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 fayesanuttytart: Dean is angry/ignoring Sammy. Sam feels guilty so decides to hide his injury from Dean. Sam collapses and now Dean has to look after him and apoligize. I think this could work following the season 1 crash but could happen in any season. Good luck.

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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Bobby watched Sam ghost through his kitchen, eyes on his shoes for the hundredth time since the accident and sighed. His boys were hurting and Dean, in typical Winchester fashion was only making it harder on himself and his brother. He watched Sam's stiff gait as he turned the corner and wondered just how banged up the kid had gotten. He still couldn't believe Sam had walked away virtually unscathed from the twisted wreck out back.

"Hey, Sam." Bobby called and went after him. He caught him at the bottom of the stairs rubbing his chest. "Hey, you ok?"

"Yeah, Bobby." Sam smiled. "What do you need?"

Bobby studied his face and shrugged. "Look, I got a job few towns over. Thought maybe if you two idjits got outta here for a while it might…"

Sam nodded and smiled again. "I'll ask him." He looked out toward the door and the yard beyond and frowned.

"Naw, I'll tell him." Bobby slapped a hand on Sam's arm. "He aint stupid enough to pull that loud mouthed crap at me, son." He chuckled. "Go on and pack."

"Thanks, Bobby." Sam turned and headed up the stairs. He waited until he heard the front door close to hunch over and cradled an arm across his chest. "Crap." He had to pant in short breaths, his chest refusing to expand all the way just then. "Doctor wasn't kidding…when he said…it'd hurt while it heals." Sam panted and finally felt the pressure begin to ease as he managed deeper breaths. He straightened slowly, rubbing across the bruised ribs on his right side and made his way up the stairs again. He still had trouble wrapping his head around the fact that Dad was gone, that it had only been two days since they'd laid him to rest. A week or two of bed rest just wasn't an option with Dean in the condition he was and while a Hunt was probably the last thing he needed, he hoped it would help loosen Dean up a little.

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Dean argued with the clutch of the beater car Bobby had leant them and cursed as it stuck to the floor before cooperating. He glanced over at Sam and rolled his eyes. Sam was leaning against the passenger door, head turned to the window and Dean was sure he couldn't look any more pathetic if he tried. Bobby had told him to keep an eye on his little brother, even asked him what was wrong with Sam.

"Same damn thing that's been wrong with him for days, Bobby." Dean had shouted. "Guilty conscience kicking him in the ass."

"Don't get smart with me boy." Bobby had growled at him. "You may have gotten mysteriously healed but your brother didn't and I don't care what that boy says. Aint no way you walk away from that…" He pointed at the mangled remains of the Impala. "Without a bump or two more than he's fessin' up to." Bobby had tossed the keys to the loaner car to him and left him there. "You watch him. Time was you used to know how to do that."

The words had stung but not enough to break through the screaming in his head. Dean looked over at him again and rolled his eyes. He was not gonna have some Jerry Springer moment just to make Sam feel better. It wasn't his fault the last thing he'd done with Dad was pick another fight.

"You sure we got everything we need for this?" Dean asked into the silence and saw Sam flinch out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, Dean. It's a poltergeist." Sam shrugged with one shoulder. "Missouri gave me the recipe for the Gris Gris bags. Bobby and I got everything ready."

Dean nodded and focused on the road again. Being at Bobby's had made it easy to avoid Sam. Stuck in a car with him wasn't helping his frayed nerves. He reached over and turned on the radio, ignoring the irritated sigh from the passenger seat.

Sam rolled his eyes and let his head drop to the window. Every time he closed his eyes he saw his father's face as he leaned over him on the floor; so still, so lifeless. He'd seen death too many times to mistake it for anything else but he'd still screamed for help, still prayed while they'd worked to bring him back. He felt tightness creeping across the right side of chest again and was thankful the radio was up so Dean couldn't hear him trying to wheeze in a deep breath. The last thing Dean needed now was Sam whining about a few bruised ribs.

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They pulled up in front of the two story building that was soon to be an antique shop. The previous owners had left after very public complaints of shifting furniture and shadows. The current owner was laid up in the hospital with two broken legs after what he described as a dark shadow that threw him around, tossed him down a flight of stairs and shook the entire house. Bobby had seen the story on the local news, the reporters commenting that the guy was obviously in need of a Psych visit and put two and two together.

"Let's go nuke us a poltergeist, Sammy." Dean said as he parked in front of the garish, red building and climbed out.

It was late and dark and circumstance smiled on them with the streetlights beside the shop out of commission; no prying eyes to see them break in. Sam bent to the lock on the front door, hissing between his teeth against the now ever present pressure in his chest. He easily cracked the lock and pushed the door open, holding on to the frame for a second as Dean brushed past him into the shop.

"Ok. Two each." Sam said and straightened, pulling his bag around. He took out the Gris Gris bags and handed two to Dean.

"You take the cellar and this floor. I'll get the second and the attic." Dean took the bags, shoving them in his pocket and walked off to the stairs without another glance.

"Watch your back, Dean." Sam told him and sighed when he got no response as Dean turned at the top of the stairs out of sight. "Great." He went to the back of the shop, looking for the cellar stairs and alert for any signs the poltergeist was on to them. The house was quiet as he headed down the stairs and made his way to the east wall. He lowered himself carefully and used the hand-axe he'd brought to pry out one of the aging bricks. He had to keep one arm pressed to his chest against the pain there and concentrated on deep, even breaths as he worked but it was becoming harder. Sam kept glancing up, waiting for the spirit to get wise to them and take action. He breathed a relieved sigh when he placed the Gris Gris bag, put the brick back and still nothing had happened.

"One down." Sam stood and then stumbled against the wall as a wave of dizziness swept over him. "Damn. Don't have time for this." He forced himself up and back toward the stairs, hoping the poltergeist wasn't absent because it was after Dean.

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Dean jogged back down to the second floor from the attic. The fact the poltergeist had yet to attack him was making his teeth itch and he found himself checking every corner and keeping his shotgun handy. It had to be waiting for something. He couldn't believe the spirit didn't know what they were doing yet. He heard a door close downstairs.

"Sam?" Dean called and heard his brother's voice faintly. He shrugged since Sam didn't say anything else and headed for the North side of the shop and shouldered his way into a storage room packed with boxes. "Nice. Never notice a hole in the wall in here." He used the axe and punched an opening in the dry wall.

"Where the hell are you?" Dean muttered to the room as he pushed in the Gris Gris bag and rose. It wasn't that he didn't welcome an easy job; it was just that easy rarely happened for them, especially with something as usually violent as a poltergeist. He stepped back out into the hall and pulled the door shut. "Aw what the hell?" He actually wanted the damn spirit to attack him. He wanted a fight. Something to beat the crap out of might help alleviate the pain that he just couldn't shove down. It wasn't smart and he figured his Dad would have smacked him for it and that thought made him close his eyes. "Dammit, Dad."

He heard another thump from downstairs and frowned. "Sam? You done yet?" Dean headed for the stairs and growled. "Sam! Answer me when I talk to you." He stomped down the stairs in frustration, tired of his little brother's moping and sorrowful looks and attempts to make him talk. Now he was being childish and ignoring him and that was gonna stop. He turned into what had once been a living room but was now a show room with shelves and tables cluttered with yard sale junk.

"Sam?" Dean called and heard a groan from the back of the room.

"Dean." Sam gasped around the pain squeezing his chest tight. He'd tried to take the deep, regular breaths the Doctor had told him too but the pain pressed harder each time he moved and he was now curled over his knees, panting too short breaths and trying to stay conscious. "D…Dean. Help."

"Sammy?" Dean rounded a counter and stopped in surprise. He dropped to his knees and took his brother's shoulders. "Sam, what's wrong? Where'd it get you?" He tried to look for signs of injury where the poltergeist had hurt him. "Man I didn't even hear the damn thing."

"Not…poltergeist." Sam gasped.

"Sam, what's going on?" Dean's worry level was ratcheting up listening to Sam gasp for every breath, wheezing in and out like each would be his last. Suddenly the conversation with Bobby earlier in the day came back to him. He slid an arm across Sam's back, trying to pull him upright. "Sam, is this from the…the crash?"

Sam nodded, incapable of getting a word past the tightness in his chest. He reached a hand up and pushed the last Gris Gris bag at Dean. He'd been unable to finish the job, adding to the weight of uselessness that was eating at him.

"Sammy." Dean took the bag and shook his head. "Why didn't you tell me it was this bad? What is it?" Sam just shook his head. "Sit tight." Dean wanted to get him out of there but they had a job to finish. He went to the wall next to Sam's discarded axe and drove his own into the wall. At that moment the spirit finally decided it was time to intervene. Every table and shelf in the room began to rock, vases and other pottery toppling to the floor with loud crashes.

"Perfect timing." Dean growled and went at the wall in earnest. He grunted as a pot crashed into his back but didn't let it him dissuade him. He shoved the Gris Gris bag into the opening and turned to Sam as light exploded through the whole of the house, flaring outward. A moment later all was silent but for Sam's strained breaths.

"Ok, buddy." Dean took his shoulders again and tried to straighten him but Sam was hunched over his chest. "You gotta tell me what's goin' on here, Sammy."

"Ribs…bruised." Sam managed but Dean frowned.

"Dude, bruised ribs aren't enough for this." Dean made Sam look at him. "What else?" Sam just let his head drop and tried to slow the wheezing that was starting to make his head ache. "Alright that's it. You're going to the hospital."

Sam grabbed his arm and turned wide eyes up to him. "N-no. Be…okay." He sucked in another breath. "Just…have to…breathe."

"Dammit, Sammy." Dean watched the pleading look and sighed. "Fine. For now." He dragged Sam off the floor and got them moving to the front door. It was quiet outside and if anyone had noticed the brilliant flash of light, no one had stuck around to look. He got Sam into the car and rested on the roof for a moment. What the hell did I miss? He asked himself and figured he could already imagine what Bobby would have to say. He ran around to the driver's side and pulled away from the shop. Sam gasped and sometimes coughed and made him almost reconsider dumping him in the ER but the look on his brother's face had been eloquent and he understood. Dean wasn't in a hurry to see the inside of a hospital again anytime soon either; the memories still too fresh and how much worse must it be for Sam having found their Dad. He felt guilt then for not once considering what it had to be like for Sam but then, he and Dad had fought like they always did and he couldn't help but wonder if it hurt him as much as it hurt Dean.

Dean debated the six hour drive back to Bobby's but tossed that idea with a glance at Sam's pale face. He turned in to the first motel and only left Sam alone long enough to get a room. One look at the lime and pink paisley on the walls almost made him get back in the car but he groaned and got his brother to the far bed.

"Just sit for a sec okay? Breathe." Dean told him and Sam nodded, trying to slow his breaths. Dean dug out his cell and called Bobby who, no surprise even at that hour, picked up on the first ring.

"How'd the cleansing go?" Bobby greeted and Dean sighed.

"Easy. Uh…Sam's having trouble though." Dean waited the three breaths and then pulled the phone away from his ear as Bobby yelled.

"Dammit, son! I thought I told you to watch him!" Bobby shouted and then took a deep breath to calm his temper. "What happened?"

"Bobby, I dunno. He says it's from the accident. Bruised ribs." Dean went over to Sam and held the phone out so Bobby could hear the wheezing. "You tell me."

"And he's not in a hospital why?" Bobby asked and then rolled his eyes. "Never mind. I know why. Look, just…try to keep him comfortable. I'm gonna call the hospital, talk to the Doc that let him walk out."

"Thanks, Bobby." Dean said to the empty line. Bobby had already hung up. "How you doing, Sammy?" Dean sat on the bed across from him and Sam nodded.

"Kay." Sam tried to straighten up and the pain in his chest lanced through him, doubling him up again. "Shit."

Dean caught him by the shoulders and eased him back onto the bed. "Man lay down. You're making me hurt just looking at you." He wrangled Sam's jacket off him in the process and sat beside him, feeling useless. "Sam, you gotta slow that down and breathe."

"Trying." Sam replied miserably and closed his eyes.

Dean's phone rang and he answered it quickly. "Bobby, give me good news."

"He'll be alright, Dean." Bobby rubbed a hand over his beard. "Sam checked himself out against the Doctor's advice. Kid pretty much threatened to start hurting people if they didn't let him go take care of you and your Dad." He paused when he heard Dean curse. "Wonder where he learned that from?"

Dean rolled his eyes and glanced down at his stubborn brother. "Just tell me what's wrong with him and what to do."

"Doc said he took a hell of a hit from the steering wheel on his right side." Bobby looked down at his hastily scrawled notes. "Pulmonary contusions of the right lung, three bruised ribs, concussion and minor lacerations. Doc says it sounds worse than it is but Sam's gotta breathe Dean." Bobby paused. "Look, if he doesn't get that breathing under control it will be somethin' to worry about."

"So what the hell do I do?" Dean's patience was reaching its' breaking point.

"Doc suggested ice packs on the ribs to numb the pain so he can breathe. When he can take it, get him coughin'. Help loosen up some of the crap in there before it turns into pneumonia." Bobby could practically hear Dean's teeth grinding with worry. "He'll be fine, Dean. Just take care of him."

"Right. Thanks Bobby." Dean hung up and looked down at Sam's straining face. "Sammy." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sam. I should have been paying attention. Should have known you didn't just walk away from that mess."

Sam grabbed his arm again. "S'okay." He said between gasps and then groaned around the pain.

"Hold on for a bit. I'm gonna go pick up some stuff." Dean tugged the blanket from the other bed and draped it over him. "I'll be back in five." Sam nodded weakly and watched him go, swallowing the urge to call him back and not leave him alone.

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"Any better?" Dean asked and smiled when Sam nodded even as he shivered. He had ice packs covering the right side of his chest and Dean had given him serious grief when he'd seen the half ring of bruises there; the perfect impression of the Impala's steering wheel. Sam was breathing a little easier, the wheezing calmed and he smiled.

"It's better." Sam said and poked at the ice packs. Dean slapped his hand away and resettled them.

"Leave 'em on for another five minutes." Dean told him with a scowl.

"They're freakin cold." Sam glared and then squinted his eyes closed at a spasm of pain.

"Tough." Dean said with a smile. He wasn't looking forward to the part where he had to get Sam coughing, the pain was no doubt going to double him over again. "I'm really sorry, Sam. This is my fault."

"Bullshit." Sam said and smirked at the surprised look on Dean's face. "Demon's fault…not yours." He took another deep breath, wincing. "Do it again if I…if I had to. Needed me."

Dean looked down at him and saw the kid he'd raised. It hit him suddenly that it could have easily been Sam who'd died either in the car or in that shop if Dean hadn't been there.

"None of it's…your fault, Dean." Sam said, his face serious as he looked up at Dean. "Dad…"

"Don't start, Sammy." Dean cut him off. "Just…leave it alone for now. Okay?" He silently begged his little brother to just this once not push. Sam had no idea what he was talking about and Dean wasn't ready to even begin trying to explain it to him. To his relief, Sam nodded and closed his eyes on the sad expression swimming in them. "Ok, come on. Let's get you up for round two." Dean plucked off the ice packs and couldn't help but stare again at the livid bruises as he helped Sam to sit up. He took a bottle off the bedside table and handed it to him. "Big swig."

"What's this?" Sam asked, looking suspiciously at the label and his eyes widened at the word 'expectorant'. "Dude, I do NOT wanna cough."

"Doctor's orders, kiddo." Dean pushed the bottle toward his face. "It's this or deal with pneumonia later." Sam scowled but took a healthy gulp from the bottle under Dean's watchful eye.

"Hope I puke on your bed." Sam muttered and set the bottle aside while Dean chuckled. He was going to say something else but the first cough worked its way up and he was glad for the remaining numbness from the ice.

"I gotcha, Sammy." Dean took his shoulder, rubbed his other hand over Sam's back as the expectorant started to do its work and suffered along with him. He toed the waste basket over to Sam's feet and groaned as his little brother hocked the first of many wet gobs of mucus into it. "Dude. Eww."

"Your…fault." Sam gasped and leaned back into Dean's arm to catch his breath. "This…sucks." He was glad for Dean's supporting arms as he hunched forward coughing again.

"I know, Sammy." Dean said over the pained hacking. He picked up one of the ice packs and held it over the bruises on Sam's chest; trying to give him some relief from the pain he could see pinching his face again. Sam smiled up at him in thanks for a moment and then bent back over the waste basket. "I'm sorry." He whispered, knowing Sam wouldn't hear him and silently cursed their father and his last words; hoping he would never have to tell Sam what he'd said because there was no way…just no way in hell and his father should have known that.

"Breathe, Sammy." Dean reminded him, rubbing soothing circles and nodded when Sam managed to suck in a few breaths. "You're gonna be fine."

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The end.