Fic: Sammy on My Mind
Sep. 13th, 2015 01:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
majestic_duxkTitle: Sam's not on my mind
Rating: T
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean, (unrelated wincest), Bobby/Ellen
Characters: Sam Campbell, Dean Winchester, John Winchester, Kevin, Bobby, Ellen, Mary Winchester, Castiel, OC
Kinks/Warning: amnesia, fluff, tooth rotting fluff, based on a movie, swearing, mild angst, mild mpreg, humour, slapstick violence, humour, slapstick humour, mpreg, mpreg references, mild mpreg
Synopsis: Sam has dreams. Dreams that don't involve his boat sinking on the other side of the island. Pissed off at the coastguard, he ends up at a rickety local diner and suddenly Sam has only one goal: to woo Dean. The problem? Dean can't remember Sam. Ever.
But Sam's up to the challenge, to somehow make a Sam shaped space in Dean's life.
a/n. I AM SO SORRY! I know this was an mpreg challenge, and mpreg ended up being such a tiny part of it. I did not choose a good movie for writing for this challenge, although I still did have a lot of fun. I hope that it is at least a little enjoyable! Unbeta'd due to disorganisation.
The breeze blew his hair into eyes, even as the salt spray spattered him. Despite this, he was hot, he was annoyed, and his boat was broken.
“So we can keep it here, but it’ll be another couple of hours before we can take it round to the marina.”
Incomprehension flooded Sam’s face. “What do you mean it’ll be another couple of hours?”
The coastguard shrugged. “Sorry Dr Campbell. You’re on shore, your safe, and that means you’re not a priority. So, see you in a few hours.” The coastguard’s radio sprang into live, emanating a cacophony of squawk and static. Glancing at Sam, the coastguard added sheepishly, “Probably.”
--oo--
Staring in disbelief as his boat slumped uselessly in the harbour, Sam cursed. He’d been working on that thing day and night, preparing himself for the next adventure. Instead of a successful inaugural voyage for The Impala (a boat he had shed blood, sweat and tears for), he was back at square one. Further back really. How off the board could he go?
Sam bemoaned the fates, wondering if the day get any worse? As the heavens opened up, Sam found that yes, yes it fucking well could. Cursing he held his captains log over his head as he looked around. He didn’t want to be here. He really wanted to get home… Just... be in his own house, in his own bed, eating his own ice cream, dreaming of his boating adventures. Instead, he was on the beach on the wrong side of waiting for the coast guard who were probably never going to rescue his boat. It would be stuck out in the bay forever. A monument to dreams that were, and never would be.
And even if they did eventually rescue his boat – and only God only knew how long they would be – this still put him totally behind schedule. Today marked – had marked – the start to the countdown of Sam’s journey of a lifetime. Six more months and he and his trusty steed would be sailing towards Alaska.
Instead his trusty steed had failed, balking at the first jump. It was even like he’d expected a lot. Just for damn thing to float. It was what boats fucking did!
Sighing, he headed up the beach. At least he could get a cup of coffee. He really hoped this side of the island had good coffee.
--oo--
“The Roadhouse?” It didn’t sound too touristy… but then again, there was a hula girl painted on the sign out front, while statues of various sizes surrounded it. Complete with plastic grass skirts, and plastic leis. Still, as Sam’s mother used to say, beggars can’t be choosers, and there weren’t any other options. Girding his loins, Sam walked in to be greeted with the beady eye from a very stern looking woman behind the bar.
Sam smiled with professional charm, but it didn’t melt the ice one bit. Shrugging, Sam examined the interior. It was an odd mix of traditional bar furniture and kitsch Hawaiian dancing girls. There was a pool table in the corner that had obviously seen better days: it was currently adorned with hibiscus flowers and more dancing girl statues. The clientele… well, the clientele definitely didn’t seem the grass skirt wearing type. More the hard bitten, hard drinking type.
It was early morning but more than one looked like they’d been here all night. So not really Sam’s type. That was ok. Sam was more than willing to sit and drink and think on the ills of the world. All alone. With only a coffee for a friend. Hopefully the coffee was drinkable…
Speaking of coffee, Sam turned his attention back to the woman behind the bar.
“Hi, could I grab a coffee? To drink here?”
Skilled hands dried the cup held firmly between two weathered hands, even as knowing eyes raked him from head to toe. Sam had the feeling he’d come up lacking. Still, she did nod.
“Fine. Sit over there,” a chin jerked in the direction of a table facing the road. “Bobby’ll bring your coffee when it’s ready.”
Blinking Sam didn’t move.
“You didn’t hear me, boy?”
“Ah… don’t you want to know how I want my… no… no… obviously you don’t. I’ll just… sit over here. Yeah…” he muttered to himself. “I’ll sit over here and wait for a coffee of dubious origin and content.”
His hopes weren’t high as he sat himself down. But that was this whole godforsaken day all over. Looking out the window, all he could see was grey clouds and rain. And a carpark full of cars that weren’t taking him home. He wallowed for a few moments – this really was the worst day ever – before he just felt bored. A quick look at his watched showed two minutes had passed. What the fuck? How was he supposed to pass hours here? Heaving a sigh, Sam stood, and with a defiant look back at the bar, sat on the opposite side of the table.
And it was better. If he looked out over the other customers heads, he could see the bay below them. Just. It was grey and bleak and if he looked closely he could see his useless hunk of boat.
Scowling, Sam donned his sunglasses and looked at the customers instead. Yeah, yeah, how pretentious, this way though, he could people watch in peace. He really wasn’t in a sociable mood... It wasn’t until his eyes focused on a rather charming looking man, Sam considered his options. An older man was there. Bobby, Sam decided, the one who would bring his coffee.
Eventually.
He didn’t appear in any hurry to leave the charming man. Instead he carefully placed a plate full of waffles and some ridiculously looking chocolate drink on the table. God, it really was ridiculous. Piled high with whipped cream, and sprinkles, and what looked like a whole bag of marshmallows on the side.
Sam’s not interested in a local boy, at least not as anything other than eye candy, but he can’t help but look: there wae watches as with intense concentration, the man takes his waffles and starts to construct a house. The simple move was both endearing and sexy, and Sam couldn't help himself.
Sauntering across the room, Sam slid into the seat opposite the man. Feeling the weight of owner’s eyes on him, Sam made sure to settle himself a little more comfortably. Leaning close, he studied the house before grabbing a toothpick and poking it in the apex.
Surprised green eyes found Sam’s, and Sam stared back seriously. “You’ll find the structural integrity is much greater if you support it even this little bit.”
Lips form the most delicious pout before the man dropped his eyes to the structure. He studied it intently before looking back at Sam.
“Strong enough to hold up a deluge of syrup rain?”
Sam forgot to respond, so caught up in the man’s voice. It was much deeper than he expected, manly, yet still sweeter than the syrup that the man was holding. It takes a moment to realise that there really is a jug of syrup above the house, and it’s tipped, ready to pour. And Sam was so fucking charmed by the challengingly cocked eye brow.
“What? That’s so high! The gravitational pull will exert extra pressure on the house. Surely you want to run a few trials?”
“Uh, uh, uh. It works or it doesn’t. Your permission to sit there depends on the structural soundness of this building.”
Sam holds his breath as the syrup falls. He can feel the weight of the room urging the building to fall. And it does wobble. It wobbles… but it holds. Sam’s face split in a huge grin.
“Looks like you stay.”
Smiling, Sam was about to turn on the charm, start his subtle flirtatious dance, when a cup was slammed onto the table in front of him. Jerking back with a growl, Sam glared up at the delivery boy.
“Coffee.”
What happened to the slow and careful from before? Dick, Sam thought as he mopped uselessly at his shirt.
“Bobby!” The beautiful mans’ voice was scolding, but he’s not angry. “You spilled it everywhere. Is that the sort of service we expect?”
“Sorry, son. Just checking out the idjit here.”
Sam would take offence – Sam does take offence – but he doesn’t show it. Because the soft smile the man turned on Bobby (cantankerous, annoying, old bastard. Honestly, how do they even keep the diner afloat if Bobby threatens all the decent paying customers?) was simply breathtaking.
“Awwww. You think I can’t look after myself.”
Shaking his head, Bobby mopped at the coffee, flicking as much as he can back onto Sam, whilst maintaining a threatening glare. Sam can’t help but be a little impressed at Bobby’s multitasking abilities.
The pretty man elbows Bobby. “Hey old man, I know what you’re doing?”
“And what’s that.”
The smile was just as captivating as the rest of him. “I don’t need you to look out for me – I can look out of myself.”
Funnily enough, Sam had no problem imagining that. The smile took on a slightly vicious edge, and Sam shivered. Definitely worth staying on the good side of that grin…
A large group of customers enter the Roadhouse, and the woman called for Bobby.
“How long does it take to deliver a coffee?”
Grumbling, Bobby retreated. But his eyes gave a warning Sam was all set to ignore. Especially as the man was still grinning at him.
“He’s just a bit protective. Like a second father really. I’d be careful not to get on his bad side.”
It was much too late for that, but Sam smiled, as he was meant to. “I’ll do my best… Uh, actually I don’t know we’ve been introduced. My name’s Sam.”
Sam reached across the table, hand held out. Green eyes stared at it a moment, before grasping Sam’s hand firmly. It was a good handshake. And that was a fine hand. A little work worn and calloused, but with sensitive fingers.
“Dean.”
Dean. Sam smiled to himself, but before he could test the waters, a muffled spluttering drew his attention.
Dean laughs bigger than before. “Protective and a grump. Just ignore him!”
Nodding, Sam tries to think of a way to continue the conversation, but Bobby beat him to it.
“Don’t you need to get back, Dean? Not saying that your daddy wants you there for your birthday…”
“It’s your birthday?”
Dean grins big. “Every January 24.”
Frowning, Sam went to speak, but was interrupted – yet again.
“Of you go, boy. Tell your daddy and Kevin hi from us.”
“Will do, Ellen!”
Dean doesn’t seem too upset about being hustled away, and Sam pouts. He can’t help it. It’s been a fucked up day, and Dean has been the only silver lining, now he’s being taken away.
Dean’s up and almost at the door when he turns back. “What say we do lunch tomorrow, Sam? Same time, same place?”
Stunned, Sam forgot to nod until Dean was out the door. He hadn’t thought he’d made that much of an impression! Throwing money on the table, Sam stood to leave. No point hanging around here. Maybe he could hitch a ride back to town? But - the lady - Ellen stops him.
“I don’t think you should come back tomorrow. That’s just asking for trouble”
Sam felt his hackles rising. It’s none of their business. The owners, and Sam felt sure they owned the place, are unreasonably protective. Dean is a grown man after all. “Dean asked me, and surely that’s up to him?”
Without giving her a chance to respond, Sam was out the door. Maybe he’ll walk home. Fuck waiting around. But whatever happens, he’ll be back tomorrow.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
Rating: T
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean, (unrelated wincest), Bobby/Ellen
Characters: Sam Campbell, Dean Winchester, John Winchester, Kevin, Bobby, Ellen, Mary Winchester, Castiel, OC
Kinks/Warning: amnesia, fluff, tooth rotting fluff, based on a movie, swearing, mild angst, mild mpreg, humour, slapstick violence, humour, slapstick humour, mpreg, mpreg references, mild mpreg
Synopsis: Sam has dreams. Dreams that don't involve his boat sinking on the other side of the island. Pissed off at the coastguard, he ends up at a rickety local diner and suddenly Sam has only one goal: to woo Dean. The problem? Dean can't remember Sam. Ever.
But Sam's up to the challenge, to somehow make a Sam shaped space in Dean's life.
a/n. I AM SO SORRY! I know this was an mpreg challenge, and mpreg ended up being such a tiny part of it. I did not choose a good movie for writing for this challenge, although I still did have a lot of fun. I hope that it is at least a little enjoyable! Unbeta'd due to disorganisation.
The breeze blew his hair into eyes, even as the salt spray spattered him. Despite this, he was hot, he was annoyed, and his boat was broken.
“So we can keep it here, but it’ll be another couple of hours before we can take it round to the marina.”
Incomprehension flooded Sam’s face. “What do you mean it’ll be another couple of hours?”
The coastguard shrugged. “Sorry Dr Campbell. You’re on shore, your safe, and that means you’re not a priority. So, see you in a few hours.” The coastguard’s radio sprang into live, emanating a cacophony of squawk and static. Glancing at Sam, the coastguard added sheepishly, “Probably.”
--oo--
Staring in disbelief as his boat slumped uselessly in the harbour, Sam cursed. He’d been working on that thing day and night, preparing himself for the next adventure. Instead of a successful inaugural voyage for The Impala (a boat he had shed blood, sweat and tears for), he was back at square one. Further back really. How off the board could he go?
Sam bemoaned the fates, wondering if the day get any worse? As the heavens opened up, Sam found that yes, yes it fucking well could. Cursing he held his captains log over his head as he looked around. He didn’t want to be here. He really wanted to get home… Just... be in his own house, in his own bed, eating his own ice cream, dreaming of his boating adventures. Instead, he was on the beach on the wrong side of waiting for the coast guard who were probably never going to rescue his boat. It would be stuck out in the bay forever. A monument to dreams that were, and never would be.
And even if they did eventually rescue his boat – and only God only knew how long they would be – this still put him totally behind schedule. Today marked – had marked – the start to the countdown of Sam’s journey of a lifetime. Six more months and he and his trusty steed would be sailing towards Alaska.
Instead his trusty steed had failed, balking at the first jump. It was even like he’d expected a lot. Just for damn thing to float. It was what boats fucking did!
Sighing, he headed up the beach. At least he could get a cup of coffee. He really hoped this side of the island had good coffee.
--oo--
“The Roadhouse?” It didn’t sound too touristy… but then again, there was a hula girl painted on the sign out front, while statues of various sizes surrounded it. Complete with plastic grass skirts, and plastic leis. Still, as Sam’s mother used to say, beggars can’t be choosers, and there weren’t any other options. Girding his loins, Sam walked in to be greeted with the beady eye from a very stern looking woman behind the bar.
Sam smiled with professional charm, but it didn’t melt the ice one bit. Shrugging, Sam examined the interior. It was an odd mix of traditional bar furniture and kitsch Hawaiian dancing girls. There was a pool table in the corner that had obviously seen better days: it was currently adorned with hibiscus flowers and more dancing girl statues. The clientele… well, the clientele definitely didn’t seem the grass skirt wearing type. More the hard bitten, hard drinking type.
It was early morning but more than one looked like they’d been here all night. So not really Sam’s type. That was ok. Sam was more than willing to sit and drink and think on the ills of the world. All alone. With only a coffee for a friend. Hopefully the coffee was drinkable…
Speaking of coffee, Sam turned his attention back to the woman behind the bar.
“Hi, could I grab a coffee? To drink here?”
Skilled hands dried the cup held firmly between two weathered hands, even as knowing eyes raked him from head to toe. Sam had the feeling he’d come up lacking. Still, she did nod.
“Fine. Sit over there,” a chin jerked in the direction of a table facing the road. “Bobby’ll bring your coffee when it’s ready.”
Blinking Sam didn’t move.
“You didn’t hear me, boy?”
“Ah… don’t you want to know how I want my… no… no… obviously you don’t. I’ll just… sit over here. Yeah…” he muttered to himself. “I’ll sit over here and wait for a coffee of dubious origin and content.”
His hopes weren’t high as he sat himself down. But that was this whole godforsaken day all over. Looking out the window, all he could see was grey clouds and rain. And a carpark full of cars that weren’t taking him home. He wallowed for a few moments – this really was the worst day ever – before he just felt bored. A quick look at his watched showed two minutes had passed. What the fuck? How was he supposed to pass hours here? Heaving a sigh, Sam stood, and with a defiant look back at the bar, sat on the opposite side of the table.
And it was better. If he looked out over the other customers heads, he could see the bay below them. Just. It was grey and bleak and if he looked closely he could see his useless hunk of boat.
Scowling, Sam donned his sunglasses and looked at the customers instead. Yeah, yeah, how pretentious, this way though, he could people watch in peace. He really wasn’t in a sociable mood... It wasn’t until his eyes focused on a rather charming looking man, Sam considered his options. An older man was there. Bobby, Sam decided, the one who would bring his coffee.
Eventually.
He didn’t appear in any hurry to leave the charming man. Instead he carefully placed a plate full of waffles and some ridiculously looking chocolate drink on the table. God, it really was ridiculous. Piled high with whipped cream, and sprinkles, and what looked like a whole bag of marshmallows on the side.
Sam’s not interested in a local boy, at least not as anything other than eye candy, but he can’t help but look: there wae watches as with intense concentration, the man takes his waffles and starts to construct a house. The simple move was both endearing and sexy, and Sam couldn't help himself.
Sauntering across the room, Sam slid into the seat opposite the man. Feeling the weight of owner’s eyes on him, Sam made sure to settle himself a little more comfortably. Leaning close, he studied the house before grabbing a toothpick and poking it in the apex.
Surprised green eyes found Sam’s, and Sam stared back seriously. “You’ll find the structural integrity is much greater if you support it even this little bit.”
Lips form the most delicious pout before the man dropped his eyes to the structure. He studied it intently before looking back at Sam.
“Strong enough to hold up a deluge of syrup rain?”
Sam forgot to respond, so caught up in the man’s voice. It was much deeper than he expected, manly, yet still sweeter than the syrup that the man was holding. It takes a moment to realise that there really is a jug of syrup above the house, and it’s tipped, ready to pour. And Sam was so fucking charmed by the challengingly cocked eye brow.
“What? That’s so high! The gravitational pull will exert extra pressure on the house. Surely you want to run a few trials?”
“Uh, uh, uh. It works or it doesn’t. Your permission to sit there depends on the structural soundness of this building.”
Sam holds his breath as the syrup falls. He can feel the weight of the room urging the building to fall. And it does wobble. It wobbles… but it holds. Sam’s face split in a huge grin.
“Looks like you stay.”
Smiling, Sam was about to turn on the charm, start his subtle flirtatious dance, when a cup was slammed onto the table in front of him. Jerking back with a growl, Sam glared up at the delivery boy.
“Coffee.”
What happened to the slow and careful from before? Dick, Sam thought as he mopped uselessly at his shirt.
“Bobby!” The beautiful mans’ voice was scolding, but he’s not angry. “You spilled it everywhere. Is that the sort of service we expect?”
“Sorry, son. Just checking out the idjit here.”
Sam would take offence – Sam does take offence – but he doesn’t show it. Because the soft smile the man turned on Bobby (cantankerous, annoying, old bastard. Honestly, how do they even keep the diner afloat if Bobby threatens all the decent paying customers?) was simply breathtaking.
“Awwww. You think I can’t look after myself.”
Shaking his head, Bobby mopped at the coffee, flicking as much as he can back onto Sam, whilst maintaining a threatening glare. Sam can’t help but be a little impressed at Bobby’s multitasking abilities.
The pretty man elbows Bobby. “Hey old man, I know what you’re doing?”
“And what’s that.”
The smile was just as captivating as the rest of him. “I don’t need you to look out for me – I can look out of myself.”
Funnily enough, Sam had no problem imagining that. The smile took on a slightly vicious edge, and Sam shivered. Definitely worth staying on the good side of that grin…
A large group of customers enter the Roadhouse, and the woman called for Bobby.
“How long does it take to deliver a coffee?”
Grumbling, Bobby retreated. But his eyes gave a warning Sam was all set to ignore. Especially as the man was still grinning at him.
“He’s just a bit protective. Like a second father really. I’d be careful not to get on his bad side.”
It was much too late for that, but Sam smiled, as he was meant to. “I’ll do my best… Uh, actually I don’t know we’ve been introduced. My name’s Sam.”
Sam reached across the table, hand held out. Green eyes stared at it a moment, before grasping Sam’s hand firmly. It was a good handshake. And that was a fine hand. A little work worn and calloused, but with sensitive fingers.
“Dean.”
Dean. Sam smiled to himself, but before he could test the waters, a muffled spluttering drew his attention.
Dean laughs bigger than before. “Protective and a grump. Just ignore him!”
Nodding, Sam tries to think of a way to continue the conversation, but Bobby beat him to it.
“Don’t you need to get back, Dean? Not saying that your daddy wants you there for your birthday…”
“It’s your birthday?”
Dean grins big. “Every January 24.”
Frowning, Sam went to speak, but was interrupted – yet again.
“Of you go, boy. Tell your daddy and Kevin hi from us.”
“Will do, Ellen!”
Dean doesn’t seem too upset about being hustled away, and Sam pouts. He can’t help it. It’s been a fucked up day, and Dean has been the only silver lining, now he’s being taken away.
Dean’s up and almost at the door when he turns back. “What say we do lunch tomorrow, Sam? Same time, same place?”
Stunned, Sam forgot to nod until Dean was out the door. He hadn’t thought he’d made that much of an impression! Throwing money on the table, Sam stood to leave. No point hanging around here. Maybe he could hitch a ride back to town? But - the lady - Ellen stops him.
“I don’t think you should come back tomorrow. That’s just asking for trouble”
Sam felt his hackles rising. It’s none of their business. The owners, and Sam felt sure they owned the place, are unreasonably protective. Dean is a grown man after all. “Dean asked me, and surely that’s up to him?”
Without giving her a chance to respond, Sam was out the door. Maybe he’ll walk home. Fuck waiting around. But whatever happens, he’ll be back tomorrow.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
Tags:
- attribute: au,
- attribute: crack,
- attribute: fluff,
- attribute: humour,
- attribute: mild angst,
- attribute: schmoop,
- character: bobby singer,
- character: castiel,
- character: dean winchester,
- character: john winchester,
- character: ofc,
- character: omc,
- character: sam winchester,
- fandom: supernatural,
- kink: humour,
- kink: implied bottom!alphas,
- kink: mpreg,
- kink: mpreg!dean,
- kink: no sex,
- kink: schmoop,
- part 1,
- rating: pg,
- status: complete,
- warning: mild violence
