Supernatural Fanfic: Twenty Questions (7/20)
Title: Twenty Questions
Author: poestheblackcat
Chapter rating: PG-13
Chapter characters/pairings: Sam, Dean, John
Chapter warning/spoilers: reference to eating disorder, unintended abuse? I guess.
Chapter summary: Hungry!Dean. I mean, Dean loves his food, right? Fans are always trying to think of why that is, and some people have come up with, “Hey, maybe Dean didn’t get enough to eat as a kid. Maybe that’s why Sam’s so much taller than him.” And then there was that “Oh yeah” in “Metamorphosis” when the hunter guy was talking about the rougaru and asked if they’d ever been really really hungry? *shakes head* Some fans. *is a hypocrite* ;D
Disclaimer: Not mine. Unfortunately. Darn you, Kripke. So, like I was saying, it’s almost my birthday…Okay, wishful thinking?
Chapter 7: Food for Thought
If Dad didn’t come home soon, Dean was going to have to figure out some way of getting money, because they were almost out of food. He’d been giving his share to Sammy for the past few days, and even then it wasn’t enough. His little brother was a growing boy.
To top it all off, Sammy was becoming ever more insistent with his questions.
“When is Dad coming home?”
And ladies and gentlemen, Sammy the Amazing Questioning Wonder strikes again. He’d score big on Jeopardy! someday, the rate he was going.
Dean scraped the last of the Spaghetti-Os from the bottom of the saucepan into a bowl. “He’ll be home by tomorrow, Sammy. I told you, he said he’d be home by Friday at the latest. That’s tomorrow.”
“I know that,” Sammy huffed from behind him.
Dean placed the bowl in front of his little brother. “Here, eat up.”
Sammy frowned at the reddish-orange concoction. “What about you?”
“I ate a lot at school,” Dean lied glibly. His grumbling stomach almost gave him away.
Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother. He knew for a fact that Dean had not packed himself a lunch when he’d gotten the two of them ready for school. Lunch for Sam had been a bologna sandwich and an apple. Dean had taken a bottle of tap water for his.
Dean saw the look. “Sam. Eat it,” he ordered.
Sam flinched and picked up his spoon. Dean could do Dad’s voice really well when he had a mind to. When he started eating the rapidly cooling red goo, he saw Dean sigh and relax. He felt a pang of guilt for making his brother worry like that when he knew he was already worried about Dad. Where did he go all the time?
Dean was glad Sammy wasn’t going to put up a fight tonight. He didn’t have it in him to argue. He was too damned tired. Tired and hungry. He took a glass and filled it with water from the tap. Dinner. Delicious.
He wandered over to the window and lifted the curtain. For one fleeting moment, Dean wondered what grass tasted like. It looked kind of green and juicy…Ugh. He really hoped Dad would come back soon. He’d like to not be stark-raving cuckoo-for-Cocoa-Puffs crazy when he died. Mmm, Cocoa Puffs sounded really good right now. Nuts. His stomach grumbled. God, why’d he have to think about food? A hamburger or five would be great.
“I’m done.” There was a clatter over in the kitchenette as Sammy noisily put his spoon and bowl on the counter. The eight-year-old rushed by Dean to finish up his homework. Geek.
Dean shuffled to the sink to wash the dishes when he noticed-“Sammy! Come back here and finish your dinner.”
“I’m full,” Sam called back from his bed. “You eat it.”
Tricky little brat. Dean eyed the congealing remains hungrily but managed to pry his eyes away. He covered the bowl and stuck it in the crappy motel refrigerator. His stomach protested. “You can have it for breakfast in the morning then.”
Sam made a disgruntled sound into his papers.
The sound of a key in the door made them both turn to look. Dean tensed and silently reached for the shotgun propped up against the wall. As he brought it up to aim, the door opened and a sturdy boot appeared around the edge.
“It’s me, boys.” Dad. Dean sagged in relief as the rest of John Winchester appeared.
Sammy leapt off the bed and ran for their father. “Dad!” The hug enveloped him in the leather and gun oil scent always hanging around Dad.
A clatter and a dull thud further inside the room captured their attention. The shotgun lay on the ground next to Dean’s prone body. He’d finally succumbed to the lack of food.
“Dean!” John rushed to check his older son over for injuries while Sammy fluttered at his shoulder.
“Daddy?” Sammy said worriedly. He hadn’t called John ‘Daddy’ in a while, so that he was doing so now was a troubling sign. “He’s not hurt. I think it’s because he hasn’t eaten in a while.”
John took in the ashen tone of Dean’s skin stretched tight over the high cheekbones highlighted by hollow cheeks and eye sockets. His once-charming baby fat had long since disappeared. “What? Why not?” He’d heard about eating disorders, but he didn’t think either of his boys would ever have a problem like that. That Dean could be starving himself on purpose was absurd. He liked his food too much.
Sam didn’t answer, paying more attention to his brother than to his father. “Sammy. Tell me why he hasn’t been eating.”
Sammy looked ready to cry. “Because,” he whispered, “there hasn’t been anything to eat. He makes me eat what we do have.” His fingers were now tangled in Dean’s short hair. “Dean. Wake up.” The tears fell on Dean’s neck. “Why isn’t he waking up?”
John’s heart stilled. God. How much money had he left Dean with? He calculated the amount along with how long he’d been gone and groaned. Not nearly enough. He was surprised Dean had even been able to stretch it out this long. He cursed himself for extending his time away from his boys from two weeks ago, when he was supposed to be home, to now. “Dean? Come on, buddy.” He slapped Dean’s cheek a little in hopes of reviving him. “Wake up.”
Dean flinched and wrinkled his brow. “That’s it, son. Wake up.” The boy whimpered (a sound he’d later deny he ever made) and opened dilated eyes. “That’s it. You with us?” Although he wasn’t exactly what you’d call a religious man, he thanked God it seemed like it wasn’t too serious.
Dean blinked the haze out of his sight. He was on the floor looking up at his dad and teary-eyed little brother. When had his dad gotten home? And why was he on the floor? “Wh-” He made the word that far out of his mouth before being attacked by said little brother. “Umph.”
“Dean! I told you to eat it. You wouldna fainted if you had,” Sammy gurgled wetly into his neck. “Why didn’t you eat it?” He sounded all of five years old again.
Dean’s eyes met his father’s worried ones. ‘Dad? What’s going on?’ “What you talkin’ about, squirt? Didn’t faint. Jus’ sleepin’.” He patted his sobbing baby brother’s back weakly in an attempt to calm him.
John tugged on Sammy to try to make him let go. It was impossible; the boy had clamped onto his brother with a death-grip. “Come on, Sammy. I need to get Dean off the floor and into bed.”
Sammy pushed back onto his knees and wiped his face on his sleeve (a habit he’d picked up from his brother). “I’ll help.”
With grumblings of “Dude, personal space” and “I can walk, you know” from Dean, John carried his son to the bed. His frown drew down deeper at how light the boy felt in his arms. Once Dean was settled on the bed with his brother attached to his side again, John straightened and turned to his younger son, putting him in charge. “I’m goin’ out to get something to eat. Try to keep him awake until then, got it, Sammy?”
“Yes, sir,” Sam answered promptly. “There’s some Spaghetti-Os left over from my dinner. Should I give it to him while you’re out?” Worried eyes peered up at John from under long bangs.
John nodded. “Yeah, yeah, do that. Make him eat it all. I’ll be back soon.” He ran his hand gently though his older boy’s hair and patted his younger’s shoulder. “Watch your brother, Sammy.”
As John left, he and Sam both had the same thought: ‘Please God, let Dean be okay.’
Dean had a much different prayer as he watched his baby brother coming at him with a loaded spoon with the intent of spoon-feeding him: ‘Oh God, please tell me I didn’t really faint.’
“Sammy, gimme that. I can feed myself, thank you very much.”
Chapter 8: Dean’s Job