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 Little White Comet - Season 8. I don't mind what their hunting but I would like Sam's new found occupation as a Man of Letters to come up somehow, with lots of Hurt!Sam and BigBrother!Dean in it if you please
A/N: A little hurt and comfort in season 8. :D I hope this is what you were hoping for.
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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Dean drove with single-minded need. He had one hand on the wheel and the other pressed against his little brother's chest in the passenger seat…above the blood and the creepy, way too sharp and pointy ancient Greek athame standing out of his right side. "Sammy?"
Sam nodded. "I'm alright." His voice was breathy and strained, and he tried to keep it even for Dean's sake. Few things, he knew, could damage his big brother's calm so quickly and completely as him being hurt, and hurt this bad…Sam could see Dean's jaw clenching with barely contained panic. "I'm good."
"Right," Dean growled. He wanted to take Sam to a hospital, even with the lingering threat of leviathans out there, but his brother was right - removing the weapon without the right words spoken over it would kill him, no matter that it hadn't actually struck anything vital. The damn thing was cursed to suck Sam's life out with it if removed wrong. He pressed harder on Sam's chest as he took a corner and gave a relieved sigh when the bunker finally came into view at the end of the overgrown road.
"I'll f-find it." Sam reassured Dean as the car came to a stop. It had been the first time they'd ever gone after a whole coven of witches; and, with the exception of the jackass in charge, they hadn't been bad people, just misguided, and had run the moment they'd seen him and Dean and their guns…all but the jackass. He'd put up a fight, shouting threats and curses, and Dean had shot him just a second too late as he'd left the athame in Sam's side. Sam groaned as Dean slid out of the Impala and the car rocked making the blade hurt more.
The self-proclaimed warlock had been very clear - if they pulled the blade out, Sam would die instantly. Dean had believed him while Sam had initially scoffed and taken hold of the handle. He'd only moved it a millimeter when the ornate carving on the handle began to glow blue and Sam felt as though his soul were being sucked out of him. After everything hell and purgatory had thrown at him - and taught him - a frantic Dean, with Sam's life on the line, had no qualms about threatening the dying witch with all sorts of additional pain in his remaining minutes of life unless he told them how to undo the curse. Dean would have done it, too, but the dangerous glitter in the ice-cold glare he turned on the man seemed to be enough to convince him he was serious. He gasped out that there was an incantation that would render it safe to remove, moments before succumbing to his wound, but cackling gleefully with his dying breath, promising that they would never find it in time. A desperate search of the guy's house, however, turned up no trace of the counter-curse, so their last hope lay in the vast library compiled by generations of the organization known as the Men of Letters.
"Ok, buddy. Here we go." Dean opened the passenger door and put a steadying hand around the weapon's handle and eased Sam up out of the seat. Fear had damn near choked him when Sam had tried to pull it out and collapsed, gasping into his arms while all the color had drained from his face and the warlock…had laughed. Dean was hovering now to make absolutely sure the thing didn't move until they could safely take it out. He steadied his little brother and nudged the Impala's door shut.
"Shit," Sam gasped and leaned heavily on Dean as his legs went weak. The athame had missed his vital organs, but he was still losing enough blood to make him dizzy. He remembered the warlock laughing at him even while blood bubbled over his lips and had gleefully told the 'Man of Letters to have fun trying to save himself' and that made Sam's blood run cold. How had the son of a bitch even known about that?
"Work with me here, tiger," Dean would have carried Sam in if he could figure out how to do it without killing him. He felt Sam get his legs under him again and started leading him to the bunker door.
Sam nodded. He was so tired and it took a ridiculous amount of his willpower to keep his feet moving while Dean half-carried him down the stairs. "I'm ok, Dean. I'm…it's ok."
"This is not ok!" Dean yelled and took a quick breath, sucking his temper back under control. He helped Sam shuffle down the stairs into the bunker making sure to keep a hand clamped around the handle protruding from his stomach.
"It'll be…" Sam stopped at the bottom of the stairs and would have gone to his knees coughing if not for Dean's arms holding him up. "…f-fine. Just have to…find the counter."
"Jesus, Sam." Dean shook his head and got him moving again as Sam wheezed air in and out like he'd run a marathon. Dean pulled him toward the hall leading to their bedrooms and snarled when Sam dug his feet in.
"No…no. The library." Sam got his head up enough to meet his brother's eyes. "You don't know…know the books like I do. Please, Dean. I'll find it f...faster."
"Dammit." Dean rolled his eyes but turned and dragged his brother to the library and up the few stairs. Sam was right. He'd been through half the books already, and he'd have a better chance of finding what they needed. He eased Sam down into one of the chairs and pulled another over, picking his legs up carefully and putting them up. "Just stay there and tell me what you need." He pushed Sam's ridiculously long, sweat-soaked hair off his forehead to get a better look at his face and didn't like what he saw; There was little color left in his face, his eyes were shadowed, and Dean couldn't help but be reminded of how Sam had looked in the asylum, when the hallucinations had kept him from sleeping for days on end, to the point that he would not survive that way much longer. The glassy eyes blinking slowly up at him did nothing to allay his growing fear.
Sam rattled off a few books and tried to find a way to sit that didn't make it feel like the blade was digging deeper into him. "Thanks," he managed as Dean brought him the first of the books.
Dean spent the next hour fetching books and trying to get his brother to drink the damn orange juice he brought him. The kid was translucent, sweaty, and maybe two steps from just putting his head back and passing out. The pile of books beside him had grown over the hour as Sam followed a trail only he could see from one piece of information to another, from book to book, each getting progressively older and harder to read than the last and had Sam muttering in Latin as he squinted at the time-worn pages.
"Dean."
Sam's weak voice pulled him from the bookshelf at a run to kneel beside the chair. "Right here, Sammy." Dean took his shoulder. "What do you need?"
"R…read." Sam pushed the book in his lap toward Dean wearily.
"Is this it?" Dean took the book and looked at the Latin incantation on the brown, crumbling page. "Sam?" He looked up and groaned as Sam's head rolled to the side limply. "Shit. Sammy?" He wrapped his other hand around the side of his brother's neck and felt his heart racing there. He'd just passed out…finally. "Ok, buddy." He looked back down at the book and then to the athame. "I can do this."
Dean's Latin wasn't as rusty as it had been, thanks to his brother routinely irritating him for months since they found the bunker, reading things out to him and smiling the whole time. When Dean had threatened to gag him, Sam had reminded him that he'd heard Dean mangle a few words in an exorcism the week before and so…Dean let him drive him crazy with the damn Latin.
"This better be the right spell, Sam," Dean said softly. He propped the book on Sam's leg and wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the hilt of the athame. "Cum sanguine et potestatem voco te." Dean felt the handle warm under his hand. "Potentiam tuam consumpta, hoc corpus, licencia." He spoke the rest of the incantation as quickly as he dared, making sure not to stumble over any of the words and blinked in surprise when the handle of the athame flashed brightly under his hand. Dean took a deep breath, swallowing his fear, and pulled.
The double-edged blade slid out and Dean braced a hand on Sam's chest over the wound as he tossed the blade aside with a clatter. "Sammy?" Dean tipped his head back, relieved beyond words to see him still breathing. "Come on, buddy. Sam." Dean smiled in relief when Sam's eyes fluttered open.
"Dean," Sam whispered, exhausted, and groaned at the pain in his stomach.
"Hey, hey, it's ok. You're good. It's out." Dean let go of his brother long enough to pull his flannel off and fold it. He pressed it against the wound and wrapped his other arm around Sam's shoulders. "We get this cleaned up now?"
Sam nodded once, sat up with Dean's help, and let his head fall forward onto his shoulder. "Can't."
"It's alright. I got this." Dean pulled his brother's legs to the floor and stood, taking Sam with him as gently as he could. Even so, Sam was gasping and fisted a hand in Dean's t-shirt. "Easy, Sammy."
"Don't you…dare c-carry me." Sam managed a reasonable approximation of a glare up at his big brother, and Dean laughed. "S'not funny."
"Yeah, it is." Dean snorted as he guided Sam out into the hall and to his room. He got Sam onto his bed and laid out as comfortably as he was going to get with a hole in his side. "Here, hold this." Dean put one of his hands over the makeshift bandage of his flannel and dashed from the room for the first aid kit. He was back in less than a minute and relieved to see Sam's half-lidded eyes still open and following him as he came in and sat next to him on the bed.
"S'gonna suck." Sam rolled his head while Dean shrugged and used the scissors from the kit to cut Sam's shirt open so he could see the actual wound.
Dean chuckled. "Probably." He narrowed his eyes at the damn hole in his little brother and wanted very much to kill that warlock son of a bitch all over again.
Sam clamped a hand into Dean's forearm when he poured peroxide into the wound and gritted his teeth, somehow managing not to let the whimper escape. "Fuck," He breathed instead once Dean was finished. He let Dean pry his fingers loose and let his arm drop to the bed. "Sorry."
"Don't worry about it. Always wanted a handprint there." Dean smirked at Sam's weak chuckle and set about quickly closing the wound and taping a bandage in place.
Sam curled around the ache in his stomach toward his brother, not even completely conscious of needing that instinctive comfort, but with the injury, blood loss, the trials and what he was terrified they were doing to him…he was asleep without ever realizing he'd bumped his forehead into his big brother's knee in a childhood plea for comfort.
Dean put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head sadly. With Sam's head planted against his knee, Dean suddenly felt like they were kids again, Sam instinctively needing the comfort only his big brother could provide and trusting him to simply make everything right with the world. He wished he could do that now, wave a hand and have the trials gone, demons, angels…all of it.
"I've got you, Sammy," Dean whispered and stayed where he was. There were a dozen different things he could go do that didn't involve letting his little brother snuggle his leg. Dean smirked. Not a one of them seemed more important just then. "I gotcha."
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The End.
Next Up: LotRia
