Happy October 1st, 2020!

This will be my first year attempting Whumptober "officially". I did it last year and had a blast but I didn't post any of the scenes. I attempted a whole story that would include all the whumpy prompts and I think I pulled it off pretty well. :) The story isn't all put together or anything, but someday may be.

This year, I decided I would actually attempt to post a whumpy prompt daily for the month of October! I've been so excited for this and nervous about my ability to pull it off! I do NOT write "short" well haha! By far, my biggest challenge this month is going to be keeping the stories short because I definitely do not have enough time to write full on stories for each prompt.

That being said, my goal is to make each prompt a satisfying little read. Some of these prompts I have no doubt will (someday) grow up into a longer, more detailed story. But not right now lol.

Special thanks to Lady-Wallace who has hosted some writing "sprints" that have helped me get some of these prompts in process. We're going to be doing some more on Saturday. Appreciate her know-how in regard to Whumptober as I'm a newbie. :) Check out her fics if you haven't already!

In this story, you'll find a mix of seasons, episode tags, pre-series fics, and a mix of both Sam and Dean whump.

I hope you enjoy! Wish me luck on this project lol! :)



Prompt Options: Waking Up Restrained/Shackled/Hanging

Waking up restrained was always a bad way to start a day.

Something incredibly heavy pinning you down was not ideal nor pleasant. It was aggravating and more than a little terrifying. Especially when you had gone to sleep comfortably and safely in your very own memory-foam-mattress equipped bed.

Especially when you were restrained at the wrists by hands with an iron grip.

Especially, especially, when someone was quite literally breathing down the back of your neck with hot puffs of air.

Dean's sleep-fuzzed brain took longer than it should have to go from confused to Red Alert. He blamed it on the fact he was in his room in the Bunker. If he'd been on the road on a hunt, he would've been more alert. But he was at home and he was dangerously used to letting his guard down at home.

And now someone was smothering him in his own bed.

A dozen potential scenarios ran through his mind as he prepared to fight for his life. A dozen potential scenarios that all went poof when he took a split second to tense his muscles in preparation to throw off his assailant. The moment he tensed, the hot breath went from the back of his neck to blow in his ear with one desperate word.


One word, spoken so softly it might as well have been inaudible. He wasn't even sure he'd actually heard his name so much as just innately understood that's what his brother had so desperately whispered to him. There had been a few times over the years when an attack from his brother might have been a possibility. Possessions, addictions, nightmares, insanity a time or two. But right now, it wasn't any of those things that had Sam literally on top of him.

It was fear.

"Don't move," Sam breathed into his ear. His hands were still tightly clamped around Dean's wrists.

Some of the tension eased out of Dean's muscles. But only some. Because if Sam was on top of him, holding him down like this, something was very, very wrong. The thought of a whacked out nightmare crossed his mind again. Wouldn't be the first time Sam had come to his room, terrified out of his mind by something his freaky subconscious had dredged up.

"It's a little hard to breathe," Dean whispered, trying to prioritize.

"Harder if you're dead."

Sam could prioritize even better than he could.

Dean's eyes widened. He couldn't see much given the tangential lighting from the hallway. His muscles tightened again.

"What is going on?" he hissed.

"It's a sylph."

"And that requires you to accost me in my sleep, why?"

"I could just let it eat your face if you'd prefer," Sam muttered, his grip finally loosening but not letting up entirely.

"Well, I do appreciate your concern for my face. I'm rather fond of it. However, I'm also fond of breathing." Dean grunted, trying to shift. "Do you have to stay on top of me?"

"No sudden moves," Sam whispered, slowly moving. "It was right above you when I came in here."

Dean drew in a slightly deeper breath once a couple hundred pounds of gigantic little brother finally moved off his back. Sam settled next to him on the bed, their faces inches apart and way too close for comfort.

"Not that this little sleepover hasn't been fun," Dean whispered, "but can I get my gun yet and shoot the evil fairy?"

"Technically it's not a -"

"I'm getting my gun."

"You can't kill it with a gun."

"Watch me." Dean sat up, reaching out for his Colt and rolling off the bed in one smooth motion.

He brought the gun up, ready to shoot the sylph into a thousand teensy evil fairy pieces.

And then he was flat on his back, ears ringing, black spots dancing in his vision and a slice down his left cheek that he probably would need a rabies shot for because no doubt sylph carried a thousand fairy plagues.

"I told you not to make any sudden moves," Sam's disembodied voice floated to him from somewhere in the darkness.

"Did you get the little b-"

"I got it."

Dean groaned, pressing his hand to his stinging cheek. "How the hell did it get in here?"

"I might have opened a box."

"You might have opened a box." Dean rolled his eyes, warm blood under his fingertips. "Was it not labeled Danger Do Not Open, May Contain Angry Sylph?"

"It was not." Sam offered a hand to pull him upright.

The room spun a bit.

"You ok?" Sam asked, crouching down in front of him.

Dean glared.


"What the hell were you doing opening boxes in the middle of the night?"

"Couldn't sleep." Sam shrugged.

"So you opened the box containing a pissed off sylph?"

"I didn't know that's what was in it." Sam walked over to the sink and wet a towel. "Here, put this on your face. We need to clean that cut."

"I knew those stupid fairies carry diseases!"

Sam had the nerve to laugh.

Pressing the towel to his bleeding face, Dean said, "I'm drugging you tomorrow night. That's all there is to it. I'm drugging you so you'll sleep so that I can sleep without being attacked by you and Tinker Bell."

"It's six in the morning, Dean," Sam said, completely unsympathetically. "You weren't going to sleep much longer anyway."

"I guarantee I would have slept longer if you hadn't jumped on me. Why couldn't you just have killed the...hey, what did you do with it?"

Sam nodded toward the trash can; upturned and with a massive book on top.

"I thought you killed it!"

"This kind can't be killed," Sam said, tapping the book. "I managed to find some references to it and -"

"You know what?" Dean held up a hand. "I don't even care. Is your little sylph trap gonna keep that monster secure so it doesn't chew our faces off?"

"Yes." Sam put his boot against the trash can as the little creature inside pounded the walls of its prison. "I'll get it back into the box."

"Great. You do that. I'm making coffee." Dean threw the towel into the sink and shook a finger at his brother. "And next time there's something dangerous roaming free in here, how about you just wake me up like a normal person instead of joining me in bed?"

"Even if I have a nightmare?" Sam asked, his shoulders slumping slightly.

Dean shook his head. "Of course you can -"

He broke off when Sam started laughing.

"That's it." Dean shoved his brother into the hall. "You're making breakfast. I'm taking a shower and I better smell coffee and bacon when I get out."

"What about the sylph?" Sam asked, struggling to contain his snickering.

Dean stared at his gun for a moment, but settled for adding a pair of his steel toe boots on top of the book.

Sam rolled his eyes, but started heading toward the kitchen.

Rubbing his wrists - which were definitely going to bruise - he shouted, "Bacon, Sam! Or tomorrow morning we'll see how you like waking up restrained to your bed."

"Oh, kinky," Sam's voice drifted back to him, a burst of laughter following.

That was it.

Breakfast could wait. A shower could wait.

Starting the morning with some physical activity was always a good idea.

"You better run, little brother," Dean shouted, taking off down the hall. "Because I guarantee that, when I catch you, what happens next won't be kinky!"

By the time they finally sat down for breakfast, Dean was sore with bruised ribs and knees, the sylph-slice on his cheek throbbing, a mild concussion from when Sam had sent him over the library table, scraped knuckles from where he'd punched his brother for throwing him over the library table, and he had a sore stomach from laughing so hard.

Sam had a wad of napkins pressed to his still bleeding nose, he'd limped from library to kitchen on a badly bashed ankle, and hadn't stopped complaining about his left shoulder ever since Dean had shoved him into a wall.

"Next time," Sam said, his voice muffled behind the napkins, "I'm lettin' the sylph eat your face off."

"Next time," Dean said, pressing an ice pack to his head, "I'm locking my door so face-eating sylph and bed-hogging little brothers don't disturb my beauty sleep."

"If beauty is what you're going for, I have news for you…"

"Shut up and eat your bacon," Dean grumped but had trouble hiding his smile.

All in all, it hadn't been the worst way he'd ever been awakened.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. This one turned out more humorous than whumpy. :) Trust me, there is REAL pain ahead mwhahahahahaha!

Preview for tomorrow, the prompts to choose from were: "Pick Who Dies", collars, kidnapped. I'll let you ponder the possibilities... :)