Brotherly Love Ch. 2
"How'd you pay for this?"
The room was a lot nicer than we were used to, I had to admit. The beds had actual sheets on them, and were wide enough that I wouldn't hear a thud in the middle of the night and find Sam on the floor. There weren't any stains on the carpet. I couldn't smell any of the usual odors. Semen, booze, pot-the sort of stuff you usually find in the type of places we stayed at. And the paintings on the walls looked original, even though they were kinda weird. One was of a burger, another was of a cake. You get the idea.
"Same way I pay for everything," I replied, sitting down on one of the beds. "Honest, hard-earned credit-card fraud."
Sam shook his head, sitting down on one of the beds. "You're going to get caught sooner or later."
"Well, no one's caught on yet. And I've been doin' it for years. Ever since Dad taught me."
I looked down after that last part, but not quick enough to miss the pain that flickered across his face.
See, that right there. That's why I wanted him out of this business.
"You hungry?" I asked abruptly, standing up. He just stared at me.
"Well, yeah, a little, but shouldn't we-"
"That can wait." I moved towards the phone, but Sam jumped to his feet and stood in front of me, putting his hands on my shoulders. I looked up at him, thinking, for the millionth time, how much I hated that he was taller than me.
"Dean." His voice was way too steady. "What's going on?"
I braced myself to lie to him some more. It was the only way to save him.
"I dunno yet," I replied. "And until I do, I think it's best if we lay low."
His grip on my shoulders tightened slightly. "Let me help."
"Right now, there's not a lot you can do." I made eye contact, and held it. "Just trust me on this."
Those have always been the magic words. Sam relaxed. Not visibly, but I'd known the guy for over twenty years; I could tell.
"Fine." He let go of me. "What exactly does this 'laying low' entail? It's been awhile since we took a different approach from breaking down the door and charging in with guns blazing."
"Well, mostly, laying low means eating something that didn't come out of a bag, plastic or paper." I picked up the phone, and the menu laying next to it. I flipped through it before dialing, holding back a smirk. Everything was either greasy or sugary, and the portions were all over-sized. Like I said before-weird as hell, but perfect. "What do you want?"
Sam sat down again. "I can order anything?"
"Anything you want," I assured him with a tiny smile.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Alright. I want a cake." He laced his fingers behind his head and flopped back onto the bed.
I blinked. "A cake?"
"Yeah. I don't remember the last time I had a real cake."
"Okay. A cake." I dialed, and ordered, keeping my voice low. I didn't need to worry; Sam wasn't paying any attention to me. He didn't notice when I ordered a pitcher of cream. It was on the menu, and I remembered reading somewhere that cream was pretty fattening.
I started to doubt my plan while we waited for the food to arrive. I mean, what the hell did I think I was doing? Trying to keep my little brother safe by forcing him to gain weight? It was stupid, and dangerous, and-
No. I rubbed my temples. I couldn't afford to panic over this. It might be my only shot-after all, it wasn't like I had come up with anything better.
Someone knocked on the door, startling me out of my thoughts. I jerked it open to find a chubby brunette girl holding a large tray with a silver dome and pitcher on it. I took the handles, glancing at her.
"Thanks."
"Of course!" she chirped, turning around and hurrying off, down the hall. I raised an eyebrow. She hadn't even asked for a tip.
I nudged the door closed with the toe of my boot, hearing it click. I looked over at Sam, who had apparently fallen asleep. I lightly kicked his ankle after setting the tray down on a table near the window.
He sat bolt upright. "What? What's going on?"
"Food's here, Sleeping Beauty." I smirked at him, then crossed the room and lifted the silver dome off the tray, glancing at what was underneath. A pretty big cake, chocolate-frosted and -glazed, with shavings of white chocolate sprinkled over the top of it. It had already been cut into eight slices.
"Wow," Same commented, coming up behind me. "That looks pretty good."
"Yeah." I looked out the window-it was nearly sunset. A full day of driving settled in my shoulders as a hot ache, and the bed that I'd unconsciously claimed as mine was suddenly looking even nicer than it had five minutes ago. I clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Have fun. I'm gonna try and get some shut-eye."
"Oh, God."
Sam's voice, thin with discomfort, woke me up. I sat up, noting that the sheets were tangled around my legs and that my shirt, for some reason, was still on. I glanced over at Sam.
His pillows were piled against the headboard, and he was leaning back against them. His legs were stretched out in front of him, with the cake between his knees. Or, more accurately, half the cake. A quick look at his stomach, and it wasn't hard to guess where the other half had gone.
Sam's belly was bulging noticeably against his jeans and the button-down shirt he was wearing. The fabric was strained, and he was absentmindedly rubbing his gut with one hand. I should have laughed. Or been kind of grossed out. But, to my horror, I actually felt myself getting...turned on by his bloated stomach.
Getting a boner from looking at your brother. That's enough to ruin anyone's day.
I kicked the sheets off and got out of bed, considering a cold shower and then probably several years of therapy. But Sam stopped me.
"Dean." He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, stifling a burp. "Hey. Uh. This is gonna sound really awkward..."
It was already pretty damn awkward, but hell. I supposed it could get worse. So I crossed my arms and avoided eye contact.
"Yeah?"
"I'm...pretty full." He rubbed the side of his face.
"Yeah, I can see that." I made a point not to look at his stomach. "And...?"
"And, I don't want the cake to go to waste." Sam exhaled explosively. "It's...really good."
"So, what? You want me to eat it?"
"No."
It clicked then. I immediately wished it hadn't.
"You want me to feed it to you?"
He dropped his head a little, hiding behind his bangs. "Yeah. I-I do."
Just what sort of crazy shit did this hotel put in their food?
Half of my instincts were screaming at me to turn the shower on as cold as it would go and stay under it until my urges started making sense again. The other half were yelling for me to step forward, pick up a slice of cake, and feed Sam. Unfortunately, those were backed by part of my mind. The part that loved my brother in a way that wasn't nearly as weird as these new feelings, and wanted him safe at any cost.
So I stepped forward and picked up a slice of cake.
I leaned over Sam, and put the tip of the slice in his mouth, trying to think about vampires, hags, zombies. All sorts of nasty things we'd hunted, in an effort to calm the raging fire down there. It didn't work.
He ate, eagerly, hands on his stomach. I sat down next to him, in order to feed him better. The shock of how freaking weird this was had started to wear off, and I concentrated on stuffing Sam full of cake.
The more he ate, the more his belly strained against his clothes. A thin band of pale flesh peeked out from between his shirt and his pants by the time I shoved the last chunk of cake in his mouth. He groaned, leaning back further against the pillows. It was weird to see such a big belly on his lean frame. I imagined Sam trying to chase after a vampire or a demon's host like this, and barely kept myself from bursting out laughing.
"I don't think I can finish it," Sam groaned. "I'm too full."
"'Course you can finish it." I grabbed another slice, and moved it towards his mouth. "C'mon, Sammy. You broke your wrist fighting a zombie and you can't even finish a cake?"
He looked at me, but opened his mouth anyway. I winked at him and grinned, patting his gut affectionately as I pushed the cake in. He winced a little, and for some reason, I liked that.
I watched him eat, slowly. The edges of his shirt pulled back between the buttons, exposing pale skin. His belly jiggled a little with every breath he took. I was downright amazed he had managed to eat so much, but I kept pushing the slice of cake on him.
After that one was finished, I didn't give him a break. The second-to-last slice was already at the ready, and I shoved it into his mouth before he could protest. He was all but lying down now, and his stomach stuck out like he was pregnant, his jeans and shirt painfully tight on him. The bottom button of his shirt looked dangerously close to popping as he finished the slice.
"Dean," Sam gasped as soon as his mouth was empty. "Please. That's enough."
"Seriously? There's only one slice left." I picked it up and showed it to him. He closed his eyes.
"Seriously. I'm going to explode."
"Nah, I don't think so. Not from one slice of cake." I could tell he was fighting with himself. He was beyond full, but he still wanted more.
"Fine. But this is it," he said, stifling another burp with his hand.
"Okay."
I stuffed the cake into his mouth, watching his gut wobble as he swallowed. Sam's belly grew a little bit with every bite he took, and his shirt kept getting tighter. Until, finally, the button popped off, pinging against the wall across the room. His shirt spread open, revealing a little more of his stomach.
His eyes opened, and he swallowed the last mouthful of cake, raising his head. He groaned and flopped back down.
I rubbed his stomach, grinning like an idiot when he grunted in pain. "Man, Sammy, an entire cake? You're a pig."
"Yeah, I know."
He was breathing heavily, like eating so much had winded him. He looked exhausted, uncomfortable, and stuffed beyond his limits.
"That's it?" Sam asked, and it shocked me how vulnerable he sounded. I realized that he was totally at my mercy. He was mine.
I coughed, suddenly uncomfortable. "Yeah, that's it."
Then, for some reason, I looked over at where the pitcher of cream was still on the tray.
"Hey. You thirsty?"
The room was a lot nicer than we were used to, I had to admit. The beds had actual sheets on them, and were wide enough that I wouldn't hear a thud in the middle of the night and find Sam on the floor. There weren't any stains on the carpet. I couldn't smell any of the usual odors. Semen, booze, pot-the sort of stuff you usually find in the type of places we stayed at. And the paintings on the walls looked original, even though they were kinda weird. One was of a burger, another was of a cake. You get the idea.
"Same way I pay for everything," I replied, sitting down on one of the beds. "Honest, hard-earned credit-card fraud."
Sam shook his head, sitting down on one of the beds. "You're going to get caught sooner or later."
"Well, no one's caught on yet. And I've been doin' it for years. Ever since Dad taught me."
I looked down after that last part, but not quick enough to miss the pain that flickered across his face.
See, that right there. That's why I wanted him out of this business.
"You hungry?" I asked abruptly, standing up. He just stared at me.
"Well, yeah, a little, but shouldn't we-"
"That can wait." I moved towards the phone, but Sam jumped to his feet and stood in front of me, putting his hands on my shoulders. I looked up at him, thinking, for the millionth time, how much I hated that he was taller than me.
"Dean." His voice was way too steady. "What's going on?"
I braced myself to lie to him some more. It was the only way to save him.
"I dunno yet," I replied. "And until I do, I think it's best if we lay low."
His grip on my shoulders tightened slightly. "Let me help."
"Right now, there's not a lot you can do." I made eye contact, and held it. "Just trust me on this."
Those have always been the magic words. Sam relaxed. Not visibly, but I'd known the guy for over twenty years; I could tell.
"Fine." He let go of me. "What exactly does this 'laying low' entail? It's been awhile since we took a different approach from breaking down the door and charging in with guns blazing."
"Well, mostly, laying low means eating something that didn't come out of a bag, plastic or paper." I picked up the phone, and the menu laying next to it. I flipped through it before dialing, holding back a smirk. Everything was either greasy or sugary, and the portions were all over-sized. Like I said before-weird as hell, but perfect. "What do you want?"
Sam sat down again. "I can order anything?"
"Anything you want," I assured him with a tiny smile.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Alright. I want a cake." He laced his fingers behind his head and flopped back onto the bed.
I blinked. "A cake?"
"Yeah. I don't remember the last time I had a real cake."
"Okay. A cake." I dialed, and ordered, keeping my voice low. I didn't need to worry; Sam wasn't paying any attention to me. He didn't notice when I ordered a pitcher of cream. It was on the menu, and I remembered reading somewhere that cream was pretty fattening.
I started to doubt my plan while we waited for the food to arrive. I mean, what the hell did I think I was doing? Trying to keep my little brother safe by forcing him to gain weight? It was stupid, and dangerous, and-
No. I rubbed my temples. I couldn't afford to panic over this. It might be my only shot-after all, it wasn't like I had come up with anything better.
Someone knocked on the door, startling me out of my thoughts. I jerked it open to find a chubby brunette girl holding a large tray with a silver dome and pitcher on it. I took the handles, glancing at her.
"Thanks."
"Of course!" she chirped, turning around and hurrying off, down the hall. I raised an eyebrow. She hadn't even asked for a tip.
I nudged the door closed with the toe of my boot, hearing it click. I looked over at Sam, who had apparently fallen asleep. I lightly kicked his ankle after setting the tray down on a table near the window.
He sat bolt upright. "What? What's going on?"
"Food's here, Sleeping Beauty." I smirked at him, then crossed the room and lifted the silver dome off the tray, glancing at what was underneath. A pretty big cake, chocolate-frosted and -glazed, with shavings of white chocolate sprinkled over the top of it. It had already been cut into eight slices.
"Wow," Same commented, coming up behind me. "That looks pretty good."
"Yeah." I looked out the window-it was nearly sunset. A full day of driving settled in my shoulders as a hot ache, and the bed that I'd unconsciously claimed as mine was suddenly looking even nicer than it had five minutes ago. I clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Have fun. I'm gonna try and get some shut-eye."
"Oh, God."
Sam's voice, thin with discomfort, woke me up. I sat up, noting that the sheets were tangled around my legs and that my shirt, for some reason, was still on. I glanced over at Sam.
His pillows were piled against the headboard, and he was leaning back against them. His legs were stretched out in front of him, with the cake between his knees. Or, more accurately, half the cake. A quick look at his stomach, and it wasn't hard to guess where the other half had gone.
Sam's belly was bulging noticeably against his jeans and the button-down shirt he was wearing. The fabric was strained, and he was absentmindedly rubbing his gut with one hand. I should have laughed. Or been kind of grossed out. But, to my horror, I actually felt myself getting...turned on by his bloated stomach.
Getting a boner from looking at your brother. That's enough to ruin anyone's day.
I kicked the sheets off and got out of bed, considering a cold shower and then probably several years of therapy. But Sam stopped me.
"Dean." He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, stifling a burp. "Hey. Uh. This is gonna sound really awkward..."
It was already pretty damn awkward, but hell. I supposed it could get worse. So I crossed my arms and avoided eye contact.
"Yeah?"
"I'm...pretty full." He rubbed the side of his face.
"Yeah, I can see that." I made a point not to look at his stomach. "And...?"
"And, I don't want the cake to go to waste." Sam exhaled explosively. "It's...really good."
"So, what? You want me to eat it?"
"No."
It clicked then. I immediately wished it hadn't.
"You want me to feed it to you?"
He dropped his head a little, hiding behind his bangs. "Yeah. I-I do."
Just what sort of crazy shit did this hotel put in their food?
Half of my instincts were screaming at me to turn the shower on as cold as it would go and stay under it until my urges started making sense again. The other half were yelling for me to step forward, pick up a slice of cake, and feed Sam. Unfortunately, those were backed by part of my mind. The part that loved my brother in a way that wasn't nearly as weird as these new feelings, and wanted him safe at any cost.
So I stepped forward and picked up a slice of cake.
I leaned over Sam, and put the tip of the slice in his mouth, trying to think about vampires, hags, zombies. All sorts of nasty things we'd hunted, in an effort to calm the raging fire down there. It didn't work.
He ate, eagerly, hands on his stomach. I sat down next to him, in order to feed him better. The shock of how freaking weird this was had started to wear off, and I concentrated on stuffing Sam full of cake.
The more he ate, the more his belly strained against his clothes. A thin band of pale flesh peeked out from between his shirt and his pants by the time I shoved the last chunk of cake in his mouth. He groaned, leaning back further against the pillows. It was weird to see such a big belly on his lean frame. I imagined Sam trying to chase after a vampire or a demon's host like this, and barely kept myself from bursting out laughing.
"I don't think I can finish it," Sam groaned. "I'm too full."
"'Course you can finish it." I grabbed another slice, and moved it towards his mouth. "C'mon, Sammy. You broke your wrist fighting a zombie and you can't even finish a cake?"
He looked at me, but opened his mouth anyway. I winked at him and grinned, patting his gut affectionately as I pushed the cake in. He winced a little, and for some reason, I liked that.
I watched him eat, slowly. The edges of his shirt pulled back between the buttons, exposing pale skin. His belly jiggled a little with every breath he took. I was downright amazed he had managed to eat so much, but I kept pushing the slice of cake on him.
After that one was finished, I didn't give him a break. The second-to-last slice was already at the ready, and I shoved it into his mouth before he could protest. He was all but lying down now, and his stomach stuck out like he was pregnant, his jeans and shirt painfully tight on him. The bottom button of his shirt looked dangerously close to popping as he finished the slice.
"Dean," Sam gasped as soon as his mouth was empty. "Please. That's enough."
"Seriously? There's only one slice left." I picked it up and showed it to him. He closed his eyes.
"Seriously. I'm going to explode."
"Nah, I don't think so. Not from one slice of cake." I could tell he was fighting with himself. He was beyond full, but he still wanted more.
"Fine. But this is it," he said, stifling another burp with his hand.
"Okay."
I stuffed the cake into his mouth, watching his gut wobble as he swallowed. Sam's belly grew a little bit with every bite he took, and his shirt kept getting tighter. Until, finally, the button popped off, pinging against the wall across the room. His shirt spread open, revealing a little more of his stomach.
His eyes opened, and he swallowed the last mouthful of cake, raising his head. He groaned and flopped back down.
I rubbed his stomach, grinning like an idiot when he grunted in pain. "Man, Sammy, an entire cake? You're a pig."
"Yeah, I know."
He was breathing heavily, like eating so much had winded him. He looked exhausted, uncomfortable, and stuffed beyond his limits.
"That's it?" Sam asked, and it shocked me how vulnerable he sounded. I realized that he was totally at my mercy. He was mine.
I coughed, suddenly uncomfortable. "Yeah, that's it."
Then, for some reason, I looked over at where the pitcher of cream was still on the tray.
"Hey. You thirsty?"