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 Sparkiebunny - maybe a teenchester fic? With Sam between 14 and 16, Dean 18-20? I love me some hurt/herioc!Sam, especially when he's saving Dean. So I'd love to see a story in which Sam either takes a bullet for Dean or pushes Dean out of the way and gets knifed or something. Serious injuries, rush to hospital, brush with death, all that good stuff.

A/N: Oh let's go with 16 and 20 for Sam and Dean. :D One story where Sam gets a little more lead in his diet, coming up! Lol

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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"This is crap," Dean groused as he pulled up in front of the old, brown house. "We should be at the cemetery with Dad salting and burning the old guy." He sighed as he got out of the car and looked over at his little brother. "Instead he sends us on the damn milk run."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I could be studying for my exam tomorrow, you know, but I'm here." He followed his brother to the trunk and took the iron rod he handed him. "But someone does have to make sure Mr. Deering's safe until the ghost is gone."

"We could have just called the guy." Dean grumbled and took his own iron rod and his homemade EMF meter as well and shut the trunk. "Come on, geek."

"He's agoraphobic, Dean." Sam sighed and climbed the steps to the door. "He can't leave his house. You know that."

"He'd leave if I carried his ass out." Dean grinned at Sam and knocked loudly on the door. The old guy had called their Dad days ago when a spirit started flinging things around his house and, being an old shut-in, he had refused to leave and go somewhere safe while they sorted out the problem. Turned out his renovation of the cellar had pissed off the spirit of his stepfather who'd built the house and never much liked him to begin with.

"So, what do you think? An hour maybe for Dad to dig him up and send him on?" Sam rang the doorbell while Dean knocked and frowned when Mr. Deering didn't answer.

"Half hour. Tops," Dean said firmly and smirked. "You know no one clears a grave faster than Dad except us."

Sam smiled at the indirect praise and nodded to the door. "He's not answering."

Dean turned the handle, brows rising when it opened. "Guess we go find him. Come on, Sammy."

"It's Sam." Sam rolled his eyes and hefted the iron rod in his hand. "Mr. Deering?"

"You hear that?" Dean pointed toward the back of the house and the soft sounds of music he could hear.

"Yeah." Sam looked at the EMF meter in his brother's hand questioningly, but Dean shook his head and shrugged. "Think it's coming from the basement door." He went down the hall and pulled it open. "Lights are on. Mr. Deering! Are you down there?"

Dean cocked his head and looked down the stairs. "That's some old time jazz he's got playing. Deering! Come on, man!" He started down the stairs with Sam at his back. "I don't like this."

"Maybe he just can't hear us over the music." Sam kept his eyes up the stairs behind them, alert in case the spirit decided to sneak up on them.

Dean reached the bottom and stared. "Dude. Check this place out." He stepped into a large room lit by warm, orange lights. The walls were lined with antique guns that looked like they'd been picked up out of a civil war film. A massive oak desk stood near the door.

"Whoa." Sam smiled and shook his head. "Serious collector." He frowned and grabbed Dean's elbow. "Dean." Sam pointed to the side of the desk where a booted foot was sticking out from behind it.

"Ah, hell. Stay." Dean gave him a shove toward the door and walked around the desk. Mr. Deering lay in a pool of his own blood, facedown and very much dead.

Sam edged around the room while Dean knelt beside the man. "How'd he die?"

Dean pulled the old man over onto his back and whistled softly. "Whoa. Looks like someone shot him." Deering's chest was a mess of red with several ragged holes in his shirt. He jumped as the EMF meter went off and he pulled it up, watching the needle swing into the red. "Got company."

Sam looked over his shoulder at his brother and gasped. Three of the muskets on the wall behind him were floating soundlessly in the air and all moved to point down at his brother's unprotected back. "DEAN!" Sam shouted and threw himself across the open space. He slammed into Dean as the guns fired and the smell of burning powder and sulfur filled the air.

"Sam!" Dean pushed out from under his brother and grabbed his shoulders as more guns began to move on the wall. "Come on! Move!" He pulled Sam with him around the desk and behind it. "Sammy? You ok?"

Sam gasped in a breath and shook his head. "N…no. Dean." He pulled a hand off his chest and held it up.

Dean's heart stuttered in his chest as he looked at Sam's blood-soaked hand. He grabbed it and pulled his brother into his lap. "Sammy? No, no, no." His chest was quickly staining red. Dean yanked his jacket open and stared horrified at the three bullet holes in the front of his hoodie. He felt Sam sag against him as the shaggy head dropped back onto his shoulder as the pain and shock took hold.

"Sammy, hold on, ok? Don't you give up on me!" Dean fumbled his cellphone from his pocket and dialed their Dad. He risked a glance over top of the desk and saw that more of the guns were rattling themselves loose from their mountings.

"Dean. Little busy here." John's irritated voice made Dean close his eyes in relief.

"Dad! You need to shag ass and burn this ghost!" Dean leaned over his brother, watching the pain move through Sam's hazel eyes. "We're in the basement and Sammy's hurt and we're about to get shot full of holes! Deering's dead." Another volley of shouts deafened him and Dean hunched close over his brother as the bullets ricocheted off the top of the desk above them.

"Dean? DEAN!"

"I'm ok but you gotta hurry!" Dean squeezed his brother's hand. "He's bleeding bad."

"One more minute!" John yelled and Dean was left listening to nothing as the line went dead.

"Dad's on it, Sammy." Dean told him. He could hear more rattling from across the room and knew the ghost was gearing up another round.

"Hurt…hurts, Dean," Sam gasped, panting for air through the pain.

"I know, kiddo." Dean let go of Sam's hand and shrugged his jacket off. He tore off his flannel and folded it before placing it over the wounds on Sam's chest and pressing, trying to slow the bleeding. "You stay with me."

Sam nodded and wrapped his bloody hands around his brother's arm, needing the contact. "Not goin'…anywhere."

"Damn straight." Dean shielded his brother again as a loud, disembodied scream echoed through the house. A moment later there was a clatter and Dean looked up to see all the guns had dropped to the floor. He heaved out a breath. "Dad's got good timing." His phone rang and he flipped it open. "Dad! I'm gonna call…"

"Wait for me, Dean." John said firmly and he was already running back to his truck. "Can't call an ambulance with a dead body in the basement. We'll take Sam."

"Dad!" Dean's voice rose angrily. "Are you friggin' kidding me? He's bleeding bad! He needs help now, not a half hour from now!"

"Dean?" Sam tightened his grip on Dean's arm, his own worry ratcheting up with his brother's tone.

"It's ok, Sammy. Just keep breathin'." Dean gentled his tone for Sam's sake.

"I will be there in five." John jumped into his truck and spun gravel in his haste out of the graveyard. "He's gonna be fine. You take care of him until I get there."

Dean snapped his phone closed angrily and bit his tongue on the angry words he had for his Dad; it could wait. "Dad's on his way, Sam."

"What'd he…he say to piss you off?" Sam spoke through teeth clenched against the pain and the urge to throw up.

"Nothin', kiddo." Dean smiled and pushed the now sweat-damp hair off his brother's forehead. "We're gonna get you in the car and outta here in a few minutes, alright?"

"Don' think I like bein'…bein' shot." Sam rolled his eyes up to Dean's with a wan attempt at a grin.

Dean chuckled softly. "Well, look on the bright side - you can show the girls your scars. Chicks dig cool scars." He patted his brother's shoulder and tried not to think about the blood he could still feel oozing beneath his hand or the warm, wet feeling in the knees of his jeans that meant Sam's blood was starting to pool beneath them.

"S..sleepy," Sam said softly and groaned in pain when Dean shook him.

"No! You stay awake! You hear me?" Dean leaned down and glared into glazed eyes. "No sleeping, Sammy. I mean it." He swallowed back his fear that he was watching his little brother bleed out in his arms and smiled instead. "What's your exam tomorrow? History, right?" He smirked when Sam nodded shakily. "Ok, tell me."

"Huh?" Sam frowned in confusion, looking up at him. "You always..sai…said his'trie's bor…boring."

Dean tried not to let the panic show on his face as Sam started slurring his words. "Wasn't boring. Just weren't enough hot chicks in history class, dude." He grinned for Sam and pulled him a little closer. "Talk to me, Sammy."

Dean bent close so he could hear his brother as he slurred and stuttered his way through his history class, smiling and shaking him to get his attention when he needed it. In his head, he was counting the minutes out until finally he heard their father's steps pounding on the floor above and then he appeared on the stairs.

John skidded to a stop at the bottom. He hadn't been sure what to expect and the sight of his baby boy covered in blood and gasping weakly for breath almost took his legs out from under him. He staggered to his sons and dropped beside them. He gently brushed his hand over Sam's forehead. "Hey, Sammy. You ready to get out of here?"

Sam nodded, beyond speech. He was spending every bit of strength he had just to stay awake and not give in to the blackness calling him. He was so tired, but Dean's face and its barely masked panic forced him to hold on.

Dean glared at his father and said nothing. Being forced to watch Sam bleed and suffer when he could have had him in an ambulance already had done nothing for his temper.

John saw it all on Dean's face and sighed. "We're gonna get you up now, tiger," John smiled for Sam and pried his hands off his brother's arm. The grip he had made John's heart clench, as though Dean's arm were a lifeline keeping him alive. "Dean, get his other side." There would be time for guilt later, he thought as they pulled Sam's dead weight up between them and his dark head lolled between his shoulders. "How many times was he hit?"

"Three," Dean growled as they started up the stairs. "He saved my ass. It should have been me."

"Stow it, Dean," John said firmly and urged them into a faster walk as they reached the top of the stairs and headed out of the house. "You can hate yourself and me later."

"That a promise?" Dean snapped.

"D…Dean." Sam's voice was a pained whisper as the angry voices of his Dad and brother drew him back.

"Right here, Sammy." Dean pulled Sam in against him as they reached the Impala and let his Dad open the back door. He curved a hand around his brother's neck comfortingly. "We gotcha. Have you in the hospital in no time now." He slid his brother into the backseat with his father's help.

"Hospital's five minutes away. He's gonna be fine." John closed the door and gave Dean a shove toward the driver's side. "I'll lead the way."

Dean pulled the back door open again. "No, you can drive. He's barely holding on as it is. I'm not leavin' him alone back there."

"Dean…" John started, but his eldest was already climbing in the back of the Impala and pulling the door shut. "Dammit!" He ran around and slid behind the wheel.

Dean eased behind his brother, settling him against his chest and pressed on the wounds in his chest again to control the bleeding. "Sammy? You in there?" Sam opened his eyes and gave Dean a long, slow blink. Dean snorted. "Ok, Captain Kirk. How about you use words?"

A faint smile played across Sam's face. "S'Pike. Not…not K…Kirk." He wheezed in a breath. "S-such…a dork."

"Says the geek who knew which captain I was talkin' about." Dean smoothed the hair from his forehead and kept a tight hold of him as his Dad whipped the Impala around a corner. It struck Dean as he held his brother that, though he'd had the audacity to get taller than Dean was, he was still kind of scrawny; He looked like an over-tall kid with that mop of unruly hair. Dean pulled that hair back to get a better look at his face and hated how pale and bloodless he looked now.

"Stop…" Sam sucked in a breath. It was getting harder to do that. "Stop…starin' a'me."

Dean gave a watery laugh, blinking furiously at the moisture building behind his eyes. "Can't help it, runt. You're funny lookin'."

John listened to them in the backseat, glancing at his boys in the rearview mirror and pressed harder on the gas. He couldn't stop himself from wondering if he'd made a mistake; if he should have let Dean call 911. Would Sam have been safely in a hospital already? He shook his head. No. He'd made the right decision. He knew the response time for emergency vehicles and they wouldn't have gotten there any faster than he had. John wanted to ask Dean how his brother was doing but he didn't, afraid the answer would cripple his ability to keep a clear head and drive.

"Open your eyes, Sammy. Come on." Dean propped his brother's head up higher against his chest and shivered with fear when Sam made no move. "Sam? Sam!" He shook him and then pressed harder on the wounds, hoping the pain would rouse him, but there was nothing except for the shallow breaths he could just hear if he put his ear down near Sam's face. "Dad! He won't wake up!"

"It's alright, Dean. We're almost there." John met Dean's fear-stricken eyes in the rearview for just a moment and turned back to the road, officially flooring it and hoped no officer was stupid enough to try and pull them over. He squealed the tires around a corner and over a grassy divider in the road, trusting Dean to keep Sam stable as they bumped across to the hospital. The Impala screeched to a halt outside the emergency room doors, and John was out like a shot and running inside.

"Help! I need help! My son's been shot!" John shouted, frantic. There was a moment of stillness as the nurses stared at him and then a flurry of activity as they broke into motion. He watched a trio of nurses converge on the back of the Impala and pull his sons out. A minute later he had to grab Dean's arms and hold him back as Sam was whisked away. "Dean. Dean! Let them help your brother."

Dean stopped fighting his father and let himself be pulled to a chair and shoved down into it. Dean stared up at him with a bleak look on his face that cut right through to John's heart. "He's gotta be ok, Dad."

John sat next to him and nodded. "He will be. He's gonna be fine." He'd been stunned speechless as Sam was wheeled past him. His skin was the pasty white of a corpse. He'd seen enough men bleed to death as a Marine to know what that meant. John glanced at the tortured expression on his eldest's face and kept it to himself.

"Sam's gonna be pissed," Dean murmured as he hunched over and dropped his head into his hands. "He's gonna miss that stupid exam tomorrow."

John slid an arm across his son's shoulders and said nothing. There was nothing to say. Now they could only wait and hope.

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It was nearly two hours later before someone other than an apologetic nurse came to talk to them and John surged up from his chair as the doctor, still dressed in surgical scrubs, came to stand in front of them.

"How's my son, dammit?" John demanded angrily. "I swear, if one more person tells me they don't know, I WILL take this place apart with my bare hands!"

"Mr. Winchester, please." The doctor raised his hands in surrender. He was well used to dealing with panicked family members so he smiled reassuringly. "You're son is alive and out of surgery. He's in recovery right now, and you can see him shortly. Please, sit? We need to talk first."

Dean came back into the waiting room with his tenth cup of coffee and stared at the doctor. "Dad?" Dread weighed heavy in his stomach and the coffee fell from his nerveless to fingers to splatter on the floor. "Sammy?" He whispered.

"He's alive. Dean, he's alright." John went to his son and pulled him to a chair, pushing him down into it while he blinked and looked up to the doctor. "He is, isn't he? Alright?"

"I'm Dr. Alavarez. I performed the surgery on Sam." He smiled and pulled a chair over so he could sit facing them. "He was very lucky. Whatever guns they used to shoot your son, the bullets were old…antique's really…and must not have had a lot of firepower behind them. We were able to remove them easily." He watched the relief flow over both men's faces and smiled again. "Now, they didn't do much damage, but Sam has lost a lot of blood." He paused to make sure they were paying attention. "More than I'm comfortable with. He's being transfused, and we'll have to give him several units throughout the night to replace what he's lost so his body can heal."

"He's gonna be alright though? You said he's alright." Dean glared at him, still choking on fear. He needed to hear that Sam was safe. "I wanna see him."

"Dean." John spoke softly but firmly, and his son subsided with an angry growl. He looked at the doctor.

"Sam should be fine. I just want you to be prepared." Doctor Alvarez met the father's eyes solemnly. "Blood loss can be tricky. You got him here quickly, and that works in his favor. I have every faith Sam will come through this. Now, I'll send a nurse to fetch you as soon as he's out of recovery. Won't be long now."

"Thank you, doctor." John stood and took his hand. Once the doctor had gone, he sat back beside his son. "Dean, take a breath. He's alright."

"I should have called 911," Dean said angrily. "You didn't have to sit there with him bleeding in your lap, Dad. He could have died!" His voice had risen with each word until he was yelling as the fear he'd been choking on for hours finally won out.

John shoved him back down into his chair and glared him into silence. "An ambulance wouldn't have gotten there any faster, Dean, and you know it. The cops would have come, and you'd have been left explaining why the old rich guy was dead on the floor." He took a breath and reigned in his own temper. "This is not your fault. Now calm the hell down."

Dean breathed heavily and dropped his eyes from his father's, pulling his anger back with difficulty. On some level, he recognized that his father was right, but he needed to see his brother before he'd feel alright about any of it. He needed to see Sam.

"Family of Samuel Winchester?"

Dean's head snapped up, and he lurched to his feet as a nurse came forward and smiled. "Yeah, that's us. Can we see him now?"

The nurse smiled again and nodded. "I'll take you to him." She led them down the hall, wistfully thinking that no family had a right to that many delicious men in one bloodline. "He's just coming out from the anesthesia, so he'll be a little groggy. And Dr. Alvarez said there was a detective asking for you." She stopped at a door and put a sympathetic hand on John's arm. "We told him he could come back tomorrow and not before. Sam doesn't need a cop asking him fifty questions right now. Press the call button if you need anything."

John watched her go and then looked in the door as Dean slid past him and went to his brother's bedside. He swallowed hard at the sight of his youngest son. There were far too many tubes and wires attached to him. Sam's skin was still frightfully pale, and John realized he must have been running a fever as he watched Dean pushing sweat-damp, dark hair off his forehead with a gentleness that always surprised him. There were times when he felt like he'd missed something, like now, as Sam's eyes fluttered open and unerringly fixed on his big brother. When had Dean replaced him as the 'father' in his and Sam's relationship? When had he let that happen and not noticed? John swallowed again, choking back guilt and regret he had no time for, and went in with a smile.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean smiled and rested a hand on his brother's shoulder. "How you feeling?"

"Mmf…floaty…kinda." Sam swallowed, trying to move his tongue around his dry mouth and smiled in gratitude as his Dad leaned over him with a cup.

"Here you go, tiger." John held the straw for him while Dean held his head up, and Sam drank greedily. "Whoa, slow it down, Sammy. Easy." He pulled the cup away before Sam could choke himself with the water. He had to remind himself his baby boy was sixteen; right now he looked six, in spite of his surprising height, as he rolled his head into his big brother's hand and closed his eyes again.

"Tired," Sam mumbled softly. He forced his eyes open and looked up at his brother. "Sleep now?" It seemed important to him to have his brother's permission after all of the fighting to stay awake on the frantic trip to the hospital.

Dean chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, Sammy. You can sleep now." He sat on the side of the bed, keeping his hand on Sam's neck since his brother didn't seem interested in taking his head off it anytime soon.

John sighed quietly and brushed a few stray wisps of hair from Sam's face. "You're safe now, Sammy," He whispered. He pulled over a chair and sat beside the bed, watching his sons, and said a silent, prayerful thanks to whatever had watched over them and kept him from losing one or both of them.

Sam's eyes suddenly snapped open, and he fumbled a hand up to wrap around his brother's arm. "Dean!" He blinked, trying to clear his vision.

"Whoa! Easy, Sammy. What is it? What's wrong?" Dean held his head, steadying him and kept him from sitting up as panic danced across his face.

"D'I miss my exam?" Sam stared up at him with wide eyes and frowned as Dean started to laugh. His frown deepened as his Dad joined in. "Wha'?"

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and smothered his laughter. He squeezed the side of Sam's neck and grinned down at him. "Little brother, you are a hopeless nerd."

"Think you're gonna need a make-up test, kiddo," John said with a chuckle and patted his son's shoulder. "Get some sleep now."

Sam groaned and closed his eyes again, still holding on to his brother's arm. "S'okay. Didn' study 'nuff anyway." His voice trailed off and slid into sleep.

Dean smiled and rested his free hand lightly on Sam's chest over where he knew the bullet wounds were. He looked up in surprise as his Dad's hand landed on his shoulder. "Dad?"

"I'm gonna go clean up the house," John smiled at him and then down at Sam. "Take care of your brother while I'm gone."

Dean snorted. "Like I need to be told that."

"I know, Ace." John gave his shoulder a pat and left them there.

Dean watched his Dad walk out of the room and shook his head with a bemused smile. "Dude, you should get shot more often," He said and looked down at his sleeping brother who was holding his arm like a stuffed animal. "Dad gets almost as girlie as you do." He yelped as something whacked the back of his head and spun to find his Dad in the doorway smirking at him.

"You ever call me girlie again and we're gonna have a special training exercise, Ace." John raised his brows as Dean audibly swallowed and nodded, understanding that his father would whoop his ass without pity. He chuckled and left with Dean's nervous 'yes, sir,' following him down the corridor. "I am not girlie," John muttered, reassuring himself.

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The End.

NEXT up: Leahelisabeth's reward!

Prompters I'm still waiting to hear from:

Doctor's Other Companion
KKBELVIS
Linneast