#samwinchesterfic

You figured a bathroom trip would help. Maybe you were just gassy from all that questionable food you ate on the last trip. Or maybe it was food poisoning from the same culprit. You were thinking it was the later by the time you had sat down to do your business.

You hadn’t even had a chance to wash your hands after finishing up. You were headed there, eyes shut tight and mouth closed, biting down on the inside of your cheek, when you could feel what little was left in your stomach coming up.

You dropped to the floor, squatting in front of the toilet as your stomach expelled it’s contents once more, or what was left of them anyway. By the third heave, you were throwing up nothing but acid and air and neither felt good coming up.

A shiver ran through your body and soon enough, you were freezing cold in the t-shirt and leggings you had worn to bed. “A fever, great,” you mused, resting your hot head against your cool arm.

When you were sure it was over, and actually sure, you stood up, flushing the toilet and grabbing a rag from the cabinet. You ran the rag under warm water before rubbing it across your face, ridding yourself of the sweat and tears you’d produced from vomiting. You rinsed it out, then soaked it in cold water and laid it on the back of your neck.

With the rag still resting on your neck, you drug yourself back to your room, instantly collapsing into the full sized bed and curling up underneath the heap of blankets. Your shaky hands reached for your phone next to your table, checking the time. Seven a.m. No one should be awake at this time, not when it’s their day off and they want to relax. No one should be awake at this time, but you knew someone who was.

“Sam I’m dying please help,” you sent the text without thinking too much about it. Though, you realized you should’ve given it more thought when the 6’4 man burst through your door, gun held tight in his hands and shouting “where is it! I swear to god I’ll kill the son of a bitch!”

He lowered his gun seeing you curled up under the pile of blankets, and tucked it back into his jeans. “Y/N what’s going on? Are you hurt?” He moved to sit beside your bed, placing one large hand to your cheek. “You’re warm.”

“I’m sick,” you admitted, trying to shoo his hand away. “I dunno, it’s probably food poisoning. I knew we shouldn’t have trusted that crap gas station food.”

“Uh, two things,” he began, “You don’t get fevers with food poisoning and if it was food poisoning, Dean and I would be sick too. I think you’ve got a stomach bug, kiddo,” he soothed, his hand brushing back your sweaty locks.

“‘M not a kiddo,” you mumbled, pushing his hand away once again. “I’m only four months younger than you.”

He let out a lighthearted chuckle, moving his hands away. “Can I get you anything? Tylenol? Pepto Bismol? Some water?”

“Water would be lovely please and thank you.”

“Okay. You want anything to eat?” You grimaced at his question, feeling your stomach churn and face drain of color. “Or not. Just the water. I’ll be back.”

Sam sat on the side of your bed as you sipped the water. He simply waited until you were done and when you were he placed the cup on you nightstand. “Can I get you anything else?”

You shook your head, the action making you slightly dizzy. “I think i’m just gonna try to get some more sleep.”

“Were you up all night with this?” He asked, his hand brushing gently through your hair.

“Since about three this morning, yeah. I didn’t actually get sick until now though,” you informed him. “Hey actually, could you do one more thing?” When he gave a confirming nod, you continued, “will you put my hair up? I don’t know if i’m gonna throw up again but I don’t want my hair in the way if I do.”

“Sure darling.” Sam scooted behind you, letting you rest against his chest as he gathered your hair into a messy bun, securing it all with a hair tie. “Good?”

You nodded, the bun moving slightly on your head. “Perfect. Thanks Sam.”

“If you need anything else, I’m in the library. I’ll keep my phone close by. Get some rest.”

“I will do just that,” you hummed, already settling in for a nap.

“So much for a nap,” you thought when you woke up at 8:15. You were hoping to get three or four hours in but instead you barely got one.

You decided that getting up and trying to walk around would be the best idea but you could barely make it to the bedroom door before your stomach started to protest against going anywhere but the bathroom.

It wasn’t long before you were throwing up again. Acid and air, mostly, but you thought that was worse than actual food. It all sucked though and you were hoping this was just a 24 hour thing.

You were finally done and getting ready to leave when you felt a cool rag against your neck, sighing at the feeling. You hadn’t even realized Sam had come in until he was standing right beside you.

“I was passing by to check on you and heard you. Here, come here.” He pulled you up slowly, supporting most of your weight as he washed your face off quickly and returned the rag to your neck. “Better?”

You nodded, swallowing down the minor wave of nausea that had come again. “A little,” you told him.

He helped you back into bed, pulling the covers around you loosely. “Want some more water?” He asked, grabbing the empty cup.

“Will you bring me some toast or applesauce or something too?”

“You bet,” he grinned.

It had only been half a minute or so before he was returning to your room, a big tumbler cup filled with ice water in one hand and a packet of applesauce and a spoon in another. “Feelin’ any better?” he asked, handing you the cup and sitting on the edge of your bed again. He began to open the packet of applesauce, sticking the spoon inside and waiting to trade you - the water for the applesauce.

“Not exactly,” you said, taking another little sip before handing him the cup back.

“I sent Dean off to the store. He’s going to pick up some Gatorade and some more applesauce for you. Oh, and Lysol. He said he was going to get Lysol too,” Sam chuckled, trading you once again when you motioned for the cup back.

You swallowed the sip and let out a little sigh, “might as well. I really hope neither of you catch this.”

“I’m sure we could handle it if we did,” he shrugged. “I mean, you’re handling it like a rock star, and if Dean or I get knocked down by the flu and you don’t, that’s really saying something,” he teased.

“Right,” you rolled your eyes, taking the applesauce back from him.

Sam placed his hand to your head again, this time smiling a bit. “You’re not warm anymore. You feel feverish at all?” You shook your head at his question and traded him one last time: your now empty applesauce packet for the cup of water. “Need anything else?”

“To feel better,” you joked, producing a small smile, which caused Sam to smile too.

“I’m trying,” he chuckled halfheartedly. “I’m gonna work out. I’ll have my phone with me so don’t hesitate to text or call, alright?”

“Okie dokie,” you hummed, settling back down in bed. You felt Sam’s lips on your forehead, making your cheeks burn. He had never done that before. He’d hug you a lot, big squishy bear hugs that ended in you being spun around before being set down, but he’d never kissed you. You passed it off as Sam feeling sorry for you. You were just friends anyway and you knew that it could be a friendly gesture too. You didn’t have time to question it much before your eyes grew heavy and you fell into a semi-peaceful sleep.

You had woken up fully by about noon, just in time for Sam to walk in to check on you.

“He sleepy head,” he whispered coming forward to sit on your bed. “Need anything? Dean’s back with some Gatorade and ginger ale if you want that.”

“I think I’m gonna take a bath, maybe see if that’ll help settle my stomach.” You could remember doing that as a kid and it always seemed to make you feel better even if just for an hour.

You pushed yourself up slowly, reminding yourself to relax and breathe and not jar your stomach too much. Sam helped you to stand and while you headed for the bathroom, he collected your water and phone for you, meeting you there and helping you get settled by turning the water on for you and grabbing you a towel.

“I’ll be in my room just down the hall. Holler if you need anything. And I brought your phone if you need to text me. And some water, in case you get sick again.”

“Thank you, Sam,” you hummed, shutting the door behind him.

Once out of your clothes, you settled into the ever rising bath water. The warm feeling washed over you quickly and you were beginning to relax and let your stomach calm down. You didn’t wash anything, just simply lay there. You’d be sure to take a shower once you were feeling better.

You lay there for close to 45 minutes before the water turned cold and you turned to a prune. You eased yourself out of the tub, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around yourself. Unfortunately, you were not in the clear as the nausea set in again and you were doubled over the toilet, heaving up what you had just eaten.

It took you a few minutes to calm down but once you had you made slow work in getting back into your pajamas. You stood up again, hanging your towel on the hook when your vision began to go spotty.

You slid down the wall, realizing that you were lacking a lot of fluids. You had just thrown up the sips of water and the applesauce you had, which meant you were back to having nothing in your stomach. You took a long drink from the tumbler before yelling for Sam.

“I’m decent,” you said when he had knocked on the door and poked his head in with his eyes closed tight. “Even if I wasn’t I’m not sure how or why you’d want me right now,” you mumbled mostly to yourself.

“Because you’re beautiful either way.” Obviously your last comment was not as too yourself as you hoped, but Sam’s reply did make you smile a bit. “What’s up? Did you get sick again?”

You nodded, but that wasn’t the reason you needed him in here. “Will you help me to my room?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, “is everything okay?”

“I feel like I’m gonna pass out,” you informed him, hanging your head between your knees like you had been taught to do if you ever got that feeling.

“Hey, okay,” he soothed, kneeling in front of you. “Let’s not get up then. Let’s hang out here for a minute and let your body fix itself.” Sam reached for your water, positioning the straw in front of your mouth. “Take some drinks, relax, breathe,” he reminded you.

Sam sat with you for a few minutes, his hand gently rubbing your back and arms. You weren’t even sure how long you had been sitting there but you could’ve dozed off had Sam not spoke up. “You look like you’re gaining color back,” he commented. “Ready to stand up?”

You nodded, letting Sam take most of your weight as he helped you up. Unfortunately, even with Sam supporting your weight, you still felt faint. “I gotta sit back down,” you sighed, tightening your grip on him to keep yourself from swaying.

Sam began to worry. He wondered if he should take you to the hospital. Usually after some water most people were okay to get up again, but with you swaying in his arms, he panicked. “Hey, okay. Just hang in there. I’m gonna get you back to your room, alright?”

“S-Sam I won’t be able to make it. Just let me sit down a minute,” you pleaded.

“Just… hold on, Y/N, okay? I’m going to pick you up but I need you to hold on,” he asked gently. He set your water cup down, then easily scooped you up into his arms. “I got you. Just hold on,” he whispered, one hand grabbing the water and the other shutting off the bathroom light.

Sam gently laid you on your bed, tucking you under the duvet. “Wait here,” he commanded. Like you were really going to get up anyway. You weren’t even sure you could get up without falling back over.

You heard Sam yell to Dean, and then there were two sets of very quick footsteps. From there, it was a blur, but suddenly you could feel a cold wetness against your forehead. “You feel sleepy, Y/N?” Sam asked, and you could tell he was right beside you, dragging what you assumed was a washcloth over your face. You nodded, your throat suddenly feeling dry and cottony. “Dean’s gonna bring you some Gatorade, okay?”

“I don’t feel well,” you told him, straining to open your eyes. You had been thrown into walls and glass. You’ve been cut and stitched up and had dislocated shoulders and twisted or sprained ankles and nothing was as bad as this.

“I know,” he shushed, “just try and relax.”

Before you knew it, a straw was being pressed to your lips and Sam was urging you to sip from it. He held what you could only assume was the bottle of Gatorade and still drug the wet rag across your forehead and down your cheeks.

“She okay?” you heard Dean ask, much further away from Sam, so you guessed that he was by the door.

“I think so. It’s just the flu, it’ll be over before you know it.” You weren’t sure if Sam was saying that to reassure you, Dean, or himself, but it was comforting.

“Well, don’t you get sick too. I ain’t babying you,” Dean huffed, and you could almost hear the smile on his face. “I’m in my bedroom if you need me.”

Sam thanked Dean and pretty soon you could hear his heavy footsteps heading further and further away.

“Feeling any better?” Sam asked, and you nodded in response. “Still tired?” another nod. “I’ll let you get some sleep,” he hummed. “Gatorade and water are on the bedside table, and if you need anything else just yell, okay?”

You felt the bed shift as he got up and you quickly grabbed onto his wrist, looking up at him with tired eyes. “Will you stay with me?” You asked. “I don’t want to get you sick, but will you just sit here with me… incase something happens?”

“Sure,” he happily stated. “Do you want me to lay down with you?”

“I don’t want to get you sick,” you admitted shyly, but the truth was, yes, you wanted him to lay down with you and hold you and just somehow make you feel better by being with you.

“That’s not what I asked, darlin’,” he chuckled. “Do you want me to lay down with you?”

You nodded your head bashfully, “yes, please.”

Sam was in your bed just moments later. He shifted quite a bit to get comfortable, then waited for you to shift as well. Eventually, you rested with your head on his chest and his arm around you. One of his hands was resting on your hip, while the other was gently stroking the now damp rag over your forehead and cheeks again. Soon, the washcloth was rested against your forehead and his hands locked over your waist, holding you tightly to him.

You woke up hours later with your head still plastered against Sam’s chest. His arms were still locked around you and he was peacefully sleeping underneath you. His chest rose and fell with his steady breaths, and every so often you’d hear an almost inaudible snore leave his lips.

You shifted, trying to ease yourself out of the giant man’s arms, but, the slightest movement woke him. Hunter trait. “Y/N?” he hummed, peeking his eyes open and looking down at you. “Hey. You okay?”

You nodded, shifting again and bringing your hands up to rub your eyes. “What time is it?”

Sam hummed, shifting from underneath you to grab his phone. “Little after eight. You feel okay?” He asked turning back to you and slinging his arms over you again.

“‘M kinda hungry…” you mentioned, looking up at him.

Sam smiled a bit and nodded. He removed his arms from around you then stretched them over his head, groaning as he did. “What d’you want to eat?” He rolled off of your bed to be standing beside it, running his fingers through his tussled hair.

You slowly sat yourself up, stretching your arms and legs out. You moaned, twisting to the side and feeling your sore stomach muscles. You knew they hurt from how much heaving you did earlier.

“You alright?” Sam asked quickly as he heard you moan, coming by your side in an instant.

“My sides hurt,” you said with a low chuckle, cringing at the pain again.

“Mmh. Yeah you were heaving pretty hard,” Sam teased, chuckling himself. “I’ll get you a heating pad and… how do you feel about chicken noodle soup?”

“Both sound wonderful, Sam.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

“Hey wait,” you spoke up as Sam was nearing the door. “I’m gonna come with you.” You swung your legs over the side of the bed, pushing yourself up slowly.

Sam walked back to you, holding you steady as you stood. “You sure? I don’t want you to almost pass out again.”

You smiled a bit, holding onto his outstretched hand for support. “I feel fine. I just wanna walk around a bit. I haven’t left my bed unless it was to puke and i’m getting antsy.”

Sam walked you at a slow pace to the kitchen. You were feeling significantly better, just starving and your stomach was making that well known with its growls. Every time it did, Sam would chuckle, which would make you giggle too and then moan at the aching pain in your sides.

You sat down at the table, per Sam’s request, and watched as he moved around the room, pouring the canned soup in a pan and then setting it on the burner before sitting across from you.

“You look much better. You scared me…” he paused, “a-and Dean. Me and Dean,” he corrected himself. “I was worried we might’ve had to take you to the hospital.”

Hesitantly, you leaned over and kissed his cheek lightly. “Thank you for taking care of me,” you whispered. You weren’t sure if you’d still be functioning right now had he not kept up with you and did his best to make you feel better.

Sam’s cheeks reddened and he bowed his head to hide the blush. “Yeah.” He drug a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his head nervously. “All I expect is that you’ll take care of me if I end up getting what you had.”

“I promise. But I don’t think I’ll be able to lift you from the floor if you almost pass out,” you chuckled, hands flying to your sides.

Lucky for you both, Sam didn’t end up getting what you had. Dean, however, did and you never heard the end of it.

"Sure." You replied, making your way towards the front door. Dean held it open for you and you stepped out, before waiting for him. There was a brisk wind to the air, and it slid through your light weight t-shirt, and you shivered.

"Hang on a sec." Dean told you, disappearing back into the house. He returned moments later with a grey and blue flannel in his hands. "Here, I forgot that you only came with the clothes on your back." He told you, and you took it, putting it on. It was warm, and smelled like leather, gun oil, and musk, and the sleeves hung five inches past your hands. The hem went down to almost your knees, and you laughed at the sight, holding your covered hands out in front of you.

Dean just shook his head at you, and grabbed your arms, startling you. "Woah, I'm just going to roll them up. Calm down." He told you, noticing how nervous and stiff you became at his touch. He expertly rolled them up until you didn't feel like a dwarf any more. "There, good as new." He told you, proud of his work.

"Sorry about earlier." You told him. "I just was kind of sheltered for most of my life. The only people I've been around for a long time was my family." You told him, which was pretty close to the truth. Because Death had taken a liking to you, you had always had the easier jobs, ones that he thought you would enjoy.

Dean nodded as if he understood, but didn't reply. Instead, he guided you down the steps and towards the Impala. He leaned in the driver's door, pulling a lever, before coming back to the front and opening the hood. "You ever work on a car before?" He asked you.

Shaking your head no, you took a step closer, looking underneath the hood, to all the cables and machinery. There was so much, and it looked so confusing. Dean pointed to an item that was big and square. "We'll start easy. It's always good to know a little bit about cars. That way if you ever get stuck, you don't have to rely on someone else. That right there is the battery. It gives juice to the car, makes it turn over."

You nodded, eager to learn anything Dean was going to teach you. You might have confusing but deep feelings for Sam, but to you Dean was interesting and you wanted to spend time around him also. The next couple of minutes were spent with Dean pointing things out, and you nodding, trying to remember the name of each item. It was fun, and confusing, but it brought a smile to Dean's face, and you knew he enjoyed sharing what he knew.

"There, that's the major parts of an engine." He told you, standing up.

"I'm not sure I will be able to remember it all." You admitted, feeling as if you had failed him.

He just shrugged. "It's a lot to learn. But if you want, you can help me work on her anytime, and that will help cement those facts in faster than anything."

"Her?" You asked confused. You thought you were talking about a car.

He nodded, patting the fender of the Impala fondly. "Yep, my Baby." He said proudly.

He then turned serious, and looked at you. "Listen, about last night's conversation, I want to apologize. I didn't mean to sound threatening or overbearing. It's just that Sammy hasn't had the greatest luck with relationships, and I can already tell there's something going on between the two of you. It worried me."

He leaned into the backseat, grabbing two beers from the cooler. You looked down at the one he placed in your hand, before glancing back up at him. "Don't tell me you haven't had a beer before either?" He groaned.

"No, well, it's been a long time." You told him. "But back to what you said, I'm not sure if there is anything to be worried about. Sam is nice, but he's only been friendly to me, I haven't noticed anything different." You said, before taking a big drink. You coughed as the liquid went the wrong way, and Dean patted your back.

"I just don't know what to think about you. You come out of nowhere, helping me and Sam. Then you have no place to go back to, so of course Sam wants to help you. But you've told me nothing of your life. And you've never had coffee, and it seems like you've never had beer, or much of it before. You're an enigma, and one I intend on finding out more about. Because, I know I just apologized, but I do need to keep an eye out for my brother."

You gulped. You had known that lying to Dean would be hard. He was too smart to let the ruse last too long, but you didn't want to give it all away and have him mad at Sam. "It's been a rough couple of days for me. I lost my family, found out Lucifer was alive and kicking, and now I'm living with an old man, and two brothers who kill Monsters for a living. Give me a little time to settle in, and I will tell you everything. Please." You answered him, and he nodded, downing the rest of his beer in one gulp.

"I get that, I do. So when you're ready, know that I've got a listening ear. But in the mean time, do you want to pass me that wrench over there? Baby needs her oil changed." He told you, dropping the conversation.

Read Next: Chapter 7