Archive for the 'Right Up There' Category

Right Up There: Boys of Summer; Summer out of Reach

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Boys of Summer; Summer out of Reach by Liath.


Two lovely stories that tell the about the last four years before Sam goes to Stanford. Naturally, they are sad, mournful works that make me feel so bad for Sam, and just as bad for Dean. Of course, this particular story can’t (or hasn’t) been told any other way – not with episodes like Dead Man’s Blood that give clear and canonical evidence that Sam left home (such as it was) under a cloud and that his father (The Dad) told him if he was going he should stay gone. This has given rise to many many fanfic about how subversive Sam was while going about applying for Standford, how he kept it a secret, how he needed to get away, how badly he wanted normal.

The topic is a big lump of delicious clay that keeps getting reworked, and each time aknew, and it’s always sad. I’ve yet to read a fanfic where the going away was happy between Sam and Dean (and, because of canon, it can never be between Sam and The Dad), and frankly if I did encounter it, I wouldn’t believe it.

Enough of that. The strength of these two stories, one from Sam’s POV, the other from Dean’s, is the description. Weather comes into play a lot, creating an atmosphere where you get the feeling that the sky over their heads is the only constant in their lives. The Dad is gone a lot, but even when he’s there, the boys can’t take their eyes off each other. Dean does his best to resist Sammy, pushes him away even, but you know, no one can resist Sam. The writing is lyrical, and even though each story mirrors the other, they don’t repeat, which is difficult to do. Marvelous phrasing, though I got lost a bit in Sam’s story, mostly because Sam himself doesn’t have the maturity of thought that his older brother does. They certainly look at the small towns they stay in in different ways.

Some good quotes:

“That night Sam looks out at the moon shining off the Impala’s hood, and he wonders what it looks like flying through the New Mexico desert at a hundred miles an hour.” (What an image. It’s like a complete painting, or a photograph, all in one sentence.)

“It’s just past dusk, and the crickets are out full force, complementing the rattle of the cicadas in the thick spread of trees and kudzu. The only lights beyond the house are the lazy blink of fireflies in the field. Sam joins Dean on the porch, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He’s given up trying to keep his hair out of his face. No matter what he does it curls and plasters itself back across his forehead. He misses being teased for it.”

“It’s day by day now, and Sam doesn’t know anymore, doesn’t know if he’s what Dean is really looking for, what he will be content to find. Some nights, when Dean fucks him into the mattress and leaves him raw and spent, stomach slick with his own come, Sam thinks that something’s gone terribly wrong. Then Dean’s arms wrap around him, crush Sam against his chest so tightly that it almost, almost makes sense. But Sam thinks what he needs and what he wants to be are supposed to be the same thing.”

“He stands, Sam a wall in front of him, and all he has is, “You’re my brother, Sam.” And it’s the sickest thing he’s ever said.”

That last one gets to me very much. It’s a sick thing to say because it admits what is going on between them WITHOUT Dean acutally saying it. How clever is that, I ask you?

Right Up There: For My Next Trick

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For My Next Trick by nutkin.


Just about the saddest coming of age story ever. Sam is seaching for normal, not just searching but desperately so. Every avenue, every coffee mug, every small town and he wants it. He’s so wanting it, and yet he knows what getting it will mean. Leaving Dean behind. Makes me want to cry. Hard.


“They pull out of Gillespie on a Thursday, one week before the students of GHS are released for Christmas vacation. Sam cleans out his locker carelessly, dumping crumpled bits of paper and chewed-up pens into a cardboard box that finds its way to the trash before he even leaves the premises; he cleans out his bedroom methodically, slowly, tempted to tuck some bits of it into his duffel bag to remember Molly’s carefully organized life. He doesn’t; that’s not the kind of person he is. He just runs his fingers over the spines of her books, admires the line of spelling bee trophies, and climbs into the passenger seat of the car.

When he was a kid, there was this air of temporary to everything they did. It was like they were all waiting for the end to come in sight. Maybe next year, they’d have found the thing – maybe next year they could buy a little house, get back in school regular. Maybe next year the mission would be over with, Mom would be vindicated, and everything could go back to normal.

Now they don’t even pretend; Dad plants a pile of documents down on a flimsy motel room table, explaining that the Lee Nelson estate is haunted once a year, and a grizzly death is guaranteed for anyone to spends the night. There’s not even the pretense of it being something more, of having a connection to what they’re actually looking for, what they beat the pavement in search of every day.

Dean perks up when they’re on the road, like the places between power lines are the places he feels the most at home. He doesn’t even dose himself with No-Doz like their dad does; he just powers through, endless hours parked behind the steering wheel.

They stop for makeshift breakfasts at convenience stores – donuts and orange juice from a can. Soon they will have weaned themselves completely from the normalcy of a morning with newspapers and beverages that wake you up, ease you into your day. Soon they will drink Mountain Dew – Surge, where Dean can find it – and chew on potato chips, M&Ms, laugh at how they don’t have to eat cereal and bagels like everyone else. For now they’re close enough to the memories of Caleb’s sun-dappled kitchen that it’s not much of a stretch, and Sam gets a single-serving carton of milk.”

Right Up There: Hunger of Old Mouths

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Hunger of Old Mouths by plutogirl10.


Starts off slow. Sam and Dean go south, and run into a guy who wants to rule the world or something. I got to wondering if it was slash at all, or if I had misread the link. Then Dean goes and does something stupid, and loving, and exchanges his sould for Sam’s. The only way Sam can get him out of this is by possessing him, literally and figuratively. There’s blood ritual and semen sacrifice and it’s so beautifully done…slow paced and careful and lyrical and humming with love. It all works out right in the end, or as well as it can for a Winchester. Sheesh. Stuff like this can make you want to stop writing forever, cause, why bother when there’s this out there?

““You said my name,” Sam whispers rough in Dean’s ear, desperate for him to know. “Do you know that, Dean? Last night, you said my name.”

Whatever Sam thinks he should be feeling, it’s all replaced with total reverence when Dean makes the gentlest sound imaginable and bucks, shuddering apart in Sam’s arms, control finally gone. Sam feels every tremble imprint itself into his skin, they’re pressed so close together, and it carries him along with it, leaves him dazed. It takes him some time to register the sticky warmth clinging to his stomach and over his hand.”

Right Up There: Plutogirl10’s Fic

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Lesson Learnt

Bennu to Benben, Again


Slash and then some. Reading this I realize how easy it is to become jaded by this type of fiction and how some writers can take you past that and make it wonderful. There is hotness and there is hotness. These two stories don’t have a plot, really, but I think that’s the point. Or beyond it, the sleepy, in bed interlude is just perfect as it is. Should this go on my Guilty Pleasure list because there’s no plot? Probably. But here it is on the Right Up There list, simply because it was so effective at what it does. Sam and Dean in bed, doing you know what. Doing it in such a giving way, without any girlyness, but with love. Oh man. All sex should be this good.

“Sam leans back to brace an arm behind him on the mattress. Eyes fixed on Dean’s face, he reaches for Dean’s dick – definitely not half asleep anymore – and before he can make sense of it, Dean feels moist warmth settle over him, hovering just there, like a promise of something that Sam will never go back on.”


“And in today’s class, Dean learns how to ask for what he wants.

It shouldn’t be as hard as it is. Sam won’t say no, has never said it, and will never say it; Dean knows that as well as he knows this isn’t a game. That’s not the point. He’s breathing harder, and this time it’s not all from arousal. Sam senses his discomfort, of course he does, but he doesn’t move and doesn’t say anything. The thing is, Dean knows he doesn’t have to ask. Knows Sam would let him off the hook if he pushed it.”

So giving, this story. Both of them. Joy.   

Right Up There: Into the Woods

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Into the Woods by plutogirl10.


I didn’t know Dean could call Sam “baby” and have it be so hot. It’s not a word I think about that way, and yet, it works. This fic is an interlude in the woods that happens after the boys do a training session, where naughty things happen in such a hot way, I’m searching for a cold shower even now. Part of the fun is because Dean doesn’t want to, and Sam does.

Part of the fun is also watching Dean give in, as he usually does, and the lengths to which he will go to give Sam exactly what he wants, and how he wants it, because no one knows better what Sam wants than Dean. Twisted? Yes, definately. I’m almost mortified by how worked up this story got me. Where’s that dark haired stranger when I need him? Whew. Is it hot in here, or is it just me. Anyway, the story was fun and, yeah, hot, and well done.

“Sam’s tongue moves over his mouth, laps across the swell of his lip before licking his way inside, cold tip of his nose pressing into Dean’s cheek, and everything is warm and delicious as Dean feels his insides melt. The boy knows how to kiss, and Dean’s not sure if he should be proud, seeing as Sam learnt from him.” 

And this whole bit, included here for your reading pleasure. I believe the correct term for the reaction I had was, “Guh.”

“‘Please,’ Sam whimpers, fingers scrabbling at Dean’s collar as he lifts a leg to straddle Dean’s knee, pressing himself onto Dean’s thigh and pumping desperately. ‘Please, Dean, please -’


‘Okay,’ Dean breathes, wondering if he ever had a chance. ‘Slow, Sam. You hear me?’


And Sam nods frantically, but he’s already pulling Dean’s hand up to his mouth, lips closing around Dean’s middle finger and suckling, thick velvet slide of his tongue, teeth chewing on the digit. Warm, wet, silken mouth pulsing around him, and Dean has to bite his cheek to stop himself from making an embarrassing noise. He tugs his hand away, a thin glimmer of saliva stretching from Sam’s lips, and he quickly replaces his finger with his mouth, hungry, starved.


He pulls Sam closer, hitching his thigh up between Sam’s legs and lets his hand trail into the curve of Sam’s back, slips down further to push gently between soft flesh. His finger eases down, and Dean feels his dick jump at the touch of fine hairs and smooth-taut skin before he finds soft heat and presses in, into the tight grip of Sam’s young body.


‘Dean-’ Sam whimpers, biting his lip and muscles clenching around Dean’s finger.


‘Don’t, baby,’ Dean murmurs and touches Sam’s mouth with his free hand, thumbing at his bottom lip and easing it out from between white teeth. ‘You have to relax for me, okay?’”

Right Up There: Summer Blackout

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Summer Blackout by nutkin.


This writer has the characters down, and the situations she puts them in are realistic and slow without being draggy or boring. When I read this fic, I got swept up in the little backwoods town where the boys find themselves, virtually fatherless, for a hot, Arkansas summer. And, being boys, being brothers, they’ve got their ways when Dad is not around. They drink his stash, they watch illicit porn, they spend food money on video games. And then they, you know, fool around. Here the realisim enters to the point where I can SEE it in front of my face.

Here are some quotes to tempt you:

“Most importantly, there’s nothing creepy about the place. Everything seems a bit trapped in time, but there’s no evil here. No foreboding buildings, no local lore of any kind. The most notable story in town is that Church of the Good Shepherd was once part of the congregation of Church of Nazareth, and had broken off in 1974. People are still scandalized.”

“Sam’s birthday is observed perfunctorily – a cake from the supermarket. Balloons Dean picks up on the same trip for the cake, because blowing them up in rapid succession until they’re totally lightheaded is something of a tradition. It’s also something of a tradition that the person one year closer to death gets to pick what’s for dinner. This usually means making the choice between Cracker Barrel or Applebee’s, but since they’re actually in a house this year, Sam smirks and says he wants hamburgers.” (The part that makes me laugh is the “person who is one year closer to death” part!)

“When John comes in, Dean’s still wearing his apron. They’re both nearly soaked through, and Dean’s got Sam flung over one shoulder, howling with laughter. He’s shaking him upside down, and the contents of Sam’s pockets have already fallen to the floor – quarters rolling off under the refrigerator and crumpled pieces of paper under Dean’s feet.

“And what in the hell is going on here?” he asks, folding his arms and taking in the soapy, damp mess.

“Cooking,” Sam says thickly, from somewhere around Dean’s knees.”

“Sam’s expression teeters between a grin and that same look of focus, the look he gets when he’s studying for something. Figuring something out. It’s so Sam, so little-brother-Sam that Dean wants to tell him about the alternate reality thing, make him stop – but then Sam’s sliding down and looking up at him with those large, dark eyes, tugging his cock from his boxers and still fisting it. For whatever reason, he can’t quite believe that Sam’s going to do it, but then his tongue is against the head of Dean’s prick, and he has never felt anything, anything that good. His lips drag along the tip, so Dean can feel the velveteen smoothness of the skin just inside them, and then he’s opening wider and just sliding him in.”

The whole of this story is so nicely done, I wanted it to continue.

Right Up There: Driving Down the Darkness

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Driving Down the Darkness by nutkin


Oh, man. This story was perfect. It had no flaws. It was 40,000 words of pure goodness. I think what I liked best was the slow pacing and the atmosphere of normalcy in which the relationship built up. There was no slap dashed-ness to this. The story covers the first season by the end of which Sam and Dean are together, replete with all the “this is wrong, this is so wrong” angst that makes it so real for me and that I love so well.

At first I wondered how an author could actually pull it off, following through every ep and making coda scenes out of it, but it worked. In a few places the writer actually writes out the actual scene and gives us the interior thoughts, including the all important scene from Provenance, when Sam says “It’s not just Jess.” Always wondered what he meant by that, now I know.

 The writing is solid and good and descriptive in the right places. A pleasure to read all the way through. This woman knows her craft. Here’s a quote:

“The truth is, there had been times at school when he really wished they weren’t out here waiting for him. He wished the stories he told were true – a childhood spent traveling because of work, a drunk father, a brother who didn’t care. He wished he could sweep the truth under the rug and believe the lies. It would have made his life so much easier, and there were ugly times when he wished they’d just disappear, leave him to the life he had created.

In all his vague acceptance that death might come for him, he never stopped to think about what he might leave behind. He’s got another good twenty to thirty years before his midlife crisis comes knocking, so it’s never been much of an issue. Yeah, he lives his own life. Yeah, he fucks around. You have to find your pleasure where you get it when you live by the sword.

But when he saw death coming, when time seemed to splinter and dance blue sparks across the water, what flashed in front of him wasn’t his whole life. It wasn’t the good and the bad, the people he’s saved and the battles he’s won, his sins and lies and wrong-doings.

It was just Sam.

Like looking at photographs, he could remember the two of them chasing each other through roadside fields, playing cowboys and Indians and shooting cans on fences. Wading in muddy rivers and hopping between weeds in sidewalk cracks so their feet didn’t burn. Corner store Slurpees, lips stained blue with syrup. All the punched shoulders, all the noogies, all the late-night whispered conversations alone in the car and motel beds. Eighteen summers, eighteen springs, splashing in puddles and having each other’s backs.

That’s what his mind found to remember; that’s what his life was all about.”

Right Up There: Birds on a Wire and Beggars Would Ride

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Birds on a Wire and Beggars Would Ride by Killa.


This story was the first SPN fiction I ever read. I remember that it was because I was looking at Amalthia’s rec list and being overwhelmed, selected the fiction that had the same title as a songvid I once made. I’ve always loved this song and what it was about, so click, off I went. Lucky, lucky me! I got a great story by which all other stories I read in this fandom will be judged. How’s that for subjective reading?

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Right Up There: Season of the Witch

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Season of the Witch by vaingirlfic.


Sequel to Outside by the Blue, Blue Moon and OH man. Dean’s got to put the peices back together after rescuing SammySamSam from this horrible spell that was put on him. Sam saves himself, see, but he’s in peices. He needs Dean. Dean puts Sam back together, and all’s well that ends well. Only it’s not perfect, right, but it’s good. Winchester good. Where everyone’s alive and that’s all that matters. More like this, please.

Right Up There: When It’s Twelve O’Clock We Climb the Stairs

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When It’s Twelve O’Clock We Climb the Stairs by cormallen.


 I hate stories like this one, I really hate them. Stories that are about the time AFTER Dean dies because Sam can’t save him, that are so sad, they rip your guts out, and so creepy and unnerving, you’ll be seeing them on the back of your eyelids for days. In this one, Sam manages to concoct a spell to raise Dean from the dead. Of course, it’s not Dean, but it takes Sam the entire story to figure it out. I had to read the WHOLE thing to find out for sure too. It seems to me that this author owes me a sequel in which Sam figures out the REAL way to do it and brings Dean back for real. Oh man. Tissues please.