Requested by ShawnieP00. WARNING: GROSS! Y/N is younger than Sam, but ahead in schooling, so she is in the same grade as Sam. 

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You were used to being sick on the road, and you were used to getting sympathy from your brothers, but not your dad. What you didn't expect was to develop such a strong aversion to getting sick, that if you ever did it was not a good situation.

You were sitting on the steps of your high school, waiting for your dad to pick you and Sam and Dean up from school. You were in 9th grade with Sam, and Dean was in 12th grade, but they were always nearby, keeping an eye on you.

Sam sat down beside you, bumping your shoulder, only to see you pale faintly. "What's wrong? Did someone hurt you?" he asked immediately, alerting Dean with his tone.

Dean crouched down in front of you. "What's going on, kiddo?" he asked gently, searching your face.

You looked away quickly, not wanting him to know you just felt like crap on toast. "No one hurt me, I'm fine." you said softly, trying to not sniffle.

"I know fine, and you are not fine, kid." Dean said, earning a look of reprimand from Sam. He shrugged faintly, causing the boy to glare at him.

You sigh softly, before looking at Dean, so he could see that you were pale, had bags under your eyes, and had glassed over feverish eyes. Your friends had pointed them out, arounf lunchtime when you had almost thrown up in the cafeteria, which was completely out of character for you.

Sam's eyes widened slightly, before he pulled you into a gentle hug. "Why didn't you say something about feeling sick?" He asked softly, more concerned than upset.

Dean moved to sit beside you and hug you as well, feeling bad for joshing you earlier. "I'm sorry for bugging you." he said honestly.

"Its fine, Dean. You care, so its okay." You said, meaning every word. "Sammy, I knew we had a hunt tonight, and dad would demand me being there." you add.

Sam nodded his head in understanding, knowing exactly what you meant, as John had a habit of demanding first, asking questions later. He lightly put his cold hand on your forehead, pulling his hand back quickly in surprise.

"She has a doozy brewing." he said, shaking his head at Dean.

Dean sighed softly, knowing the ramifications this would have on all of them, but especially you. "You always did have great timing for getting sick... how's your stomach feeling?" he asked, hoping it wasn't upset at all.

"I'm really nauseous." You admit softly, wrapping your arms around your stomach tightly. "I think I'm gonna need to throw up." you add softly, looking at Dean uncomfortably.

Sam cleared his throat uncertainly. "You sure about that, Y/N?" he asked, as John pulled up in the impala.

"LET'S GO!" John yelled loudly, as all three automatically jumped to do as they were told. "What's wrong with you, Y/N?" he demanded, noticing how pale you were when you got in the car.

You cringed at his tone, but answered anyways. "I'm sick." you admit, as your stomach starts churning aggressively. "Dean..." you whine softly, as you realize just how beyond sick you felt.

Sam looked at you then Dean, then John, before getting an idea. "Dad, can we go home please? I forgot my favorite knife." he pleaded, before slipping said knife to Dean to hide in the car somewhere.

John sighed in annoyance, but nodded, turned around, and started driving like a mad man to the motel.

You doubled over with a groan, whimpering over and over softly, as Dean rubbed your back. "It hurts..." you whisper to him, making sure your dad didn't hear you.

"I know, kiddo, hang in there, we are almost there, then I can help you feel better." Dean promised, glad he and Sam swapped seats this time, so he was in the backseat with you. He continued rubbing your back, flinching each time you almost gagged as John zipped around corners.

You gagged hard under your breath, relieved and annoyed that nothing came up with it.

"You're okay, I got you." Dean whispered softly, feeling the harsh gag. He sighs in relief, as John pulls into the motel rather aggressively, even for him, signaling he was annoyed.

"Everybody out, we have twenty minutes." John snapped, making it clear he was staying in the car.

Sam got out of the car and ran inside quickly, as you and Dean slowly climbed out of the car. You walked into the motel, partially doubled over, as your stomach flipped over and over again.

"Dean... please help me..." You pleaded, as you walked into the bathroom and positioned yourself over the toilet.

Dean took off his jacket and long sleeve shirts, until his arm was bare, as he kneels in front of you. "Are you sure you need to throw up?" he asked gently.

You nod quickly, as you started to feel dizzy and disoriented from the nausea. "Please..." You plead again. opening your mouth over the toilet, even as drool dripped from your mouth.

Dean nodded slowly. "Don't bite me." he warned. Before getting up, washing his hands thoroughly, knelt down again, and sticking his hand in your mouth until his fingers hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag. He did it again and again, until you gagged so hard vomit covered his arm, and he quickly removed his arm.

You doubled over the toilet, choking on the leftover vomit from coating Dean's arm, which led you to vomiting again and again, and again, until your stomach was finally empty and you were left dry heaving for the last ten minutes.

Dean got up and washed his arm off, wrinkling his nose at the grossness in front of him. "Better?" he asked gently, glad you didn't bite him this time around.

You nod, as you sink back against the wall weakly for a couple moments, before getting up and taking a couple sips of water.

John honked the horn, making it clear, it was time to go. So all three of you, headed out to the car, you noticed your stomach protested so much movement. "Let's go!" he said firmly.

As you were about to get in the car, your stomach rejected the water, and you doubled over vomiting the water and bile onto the pavement in front of your feet, before dry heaving violently for a couple minutes.

John rolled his eyes, before making a decision. "Dean and Y/N stay home, I won't have you puking every two seconds, or needing to pull over repeatedly." he ordered, as Sam begrudgingly got in the car.

"Feel better, Y/N. See you soon." Sam promised, looking at Dean firmly.

Dean nodded finally. "Keep an eye on your six." he said, as he wrapped a protective arm around you and led you inside, letting go in time for you to bolt for the bathroom to dry heave over the toilet, aggressively.

He sighed, and followed you into the bathroom, worried for your sake. "I think you're on empty." he said.

You spit into the toilet, sinking back against the tub in exhaustion. "I am on empty. I have been for a while." you admit softly. You slowly get up, only to be overcome be dizziness, causing you to grab onto Dean's arm to keep from falling.

Dean sighed again, before guiding your sick self to bed, which you gratefully collapsed on, only to have to roll over to the side, hang your head over the edge, and dry heave over the floor, helplessly.

"I'll get a bin." he said, as he grabbed a trash can and put it under your head, as you bring up a bit more bile. "You good?" he asked, once you stopped trying to heave up your empty stomach.

You nodded, curling up on the bed, snuggled in the blanket, and fell asleep.

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Dean kept close watch over you, even as he worried about Sam, who returned safe and sound (minus a few cuts and bruises). He was there each time you woke up sick, which was quite a few times. 

I hope you enjoyed this little fic. As always: vote, comment, and request away. Love you all! <3