Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews.

Sam, 12; Dean, 16.


Sam darted from the front door as the bus honked outside. Dean was right behind him and passed him as they ran across the front yard. The bus doors closed a second after Sam jumped on. He found an empty seat and moved in towards the window. Dean slumped into a back seat as the buss pulled away.

Sam was let off first and met up with his friends by the front doors. Dean watched his brother from the window with a smirk on his face.

Sam first noticed his stomach ache after gym class. He thought that maybe he just ran too much, but it kept getting worse through math. By English, he could hardly pay attention to anything else. He rested his forehead on his open book.


He looked up at Mrs. Thompson. She was in her mid thirties and treated every student like they were individually special. She had taken notice of how bright Sam was, of how hard he worked. He liked her.

"Are you all right?"

He automatically nodded and then replaced the action with a shrug.

She knelt down next to his desk. "Do you want to go down and see the nurse?"

He shrugged again. "I'm all right." He whispered and swallowed.

She noticed how pale he was and the sweat that made his bangs stick to his forehead.

"Sam." She met his eyes and smiled. "Why don't go sit in the nurse's office for a little bit and see if you feel better. You're ahead by a couple of days, you won't miss anything."

He nodded and shoved his book in his backpack and stood. He staggered a little as he left the room. Mrs. Thompson wanted to follow him down the hall, but she had the class to take care of. She'd call the nurse in a few minutes to make sure that he made it all right.

Sam slowly walked down the hall. He was beginning to think that maybe going down to the nurse wasn't such a bad idea after all. He paused in front of the nurse's office and took a breath. He knocked on the open door and stepped inside.

Nurse Johnson was very good at her job and loved working with children. She had soft brown hair and glasses. She was on the phone and smiled at Sam when he walked in.

"He just came in." She hung up the phone.

Sam kept his eyes on the floor and swallowed.

"Mrs. Thompson said you weren't feeling well." She gently rested her hand on his shoulder and guided him to a chair.

He shrugged and sat down.

"What's going on?"

He glanced up. "My stomach sort of hurts."

"All right." She smiled again and took his temperature. "You have a little bit of a temperature, do you want me to call your dad?"


She looked at him for a few seconds, Sam didn't notice. "Okay. Why don't you lay down for a little bit and see if you feel better."

"I'm okay here." Sam muttered.

A girl came into the office with her finger wrapped in a blood soaked paper towel. Nurse Johnson glanced back at Sam before she went to help the girl. Sam leaned his head back against the wall and took slow breaths to try and calm his stomach. If he could make it through the day, then everything would be all right.

The girl with the cut finger left with a giant bandaid on her hand and a bag of ice. Sam watched her leave and wished it was that easy for him. His stomach clenched and he swallowed. He stood and ducked into the small bathroom that was connected to the room. He dropped to one knee and vomited. He coughed and spit and waited, not sure that everything was said and done.


He glanced back and saw nurse Johnson behind him. He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment, but figured the fever would cover some of it.

She handed him a paper cup of water. "Rinse, but don't swallow."

He swished the water in his mouth before he spit it into the toilet and flushed. He sat back against the wall and brought his knees up.

"I'm going to go call your dad."

Sam looked up at her. "Do you have to?"

She smiled a little. "I'll make a deal with you. I'll just call him and let him know, I won't call him to come pick you up. All right?"

Sam nodded and felt his stomach churn again. She left the small bathroom and Sam heard her picked up the phone. He gave into the nausea again and leaned over the toilet as he vomited. His throat burned from the effort and his already sore stomach was increased. Maybe waiting until the end of the day wasn't such a good idea.

Gentle hands pressed a cup of water into his hands. He rinsed again. Those same hands helped him up off the floor and over to a cot. A garbage can was placed near his head and he curled on his side.

He hadn't realized he fell asleep until a rough hand gently rested on his forehead. He opened his eyes and groaned as he body realized it was awake and still sick.

"Easy." John's voice was quiet, low.

Sam looked up at him. "I'm sorry, dad."

"It's okay. Let's get you home."

John helped his son stand and put an arm around the boy's shoulders to steady him. Sam let himself be led down the hall without paying much attention to anything other than not vomiting again.

John eased Sam into the front seat of the car and walked around to the driver's side. Sam leaend his head against the window as the car pulled away.

"You feel all right this morning?" John glanced over.

"Yeah." Sam closed his eyes and swallowed. "I didn't want them to call you."

John smiled a little. "She said that."

"I would have stayed until the end of the day." He muttered.

"I don't mind picking you up, Sammy."

Sam winced and wrapped his arms around his stomach.

"Need me to stop?"

"I'm okay." Sam breathed.

John drove slower, his turns and stops gentler. He pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. Sam pushed open the door and stumbled from the car. By the time John had gotten round to him, Sam was on his knees as his stomach tried to make him vomit something that wasn't there.

John rested one hand on his son's shoulder and the other on his forehead. Sam shook from the effort, from the illness. After a few minutes he drew a shuddering breath and sat back on his heels.

"Let's get you upstairs and in bed." John eased Sam up to his feet.

He guided his youngest through the house and up to the room he shared with Dean. Sam couldn't remember his bed ever feeling so good before. John dug some clean pajamas from the dresser as Sam pulled off his shoes. John stepped out of the room so Sam could change.

Sam was half asleep when John returned with a glass of water. He pulled the trashcan over near the bed and sat down in a chair. He handed Sam the thermometer.

"How are you feeling?"

Sam shrugged. John took the thermometer from him and read the number, a little high, but nothing to be worried about.

He rested his hand on Sam's head. "Get some sleep. I'll be around if you need anything."

He stood and was at the door when Sam spoke.

"Dad." He shifted under the blanket. "I'm sorry you had to come and get me."

"I'm not. Don't worry about it." He waited until he was sure that his son was asleep.