Hello lovely people!

I just wanted to say thank you for coming and reading this, it means a lot. I hope you enjoy it, if you do please comment. If you hated it, please comment to. I love hearing what people know, it lets me grow as a writer, yes?

Also, I don't own Sam, Dean, Bobby, or John. But I did make a story about them anyway.

This is just the first chapter, let me know if it's any good and thank you again :D

For the first time in months Dean woke up before his little brother. Their dad had been out hunting something and hadn't come back to the Motel last night, leaving Dean to put his seven year old brother to bed at a rather late time. Sam had thrown a fit because he didn't want a burrito from the gas station across the street, eventually bargaining for half of one and a candy bar. After that, of course, Sam wanted to watch television with his brother, which wouldn't have been an issue if it wasn't for the fact that what Dean was watching would give Sam nightmares. Eventually Dean got Sam in bed and settled, falling asleep himself a few hours later.

Dean didn't mind waking before Sam. If anything, he enjoyed the time to himself. It was strange, but he figured the other was just tired after nearly a day and a half of traveling in the Impala with their father. After an hour or two of watching television and snacking on a bag of chips he heard the younger stir.

"Mhmm, Dean?" The seven year old said, his voice hoarse and quiet, not uncommon for one who had just woken up. Dean leaned back in his spot, smiling a bit as he saw that his kid brother was alive.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," the older said, watching as Sam squirmed into awakeness.

"M'thirsty," Sam muttered, rolling to his side with a small moan. Dean rolled his eyes. His brother was such a diva in the morning, and he could tell from the inflection in Sam's voice that he wanted Dean to get him something to drink. Like Hell Dean was going to do that just because his brother was lazy.

"You're not five, Sammy. You can get some water yourself," Dean responded, breaking out his his 'Mr. Mom' voice. Sam sighed and slowly got up, grumbling and complaining to himself as he did so. The second grader stumbled towards the bathroom sink, filling a small styrofoam cup with cold water and taking a few small sips.

Sam woke up dizzy and lightheaded, but that wasn't uncommon for him to experience in the mornings. It used to worry him, but Dean said that happened to him sometimes too and he just had to drink something and he'd feel better. The small boy shuffled back towards his bed, where he'd sit and watch television. He waited half an hour or so after finishing his glass of water, but his head was still spinning and if anything, he felt worse.

"Dean?" he asked again, the crummy way he was feeling leaking through in his voice. Dean, knowing every inflection, tone, and mannerism could tell that something was troubling the boy as soon as he heard his name called. With senses alert, Dean sat up to look at the boy, a small scowl on his face.

"Everything okay, Sammy?" he asked, studying the younger boy from a distance, knowing he'd be getting up in a moment to do a more thorough examination, making sure his little brother was alright.

"I don't feel good," Sam replied, a little frown on his face as he tried to stop the room from spinning – or maybe it was him who was spinning, he couldn't really tell. Dean pursed his lips, not pleased with his little brother's answer. The kid had just gotten over a nasty little virus two weeks or so ago; he didn't need to be getting sick again so soon. Also, Sam's answer had been extremely vague, leaving Dean with lots of questions that he was sure would bore his brother. The older stood up, walking over to Sam who was lying in his bed with his head resting against the headboard.

"You're not getting sick again, are you?" Dean asked, sitting down next to his brother, placing his hand on the Sammy's forehead and the other on the back of his neck. No fever, that was good. But if that wasn't the issue, than what was?

Sam shrugged, doing his best not to move too much because it would only make things worse. "Dizzy," he muttered, wondering if closing his eyes would make things better.

"Hey, Sammy. Eyes over here," Dean said, hitting Sam on the shoulder lightly so he'd focus. Sam sighed and opened his eyes, letting Dean look him over carefully. "You've been drinking water and stuff? You've got to do that," the older chided lightly, hoping that was the issue. The only other thing he could think of that would make his brother feel such a way being a head injury or some other illness. He didn't like the sound of either option. Dehydration was an easy fix, but the others were a bit more upsetting.

Sam nodded very lightly, pushing Dean's hand off of him. "Yeah, got some this morning," he said lightly, trying hard to keep focus on his brother.

"Didn't hit your head?" Dean asked, refusing to move from Sam's bedside, though he did his best not to touch him if that wasn't what he wanted.

"No, just woke up and hurt. It's getting worse," Sam muttered, his stomach starting to ache from the confusion and spinning going on in his head.

Seeing his brother's discomfort, Dean frowned. He hated seeing his brother sick just about as much as he hated not having answers, both of which he was facing at the moment. "Alright, well how about you close your eyes and try not to think about it? It's probably something that will pass soon."

Sam pouted but obeyed. He really wished Dean would make it better, would find some way to stop the entire world from spinning at a hundred miles an hour. Even though Sam considered his brother a superhero, truth was that Dean was just a twelve-year-old kid. The small boy closed his eyes and did as his brother told him to, though it wasn't working well. "Dean?" He asked roughly five minutes later.

"Yeah?" his brother responded, having moved from his spot next to Sam and over to his own bed to clean the shotgun John had left for emergencies.

Sam looked over at his brother, giving him the best "I'm sick, come pay attention to me" face. He wanted Dean to come back over and tell him he would be alright, but refrained from saying it outright, knowing Dean would have some smart comment about how much of a baby he was acting like over some dizziness. Bur the fact was, Sam was still only a child and the way his head spun left him nauseous. Regardless of that, Sam was a Winchester and Winchesters were tough. Just two months ago he watched his father stitch himself up after a hunt, never complaining once about how much it had to have hurt. And not a week later he'd seen Dean break his nose and continue on with what he had to do, tears welling in his eyes only as John sat him down to straighten it out. Sam was a Winchester and Winchesters were brave; he wasn't going to pansy out because his head was bothering him. Instead, he scrawny second grade boy pulled his blankets close and opened his eyes to focus on his older brother. "Still don't feel good," he murmured, hoping he didn't come across as too whiney and needy.

Dean sighed, finishing what he was doing before sitting down next to his kid brother. He knew he must have been miserable; every way he carried himself showing it. He was slumped against his pillow, eyes closed ninety percent of the time as he worked on breathing steady.

"I know, Sammy. But it's only been a few minutes, wait it out, dude," Dean said lightly, carding a hand through the boy's shaggy brown hair. He knew that calmed Sam down sometimes, especially when he was worried about not feeling good.

Sam closed his eyes and let a small whimper escape from his closed mouth. Dean, frowned. His Sammy was miserable and he didn't know how to fix it. Hoping that it was just some sort of freak headache or migraine thing, the older kept a small positive smile on his face and moved to sit next to his younger brother, resting against the headboard to allow Sam to lean on him. And Sam did just that, Dean knew it. When the boy felt bad, nine out of ten times he just wanted to lay on something warm and comforting – that thing being Dean more often than not.

Slowly, Sam lowered his head so that it rested against his brother's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat while willing himself to feel better. Dean ran one hand up and down Sam's back, looking around the room for something to concentrate on while his brother was resting. It wasn't that he was ignoring Sam, if anything he was hypersensitive to the boy's actions, but he could only watch his brother sit there with such a pained expression on his face for so long.

Twenty minutes had passed and if anything, Sam was feeling worse, his small hand grasping at Dean's shirt lightly. Dean had kept himself busy by humming whatever song came into his mind while pausing for moments at a time to reassure Sam that he was fine, even though worry was growing in his chest with every passing minute Sam didn't perk up and claim he was fine. As for not thinking about whatever was wrong with Sam, both boys were doing a shitty job at it. Dean knew Sam hated being sick, more so than other children, constantly worrying that the indigestion from dinner was food poisoning or his sore throat from sleeping with his mouth open was actually more. It was quite annoying really, John never having the patience to explain that every stomachache wasn't the flu. Dean was always the one to sit him down and explain that things would be okay. But Sam had never felt like this before, not for this long and certainly not to such an extent. Dean hadn't had anything quite like this either, so he really had nothing to go on himself. That worried him quite a bit.

Sam started to squirm in Dean's arms, the knot in his stomach growing, which made him anxious. "Dean..." Sam whimpered, not liking what was going on in his body.

Dean noticed it too, knowing all to well what was going to happen. "It's okay Sammy. Let's get you up, okay?" Dean said, helping his brother upright. But moving only made things worse, the spinning increasing with every inch he moved. Sam didn't even have time to utter out a word before his stomach lurched and remains of his gas station dinner could be found across his shirt, sheets, and the already grimy carpet floor. It didn't make the dizzy feeling stop, though, but instead made his throat sore and worries worse.

Sam sighed and leaned back against his brother, disgusted with himself and what had happened – what might continue to happen – while being utterly terrified as to what was going on.

Dean was staring down at his brother, trying to figure out the best way to get Sam up and maneuver them to the bathroom before they experienced a repeat performance. "Dude, gross," Dean said lightly, doing his best to keep it from sounding like he was too worried or disgusted. He knew his worry would only make Sam more terrified and his feelings about vomit on his shoes would only embarrass the boy further. Dean's attempts at keeping his brother calm, however, weren't working so well. "Can you walk?" he asked, sitting up just a bit more.

Sam groaned, thinking about it for a moment. He felt like complete shit, but he was tough, just like Dean. Winchester boys were strong and brave and although Sammy was on the verge of tears he assured himself that seven steps to the bathroom would be manageable.

He had been wrong.

After nodding and mumbling an affirmation, Sam slowly got up with Dean's hand against his back for support. One foot in front of the other, that's what he told himself as he tried to snap out of the nauseating blindness that was caused from the feeling he was spinning one hundred miles an hour. He picked up his first foot, his dizziness taking the best of him, leaving him to topple over onto the worn out carpet.

Dean's body tensed as he saw his brother fall, not having fast enough reflexes to catch him. His baby brother really must be sick, if he was so weak he couldn't even take a few steps, meaning Dean would have to find a way to drag his brother to the bathroom before he got sick again. The older stood up and bent down over Sam, placing a hand on his brother's back, pulling him up to see the tear stained face of his sick kid brother.

Sam had tried to be strong, he'd tried so hard to be all right, but he couldn't. He felt like he was on a tilt-a-hurl ride from a fair, only it never stopped to let him off. He couldn't walk and was covered in his own sick, there was no way he could keep calm now. He was terrified. Nothing was how it was supposed to be and he couldn't stop it. The tears welling in his eyes didn't fall, however, until he tried to sit himself back up and couldn't, requiring his brother's help to do the simplest thing. Doing his best to keep from crying hard enough that he couldn't breathe, Sam looked up at his brother and took one deep, slightly broken breath.

"D-Dean—" he muttered out, not only terrified as for what was wrong with him, but also slightly embarrassed that he was so unable to do something as simple as walk.

Dean could see Sam was terrified, he knew how the boy was feeling and was trying to figure out just how to fix it. "It's okay. Calm down, alright?" Dean said, helping Sam stand and lean on him as he practically dragged the kid to the bathroom, making it in just enough time for him to roughly make it to the toilet for another bout of puking. Dean grabbed a cheap towel off the wall before sitting down next to his brother, scrubbing off the chunks of Sam's food that found his way to his shirt while rubbing Sam's back lightly. "Easy, Sammy" he muttered, his hand still rubbing the other's back as he heard some forced choking sounds coming from Sam a few moments later. After a few minutes of Sam's body trying to turn itself inside out, the young boy's stomach finally calmed a bit, leaving him limp over the toilet, one hand resting on the seat, the other brushing over an ear that was now ringing.

"Mm'd'ne" Sam muttered, voice muffled through the toilet bowl. Dean forced a small smile on his face and patted Sam on the back lightly before helping sit him up against the wall opposite. The older brother looked over his sick, miserable, and now somewhat exhausted kid brother, deciding that the best plan of action was to get him changed and cleaned up, maybe that would make him feel better.

"Alright, Sammy. I'm going to be back real soon, we'll bet you cleaned up," He said, messing with Sam's hair before standing up to go find his brother's duffel for a new shirt. Once out of Sam's line of vision, the twelve year old let his calm demeanor dissolve for a few moments-only a few. He couldn't allow himself to break for too long, only because it would do no good if he continued to outwardly worry. Three seconds of panic while he dug an old shirt of Sam's, one that was his up until last year when he grew six inches taller, the shirt becoming too small for his new torso. He took two deep breaths and a forced smile before he entered the small bathroom again, fresh shirt in hand.

"Alright, I'm back. Now, let's get that shirt off of you," Dean said, already bent down in front of his brother. Sam hadn't stopped crying, his brave face having left him a while ago, not that Dean truly believed when he was trying to be tough, he knew his brother too well to believe such things.

The older carefully peeled the soiled shirt off of his brother and threw it in the shower away from the two of them. Before helping his brother into a new shirt, he took a damp washcloth and cleaned the lingering mess down Sam's chin and parts of his chest. The boy didn't make any complaints, he simply sat there and moaned, tears falling down his cheeks silently.

"Hey, how're you doing, kidoo?" Dean asked carefully, wiping at some of the salty tears down his brother's cheek. Sam opened his eyes lightly, trying to focus on his big brother, though the light hurt his head, something he didn't need, especially since every little movement made him spin faster.

"Mm'ts'ringin" the younger muttered, bringing a weak hand up to his ear, rubbing at it in an attempt to make it stop. It was much louder than Dean's voice. Sam had to concentrate very hard in order to hear his brother, which only frightened him more, tears still finding their way down his face.

Dean wasn't sure what to make of Sam's slurred speech, but it worried him. It's ringing—Did he mean his ears? It would only make sense, as Sam was rubbing them now. That wasn't good. It was bad enough that he was dizzy and puking and could barely walk, but now his ears were ringing? Bad enough to have him complain about it?

"Your ears? They're ringing?" Dean asked, taking the hand away from his ear because honestly it was very worrying. Sam groaned in response, not daring to move anymore.

"Loud," Sam muttered, squeezing Dean's hand. This was terrifying; he'd never heard of anyone feeling like this, he had no reason to believe he was okay, even deem seemed worried. Dean knew his brother too well, even when he didn't let on. He'd know when Dean was upset or worried, like he was now.

"Okay, hold on," Dean muttered, messing with Sammy's hair like he did when they were messing around, hoping it would calm him down, if only slightly. "It'll be okay," he added as he got to the doorframe.

As soon as Dean was out of Sam's line of vision, which was non-existent now that his eyes were closed, he ran towards the telephone to call the only person he knew could help: Bobby. Dad wouldn't help; he only got irritated when he was on a job and bothered. Bobby, for all Dean knew, wasn't busy and would be willing to help however he could. The twelve year old dialed the number he knew by heart and waited. One ring, two rings. He was growing more and more impatient until finally the ringing stopped and Dean heard the man pick up the receiver.

"Hello?" Bobby answered, his voice rough and familiar, causing Dean to sigh with relief as he leaned against the wall for only a moment.

"Bobby? It's Dean Winchester," he said, his voice rushed though he still did his best to keep the panic out of his voice for the time being. There was a two second pause before the other line answered.

"Dean? Why're you calling me? Your Daddy on a hunt?" Bobby asked, feeling a little concerned that the boy was calling him. That would only mean that he needed something and his father wasn't around to help.

Dean let his walls break a little, the fact that his father wasn't around to help, that he needed help and couldn't go to him. He didn't even know if Bobby could help, but it was his only option. He had to try.

"Yeah, Dad's on a hunt," he explained quietly, leaning against the wall, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, a moment to collect himself. "Listen," he continued, sounding a bit stronger and more confident, though that wouldn't last long. "Sam is sick. Like, really sick. He's dizzy and can't walk and he's been puking. His ears are ringing too and you can't tell me that's normal. Something's wrong with him, he needs a doctor and I'm not old enough to get him to one." His words sped up as the worry in his gut started to bubble again. He was only twelve. He just started middle school. How was he supposed to get his little brother better? Dad wouldn't be back until late tonight, or even tomorrow. Dean couldn't wait that long, Sammy needed help and he needed it now.

"Alright, alright. Calm down, boy. It ain't going to do you any good getting all worked up like that," Bobby told him, trying to calm the boy down. That didn't sound good, and not quite like anything he'd ever dealt with. He agreed with the Dean that Sam needed to see a doctor. "Where are you?" He asked, wondering how long it'd take for Dean to get to him.

Dean didn't even hesitate when Bobby asked the question. He was in some piss-small town in New York. Trying hard to remember the name Dean closed his eyes and pressed the phone closer to his face.

"New York," he supplied quickly, opening his eyes and looking around, grabbing the stationary on the nightstand and hoping that would give him the answer. "Riverside!" He yelled, extremely relieved that they had ended up staying at the Riverside Motel on the edge of town.

Dean could hear Bobby swear over the phone, he was across the country right now and wouldn't be able to get these in time to help his boys personally. "Alright, I'll make some calls, see if there's anyone in the area" Bobby said after a few moments, hanging up before he could hear Dean mutter:

"Bobby, I'm scared."