about feeling unsafe, unsecure? His fear of one day waking up to the news his brother or father had died while he was helpless to do anything?

All he had wanted was answers, answers to ensure his family’s safety. To make sure they returned alive.

His fear had turned to belligerence and outright disrespect at times. He knew this and deeply regretted the fractures that had occurred within his family because of it.

He had hated living with constant fear and nightmares. The stress of worrying about his and his family’s safety and been a driving force behind his leaving for Stanford.

Unfortunately, while trying to rescue himself, he’d lost Dean for a few years. While they’d had the rare occasional contact, their original closeness had been lost.

It had taken the loss of Jess to bring them back together, at least he and Dean back together. His dad had still been there, but generally circling the periphery.

He was more adult, but still his soul was in pain. Pain that had only been multiplied, not only by the hunting, Jess’s death but by his own selfish foolish mistakes.

So many regrets. So many wrong decisions had been taken up and brutally defended. While he knew he and Dean had been led ‘down the garden path’, he had to acknowledge he had been at fault for a lot of things gone wrong.


His greatest mistake was becoming involved in her life. If he’d never, never allowed himself to believe he was out she would be alive today. Probably married with kids, happy with someone else but alive.

God, he missed her. Even with other women moving in and out of his life, Jess remained the only part of his heart not given to Dean.

He could see her long blond hair, smell the unique scent of her. Her laughter and smile were what he’s held on to help survive the vicious existence he led.

His memory of her sense of humor had often given his spirits a much needed boost when things were harsh.

He wished he’d never met her, was happy he had and wondered if he’s told her of his nightmares would it have a difference?

Maybe, but who really knew?

While he didn’t love Dean the same way he’d loved Jess, those two were his everything. Jess’s death had damn near killed him, Dean’s permanent death would finish him off. He would not, could not survive that.


Beautiful, oh so helpful, lying black hearted Ruby.

He’s given her his body, his trust and maybe the beginning of his love. He had wanted to believe her sweet lies of remembering being human, wanting to help Dean and helping him destroy Lilith.

She’d played him like a harp and he’d allowed it. He’d known she was a demon, but in desperation, he’d believed every pretty lie that fell from her lips.

Wanting to believe he could save Dean, he’d danced to her tune. Even with the threats of violence and pain on her person, he’s played puppet to her puppet master.

Sam knew he had stepped where told, moved as directed and played Ruby’s game to the bitter end.

He’d lost and lost spectacularly. The price for losing could have been the world, but instead cost him himself.

He’ screwed up, hadn’t managed to save Dean and almost damned the human race to genocide.

The best of intentions to begin with, the worst results achieved.


The queen bitch herself.

Even today, the most dominant emotion when he thought of her was anger. Anger at her having Dean’s contract and his brutal death from the hell hounds.

Watching that savage death had left emotional marks that had and never would heal.

He knew Ruby had built that anger up, stoked it to full flame and kept it going, but she couldn’t have accomplished that without the anger already being present.

Anger had long been a constant and sometimes welcome driving force for Sam Winchester and at least to himself, he could admit that.

When Lilith died, he’d felt…vindicated in what he’d been doing with Ruby. He’d felt justified until the awful truth had come out.

What he’d done…

What he felt he was…

Unclean was a word familiar to him. As he lay on the icy ground, he thought about the demon blood that ran through his veins.

He was almost grateful for Billie’s threat of the empty cause he knew he’d never make heaven and the idea of returning to hell terrified him.

Dean and even Castiel and tried to reassure him he’d more than made up for any mistakes or grievous sin, but he had never been able to make peace with that thought.


And wasn’t that multiple papers for a therapist to make a name for themselves writing.

He loved his dad but despised the person he became.

He had at one point in his life resented everything his dad stood for. The hunting, constant moving and overall danger had made him angry to the point of despair over his life

He’d hated he and Dean not being first in John’s life. Their safety and care should have been top priority.

It never had been. There had been too many nights of not enough foods, too many days of hiding from motel managers and CPS for him to ever feel any measure of comfort with his childhood.

If it hadn’t been for Dean, he firmly believed he’d have been dropped off somewhere and conveniently forgotten. But with a built in mom, dad and babysitter, John had never exercised that option.

‘Wonder how that would have turned out?’ came unbidden. The answer would always be a question unanswered. He did know if he and Dean had been separated, things would have gone oh so much worse.

Keeping he and his brother together had been one right thing he could credit his dad for.

After Jess, he’d gotten a better understanding of his dad, and could respect his decisions better. He’s understood better his desire to find yellow eyes and revenge.

The cost of the search had been too high and while he had learned to respect his dad, he had never quite been able to forgive.

With a small wry smile at that thought, Sam recognized he was his father’s son.

Cold. He was so cold he was shivering.

He could no longer feel his legs. Please God, no paralysis.


While his regrets were fewer with Bobby, there were a few.

He loved Bobby, he really did, but he sometimes wish they’d never contacted the other man.

If they hadn’t maybe, just maybe Bobby would still be alive. On the other hand, he and Dean would be dead a dozen times over if not for Bobby.

He regretted Bobby’s death more than even John’s. He’s supported not criticized, taught not bullied and simply saw them as Sam and Dean not soldiers in an unending relentless war.

John taught them shadows, Bobby allowed them to see light.

And here was another deep mark on his soul: he’s tried to kill him. While intellectually he realized it had simply been a matter of survival for his soulless self, emotionally he held himself to complete blame.

He knew Bobby had forgiven him, God knew he knew that. He just had never been able to forgive himself.

He missed the man who over the years had been a father figure to them, who fed them when they were hungry, placed a roof, however temporary, over their heads, provided info as needed and kicked their behinds when necessary.

He hoped Bobby had been allowed back to whatever his heaven had been before he’d given it up to once more help them.

He wanted Bobby to be happy. He’s like to see that, but he firmly believed heaven wasn’t for him.

He’d regret never seeing Bobby Singer again.


So many conflicted feelings ran through him every time he thought of the angel.

While he was grateful for all the help he’d given them over the years, he also harbored a lot of anger toward Castiel.

Anger over how the angel had helped to manipulate them into almost ending earth and its people.

Anger and shame over their first meeting where the angel had looked at him as if he wasn’t fit to exist.

Anger over his threats of sending Dean to hell again if he didn’t do as he ordered him.

Anger over Castiel letting him out of the panic room. Would things have worked out as they had if he’d stayed locked up? He honestly couldn’t say, but he did believe it would have made things harder where Ilchester was concerned.

Would he have listened? Maybe, maybe not but it would have been another roadblock in “The Plan”.

Cas’ breaking of the wall had left him twitchy around the angel. If Cas came upon him unexpectedly, the memories of the cage and his soulless self rose like a tsunami and momentarily threatened to overwhelm him. He’d always managed to push them down but always wondered if the angel knew how he reacted to him. If he did, did he care? Had he brought him back soulless on purpose to try to completely split the two brothers up?

Lying there, Sam thought he may have done the soulless thing as a carpe diem, but the wall was intentional. He’d never forgive or get over the damage done in the name of Castiel’s ‘greater good’.

The big one though was getting Lucifer out of the cage. He would never forgive what he saw as complete disloyalty of every apology, usually made to Dean, every instance of help, every word of friendship Castiel had ever made.

Even if he moved past his own feelings, the betrayals of Dean and his willingness to lent the angel a helping hand when he stumbled would never be forgiven.


Cas had always been Dean’s friend and protector first and he been sorted of accepted by osmosis. Then again why would angel want to buddy up to the Boy King? He was, “after all an abomination”.

That was okay with him. It wasn’t…painful just a little sad.

Funny that it took lying smashed like a pinata on the cold, wet ground for him to have a moment of bitter sharp clarity; he never had and probably never would trust the angel.

And wasn’t that just the icing on the cake?
He was getting sleepy but knew had to stay awake.

He wanted to be warm again, to not hurt.

He wanted Dean.

And when you meet a girl you love accordin' to life's plan
The day you age you count the middle finger of your hand

Funny how so much in his life had lead back to Jess.

For two plus years she’d been his all. Then her death had been his reason to continue. The hunt for her killer had been all consuming but finding out she’d been set up to die had killed a part of him that had never resurrected.

He could concede and accept that about himself now. It was ugly maybe, but real life was that way he supposed. It was messy, ugly and often seemed too hard to bear.

He’d had every intention of marrying her, settling down and having kids. Blond kids with her smile and personality, her smarts and compassion.

He’d gotten her killed but prayed she had forgiven him and was happy. Maybe, if she ever thought of him in her hereafter, she remembered him lovingly. He hoped so. It would be nice to be thought of with kindness by her.

His Jess. So strong and beautiful.

He’d cared for Madison, lusted after Ruby and knew in time he could have loved Sarah. He also knew no one could have ever completely taken her place in his heart.

It would have been so unfair, he mused, to have given himself over in a relationship he knew he’d never be able to fully engage in.

Would any serious relationship have withered and died because the other person would have to share him with a ghost? Probably.

Maybe it was a good thing he’d never truly fallen in love again.

He wondered what she was doing, who she was chatting with or what book maybe she was reading.

His Jess, his everything.

Giving a small laugh, which hurt like hell, Sam pondered his philosophical turn of thought.

He knew if help didn’t come soon, he was going to die bleeding and broken on icy ground.

Funny, he always knew hunting would cost his life.

Knowing it and going through it were two different things.

He remembered a friend from Stanford who once remarked she’d never trust a promise from the universe itself cause the universe didn’t know how to keep one.

She also claimed fate was a fickle bitch who deserved no trust or respect.

Maybe not fickle, he decided but a definite bitch. She’d certainly been a bitch in his life often enough.

Whatever could a group of 6 month olds have done to deserve the fate that had chased after them? Not just himself, but Andy, Max, Ava and all the other ‘special’ children.

‘Special’ his ass; damned before conception was more accurate.

The reason had been the apocalypse, but the why them, why their mothers had never really been answered and never would.

Tired, he was so tired but had to stay awake. He felt so fuzzy headed, so weak.

As he lay there, Sam slipped into the second stage of hypothermia.

His pulse and respiration had slowed and were getting slower.

His temperature was dropping.
Thought processes were becoming woolly, difficult to keep clear.

He just wanted to sleep, but knew he had to stay awake and wait for Dean. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew he had to wait. Somehow it was important.

Deciding to concentrate once more on his fingers, he thought about the song that had been dancing through his head.

Furrowing his brow, he struggled to recall the next verse of it.

It took a few minutes, but finally he was able to remember.

When the Lord has blessed you with a tiny air
Count the final finger say a thankful prayer

He’d never really been sure what this meant exactly. Maybe air was supposed to mean heir, a new life coming into being?

He wasn’t sure.

Sam knew he had no heirs, no child to carry on any legacy he may leave behind.

Maybe that was a good thing considering his past and the demon blood. What a thing to pass on to a child.

He couldn’t do that to an innocent, so during a time he and Dean had separated he’d had surgery to make sure he couldn’t commit what he felt would be an atrocity to a child.

The knowledge of no children had left a major unrelenting ache in his heart. Being a father and having his own family had been an even bigger dream than graduating university had been.

Jack was as close as he would ever come to fulfilling that dream. He knew Jack counted Castiel as his dad, but he felt he’d had some part in helping Jack become who he was.

While Jack struggled with this world, and his place in it, Sam wanted so much to believe he’d played a role in helping him deal with who and what he was.

He hoped Jack would be okay when he was gone.

Feeling something brush softly against his face, Sam opened his to see a starlight sky with a light snow falling.

The one thing he didn’t need. More cold to add to his misery

So much was swirling through his head, he didn’t hear the voices, especially THE voice desperately calling his name as rescue units searched the dark for him.

He didn’t hear Dean screaming his name in sheer panic as he tore through the area looking for Sam.

He didn’t see the emergency lights as they flashed on the ground looking for where he had stopped his downward plunge.

He didn’t see the searchlight from the helicopter flying overhead as personnel tried to peer through the dense trees to see him.

Last of all you're countin' on the day your life is done

Sam didn’t want to die, but he knew he was minutes from slipping away.

Once more looking at his hand, he hoped Dean would be okay with what was happening. He wanted to beg a god he wasn’t sure he believed in anymore to not let his brother do something stupid.

Promises had been made to let each other go, but Winchesters were kind of notorious for breaking promises as easily as they broke laws.

He wanted to see Dean again but he

Ground Rescue and Emergency Services were moving as quickly as possible across the snow covered ground looking for Sam.

When the frantic call had come in to 911, everyone knew this was going to be a rough one due to the terrain and biting cold.

The hysteria in the voice, who’d identified himself as the brother, had the units moving as fast as they could up the mountain to begin the process of finding the victim.

As the helicopter flew overhead providing much needed light, ropes were attached to trees so searchers could repel down searching every inch of the slope for what they hoped would be a living person.

More searchers had converged by New River to search along the river bank and into the tree line moving up to meet those coming down.

They all knew he was going to be in rough shape after such a fall.

As most of the rescuers began their desperate search, the rescuers left waiting above tried to think of everything they could possibly be dealing with when Sam was brought up for triage for the Life Flight.

Both were keeping a close eye on Dean who they feared would do something foolish if this turned from a rescue to recovery mission.

All tried to keep a watch, but somehow Dean had managed to take off down the trail to the riverbank. Hoping they wouldn’t have two rescues on their hands, a radio was used to inform the ones below he was on his way.

It only took a few minutes, that seemed to stretch forever, for Dean to reach the bank and begin searching the tree line.

Walking a few feet in, but not so far as not to lose sight of the river, he began to yell Sam’s name while doing a slow jog.

Dean was terrified. Losing Sammy was simply not an option he could or would accept.

Being alone wasn’t his greatest fear, it was being alone because he’d screwed up and lost Sammy.

As he jogged along screaming his brother’s name at the top of his lungs, Dean had gone from fear to sheer terror since Sam wasn’t answering.
As Sam moved into 3rd stage hypothermia, the blood which had pooled into his organs to keep them working, suddenly rushed back into his extremities causing his body to feel the heat he’d been longing for.

He didn’t realize he lay on the very cusp of death.

Just before falling unconscious, Sam tried to remember who he was waiting for and why.

So frightened, Dean almost didn’t hear the yelled “Found him!”

Turning slightly to his left and inward, running full out, he came upon a scene from his nightmares

Flashing lights as people moved toward Sam with handheld flashlights, trees bending in macabre shapes twisting with the freezing wind, snow on already covered ground with more dancing in the chilled air. A dark ebon sky. The murmuring of the nearby river.

A person unmoving on the ground, bloody and broken.

Words, so many words

O2 saturation
Broken bones
Temp 89 degrees

Dean would never remember the short run over uneven ground to get to Sam. He’d never remember reaching his side or falling to his knees on the freezing wet ground.

He would remember blocking out everything but his brother lying there still, still as death.

That had him reaching a shaking hand to touch the person he saw, cause it couldn’t be Sam.

Sam was never still, never not moving when awake. He was always moving, never this quiet.

Sam talked, even when reading. He walked, tapped fingers, moved his chair around. His bed was always a mess where he twisted and turned while asleep.

Even when eating, silverware twirled in his hands as he made a point about whatever they were talking about at the time.

This NotSam was so quiet, so still, so static not even his chest could be seen moving.

The next minutes, hours, days? passed like a series of photos to Dean, a series of flickers like snapshots in a scrapbook with nothing between them.

At the helicopter as Sam was being loaded with out any idea how either of them got there
In the air heading for CAMC, not realizing that he was actually flying. It would a couple of days before he knew they were at Charleston Area Medical Center, the nearest trauma center.
Talking to two Doctors, mentions of surgery, repairs, what was Sam Courtland’s blood type, allergies, so many questions he’d never remember all of them.
White walls, an uncomfortable orange chair, magazine and hours and hours of waiting.
Fear, so much fear that this time neither would recover. If Sam went, he knew he wouldn’t last long. He’d never want to.
Not calling Castiel. After Gadreel’s possession, Dean had taken a long hard look at some things Sam had said or hinted and realized Sam didn’t trust the angel.
Maybe he needed to take a different look at a number of things.
Cups of hospital swill passing as coffee until a nurse took pity on the man barely hanging by his fingertips and showed him the staff room with better stuff.
Knowing the staff was watching him because if he received the worst news he too would need care
Magazines, bathroom, and waiting always waiting.

And underlining everything, every breath was sheer unadulterated fear. Fear that death chased after Sam, relentlessly drawing closer each second.

Night passed to day to afternoon before there was any word.

Broken leg, set. Broken arm surgically repaired, internal injuries including a tear in the liver and damage to intestines repaired, lung reinflated, ribs wired as needed and the patient on a respirator, core temp up to 96, kidneys under close scrutiny etc., etc., etc.

Prognosis: Call family and friends to ‘see’ the patient as soon as possible for possible goodbyes.

There was no one to call.

It was time to wait.

Time is a strange thing when waiting with a life on hold.

At times it moves as slow as molasses on a frozen January day. Others, it speeds so fast you think you’re going light speed and feel bewildered.

Even routines lose their newness over time. You know things segue from one routine to another, but lost in feelings, memories and flat out grief, they become predictable.

They become everything.

Blood pressure checks, oximeter checks, respirator checks were measured in 15 minute increments.

Respiratory and traction checks every 2 hours meant Sam was still alive.

Cleaning wounds and turning Sam became reminders about 4 hours had passed.

Doctors visits meant Sam had survived another 6 hours.

Blood being drawn meant repeated 24 hour sections with Sam still in this realm.

As segments of time moved forward, the prognosis for ‘the patient’ changed from a wait till the end to a slight change for the better, to ‘Sam’ stands a chance of living.

Intervals moved from Sam not breathing on his own to weaning off the respirator over a period of days.

Phases moved from a silent, unknowingly compliant Sam to occasional twitches and slight groans of agony as his body began to register its injuries.

Twitches eventually turned to moving limbs, groans became grunts in attempts to respond to the voices around him and unconsciousness grew into long periods of deep sleep broken by brief periods of disorientation.

Stitches were gently removed and physical therapy started when it finally became obvious Sam would survive.

It became a waiting game to see when he would awaken and respond to the world around him.

By his beside had sat a looming sentinel with many questions, many concerns and great anxiety. A sentinel who refused to leave the room, showered in the adjacent bath and been bribed with threats of being kicked out to eat or rest.

A sentinel with ever watchful eyes.

Eyes that had watched with a predator’s focus on every move anyone had made upon entering the room. Assessing everyone for ill regard or bad intentions.

Eyes that had questioned every step of every procedure to make sure everything was done correctly each and every time.

Eyes that showed the greatest compassion when assisting with his brother’s care.

Eyes that carried a haunted burden of responsibility, worry and deep, deep love.

Eyes that gradually lightened as the days passed and hope rose within the confines of the small room.

Nineteen days later, pain laden hazel eyes would finally open to steadily meet the emerald green ones that had waited for Sam to fully awaken.

Snow was pouring down and covering Charleston in a blanket of white. Overhead grey skies with heavy laden clouds loomed with the promise of more harsh weather.

Inside a particular hospital room, the day had never been more beautiful.

Moraff's Majong

Software Diversions/Moraff's Majong - please do not buy from these people! I've been trying to get a response from customer service for over 24 hours and cannot get a response! They didn't mind taking payment, but seriously I cannt get a valid registration key or response?!?

Bye Mom

Bye Mom. You will be missed. Such a strong woman. You raised 4 strong women who learned so many lessons from you that we have been proud to pass on to your grandkids and great grandkids. We had our fights and arguments over the years, but I always knew you loved me and my sisters. I'm glad you are no longer in pain and are at rest, but I want you here for my own selfish reasons. I love you Mom.

Counting Coup

For the SammyBigBang 2017
With tremendous thanks to muchness - and - stars for your beautiful artwork that means so much to this story! Thank you for making it better!

At Masterpost http://muchness-and-stars.tumblr.com/post/158172154154/it-was-a-honor-to-illustrate-crucis1-s-ficPlease check it out! It goes so well with this story!

Counting Coup
By Crucis
Art by muchness-and-stars. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Rating G, PG
Disclaimer: I do not own, unfortunately, Supernatural or any of its characters. They are owned by Kripke, the CW and other alphabet beings/companies. No money or other compensation is being made from this. It’s done out of love for these characters.
Mentions of past torture

The Mngwa is a gigantic cat, about the same size as that of a pony.
It has creepy yellow eyes, sharp deadly teeth and huge razor like claws. Its fur is a dark grey with black stripes and spots, similar to a nowadays domesticated tabby cat.
Its body is said to sport some hairless spots from victims clutching and ripping patches as they attempted to free themselves.
This feline was so strong and ferocious that it could kill a person with a single bite or strike of its paws. It is mightier than the powerful lion, faster and deadlier than a leopard.

Many bloodied and mangled bodies have been left strewn about, clutching tufts of grey fur in their hands without explanation.

Counting coup refers to the winning of prestige against an enemy by the Plains Indians of North America. Warriors won prestige by acts of bravery in the face of the enemy, which could be recorded in various ways and retold as stories.

‘’ show thoughts

The hunt for the Mngwa had been a difficult one as few survived an encounter with the vicious cat like creature. How it came to be in Colorado from east Africa was something they hadn’t been able to figure out. It was only after talking to a couple of recent immigrant families who were familiar with the legend had they been able to track and gank it.

Fighting with the creature had been hard and bloody. Scrapes, claw marks and bites could be found on both Winchesters. Fortunately, they had won, but that win had come with a price tag attached stating do not remove.
David Collier Hospital was having its usual night in the ER. People moving, hustling about taking care of patients, writing up records, cleaning up blood, vomit, urine…the minutiae of a busy emergency needs area.

At first, no one noticed the dark blond who entered half carrying, half dragging a dark-haired man with him. It took a loud yell of “Help!” for people with a gurney to head toward him in a run.

The answer to the inevitable question of what had happened, wild animal attack, didn’t come as a surprise. Locals knew to be careful in the woods, but there were always a few problems every year with campers from out of area.

Upper state New York was beautiful with full, lush trees, lakes, and places where people just went to escape for a few days.
Camp grounds were common enough for locals and tourists to benefit from, but civilization tended to forget or downplay the dangers in the wild.

Hospital personnel were familiar with camping accidents from burns to breaks to occasional animal attacks, so hearing what had happened really raised no eyebrows.

What did cause surprise was the extent of the injuries. Bites and claw marks could be clearly seen, but the respiratory problems were setting off alarms among the staff.

And the blood, so much blood.
It’d taken three hours for over 100 stitches to be stitched, IVs to be started, blood typed and cross matched just in case, ex rays and lab work to be completed before the younger man, ‘Sam Wellson’ was admitted to the fifth floor.

While not ICU, the floor was a critical care unit. So, while, Sam wasn’t in imminent danger of death, he was in serious condition.

Three broken ribs had raised concerns about lung stability, but had proven to be non-life threatening. Breathing treatments and strong pain medication had helped to relieve Sam’s painful inhales.

A wrenched ankle, myriad stitches, broken ribs, IVs and a unit of blood, as well as possible infection, had been given for the reason for admittance to the critical care floor. If, as expected, Sam did well during the night he would be moved to a regular floor the next day. Hopefully, he’d be discharged in just a few days.

All of this had been explained in great detail to the patient’s brother, Dean, who’d hovered about like his brother’s own shadow while Sam was being treated.

Upon reaching the fifth floor, Sam had been wheeled into 503 where a rather stern woman was waiting for her patient.

Monica Momerie was not a deliberately cruel person. 5ft 3 inches, dull brown hair and eyes made her a physically unremarkable person. However, a rough childhood and abusive marriage had left her expecting, and usually finding, the worst in people even if only in her own mind.

“Ok Sam, let’s get you settled. I have a few questions to finish your paperwork. Perhaps your brother could wait outside?”

Seeing Dean open his mouth and trying to avoid a confrontation, Sam spoke “No! I want him to stay.”

Meaning to cut off a problem before it began, Sam had no idea he had just opened a Pandora’s Box.

Things were going to get ugly.

Monica really did care about helping others, but that help was based upon what she thought was best. Her compassion had become twisted by bitterness and distrust.

So, when she heard Sam ask for Dean to stay, she didn’t hear a brother asking for a brother.

She heard someone afraid of another, someone in emotional pain, someone being hurt someway.

Giving a calculating look at Dean, she moved protectively between him and his brothers. Watching carefully as she asked her questions, she didn’t realize she was almost eagerly waiting for the answer of scars.

Sam knew he had a lot of scars. After his life, who wouldn’t, but it was until he began to list them that he realized just how many he carried.

Back: check
Stomach: check
Arms: check
Legs: check
Feet: check
Hands: check
Face and neck: check, check, and add a few more checks

As she listed the information, Monica knew immediately the man in front of her was obviously abused. ‘Extreme Sports’ was just a cover up.

Someone was hurting this sweet, helpless man and she was going to make sure it stopped.

Monica knew just who was to blame. No spouse, no parents, no emergency contact outside of his brother…well, she would do everything in her limited power to fix this!

Briefing at shift change 11:pm
5th Floor
Shift change involved passing info to the oncoming shift. Names of patients, medical information and treatment, and upcoming procedures were all passed on to facilitate proper care being given. Personal observations were also part of the process. Patient interactions with staff and others, family issues, patient preferences, etc. were passed to help staff and patients as well.

Monica Momerie was known as someone who cared greatly about those under her care. She was regarded as a fantastic caregiver, so when she spoke, others listened.

The scars, the fear of his brother not leaving, the injuries in general with her whispered words and condemnation, made her words a living, viable thing.

No one grasped the bitterness she held like a warm blanket in cold winter.

No one grasped her self-righteousness she used to justify her ugly behavior.

No one would understand the pain they were about to cause.

Two days had passed since his admission and Sam was already restless. Wanting to stretch, he was about to sneak out of bed when a small, diminutive woman, showing a lot of teeth in her smile, walked quietly into his room.

Raising his eyebrow, Sam was about to ask her who she was when she introduced herself.

“Hi Sam! My name is Ida Mayhew and I’m with Social Services here in the hospital. Now, I understand often adults have problems discussing issues affecting their life, but I am here to help you.”

Making a whirling motion with his hand for her to go on, Sam was bewildered when she continued. Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t what he got.

“Sam, I do understand what you are going through and aren’t here to pass judgement. I know these situations can be difficult, but you can get out of a dangerous relationship. I can help you if you’ll let me.”

“Huh?” came the less than intelligent answer.

“Sam, we’ve become aware of the scarring you have and believe your brother may be responsible.”

“What is happening is not your fault. We just want to help you, if you’ll let us” was chirped in what she supposed to be a comforting way.

“You think Dean is hurting me?!? What the fuck, lady? Are you out of your mind? Dean’s my brother and has never physically hurt me. Yeah we argue and maybe throw punches on rare occasion, but I give as good as I get! Where are you getting off?”

“Now Sa….”

“GET OUT! Get out now and don’t come back!”

Leaving some pamphlets on the bedside table, Ms. Mayhew turned to go. “I’m sorry, Sam. If you change your mind, please let me know. If not me then someone else help you.”

Lying back, Sam was dumbfounded by the conversation he’d just had. Trying to figure things out, he decided to try for the nurses’ station to get some answers before Dean came for visiting hours.

Struggling up with a grunt, he maneuvered his way into the wheelchair by his bed. Rolling toward the door, he stopped at the voices outside. Recognizing Ms. Mayhew, he waited to hear what she was saying.

“I tried, but he refused any help. Hopefully, he’ll change mind the poor boy.”

“I know Ida. That man had been so mistreated! Those horrible, ugly scars! How could someone do that to another person? No wonder he was wearing so many layers of clothing when he came in. He’s probably ashamed of what’s happened to him!” came a voice he didn’t know.

“I know. It’s a shame. He has such a handsome face and build. Having to cover up that way.”

As the two voices moved down the hall, Sam sat in shock.

He knew he was scarred. The lifestyle he led, plus the torture he had undergone had left marks, marks he covered up and tried to ignore. He’d gotten so used to hiding them, he generally ignored they were there.

Unlike Dean, who had to have his body rebuilt to house his soul, Sam had been returned from Hell in his own form. Cas hadn’t needed to make his a new body as he still had his own.

But now, hearing the words ugly, a shame, horrible brought some nasty thoughts to the surface.

Sam Winchester had never paid much attention to his looks except for his height. He knew it was intimidating so he tried to downplay how tall he was to make people he was dealing with more comfortable. As for his face, he’d never really considered himself especially attractive. Jess had often called him handsome, but he’d figured that was the voice of love. Yeah, he was muscular, but keeping fit was necessary to survive a Hunter’s life.

He’d had a few lovers, but that didn’t make him over the top attractive. No, that was Dean.

Now, hearing those words whispering through his head over and over, Sam rose and made his way to the bathroom.

Limping to the sink, eyes lowered, he slowly shrugged off his robe and hospital gown. Moving his eyes to the mirror, he studied his chest and upper arms.

So much of his life was written on his skin and not just the protection tattoo. Bite marks, claw marks, cuts, scrapes, and oh yeah, his favorite, torture scars liberally were scattered over a human palette, painted in tears, sweat and so much blood.

So very much blood.

Between the injuries from the latest hunt, a lifetime of depression, and PTSD, everything seemed to crash into Sam at once.

From his prospective, time slowed to a crawl while his respirations sped up.
Feeling his heart pound, he turned to go back to the bed, to cover up, to hide, to keep attention away when his vision became spotty.

Knees wobbling, he headed toward the floor only to be caught in the safest things he knew – his brother’s arms.

Dean didn’t say anything just quickly returned Sam to his bed while pressing the call light.

Asking for his brother to have some pain medicine, then proceeding to chew the nurse a new because Sam had been up when he was supposed to be on bedrest, Dean either ignored or didn’t notice the reserved tone she used to talk to him. More than likely, thought Sam, he didn’t care.

Sam had just begun to drift off when a nurse entered carrying gauze, tape and other things signaling time for dressing changes.

“No.” came out before he knew he’s spoken. “I want Dean to do it. Only Dean and no one else is to touch me.”

After giving Sam an intense look, Dean shrugged and the nurse and asked her to teach him what to do unaware this only intensified the negative view the staff had of him.

Deciding not to say anything at that moment, Dean changed the dressing and settled into a chair to see if Sam had anything he wanted to say or talk about. When Sam remained quiet, Dean began to worry.

Just as he was about to try to get a conversation going to see if he could get to the problem, another person entered for another treatment.

Again, Sam refused and demanded Dean take care of him. Quietly, he took care of Sam, wanting to fix whatever it was that needed fixing. Something was wrong and it ate at him while he waited for privacy to talk the problem out.


Once Sam was settled, Dean tried to coax him into explaining what was going on, but Sam was having none of it. He angrily rolled over and pretended to sleep.

Sighing, Dean sat back and racked his brain trying to figure this puzzle out. Normally, Sam was a good patient for a day or so then began to agitate to leave. This, though was something different.

Waiting till he thought Sam was asleep, Dean walked to the nurse’s station to see if they had some answers. A few minutes later, he was back in the room somewhat bewildered by the attitude he’s been shown by the staff.

Being ignored was one thing, but the rudeness when he was finally answered was a shock. Thinking back, he realized the staff had been acting strange for a couple of days, almost since Sam had been admitted. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t think of anything to have caused the situation. Sure, he’d been abrasive when they first came in, but he’d behaved since then and he knew Sam wouldn’t have deliberately done anything to cause this sort of problem.

With a jolt, he heard soft crying coming from under the blankets his baby brother had rolled himself into like a life size burrito.

“Sammy? What can I do? Please let me help.”

Dean was devastated when a broken “No, you can’t. it’s me, it’s always been me.” Came in such a sorrowful tone he felt his heart was aching.

Try as he would over the next few days, Dean couldn’t get Sam to open to him. He watched with an aching heart as Sam fell further quiet and more withdrawn.

Sam began to refuse to eat anything brought by the staff, so Dean took to bringing salads and other foods he knew Sam would eat. Even then, his brother often left more than half the meals uneaten.

He coaxed and cajoled Sam into drinking juice and water as much as possible.

Dean Winchester was experiencing a feeling he was not accustomed to: failure.

The next three days went much the same way. Sam refused all treatment unless Dean did them, refused to eat any meals brought by staff, and continued to bundle up in his covers like they were a cloak of invisibility.

In his mind the words went on and on.

Except they had morphed into
Shame he’s alive after all he’s done
He should cover up and hide from everyone
Ugly, ugly soul

Sam had always carried guilt on his broad shoulders, along with remorse, grief and sorrow. They were comfortable, familiar old friends.

This time, he was spiraling down into a dark place he was afraid he couldn’t leave.


Sam was reaching the point of being hysterical when staff entered the room by day four of his stay. He wasn’t seeing the compassion or concern in their eyes. No what he saw was disgust, unwillingness to help, or out and out hate.

Finally, he demanded Dean get him discharged or bring the paperwork for him to sign himself out.

Not wanting to upset his brother further, Dean hunted the Dr. down and asked about a discharge. When the Dr. became vocal about Sam staying in the hospital, he quietly walked to the station and demanded A.M.A. paperwork. After minutes of argument and plain old runaround, it was finally handed over.

As fast as he could manage, Sam dressed and left the room. Without stopping, he walked to the elevator, waited for Dean and left without a single word.

What neither brother knew was the hospital and Social Services were looking at possible ways to keep Dean from Sam.

They didn’t realize that would completely break the two brothers.

The ride back to the bunker took two days with the brothers stopping at night for a few hours’ rest at less than fashionable motels. Food had been drive through as Sam refused to stop. When Dean tried to push the issue by pulling into a diner, Sam simply refused to leave the car.

Sam also refused to have his dressings changed except in the privacy of their room. Dean had offered to stop along the way but the answer was an adamant “NO!”

Shame he’s alive after all he’s done
He should cover up and hide from everyone
Ugly, ugly soul

Sam tossed and turned at night hearing the words over and over. He couldn’t explain to Dean cause the thought of his brother perhaps feeling the same was more than he knew he could bear.

Being away from the hospital was helping though. Without the staff being around as a constant reminder of what he’d heard, he felt his head was clearing a little.

Still, all he wanted was home. Home seemed to have become a mental good luck talisman to him.

Sam found it funny in a sad sort of way that he’d never realized he thought of the bunker that way. He knew the Impala was home, but somehow the bunker with its doors and locks and mystical protection had hit that magic button as well. He felt safe there, even after Lucifer/ Cas, Billie and all. He just wanted to get there to try to regroup.

Sam wasn’t stupid by any means. He knew he was having a depressive episode. Intellectually he understood what was going on, but emotionally and physically he was caught in a vise of hurt.

He was scared he wouldn’t be able to climb out of the dark hole he felt he was in. He felt raw, as if everything was exposed for anyone to see.

He didn’t want food as it had no taste, he didn’t want to look Dean in the eyes afraid of what he’s see. It felt like trying to swim through jelly and knowing you were going to drown anyway no matter how hard you fought against the current.

He knew he was worrying Dean almost to a panic point, but he wanted HOME and wanted it now. Something was driving him to get to the bunker where he would be safe and out of sight.

Sighing a deep heartfelt sigh as the Impala pulled into the underground garage, Sam could feel relief thrumming through him as if it were a living, breathing entity.

He was so comforted to be home. He felt as if he could breath for the first time since this nightmare hunt had begun.

Opening the door into the bunker proper, the brothers walked through the kitchen and started toward their rooms.

Both were quiet, almost reverent in their steps.

Dean was grateful to be back in a familiar place after the past week or so. He wanted downtime to strategize how to deal with Sam and take care of whatever was bugging his younger brother. Make it better! Make it better! Make it better! Was something he lived and breathed body and soul where Sam was concerned. He knew his brother was an adult, capable in his own right, but the big brother prerogative never slept and never would.

Sam was just glad to be back in familiar surroundings where he felt he could take a deep breath properly for the first time in days, someplace where he could let his guard down somewhat and try to deal with the whirlwind in his mind. Calmer now, he needed to decompresses and get back on an even keel.
Sam Winchester trod slowly down the hallway of the MoL bunker mentally swearing that it got longer each time he went down it.

Tired, worn out, and less than deadly injured, all he wanted was a hot shower, something light to eat and drink and his bed.

As tired and hungry as he was, the siren call of strong water pressure, unlimited time with sore muscles under the hot spray and a clean hair of head came first.

‘Priorities Sam’ wryly came into his mind loud and clear. ‘Priorities.’

Walking past Dean’s room, he saw his older brother has simply walked in, laid down, and immediately gone to sleep still in his clothes and boots.

Softly laughing that he wasn’t the only one exhausted, he trudged to his room, grabbed clean towels and hit the showers.

Relaxed, and feeling much better, his mind clearer, after his shower, Sam padded his way to his bedroom after brushing his teeth and hair.

Walking over to the dirty clothes hamper, he happened to pause in front of one of his few indulgences. He never really understood why he had wanted the old full length mirror he saw in one of the thrift stores in Lebanon, but it had appealed to him.

The mirror seemed to carry pieces of history within it carved wood and polished reflective surface. It seemed to Sam to be, well dignified. He’d often wondered what stories the mirror could tell if it could talk.

Looking in the mirror, wearing nothing but a towel, he studied his reflection contemplating what the mirror might tell others of him. Smiling slightly at the flight of fancy, he went to turn away when something caught his eyes.

That something was a long scar on his left side from shoulder to navel. Cocking his head, he began to catalogue others he could either see or knew were present on. His body.

Scars, so many scars.

Long scar on left torso from a Chupacabra age 12.
Small scar right lower quadrant from appendicitis age 12.
Claw mark scars right side over lower ribs from a Werewolf age 13.
Scar over right eyebrow after being thrown by a witch into a curio cabinet age 14.
Left thigh jagged scar from a Wendigo age 15.
Right knee, a scar that looked like it had been made with a steel wool pad, Crocotta age 16.
Bite mark scar left neck, Ghoul age 16.
Right calf, Skinwalker age 17.
Right shoulder, Poltergeist age 22.
Small scars everywhere from Demons, Women in White, Black Annis, Rugaru, Vetala, Wraith and so on and so forth.

When Sam was growing up, he’d always dressed in layers to hide the multitude of scars and bruises one inevitably carried from hunting. What no one could see, no one could question or draw wrong conclusions. He felt less… vulnerable.

He’s continued that habit of dressing at Stanford. He knew Jessica had been shocked when she saw him naked the first time and never understood why she hadn’t asked. What could he have told her? The truth, a lie, pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about?

The truth was, he believed Jess thought he came out of an abusive home and since he never talked about his family, it had just seemed best to never correct her assumptions.

Jess. Even today, after so many years, just thinking of her caused an almost unbearable sadness. He’d loved her more than he had ever thought he was capable of loving anyone except Dean.

Along with the sorrow came regret. Regret for the lies, lies of omission, half-truths and keeping so much of who he was from her.

Regret for entering her life, believing he inadvertently caused her death.

Regret for what might have been if she’d lived and their lives had worked out as planned.

‘Scars, so many scars both physical and mental.’

Facing himself in the mirror, Sam, for the first time, visually contemplated the other scars his body carried. Those he rarely acknowledged and never discussed.

The scars from the cage. Unlike Dean, he hadn’t had his body rebuilt. It had come back to Earth bruised and bloody from his ‘lessons’ with the Archangels.

Keloid scars from whip marks marred the broad back, sharp, precise cut marks all over from having his skin removed, scars from beatings were littered everywhere. Random scars from cut marks made for fun or for the removal of internal bits and pieces. Scars above his eyelids because they were so often removed. Bloodied soles of his feet and palms of his hands showed the damage done. Scars all around the wrists from being restrained and fighting for his freedom. Scars from ice cold burns. A thin scar around his neck from strangling.

Scars from having sharp talon like claws randomly rip chunks of skin away or tear into his body to get to internal organs.

Mental scars from the agony he’d endured both physical and mental. Lucifer was the master of psychological abuse.

Being told “You’re useless, worthless, nothing,” eventually became a belief. The constant belittlement became gospel. The “Why didn’t you just accept your destiny?” became mantra. Sexual assault became routine.

Centuries of abuse were still being dealt with, often at night after nightmares of being trapped, abused and unable to escape. Many times, he awoke shaking in sheer terror before remembering he was here and not there.

Scars he couldn’t and wouldn’t ever talk about. His…penance he felt was to carry this alone since he’d never been able to forgive himself for the past.

Oh, he knew Dean had, Cas acted as his friend even if not on the same level as Dean. He could count Jody and Donna as friends. His mother, who he missed.

Grateful, he was so grateful for the people in his life who treated him as Sam, not as someone to distrust or be afraid of. Someone not to view with disgust.

Small mercies so treasured and held close in the dark.

There were others, though who hadn’t forgiven or forgotten. If they couldn’t, how could he?

Scars. So many scars. So many times, he asked himself which were worse, those he could see or those he could feel.

Thinking about it, Sam realized, with a shock, his scars recorded the story of his life. A life spent fighting evil things that preferred pain and suffering. Life that told of battles fought and battles lost and won. A life of sorrow and pain. A life with death as a constant companion.

Yet it was also a life of laughter with a much loved brother playing pranks on each other. A life of feeling safe so long as his brother was by his side supporting him and holding him steady. A life of joy for each person saved by their actions. A life of happiness when he spent time with friends, or reading in the vast library. There were times of contentment, pleasure, and glad of being alive.

Looking at his scars, his mind was barraged by other thoughts crowding in.

Long scar on left torso from a Chupacabra age 12. Angelo Moreno, victim rescued

Claw mark scars right side over lower ribs from a Werewolf age 13. The Mendelsohn family rescued, mom, dad, three kids

Scar over right eyebrow after being thrown by a witch into a curio cabinet age 14.
No more victims brutally murdered.

Left thigh jagged scar from a Wendigo age 15. Two campers rescued, one critically injured but she lived.

Right knee, a scar that looked like it had been made with a steel wool pad scrubbing vigorously, Crocotta age 16. Victoria McKee rescued. They still received Christmas cards from her at one of their many mail drop boxes.

Bite mark scar left neck, Ghoul age 16.
Donnie Holloway, injured but alive

Right calf, Skinwalker age 17. Billie tall Trees, last of his family saved from a vicious vendetta.

Right shoulder, Poltergeist age 22. The Jackson twins would never be harmed by the creature again.

So many other names and faces flashed into his memory. Men, women, children so many faces People HE had either saved or helped to save.

Scars from Lucifer and Michael meant no Apocalypse, the world saved for another time.

As he remembered the ones he had helped save, a small thought crossed his mind. As he turned it over and over to analyze, he reached revelation.

For the first time, Sam realized he was a SURVIVOR!! From that simple and complex acknowledgement came a sense of peace in longer than he could remember.

He’d endured the worst that could be thrown at him and he was still standing. He’d faced his enemies, and though often felt beat down, he was still in his feet.

Drawing up to his full height, Sam did something he rarely did. He looked straight into his own eyes, searching for what he might see.

Pain was there.
Grief and sorrow resided.
Suffering could be seen.
Guilt, a constant companion, was always present.

But, for the time in a long time, there was something else.

A sense of peace, acceptance, and a touch of self -respect shone in the hazel orbs as well. Small it may have been, but nonetheless present for him to see and perhaps grow.

Unaware Dean had woken, and was leaning on his doorframe, he startled at his brother’s voice.

“Sam, what are you doing?” was softly asked as if Dean realized something profound had happened.

Suddenly, he remembered an anthropology class he’d taken about Native Tribes. When studying the Plains Tribes, he’d learned about Counting Coup. Warriors won prestige by acts of bravery in the face of the enemy, which could be recorded in various ways and retold as stories.

Looking over his shoulder, Sam gave a joyous smile that seem to go on forever.

“I’m counting Coup, Dean. I’m counting Coup.”


Sept 11, 2001

The September 11 attacks killed 2,996 people and injured more than 6,000 others. Most were civilians, 71 law enforcement officers and 343 firefighters in NY, 1 law enforcement officer in Shanksville, PA, 55 military personnel who died at the Pentagon, and the 19 monsters who did this. 2,605 U.S. citizens of whom 2,135 were civilians. More than 90 countries lost citizens including the United Kingdom who lost 67 people, the Dominican Republic who lost 47 and India who lost 41 of her people. These non USA deaths made up about 12% of the total lost that day. 1140 people have been diagnosed with ca related to exposure to toxins from the attack, 1400 first responders have died of related injuries. 11 or more unborn babies were lost. We must never forget.

West Virginia Floods

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10843362_GFriday, June 24, 2016 09:33PM
CHARLESTON, West Virginia --
Powerful photos and video are emerging amid historic flooding in West Virginia that's left nearly two dozen people dead.

West Virginia Gov. Earl Ray Tomblin issued a state of emergency Thursday night for 44 counties in the state. Friday, the death toll grew to 23 across the state, West Virginia Homeland Security confirmed.

Significant flooding occurred in and around the state's capital, Charleston, where at least three of the deaths have been reported. But the most fatalities occurred in rural Greenbrier County in the southeastern part of the state, where officials said 15 people were killed.

State officials said the flooding is likely going to be the worst West Virginia has seen in 100 years.13498039_10208230143324246_7240672900292455398_o

Kern Co. Fire

Good thoughts asked

My best friend lives in Kern Co. here in California. There is a savage wildfire in the area, 2 confirmed dead, 3 firefighters injured. There are currently 800 firefighters on scene with several hundred more being rushed in. Over 19,000 acres burning and zero contained. Jill had to evacuate this am. The fire happened and spread so fast that people were literally fleeing for their lives. She has been informed her home is in the direct path of the fire and she will lose everything but what she was able to throw in the car and go. Please keep her in your thoughts.

West Virginia is suffering from severe flooding across the state. My aunt, cousin, and cousin in law so far are safe in Hurricane but that could change at any time. Please, also keep them in your thoughts.

Thank you.

Personal Opinion

Nomination Reaction
Yes, this is going to tick a lot of people off.
I have, as a general rule, voted conservative since I was able to vote. I have a habit of reading the speeches, watching the videos, etc
Bluntly Donald Trump scares me. His words, actions and the actions of some, not all, but some of his supporters remind me of another demagogue, (a political leader who seeks support by appealing to popular desires and prejudices rather than by using rational argument.) who came out of the extreme right.


Back in July, in an interview with NBC New reporter Katy Tur, Trump teased a wheelchair-bound opinion writer who had called the candidate “a rodeo clown.”

“I went out, I made a fortune, a big fortune, a tremendous fortune,” Trump told NBC News. “Then I get called by a guy that can’t buy a pair of pants, I get called names?”



mentally and physically disabled in the holocaust search browser
Action T4 - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

"We won with poorly educated. I love the poorly educated." –Donald Trump on his performance with poorly educated voters who helped him win the Nevada Caucus, Feb. 23, 2016
Read more at http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=196_1457722433#3xOW0fwYHjAtCqHO.99

How fortunate for governments that the people they administer don't think. Adolf Hitler
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/a/adolf_hitler.html

"What can be simpler or more accurately stated? The Mexican Government is forcing their most unwanted people into the United States. They are, in many cases, criminals, drug dealers, rapists, etc. (Press statement, 2015)

Was there any form of filth or profligacy, particularly in cultural life, without at least one Jew involved in it? If you cut even cautiously into such an abscess, you found, like a maggot in a rotting body, often dazzled by the sudden light - a kike!
Adolf Hitler
Mein Kampf

Obersalzberg Speech - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia (Poland's fate)

Riots at Trump Rallies
Riots at Hitler Rallies or rallies of his political enemies

There are other things I could say, but I think this is enough. DO I think he could cause another Holocaust or World War? No.
People say things like that can't happen in a democracy. I would like to remind people, Germany WAS a democracy until a racist, bigoted man took power.

Yes, you have the right to disagree, BUT I also have the right to disagree with you.