Title: Reader's Special: First Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection
Author: Disasteriffic Kaz
Info: A collection of One Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: First Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each one shot reward fic.
Author's Note: The Reader's Special: First Edition was such brilliant fun thanks to all the wonderful people who prompted the story for each chapter that I offered each prompter a One Shot Reward fic of their choice. None of the chapters contained in this Fic 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!
Chapter Info: For Jeanny: Season 6, after M3:TR. Sam's spacy and distracted and Dean doesn't notice at first because he's distracted himself thinking about Lisa and Ben, then he's annoyed because Sam's affecting their hunt, then he's mad and worried because he thinks Sam is still trying to remember and might knock down the wall, and then he's guilty because he hadn't realized Sam was just getting the flu. Sam doesn't catch onto any of this because he's too busy trying to have Dean's back like he promised even though he's feeling awful. Feverish!Sam and Awesome Big Brother!Dean ensue.
Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P
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Dean opened the door to their motel room and sighed to find the lights still on and Sam still awake. He'd been hoping to avoid another of his brother's 'looks'; the ones that said he thought Dean was drinking far too much and too often and he knew why. The look usually led to Sam trying to get him to talk about Lisa and Ben which was the whole reason he was climbing in the bottle in the first place. Why would he want to ruin a job well done with a heart to heart?
"Lemme alone, Sam." Dean said shortly to his brother as Sam's dark head rose up from his laptop and, as he'd figured, pinned him with the look.
Sam only shook his head and went back to his screen, not in the mood to argue with his brother at three in the morning. "I've been researching that hunt. I think you're right. It's a poltergeist."
"Course I'm right." Dean tossed at him on his way to the bathroom. "Go to bed Sammy."
Sam sighed as the bathroom door shut and closed the laptop with a weary sigh. It was eating at him, seeing Dean so broken; in so much pain and unable to do anything about it. He scrubbed his hands over his face and made his aching body move from the chair. He considered waiting for Dean to finish in the bathroom but when he heard the shower turn on he gave up and flopped face down on his bed. He managed to tug the comforter mostly over himself, kicked his shoes off to thump on the floor and closed his eyes. He just plain hurt too much, every joint aching and the sickening feeling in his stomach told him he had definitely caught something.
"Don't have time for this." Sam muttered into the pillow and let sleep claim him as the shower ran.
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Sam followed behind Dean as they crossed the construction site to the hulk of the old house waiting to be torn down. Three people had died in the last week; that's what had caught their attention. The house had been painted a deep forest green once, now only remnants of the pain survived in flaking patches on the clapboard siding skewed this way and that on the outer walls. None of the window had any glass left in them, long since broken out by enterprising kids testing their rock throwing skills. The remains of the front porch tilted to one side, propped up by two by fours, looking as though it had once taken a hit from a badly parked car. It was condemned for structural instability and indeed, several people had reportedly fallen through the floors to find themselves trapped in the cellar; one landed badly on the rusted springs of an old bed and didn't survive his rescue.
"Sam!"
Dean's voice made Sam jerk as his brother grabbed his arm, giving him a shake. He didn't realize he'd zoned out until then. "What, Dean?"
"Don't 'what, Dean' me." Dean glared at him. "You're poking at the damn wall again."
"I'm not, Dean. I'm not." Sam tried to reassure him but his brother just glared at him.
"You know what happens if it comes down. Game over, Sammy and I am not gonna lose you all over again just 'cause you can't stop scratching at the damn thing!"
Sam stared in surprise at the vehemence Dean was throwing at him; the anger. He understood it was born of fear and so, rather than make it worse, he just nodded his head. He was so tired, wanting only to curl up somewhere for a week and let whatever was burning through him burn itself out. "Dean…" He started, intending to tell Dean his lack of focus was because he was sick but Dean cut him off.
"Dammit, Sammy." Dean rubbed a hand through his hair and turned away, heading for the house again. "Can't you ever do what you're told? Just this once. Please."
Sam opened his mouth like a guppy and then closed it. He didn't have the energy to try and convince Dean that he was wrong for a change. Sam just nodded and followed along. He pushed down the exhaustion and wiped a hand over his forehead, wiping away the sweat from the fever and unzipped his coat to try and cool off in the cold night air. He needed to have Dean's back and he couldn't do that if he was busy being sick.
Dean barely restrained himself from stomping up to the house. He glanced back and saw Sam following and looked away again. He couldn't keep his mind from straying to Lisa and Ben. He wanted so desperately to be in two places at once; here on the Hunt with Sam and home wrapped up in Lisa's arms but he knew that wasn't fair to her. Hell, it wasn't safe for either of them. He'd almost gotten them killed. That thought stopped his blood cold; they could be dead because of him if not for Sam; Sam watching his brother's back even when he didn't know he was there. He replayed their last moments together, the anger and the guilt; anger from her and Ben, his guilt threatening to swallow him whole. He knew staying away was the right thing to do, whatever they thought but dammit it was so hard to not lie to himself; to convince himself that he could protect them…from him. He grunted in surprise when he was pushed from behind and something heavy crashed behind him.
"What the hell, Dean?" Sam asked, bending to pull his brother up from the ground.
Dean turned and saw a chunk of roofing lying where he had been standing and felt cold down to his toes. "Thanks, Sammy."
"How about you pay attention?" Sam punched his shoulder lightly and headed for the back of the house, turning the corner and leaving Dean to collect himself.
"Nice job, Winchester." Dean groused and shook his head. He went after his brother and caught him just as he was climbing up onto the ramshackle porch. Cleansing the house wasn't an option for them as it was going to be torn down. Fortunately, Sam's research had turned up rumors of the original owner's burial in the basement and he was nearly sure that's who they were dealing with. He'd been a real bastard in life; had refused to sell his house more than once and on his deathbed had promised no one would ever take his home from him.
Sam took hold of the door, hanging by only one hinge and picked it up, moving it out of the way with a low groan. It took more effort than he liked and he straightened quickly, hoping Dean hadn't noticed. His brother handed him a flashlight as he passed him inside the house.
"This place must have been beautiful back in the day." Sam observed softly as he looked around what had once been the kitchen. The floors and walls were dust covered maple, the moldings around the ceiling were covered in delicate scroll work and the remaining lights looked like something from the fifties; frosted glass with delicate floral patterns painted on them.
"Not lookin' very Better Homes and Gardens anymore." Dean smirked and then stepped back quickly as the floor creaked beneath his feet. "Watch where you step or we're taking the express downstairs."
Sam watched him walk carefully out to the hall and braced his arm against the wall for a moment. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, looking for strength as the fever rose and made his head swim.
"Sam! Knock it off and get your ass over here!" Dean shouted, startling him and Sam jerked his hand off the wall at the angry, worried look on Dean's face.
"I'm coming." Sam stayed by the wall, figuring it would be the most stable part of the floor and followed him out. His head felt stuffed, his chest congested and every joint in his body was clamoring for his attention with a cacophony of bone deep aches. "Hey, Dean…"
"Found the cellar stairs." Dean said suddenly and waved him forward as he stepped through a small door. "What's left of them anyway."
Sam sighed, hitching the duffel with the shovels, salt and lighter fluid higher on his shoulder and followed Dean. He'd almost asked him to wait another day or two to finish the hunt and he cursed himself for his own weakness. Waiting would only ensure someone else would fall victim to the pissed off spirit and that was more important than dealing with his stupid Flu.
They headed down the stairs, half of which were gone, stretching their long legs to bridge the gaps between treads. Sam gave a short cry as his weight crumbled a step beneath him. He caught himself on the aging banister, pulling his leg out from the splintered wood.
"You good?" Dean asked anxiously and Sam nodded, waving him on.
"Yeah. Get going before he realizes we're here." Sam made it to the bottom with a sigh of relief and shined his light around the cellar.
The cement of the walls was beginning to crumble with age and water damage. Wires hung in bundles from holes in the ceiling and the floor above. They stepped around piles of debris collapsed in and Dean gave a little shiver passing the twisted remains of the bed that had killed a man. It smelled of must and mold and rotting wood and made Dean's nose twitch with a sneeze.
"Yahtzee!" Dean called as he spotted the back of the cellar floor. It was dirt rather than stone and a roughly six by four area depressed in the distinctive shape of a grave. "Bring the shovels over here."
Sam wiped his brow again, breathing through the dizziness that was now ever present and followed Dean to the grave, dropping the duffel to the dirt. He bent down and pulled out the shovels, handing one to his brother and set his shotgun in easy reach beside Dean's. Sam shucked his jacket off and sighed in relief as the cold air hit him. They dug silently for ten minutes, the only sound that of their shovels biting into the firm earth and clods of dirt hitting the cement wall beyond them.
"Sam!" Dean shouted, pointing behind him.
Sam dropped the shovel and spun to grab up his shotgun. The spirit stood behind him, face contorted in rage and spectral arms reaching as Sam fumbled to get a grip on the gun. His vision was blurring, sweat dripping into his eyes and he fell back against Dean's legs as he raised the gun and fired before the fingers could touch him.
"Shit, Sam!" Dean stared down at him. "What the hell was that?" He opened his mouth to lecture his little brother and then really looked at him; taking in what he hadn't noticed until now. Sam was pale, his skin almost translucent; sweat glistened on his face, colored the neck of his shirt and his eyes were red rimmed. As he watched, Sam's eyes closed and his weight settled more heavily against Dean's legs as he gasped for air. "Crap." Dean dropped down and took Sam's shoulders, leaning him in against his chest for a moment while he ran a hand across his forehead, under the shaggy hair and felt the fever burning there.
"Sorry." Sam gasped. "Just…gimme a sec."
"Sammy." Dean was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. All this time he'd thought Sam's lapses were because he was poking at the wall in his head and he'd just been sick; sick and sucking it up to back up his big brother…again. "I'm sorry. I should have seen this." Dean said softly. "Come on. You're on ghost watch duty. I'll dig." He tugged Sam up on watery legs and set him against the back wall, handing him the shotgun.
"I can dig." Sam said; his voice weak and made to get up but Dean put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back.
"Sit and keep Grumpy's happy ass off me while I dig." Dean ordered him and waited until he got a short nod. "Good."
The ghost made three more attempts to stop them, met each time with a blast from Sam's shotgun until Dean salted the bones and set them alight. The spirit appeared one last time to vanish in a fiery blaze. "Rest in peace, jackass." Dean said happily and turned to see Sam letting the shotgun fall slowly the ground, his head dropping back to the cement. Dean tucked the shovels back in the duffel and his shotgun. He reached over and took Sam's from his hand, putting that in as well. He hefted the duffel to his shoulder and then knelt in front of Sam.
"You ready to blow this pop stand?" Dean asked with a smirk and Sam gave him a faded smile and nod. "Ok, sasquatch. Up you go." He took Sam's arms and pulled him up, supporting him until he steadied.
"Jacket." Sam said and tried to bend down to pick up his coat but Dean stopped him and grabbed it up, shoving it into the duffel.
"Got it. Let's go." Dean pulled Sam's arm over his shoulders and flinched at the heat pouring off of him. "Why didn't you tell me how sick you were?"
Sam gave him a disgusted look; one brow arched high and then chuckled when Dean rolled his eyes.
"Right. I wasn't listening." Dean groaned and got him to the bottom of the stairs. "Okay, I'm gonna go up first, you step where I step." He didn't trust Sam to not put another giant foot through the rotten wood on his way up. He got Sam out of the house and outside and frowned as he was carrying more and more of his weight as they neared the car. He couldn't believe he'd let Sam get this bad. There had been a time when Sam couldn't sneeze without Dean knowing he was sick. Hell the wrong color on his face and Dean's Sammy-radar would kick in. This time he had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts of Lisa and worries that Sam was doing what he'd promised not to, he'd missed it. He hated himself a little just then as Sam's breath wheezed in his ear.
"Stop it." Sam said suddenly and took back some of his weight. "Not your fault."
Dean snorted and leaned him up against the side of the Impala. "Outta my head, Sammy." He opened the door and eased him inside before going around and sliding behind the wheel. He stopped on the way to the motel, leaving Sam in the car with his head pressed against the cool window and went into an all-night pharmacy. Ten minutes later he was back in the car with a bag of everything he hoped he'd need to fix up his brother. At the motel, he had to jostle Sam awake. Sam managed to get out of the car on his own but then had leaned up against it, out of energy. Dean didn't tease, just slid under his arm again and got him inside, letting him fall onto his bed furthest from the door with a grateful moan. Dean emptied the bag on the nightstand and grabbed the thermometer.
"Open up, kiddo." Dean grinned at the scowl Sam gave him and stuck the thermometer in his mouth. "Leave it in." He said firmly and got up. He went to the bathroom and filled the ice bucket with water, dousing the remaining ice cubes still in it and grabbed a washcloth before going back to the bed. The thermometer beeped and Sam took it out, looking at it with a scowl. "How bad is it?" Dean asked and Sam made to tuck the thermometer away.
"It's fine." Sam tried a smile and then glared as Dean intercepted his hand, pulling it away from him.
"Yeah cause 103 is totally normal." Dean scowled. "Dude I could fry eggs on your Cro-Magnon forehead." Sam stared up at him, amused. "What? Yes, I occasionally read a book."
Sam snorted a laugh and then sighed lustily when Dean dropped the cold washcloth onto his forehead. "Holy crap."
Dean chuckled and took the cold medicine he'd bought, pouring out a double measure of the stuff and handed it to Sam. "Drink." Sam rolled his eyes but did. He grimaced at the taste and gave a hard shiver. Dean frowned and sighed. "Think you can stand up long enough to go change? Or you wanna sleep in your clothes?"
Sam pulled the washcloth off his head with a nod. "I can do it." He let Dean help him up when his legs refused to cooperate and got into the bathroom, closing the door as Dean set his duffel on the counter. Sam looked at his pasty face in the mirror and groaned. He was covered in fever sweat, body slicked with it and he just couldn't stomach crawling back into bed that way. He reached over and turned on the shower, jumping slightly when the door opened and Dean stalked in.
"You planning on drowning yourself?" Dean asked, his voice irritated though it was concern Sam saw in his eyes.
"Dude, I need a shower." Sam sighed and closed his eyes, dropping to sit on the toilet lid. "Christ, I hurt everywhere."
Dean nodded, seeing the pain around his clenched eyes. "Okay, but I hear anything the size of a sasquatch hitting the floor in here and your dignity's going out the window."
Sam smirked and nodded. "Won't happen." He heard Dean mutter as he closed the door behind him and Sam sincerely hoped it wouldn't happen. He ended up sitting in the bottom of the tub, having sunk down slowly after only a couple minutes under the hot spray. It turned his muscles to jello even as it soothed the ache in his bones.
Dean used the time to beat himself up, waiting for Sam to come out. All his belly aching about not wanting to lose Sam again and he'd let him go on a hunt so sick he could barely stand. He'd gotten lucky, he knew that. If the poltergeist had been a little more with it, a little faster, he could have lost his brother tonight right in front of him. Sam had barely been able to reach his gun in time, let alone get a grip on it. That memory, of the spirits hands reaching for him as he fell back into Dean…that sent a shiver up his spine and cemented his need to take care of him now, like he should have been doing all along.
Twenty minutes later, the shower had yet to stop nor any sounds come from the bathroom. Dean's nerves twitched and he went to the door, cracking it open. "Sammy? You ok in there?"
"Um…yeah." Sam leaned his head back against the tile and turned his head so the spray didn't hit him in the face where he sat. The truth was, he couldn't find the energy to turn off the shower and get out. It all just seemed too much at that moment. He underestimated his big brother's ability to read him as a moment later, Dean's arm snaked around the curtain, cutting off the water. A second after that his arm appeared again with a towel.
"Cover up, princess." Dean told him with a laugh. It would be uncomfortable for them both but he knew Sam didn't have enough steam left to get out on his own. It wouldn't be the first time he had to pull the kid out of a shower when he was too sick to do it himself, it just hadn't happened since they were kids.
"Kay." Sam said finally and Dean pulled the curtain back to see the red, embarrassed face of his brother. "This sucks."
Dean nodded, hearing the congestion in his voice. "Ok, let's get you up." Sam held the towel in place over himself as Dean hoisted him up and out of the tub. He turned and lowered Sam to the toilet again. He worked methodically, saying nothing as he grabbed Sam's sweats and got them partway up his legs then took his shirt and let him tug that on. "Rest's all yours." Dean said and left the bathroom so Sam could stand and pull his pants up on his own.
Sam's face burned, feeling ridiculous that his brother had to help him out of the damn shower. He stood and leaned unevenly against the wall, tugging his sweats up the rest of the way and leaving the towel where it fell. He stepped out of the bathroom and Dean was there, guiding his weaving steps back to the bed, covers turned back already.
"Can take care of m'self." Sam grumbled as Dean pushed him down and earned an amused snort in reply.
"Shut up, Sam." Dean told him, tugging the blankets up over him. Sam curled into himself under the blankets, shivering slightly with fever and Dean watched as he quickly fell asleep. He stretched out on his own bed to spend the night on bed watch and turned the TV on.
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He had no idea what time it was when he jerked awake and Dean cursed himself for falling asleep. He looked over and realized it was Sam that had woken him. "Shit." He rolled off his bed and went to his brother, dropping his hand onto Sam's forehead and cursed again. He was hotter than he'd been before and shifting restlessly, muttering in his fevered sleep about cold and heat and something close to a whimper fell from his lips, making Dean's heart clench. He realized with fear the fever must be making the wall weaken while he slept.
"Hang on, Sammy." Dean ran to the door, grabbing the ice bucket on his way and dashed around the corner of the building to where he knew the ice machine was hidden. He filled it quickly, leaving a scattering of ice cubes on the cement before running back. Sam was in full nightmare mode when he got back, thrashing beneath the blankets and as Dean set the bucket down beside him, he cried out.
"Sammy." Dean took his shoulders and gave him a shake. "Come on, tiger. Wake up. It's just a dream." He shook harder, wondering if this was another fit; if this was the time he'd lose him and gasped out in relief when Sam's eyes cracked open to look up at him.
"Dean?" Sam asked. His voice was weak, congested and sounded pitiful to his own ears.
"Hey, kiddo." Dean gave his shoulder a pat and smiled. "You expecting Santa Claus?"
"Not real." Sam replied and then smiled faintly. "Some asshat told me so when I was a kid."
Dean laughed and went quickly to the bathroom, coming back out with a handful of hand towels. "This is gonna suck. Sorry. Gotta get that fever down though."
Sam watched him pile ice into the towels and couldn't help the flinch when Dean placed the first one beside his neck. "Shit."
"Yeah I know." Dean grimaced and put another on the other side of his neck. He wrapped up two more bundles of ice and pulled the blanket down, leaving them under Sam's arms and pulled it back up as Sam shook in earnest. "Ten minutes, ok?"
Sam nodded, closing his eyes and tried to will away the heat he could feel cooking him from the inside out. "Hey, Dean?" He said between chattering teeth and felt the bed depress at his side as Dean sat down. "M'sorry."
"Huh? What the hell for?" Dean asked, confused. He couldn't think of a damn thing Sam had to be sorry for lately.
"I know…why you don't stay with th-them." Sam opened his eyes and saw the anger beginning to darken Dean's eyes.
"Sam this is not the time to bring this up again." Dean said softly, trying to push down the irritation.
Sam shook his head. "I get it. I do." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Mom and…and Jess. You're af-fraid our life'll get them killed." He had to close his eyes as he shook again. "Gotta be a way, Dean." Sam said. He knew it was the fever making his voice waiver, or he hoped it was but he didn't really care. "S'gotta be a w-way for us to be happy. Someday. Right?"
Dean sighed. "Aw, Sammy." He put his hand on Sam's neck, offering him the only comfort he could because the truth was, he didn't think there was a way. They were Hunters and that meant something nasty would always be lurking around the corner, waiting to break them the moment they weren't looking. He looked down at Sam, shaking and fevered; at the blue-green eyes that suddenly looked up at him so hopefully and for a second all he could see was the nine year old kid begging his big brother to make everything alright and the monsters go away. "Yeah, Sam. There's a way. We just haven't found it yet, ok?" He squeezed Sam's neck when he closed his eyes again on a sigh, the lines of tension easing a little from his face.
"We'll figure it out." Sam said softly, beginning to drift back to sleep despite the ice and the shivers. "We always do."
"Yeah we do." Dean nodded and when Sam was truly asleep he didn't leave. He stayed beside him, hand squeezing the side of his neck to let him know he wasn't alone and he smiled. Sometimes, just sometimes, Sam could almost make him believe they weren't gonna end bloody and alone somewhere down the road.
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The End.