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I don't know how you people with lots of WIPs do it! This also does not include the RoboSam/Dean story that I have basically written in my head and may well write out if no one else produces it for me. (Get on that, fandom!)
With bonus fragments.
chuckspn:
Sarah grabbed him before he could get two steps into the Castle. She squeezed his arm, released, squeeze-squeeze, and before he could consciously process the touch he flashed on Morse code—which, kind of embarrassing, when he was a geeky kid he totally knew Morse code without having to cheat with a database in his head, but flashers couldn’t be choosers (and didn’t that sound wrong)—anyway, she was squeezing out “We need to talk,” which was plenty disturbing all on its own. If Sarah thought it wasn’t safe to be mysterious and foreboding out loud in the Castle, then they weren’t just on their own; they were ‘Kevin Costner in No Way Out' on their own.
grace2 (so far jossed there's really no hope):
The light and the noise cut off like Dean had been shut in a box, except that when he blinked, he could see normally and they were in a completely different place, a motel room lit golden by a late afternoon sun. Sam was standing about five feet away, staring at Dean with stunned and hungry eyes, and if it hadn’t been for the white-eyed little girl forming the third point of a triangle with them Dean might have wondered for a moment if he’d gotten to go to Heaven after all, even after failing to stop Lucifer.
“There,” the girl said, tilting her head flirtatiously. “Done.” He could just hear her over the ringing in his ears.
orig demon possession:
Theo is ten years old and his parents have gone crazy.
sexybaldmen (concept with Yahtzee):
The kid frowned, an operation that enlisted his entire face, not just the thick brows and big hazel eyes. "I don't think you should be doing that. There are terrorists in the building, you know."
"I know," Logan said, turning back to his work, and drew his claws through the metal, finishing one side of the cut. "I'm gonna get them out."
He didn't hear the kid scramble up, but suddenly there was a big denimed presence beside him.
"Look, kid –"
The boy knelt and stretched out his hand to the cut Logan had made. Then he stuck his fingers into the gap, ignoring the sharp edges, and pulled. Logan didn't gape as the metal peeled back like the top of a sardine tin, but he did look harder at the kid. No obvious mutation, unless you counted being disgustingly good-looking, with cheekbones that looked sharp enough to draw blood. Considering what the kid had just accomplished, that wasn't out of the question.
"I'm going to help, too." His challenging frown would have made Kitty and Jubilee swoon from all the heroism.
waiting:
If anything, Dean looked worse now than he had when he’d shown up. His stubble was thicker, which was yummy if you liked that kind of thing, but his eyes looked bruised, his forehead ridged with lines of weariness and fear. Willow, her protective instincts now overriding her native shyness around a boy—person—she liked, was hovering by his shoulder, her hands occasionally reaching out almost far enough to pat him. But he looked like he was likely to shred like cheap pantyhose at the slightest touch.
“They’re dead,” he said, looking away from the computer screen, his face almost blue in the reflected glow.
Which was awful, but she really did need more information. “Who?”
He shrugged and leaned back in his chair; Willow eeped and moved a bit to the side. “Everybody who knew my mom. Her parents. She wasn’t close to her uncle, but he died not long after she was buried. Her high school teachers. George Foreman, the guy she went to the prom with—”
Buffy opened her mouth. “Not that George Foreman,” Willow said quickly. “Just another George Foreman.”
With bonus fragments.
chuckspn:
Sarah grabbed him before he could get two steps into the Castle. She squeezed his arm, released, squeeze-squeeze, and before he could consciously process the touch he flashed on Morse code—which, kind of embarrassing, when he was a geeky kid he totally knew Morse code without having to cheat with a database in his head, but flashers couldn’t be choosers (and didn’t that sound wrong)—anyway, she was squeezing out “We need to talk,” which was plenty disturbing all on its own. If Sarah thought it wasn’t safe to be mysterious and foreboding out loud in the Castle, then they weren’t just on their own; they were ‘Kevin Costner in No Way Out' on their own.
grace2 (so far jossed there's really no hope):
The light and the noise cut off like Dean had been shut in a box, except that when he blinked, he could see normally and they were in a completely different place, a motel room lit golden by a late afternoon sun. Sam was standing about five feet away, staring at Dean with stunned and hungry eyes, and if it hadn’t been for the white-eyed little girl forming the third point of a triangle with them Dean might have wondered for a moment if he’d gotten to go to Heaven after all, even after failing to stop Lucifer.
“There,” the girl said, tilting her head flirtatiously. “Done.” He could just hear her over the ringing in his ears.
orig demon possession:
Theo is ten years old and his parents have gone crazy.
sexybaldmen (concept with Yahtzee):
The kid frowned, an operation that enlisted his entire face, not just the thick brows and big hazel eyes. "I don't think you should be doing that. There are terrorists in the building, you know."
"I know," Logan said, turning back to his work, and drew his claws through the metal, finishing one side of the cut. "I'm gonna get them out."
He didn't hear the kid scramble up, but suddenly there was a big denimed presence beside him.
"Look, kid –"
The boy knelt and stretched out his hand to the cut Logan had made. Then he stuck his fingers into the gap, ignoring the sharp edges, and pulled. Logan didn't gape as the metal peeled back like the top of a sardine tin, but he did look harder at the kid. No obvious mutation, unless you counted being disgustingly good-looking, with cheekbones that looked sharp enough to draw blood. Considering what the kid had just accomplished, that wasn't out of the question.
"I'm going to help, too." His challenging frown would have made Kitty and Jubilee swoon from all the heroism.
waiting:
If anything, Dean looked worse now than he had when he’d shown up. His stubble was thicker, which was yummy if you liked that kind of thing, but his eyes looked bruised, his forehead ridged with lines of weariness and fear. Willow, her protective instincts now overriding her native shyness around a boy—person—she liked, was hovering by his shoulder, her hands occasionally reaching out almost far enough to pat him. But he looked like he was likely to shred like cheap pantyhose at the slightest touch.
“They’re dead,” he said, looking away from the computer screen, his face almost blue in the reflected glow.
Which was awful, but she really did need more information. “Who?”
He shrugged and leaned back in his chair; Willow eeped and moved a bit to the side. “Everybody who knew my mom. Her parents. She wasn’t close to her uncle, but he died not long after she was buried. Her high school teachers. George Foreman, the guy she went to the prom with—”
Buffy opened her mouth. “Not that George Foreman,” Willow said quickly. “Just another George Foreman.”
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I wish you would write that Robo!Sam story so I don't have to write mine, please?
I'd like very much to read that last one.
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The last one is not too far from done, actually, when I get some serious time to pay attention to it.
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He wants Dean, but he can’t remember why. Oh, he knows why, but only distantly. The visceral need for Dean, to be at his side, is absent, and Sam wonders if Dean is dead.