Title: Reader's Special: Second Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection
Author: Disasteriffic Kaz
Info: A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Third Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.
Author's Note: The Reader's Special: Third Edition was a smashing success! Prompters of the story were offered a One Shot Reward story of their choice. These are they. None of the chapters contained in this collection are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic as always!
Chapter Info: For zemyx1995 - Set in either season 1 or 2, it doesn't really matter as long as Sammy still has his beautiful early hairstyle haha. He should be either injected or subjected to some kind of drug that gives the look of unconsciousness, but he is only in fact paralyzed, meaning he can still hear everything thats going on but can't move or respond in anyway, Dean should find him and be frantic trying to wake him up but can't, I'd like him all helpless and for some kind of confession or revelation to be let out (only because he thinks sam can't hear him). Eventually Sam recovers from the drugs effects... and you can go from there...
A/N: Since the last prompt was for season 1, we'll set this one in season 2.
Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.
**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~
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The old house rang with the sound of a shotgun blast, the bang carrying out into the abandoned neighborhood. Dean spun from the zombie he'd just beheaded on the front lawn and looked up at the house worriedly. Sam was in there. They'd come to New Orleans after Bobby had found what sounded distinctly like the work of zombies. The ninth ward hadn't fared well during Hurricane Katrina, and while parts of it were coming back, others were still desolate landscapes of destruction slowly being reclaimed by nature.
"Dammit!" Dean kicked the head away from the now-dead zombie and ran to the crumbling porch, jumping over the ruined steps and in the front door. "Sam!"
"Upstairs!" Sam shouted as he heard his brother calling him. He stepped over the headless zombie he'd just shot and went down the hall after the other. These zombies had fed recently and were aware enough to run. He jogged down the hall and turned a corner leading with his shotgun. "Shit!" Sam reared back as a cloud of white powder blew into his face. It burned into his eyes, nose, and mouth and made him cough. He tried to bring the muzzle of the gun back up but his arms were no longer cooperating. He felt himself go to his knees and then fell to his face as his whole body began to tingle and go numb. Sam's face hit the floor hard and he silently screamed in his mind for his brother; not a sound passed his lips.
He heard someone walk around him and felt the vibrations of the floor on his chest. Sam inwardly cringed as an unfamiliar hand touch the back of his head and he felt himself being grabbed and flipped onto his back. He wanted to shout and curse as someone's garlic-heavy breath brushed his face. Sam could do nothing but listen as whoever it was spoke softly over him words that he couldn't make out, and touched his forehead with wet fingers and traced something into the skin. Sam heard his brother yell for him again and the person, whoever it was, was gone.
'Oh, God, Dean. Hurry!' Sam thought silently.
Dean pounded up the stairs to the second floor of the house. "Sammy?" He shouted and looked in the first room he came to. A headless zombie lay on the floor. "Ok. Sam? Answer me, dammit!" He went down the hall, peering into the gloomy light from the mud-covered window at the end. He felt his breath catch in his throat when he made out a familiar form lying motionless on the ground. He broke into a run and slid to a stop beside his brother.
"Sam!" Dean leaned over him. "Oh, God. Don't be dead. Don't be dead." He put shaking fingers to his brother's neck and blew out a breath in relief. "Thank God. Sammy?" He turned Sam's head toward him and frowned. A fine white powder dusted his face. Dean gave him a shake. "Sam! Wake up!" Sam made no move and Dean's heart leapt into his throat. He looked up and down the hall, seeing no sign of the remaining zombie.
"Alright. I gotta get you outta here." He pulled Sam up and maneuvered his boneless body over his shoulders, scooped up both their shotguns, and went as quickly and carefully out of the house as he could. He was grateful for the empty streets as he jogged slowly back to the Impala and slid his brother into the backseat. Sam had yet to even twitch a muscle. "You are damaging my calm, Sam." Dean leaned over his face and slapped his cheek a couple times. "Dammit. Wake up already."
Dean shut the door and got behind the wheel. He dialed Bobby as he pulled away and headed toward the French Quarter and the seedy motel they'd found a few blocks off Bourbon street. "Bobby, something's happened to Sam," Dean said without preamble once he heard the man's gruff voice.
"What's wrong? He in a hospital?" Bobby's voice was laden with concern as all the worst case scenarios ran through his head. It had only been a few weeks since the boys lost their father and he wasn't sure Dean would survive the loss of his brother on top of that. "How bad is it?"
Dean took a breath to calm himself. "We were hunting those zombies. I got one, Sam got another. But, Bobby, I found him on the floor. I can't wake him up, and there's this weird white powder on his face."
"White powder?" Bobby's brain immediately kicked into research mode and he rose, going to the wall of books. "It smell like anything?"
"Shit, I don't know. Hang on. Almost back to the motel." Dean sped down the street and into the shadow of their three-floor motel, parking below their balcony. He got out and opened the back door, leaning over his brother's face.
"Don't breathe too deep!" Bobby shouted in the phone. "Don't wanna end up the same."
Dean rolled his eyes. "No kidding." He bent close to Sam's face and sniffed carefully then leaned back. "No. Doesn't smell like anything."
"Ok. Ok that's good." Bobby started pulling books from the shelves and stacking them in his arm. "Only a few things it could be, and not all of 'em life-ending bad. Just…" Bobby sucked in a deep, worried breath. "Keep an eye on him. I'll get back to ya soon as I have somethin'."
Dean stared at the phone after Bobby hung up. "Awesome." He slipped his phone back into his pocket and slid his arms under his brother's shoulders. "Let's get you out of here." Dean tugged Sam out of the seat and over his shoulders once more, bumped the door shut and groaned as he started up the stairs to their room on the third floor.
"Ground level…rooms…from now on." Dean panted as he hefted his heavy burden. Thankfully, the stairs were outside and it was late enough no one else seemed to be loitering around. He smirked. Not that it'd be a problem if someone did see him carrying Sam up the stairs; it was the French Quarter. Odds were no one would bat an eye anyway.
Dean sighed in relief as he got them inside the room and laid Sam out on the far bed. He sat beside his brother and gave his shaking legs a rest. He looked over at Sam and put his hand alongside his neck again, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse. "Really wish you'd wake the hell up already, princess." He went to the bathroom, wet a towel and sat back beside him to carefully clean the remains of the white powder from his face and neck.
Sam was screaming inside his own mind each time he heard Dean's voice or felt his hands on him. He thought maybe he might be going a little mad. No matter how hard he strained with his mind to coax his body to respond to even the simplest commands, it had no effect. He couldn't even open his eyes to let his brother know he was awake. He felt something cool and wet on his face and it took him a moment to realize Dean was cleaning him. He could hear Dean speaking and clearly heard the fear behind the gruff words and sad attempts at humor he kept making.
'Dean, I'm here! I can hear you!' Sam shouted it and cursed his uncooperative body again as no sound escaped him, not even a whisper. He supposed he should be thankful he was even still breathing. Surely the effects of whatever he'd been dosed with had to wear off…soon. He wouldn't stay like this forever…would he? Sam panicked further as he couldn't even hyperventilate and have a proper panic attack.
Dean frowned and stared at the side of his brother's neck. He could see Sam's pulse beating frantically in his throat. It drove his worry up another notch. "Sammy? You alright?" He growled and squeezed the side of his neck. "Aside from being stubbornly unconscious? Come on, kiddo. Ease down." Sam's heart was racing, and Dean hoped it didn't mean something worse was going to happen. He set the towel aside and brushed overlong, damp hair off Sam's forehead. Getting the powder out of it had been a pain in the ass. "I could give you a haircut right now and you couldn't stop me."
'Touch my hair, Dean, and I swear I'll key the Impala as soon as I can move again!' Sam wished he could glare at him and then wished he could just grab hold of him and reassure his big brother that he was there. Only someone who'd known Dean all his life would have been able to hear the panic in his brother's voice, feel it in every touch. That was usually Sam's thing, physical reassurance, but Dean seemed unable all of a sudden to not have a hand on him and Sam was grateful. He needed it. It was his only lifeline, trapped in his own body as he was.
"Sam, what's happened to you?" Dean asked softly. He should be researching, but shook his head; Bobby would do a better and faster job than he could. There was still one more zombie out there that they knew of, but there was no way he was leaving his brother alone defenseless like this. The world could fend for itself at the moment. In truth, he couldn't make himself leave Sam's side. He needed to be near him; he had no other way to even tell if he was still alive.
Dean set his phone on the bedside table and sighed. "If you're in there somewhere, I don't wanna hear about this later." He pulled Sam gently up and slid in behind him, resting his brother against his chest and put an arm across his upper chest to keep him from slumping forward. "I'm only doing this to keep an eye on your comatose ass. I am not…cuddling, you big baby."
'Are too,' Sam thought in a moment of humor and would have given anything to see the irritation on Dean's face just then. 'Oh, God, Dean. Please tell me this is going to pass!'
"This is…scaring the hell out of me, Sam," Dean said suddenly, softly. He allowed himself the luxury of resting his chin in his brother's hair. "I can't lose you too. I can't. I just…" He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes at the flash of pain as he thought about their father's death. "You can't leave me alone, Sammy, 'cause I swear if you do, I will follow you and kick your ass."
Sam suffered listening to Dean's broken voice in his ear. It was near impossible to get Dean to share any of the pain he suffered with him, and now he was opening his wounds and all Sam could do was listen. 'Dean, I'm sorry! I'm here! God, I'm here!' The thought of Dean losing all hope terrified him. Sam vividly remembered how he had felt with Dean lying in a hospital bed. The memories were part of his nightmares, being told his brother's heart was beyond help, and then again after the wreck and once more being informed there was no hope. Sam would have done anything, made any deal, to save his brother.
"Sammy…" Dean sighed and chuckled softly, tightening his grip around him. "You remember when you were twelve and Dad made you do extra laps for a week? Man you were pissed." He laughed. "Dad never said why 'cause he was too pissed to even talk to ya." Dean shook his head, ruffling Sam's hair with his chin. "That was my fault. He thought you'd been screwin' around with his favorite shotgun and busted the firing pin."
Dean groaned with the memory. "I did it. I was trying to clean the stupid thing, and, uh, my hand slipped. But, dude…it was his favorite shotgun, and I knew he'd kick my ass if he knew it was me. But you…you were still a kid." He patted Sam's shoulder. "I knew Dad wouldn't beat you over it. I swear, man, I only busted you out 'cause I knew he wouldn't hurt you." Dean sighed sadly and buried his other hand in Sam's hair.
"I was…Dad scared me when he was pissed, dude." Dean rolled his eyes, not quite believing he was actually saying it out loud and was thankful his brother was unconscious. "I know you think he was hard on you, but I swear, kiddo, you got no idea."
'I'm sorry,' Sam wished his damn voice would work; he wished he could even cry, because, right then, he was choking with tears he couldn't shed. He knew damn well Dean had protected him as they grew up, not just from the things in the night but from their father's mercurial temper. He'd always known it. He remembered that incident and that every day for a week after he'd run his laps, Dean had taken him out for ice cream, just the two of them. 'Dean, I'm so sorry. I don't care about the laps. Just, please…stop. Please.'
Dean wrapped both arms around Sam, pressing his chin into the top of his head. "You gotta come out of this, little brother." He snorted into Sam's hair. "We're having this huge chick-flick moment here and you're missing all the fun."
The ringing of his phone made him startle, and Dean whipped a hand out, scooping up his phone. "Hello? Bobby?"
"Dean, how is he?" Bobby asked and wished he was there to take care of them.
"The same. Tell me this shit wears off, Bobby. Please." Dean said softly even as he was bracing himself for the worst.
Bobby smiled. "It wears off," He paused as he heard Dean suck in a breath of relief. "If I'm right, and I usually am, he'll start coming out of it anytime now. That dust is popular with the voodoo culture down there. It's a paralytic extract from the puffer fish."
"Blow fish?" Dean asked in surprise and then smirked. "Sam got blown."
"Would you grow up already?" Bobby rolled his eyes even while he laughed. "Yeah, blowfish. He'll be fine. Groggy probably for a while and sluggish. Might have trouble holdin' onto things for a couple days while it works out of his system completely."
"So, I'll have comic relief then. Awesome," Dean grinned as relief swept through him. "I'll be sure to let him know soon as he wakes up."
"Oh, he's awake, so I hope you been talkin' to him." Bobby informed him cheerfully. "That dust just paralyzes its victims. They're still awake and alert the whole time. Damn evil stuff. I've heard of some nasty shit bein' done to people under that crap."
"He's…awake?" Dean asked warily. He nudged his brother over until Sam's head rolled onto his shoulder so he could see his face. "So, Sam can hear everything I've been saying to him?"
"Yep; and feel, too." Bobby laughed. "Hope you didn't go all deathbed confessional on him or nothin'." Dean's silence made him laugh. "Oh, no. You did."
"Shut up." Dean glared out at the room. "Thanks, Bobby." He flipped the phone closed on another laugh and tossed it back on the table. Dean looked down at his brother's face. As embarrassed as he felt for the things he'd said, he imagined Sam, trapped in his own mind, probably screaming, unable to move or speak but aware of everything around him. "I can't believe you've heard every damn word. Ok. First, it's gonna wear off soon. Bobby says you're gonna be fine, so stop panicking in there. Second…rules. I think we're gonna go with Fight Club here. We NEVER talk about any of this."
If he could have moved, Sam would have been cheering, laughing, and crying all at the same time. He realized suddenly he could feel fresh moisture on his cheeks.
"Whoa, easy, buddy. Take it easy." Dean instinctively pulled Sam's head back under his chin as tears started to leak from his eyes to run down his cheeks. "Guess you're coming out of it now, huh? It's alright. You're alright. I'm right here, little brother. I gotcha." He gently wiped away the tears, but more continued to flow. He felt a sudden hitch in his brother's breathing and grinned as a low moan sounded from his throat. "That's it kiddo. Come on." Dean tightened his grip as the hitched breaths turned into gasps and tears started to drip down onto his arm from his brother's chin.
Sam couldn't seem to stop the tears from coming or the panicked breaths as his body started to regain control of itself. The tears flowed faster, his breathing started to approach hyperventilation and then he blinked.
"Sammy?" Dean shifted his brother's head over again and saw his eyes flutter open. He grinned down at him. "Hey, tiger. Take it easy." He kept eye contact with Sam as the powder's effects wore off and had to hold him tightly as he started to jerk his arms and legs, and his whole body began to tremble.
"Ngh…D…Dean." Sam closed his eyes and heaved in a breath as he finally managed to get a word past the paralysis.
"Right here. Don't fight it, Sam. Just breathe." Dean no longer cared that he was cuddled up with his little brother; the naked fear and relief on Sam's face now was heart-wrenching. "It's wearing off. You're gonna be fine soon." He grinned again as Sam managed a shaky, short nod. The relief at having him moving and speaking again left Dean weak. For a little while, he'd wondered if he was helplessly watching his brother drift away in front him…like Dad.
Dean watched Sam narrow his eyes, staring up at him, and he sighed. "Dude." Dean rolled his eyes. "No, I didn't get the last zombie. We'll find it." The question had been plain even without words. When Sam raised a brow at him, he snorted. "Yes, 'we'. I won't go after it without you. Would I do that?" The slow roll of Sam's eyes made him laugh. "Ok, yeah. I would, but not this time."
Sam closed his eyes and focused on slowing his breathing, shutting down the panic that had taken hold of him. He was fine. The drug was wearing off, and there was certainly no damn reason he should still be crying…but that he seemed unable to stop. "S…sorry."
"Shut up," Dean ordered gruffly. He wiped the tears from his brother's face and didn't tease him about it. He didn't even want to imagine the terror of being trapped in your own body forever, and he knew damn well that's what Sam had been afraid of and why the tears continued to flow now; a release of mind-numbing tension. There was nothing funny about it. He started to shift Sam to one side so he could get him something to drink and stopped as his brother managed to raise one hand and weakly grip his forearm.
"Don't…d…don't…" Sam couldn't articulate the sudden terror as Dean moved away from him, as though, if his brother were to leave him, this would be a dream and he would wake unable to move once more.
Dean didn't need him to say it to understand it. He nodded and settled back, pulling Sam in once more. "Not going anywhere, little brother." He felt Sam's sigh of relief against his chest and rolled his eyes.
"Dean?" Sam's voice was a hoarse whisper and turning his head so he could see his brother's face was a monumental effort. His muscles were still protesting his control. "We g…go for…ice c-cream…later?" He pulled off the smirk he was aiming for as Dean's eyes widened and his big brother thumped his head into the wall.
"Bitch," Dean growled, embarrassed; now sure Sam had heard every word he'd said. "You are such a pain in my ass, Sammy."
Sam actually managed a small laugh and let his head roll back as the tears finally stopped and he felt safe again. "J…jerk."
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The End.
Next Up: SPN Mum
STILL waiting to hear from you Linneast! Last woman standing. XD