Written for IheartSam7 who wanted a non-puking sick-to-his-stomach Sam. And major thanks (once more) to PlatinumRoseLady who beta-ed this in 15 mins flat.

So...I guess I wrote on my profile that I accept any challenge. *facepalm* I can't believe someone read my profile... And then decided to challenge me!

Here you go, a story so nauseous even I feel queasy. And if you like this story, please take a glance at my story: TAP That.

Fair Game

John Winchester dropped the Black Dog like fourth period French. He was starting to become professionally awesome at this.

He checked his cell phone again, saw the blank screen and frowned.

Sam and Dean were hunting two states over. They had called him the other day to tell about the hunt. Apparently, it'd gone well with no serious injuries (a paper cut on an obit). Well, that was good news. He was still worried. They had only started hunting as a pair a month ago with his permission.

Still, he wished they would call more often. He wondered what case they were working right now…

o-o-o-o-o

Sam rubbed the back of his head and felt the stitches. Their last case had gone horribly, and when Dean finally managed to light the ghostly remains, it had been close. It had hurt like hell getting slammed into that headstone and still throbbed slightly. He looked up as the Impala rumbled to a stop. "What are we doing, Dean?"

"I told you," Dean said, exasperated. "When you had that concussion you couldn't shut up about the fair. So here we are!"

Sam eyed him suspiciously, he was pretty sure this was some thinly veiled attempt for Dean to fulfill his love of carnivals. "Does Dad know?"

"What dad doesn't know, won't kill him," Dean smiled, parking. It was only their third hunt as partners without Dad and Sam had to admit it was fun without parental supervision. Of course, they didn't know how much longer they could lie about their cases. It was exceedingly hard for Dean to keep a straight face when he reported to Dad, almost as hard for Sam to keep inventing new ways of distracting him while the two talked.

Sam rolled his eyes. It was a beautiful day, but he still felt queasy. The concussion throbbed, making him sick. But Dean was too excited to not pass this up. He got out of the car and eyed the fairground suspiciously. He didn't see any supernatural threats, so the day had a little potential.

Dean smiled, "Alright, let's go!"

Sam gave a weary sigh. He remembered hitting his head, and knew he had really been out of it. But he could not at all recall any unrequited desire for the fair. Dean took long steps, actually keeping pace with Sam, to the entrance.

After the tickets were bought, they struggled through the hoard of food vendors, almost unscathed. "How can they not sell pie?" Dean grumbled, begrudgingly munching on a caramel apple.

Sam shrugged and wiped cotton candy from his mouth. He looked at the pink and blue monstrosity. Sam was very hungry, but his stomach was doing flips. He ignored the warning and took another bite. "What do you want to do first?"

Dean gave a toothy grin. "Bumper cars."

As the small pink car spun after another hit, Sam clamped a hand over his mouth to quell the nausea. His legs cramped painfully in the small confinement, and as hard as he spun the wheel, Dean still managed to doge him. "Dean!" he shouted.

Dean laughed manically and hit him from behind. "What!"

"Crap!" Sam lurched forward. "Can we please try something else? I feel a little sick!"

Dean pouted, but relented. "Sure Sam. I wanna try and find a pie vendor anyway."

They left the bumper cars mostly in one piece. Sam limped away, his left leg painfully asleep. "Can I choose next?"

Dean handed cash to the vendor he approached. He looked over his shoulder, "Alright."

He handed Sam the hot pretzel. "What do you have in mind?"

Sam eyed the cheese pretzel warily, it smelled really good. "Well," he said between mouthfuls, "how about the shooting range?"

Dean put the rest of his hot dog in his mouth and nodded enthusiastically. Sam figured it would buy him time to calm his stomach. At the range Dean immediately set his heart upon the blue fuzzy tiger. Sam held up the tiny air rifle and aimed. As soon as he fired, his hand jerked as he felt an acid taste fill his mouth. He swallowed the urge to puke, and tried again. Dean's green eyes sparkled with hope as Sam fired again. When he missed once more, Dean took the gun. "Dude who taught you to shoot?"

Sam blushed, feeling a slight fever. Dean assumed he was being dramatic.

Dean glared at him and effortlessly took out the pile of cans. He took the blue tiger and tucked it under his arm. "That was anti-climatic."

Sam took the tiger from him. He shrugged, "Well, next we could go check out the..."

Before Sam could say something that did involve copious amounts of movement, motion, or generally anything that would unsettle his queasy stomach, Dean's eye settled. He pointed a trembling finger and yelled, "A ROLLAR COSTER!"

It was supposed to be a terrifying but the only that terrified Sam was the way his stomach rebelled against the gravity defying spins. The dragon themed cars carried them around in a loop of fiery decorations that had Dean yelling with glee. Sam clutched the blue tiger to his chest and took deep breaths.

Dean waved his hands in the air. "AWESOME RIGHT, SAMMY?"

"Erm," Sam tried to concentrate on the unmoving spot on the floor. Unsuccessful, he gagged.

As the car stopped, Dean snatched back the tiger. "Sam stop being such a drama queen."

"Am not," he huffed, getting out of the car. His legs wobbled on the now steady ground.

"Sam, we haven't been to the fair since you were six. You're 18 now. Try to enjoy yourself!"

Sam eyed his brother and groaned. "Alright, let's try the Ferris wheel."

Sam smiled to see Dean turn a light shade of green. He added, "It's got the best view of the entire state."

Dean still looked hesitant. Sam pouted, "When I had that concussion, all I really wanted was to ride the Ferris Wheel."

Intense hazel eyes locked in on stubborn emerald orbs. After mere seconds of war, Dean was forced to concede in the face of such raw power. Dean swallowed. "Sure, Sam, whatever you want."

As they walked over to the round wheel contraption, Dean hastily bought another hot dog to build confidence. Sam looked at Dean, who pretty much looked how he felt. Buckling into the ride, Sam listened to an array of mullet rock being hastily hummed.

The ride sprang to life, and inched forward, carrying them upwards.

Dean saw the Impala and started to panic become smaller and smaller as they rose higher and higher. But he couldn't lose face, not after he had mocked Sam so mercilessly earlier. He shut his eyes and tried not to thinking about the rocking, the fact that nothing solid was beneath his feet, the plummet to sheer death that was inches away…

"Hey," Sam nudged him, forcing him to pry his eyes open. "Look! That's the graveyard we dug up yesterday!"

Dean looked. And saw. There was so much below them- a sea of buildings and little cars, toy people walking around…

Sam had to admit the fresh air was making him feel somewhat better. He turned to Dean, to congratulate him on what had actually been a good idea. "Where do you think you're going?" he panicked at the sight of Dean leaning over the edge.

He grabbed Dean's shoulder to hold him steady. Dean started to mutter something, but instead retched violently and puked.

Below them a young girl of six, smiled at the large cotton candy she had just bought. As she set her face into it she felt something wet plop onto her hair. She ran away screaming, just in time to miss the second volley.

Sam looked at Dean and burst out laughing.

Dean sat up, with a white knuckled grip on the chair's armrest. "'S not funny…"

Dean grumbled. His cheeks were flushed and he was beyond ready to get off the ride.

"Yeah, look who's being the drama queen now."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Below, the conductor flipped the switch, bringing the wheel back into motion. Dean started to lurch unsteadily.

Sam looked at the sky, the gorgeous air. It didn't matter anymore whose idea this was. It had been a good day. Dad would kill them if he found out though, as he thought the words Dean's cell rang.

Dean opened the phone and answered by puking once more. Sam took the phone trying to be as nonchalant as possible, "Hey Dad."

John yelled through the phone, as concern that Dean was perhaps brutally injured mixed with anger that his sons weren't keeping him up to date.

Sam threw the technological beast and smiled.

"Dude it hit my car!" Dean whined, pointing at the cracked window on the Impala.

"Dean, try to enjoy the rest of the day, okay?"

Dean nodded weakly, wondering to himself how the day had gotten out of his control. Must have been the caramel apple, he decided, if only they had served pie.

Still, this was the best break from parental control he had ever had.

EN FIN