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 judyann: I totally love pre season Sam younger teens Dean older teen maybe something with the fighting with dad. Totally either hurt Sam and totally Sappy and brotherly bonding. I love that! And however you want to do it is fine by me.
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 leaned against the cracked, Formica counter in the kitchen of the house they were renting and wondered how much longer he should wait to step in between his Dad and brother. They were having a shouting match in the little kitchen. Sam at thirteen and barely topping five foot three was determined to make Dad let him come on the latest hunt; insisting that he was ready.
"Dammit, Sammy you are not ready!" John shouted and slapped a hand on the table in aggravation. "In another year, maybe if you stand taller than my damn shotgun!"
"That's not fair, Dad!" Sam yelled, shaking with anger at being dismissed. "I'm just as good a shot as Dean!" Dean snorted but said nothing when Sam shot him an angry glare. "I know how to gank a stupid ghost! I can help!" He was determined to go on this hunt and prove that he was ready; having to watch as his Dad and Dean went off and faced death was taking its toll on him. He couldn't stand the thought anymore that they might leave one night and never come back. Ever since he'd found out the monsters were real the fear had consumed him, more when his brother left as well.
"No, Sam. I forbid it." John said angrily and watched his youngest son's face turn red.
"But you were training Dean when he was four!" Sam stomped a foot in temper, unmindful of how young it made him look. "He was hunting with you when he was like ten!"
"That was different, Sammy." John said and now just sounded tired.
"That's crap!" Sam shouted and then stopped as his father's face darkened. Cussing at his Dad was crossing a line and inwardly he winced but didn't back down.
Dean stepped forward and took Sam's shoulders to try and stop the fight before it got completely out of hand. "Sammy." Dean said and he knew he would hate the look he was about to see on his brother's face. "I agree with Dad. You're not ready yet." He cringed inwardly as his little brother's face collapsed in disbelief. "I'm sorry, kiddo." Dean tried to pull him into a hug but Sam jerked away and ran upstairs. They could both hear Sam's footsteps stomping up to the second floor and the crash of the bedroom door as it was slammed.
John heaved a deep sigh and aimed a kick at the cabinet under the sink, taking some small satisfaction when it popped off its hinges. "I'm suddenly wishing he could have stayed twelve forever." He muttered as Sam's introduction to being a teenager had been the moment his rebellious streak had kicked in with a vengeance.
"Dad, he worries about us." Dean said softly around the lump in his throat. "It kills him being left behind, never knowing if we're gonna make it back or…or not."
"I know, son." John nodded. He did understand but it couldn't be helped. He carried no small measure of guilt for the way he'd raised Dean. His eldest had learned to Hunt practically along-side him, falling victim to his need for revenge and even more primal need to make sure he could protect himself and his baby brother. He looked at Dean, his hunched shoulders and the way his head turned toward the stairs as though he could hear Sam and, knowing him, he probably could. John pulled his training around him and steeled himself. They had a hunt and lives to save and salving Sam's wounded pride would have to wait until tomorrow. "Dean."
"Dad, I'm gonna go check on him." Dean told him and walked away.
"Be back down here in ten. We're leaving. That ghost isn't going to stop itself." John delivered the order sternly and went to gather up the weapons and supplies they'd need. Sam had actually helped with some of the research and even found the likely place the man's body was buried in the house. John, though, had kept some of the research from him; still unwilling to completely have Sam exposed to the monsters, especially when this one had been all too human in life. Jasper DeFoe had been a killer of children; kidnapping and hanging them in his house and that was just one of the many reasons he didn't want Sam along. His youngest was far too near the man's victim of choice when he'd been alive. He'd managed to hide all that from Sam who felt everything so strongly. He shook his head and wondered how he was ever going to shape him into a true Hunter.
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Dean eased the bedroom door open and went quickly to sit beside his little brother where he curled on the bed. "Sammy, I'm sorry." Dean dropped a hand onto his back and winced when Sam's shoulders tensed beneath his hand. "Dad's right this time. You just have to give it more time. You will be ready soon, just…not yet." He sighed when he got no response. "Don't wait up, ok?" He squeezed Sam's shoulder and stood.
Sam listened to his big brother as he left the room, quietly closing the door and fumed. He was ready. Why couldn't they understand? They needed him and he needed to be with them. He was tired of being babied when Dad pushed him so hard to train. He needed to calm himself so began doing algebra in his head while he listened to his Dad and brother moving around downstairs and shortly heard the door open and shut and then the familiar sound of the Impala's engine roaring to life and pulling away into the night.
He smiled to himself and rolled off the bed. If they thought he was just going to let them walk off and leave him this time they were sorely mistaken. Sam dropped to the floor and pulled the bag from under his bed, the one he'd hidden earlier in the day. From it he took a silver knife, tucking it into the back of his belt, an iron rod he'd gotten from Pastor Jim that was short enough to be comfortable for him and a flashlight. He pulled on his jacket and ran downstairs. He peeked out the front door to make sure no one was looking and locked it behind him.
Sam crept across the weed choked lawn to the apartment complex next door and slipped between the cars. He silently thanked his big brother for teaching him how to hotwire cars last month and for letting him drive the Impala a few times in the empty lot down the road. Dean would turn his nose up at the little Volkswagen Sam chose but he figured it would be small enough for him to reach the pedals and see over the wheel. He smirked when he pulled on the handle and found it open and climbed quickly inside. His Dad was always telling him that a Hunter had to be resourceful, determined and confident. Sam planned on showing his Dad just how well he'd learned those lessons and bent under the steering column to get the car started with a satisfied smile.
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"Dad!" Dean shouted and sprinted the length of the hall as his father was thrown through a set of double doors. The ghost turned an evil grin at Dean before flickering from sight. "Dad!" Dean slid into the doorway and saw his father lying on his side at the base of the far wall. He ran to him, sliding to his knees beside him. "Dad? You ok?" John's head twitched but his eyes didn't open.
The ghost had appeared without warning, latching first onto Dean with a frigid hand around his throat. John had dispatched it quickly, tossing a handful of salt into him and caught Dean as he dropped. Dean had gasped and gotten his footing back just as the late Mr. DeFoe reappeared and took hold of his father, throwing him.
"Dad." Dean gave his shoulders a shake and ran a hand over the back of his head, frowning at the lump he found there. "You gotta wake up, Dad." Dean looked warily around the room but the ghost was still absent. He tightened his grip on the iron poker in his right hand and shook his father again, worry clouding his eyes. "Ok, Dad. You don't wake up, I'm lugging your ass out to the car." Dean told him, tapping the side of his face. When all he got was a moan he sighed. "Great." He reached down, tugging up one of his father's arms and then gasped as something wrapped around his throat.
Dean shouted in surprise, the sound cut off as it tightened. His fingers scrabbled at his throat, the iron poker dropping to the floor with a clatter and he felt a thin cord of rope twisting itself tighter. Dean was yanked off his feet and pulled backwards across the floor, kicking as he was dragged through a set of doors into the empty dining room and the doors slammed shut behind him. He tried to get his fingers beneath the rope as his lungs burned and strained for a breath he couldn't get. Spots began to dance in his vision, the room darkening around him; the night rolling in to cover his sight as he felt the rope tug and pull him up. Dean tipped his head back and saw the rope moving on its own above his head to wrap around the base of a decrepit chandelier. He tried to call his Dad, tried to loosen the rope and couldn't fight when his hands and arms went numb and dropped to his sides.
Dean felt arms touching him, reaching above him and tried to lift his head. The rope suddenly gave way and he dropped to the floor in a heap.
"Dean!" Sam's voice brought him around as the rope was unwound from his throat and Dean looked up in shock at him.
"Sammy?" Dean croaked.
"Hang on." Sam tried to shake the image from his mind; his brother being hanged in front of him and shook once, hard with the realization that if he hadn't come…He pushed the thought away and concentrated getting the rope from Dean's throat, glad he'd brought the knife. "I've got you, Dean."
"Sam." Dean grabbed his arm and yanked him around so he could see him. "Get out. You gotta…" Dean coughed. "Get out!"
Sam stared at him and frowned. "No. You need me."
Dean used his brother to pull himself up, fear for Sam's safety giving him the strength to move. "Out. Now."
"Dean, wait!" Sam tried to shrug out of the steely grip on his arm as Dean staggered toward the closed doors to the living room and shoved them open. "Crap! Dad!" Sam startled as he saw their father lying on the floor. "Is he okay?"
"He'll be fine." Dean rubbed his throat and gave Sam a shove toward the hall and the front door. "You have to get out of here, Sammy. You're in danger."
"So are you." Sam said and planted his feet in refusal.
"You don't understand!" Dean was frantic to get him out before the ghost spotted him. The case file images his father had shown him flashed through his mind; young boys beaten and hanged in this very house and he grabbed Sam, pulling him toward the door. "Dad didn't tell you. The ghost likes kids, Sam." He felt Sam jerk in surprise. "Boys. If he sees you…"
"Too late." The voice made both boys jump in surprise.
"Crap." Dean pulled Sam close to him as the ghost appeared. "Go, Sam!" He pushed him at the front door but Sam stopped, pulling a short iron rod from his jacket and ran at the ghost; he swung the rod through DeFoe's torso and dissipated him.
"Get Dad!" Sam told him.
"No!" Dean reached across and took his arm. "You first." He knew their Dad would say the same if he were conscious and dammit why didn't he wake up already? Dean pulled Sam to the door despite his protestations and took hold of the knob but didn't have time to turn it before the ghost returned. DeFoe's spirit yanked Sam from his grip, tossing him to the bottom of the stairs. At the same time, Dean felt a hard shove in the center of his chest and flew backward into the living room to land beside his Dad as the doors slammed shut once more. "SAM!" He screamed.
"D…Dean?" John rolled his head and opened his eyes with difficulty to find Dean lying beside him. "What? …did I hear Sammy?" He was confused and his head was pounding.
"Dad!" Dean all but jumped on him. "Dad, he's got Sam!"
"Wha?" John rolled and shakily pushed himself up, one hand cradling his head. "Sam's not here. Left him at…at home."
"Dad." Dean gave him a shake and waited for his eyes to settle on him. "He followed us. He's here. He saved me and that damn spook has him now! Come on!" He was frantic. He knew how much damage the ghost could wreak in a short time.
John dragged himself up off the floor, scrubbing his hands over his face. He swallowed the fear; there was no time for it, Sam didn't have time for him to be afraid. "Go get your brother. I'll get the bones." He gave Dean a shove. "Now, Dean! Go!" He said, using the words he knew Dean would respond to and saw the look on his son's face; as though he was betraying them but he knew the best way to save his boys was to get rid of the ghost. Dean would understand later.
Dean did as he was told. He ran and kicked through the doors. Fear was stealing his breath as he pounded up the rotting stairs, hearing Sam's shouts from above. He ran faster when the shouts stopped. "Sam!" He ran down the hall, leaping over a table turned on its side and skidded to a stop at the only closed door. "Sammy!" Dean kicked the door, growling when it didn't move. He reared back and put every ounce of panic he was feeling behind his foot and the door swung in so hard it rocked off one of its hinges as it banged into the wall. The ghost had his little brother by the throat, dangling Sam's still too short legs above the floor. Blood trickled from a cut over his eye as he gasped for air against the frigid hands around his throat; his eyes rolled to the side, meeting Dean's before they slipped closed.
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John hacked at the floor of the Dining room with the axe they'd brought, ripping up floor boards one at a time in a frantic race to beat whatever was happening upstairs. He heard Dean's shouts and Sam's and then only Dean. He ripped up a fifth plank of rotting wood and nearly sobbed in relief when he saw the first of the bones revealed in the light from his lamp. He hacked at the boards with renewed strength, not thinking about what he might be losing and cursing that it was taking too long.
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Dean charged at the spirit, raising the iron bar of Sam's he'd picked up from downstairs and dragged it through DeFoe's shimmering form. The ghost vanished with a roar and Dean caught his brother as he dropped.
"Sam? Sammy, wake up." Dean pulled him into his arms, cupping a hand at the side of his face. "Please be okay. Sammy?" He sobbed a breath out and smiled as Sam gasped and his eyes flew open. "That's it, buddy. Hey, you ok?"
"Dean?" Sam's voice was hoarse, squeezed through an abused throat and by the arms holding him tight.
"I've got ya." Dean dropped his forehead into Sam's hair for a moment.
"Dea…chest hurts." Sam said softly, closing his eyes against the ache.
"Shit." Dean leaned him back and put a hand on his chest. "What hurts?"
"Dean!" Sam grabbed his arm, eyes widening in fear.
Dean looked up and crushed Sam back against him as the ghost reappeared, a look of livid rage burning on his face. He bent for the boys and then screamed. The sound filled the house as flames engulfed him and he vanished.
Dean was panting in relief, arms tight around Sam. "Dad's got good timing." He loosened his grip on Sam slightly and tugged on the hem of his shirt. "Lemme see, Sammy." His little brother flinched at the movement and let Dean pull his shirt up to reveal an angry bruise forming over his ribs. Dean hissed in sympathy.
"Back too." Sam managed between clenched teeth and didn't argue when Dean pulled his head in under his chin and held him.
"Scared me to death, kiddo." Dean said softly smiled when Sam's arms wrapped around him. "Thanks." Sam nodded and didn't even look up when he heard their father's heavy footsteps run into the room.
"Dean? Sam?" John dropped beside them and put a hand into Sam's shaggy hair. "He okay?"
"He's fine." Dean said shortly. "Little bruised and that asshat tried to strangle him." He looked up at his Dad with fierce green eyes. "We were wrong you know." His Dad raised both brows at him but Dean didn't relent. "He saved us, Dad. I'd be dead if Sammy hadn't shown up when he did."
John flinched as if struck and a cold weight dropped into his stomach at the truth of his son's words. If his youngest son hadn't completely disregarded him to prove him wrong, tonight would have turned out very differently; tragically. "Sammy." He waited until Sam turned pained, hazel eyes up to him and smiled. "We're gonna have a talk when we get home about this." He ruffled the mop of dark hair and gave it a gentle tug. "Don't you ever scare us like that again." He reached out to take Sam but Dean tightened his grip.
"I got him, Dad." Dean said firmly. Sam was his responsibility; their Dad had made sure of that since he was four.
John nodded, sad and clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder as he stood. His eyes couldn't help but stray to the matching bruises ringing the throats of both his sons and he shivered as he left them.
"Come on, tiger." Dean eased himself up, bringing Sam with him. "You walk?" Sam nodded weakly, screwing his eyes shut; he drew one arm across his chest and held his throat with the other. Dean frowned as Sam hunched against him and shook his head. "Screw it." He scooped Sam up into his arms and knew he was right when Sam didn't argue, just huddled closer to him with his face in his neck.
"Hurts, Dean." Sam mumbled into his neck and breathed in the familiar smells of leather and gun oil and Dean that made him feel safe.
"I know, Sammy." Dean headed for the door. "I'll take care of it soon as we get home." He wondered how much longer he'd be able to do this, carry him, before puberty finally made Sam too old to be taken care of.
"You won't leave me alone again…will you?" Sam asked quietly as Dean headed slowly down the stairs.
"Promise, Sammy. You and me against the world." Dean said clearly and smiled when Sam snorted into his throat. "Shorty."
Sam snickered and squirmed his head around. "Jerk."
"No talking, bitch." Dean gave him a shake and laughed.
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The End.