Meme Fill
Title: Seeing (What Everyone Else Has Seen)
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, past Dean/Lisa
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~4,200
Warnings: curel robo!Sam, chubby!Dean
Note: Fill for chubwinchesters September Fic/Art Meme
Prompt: Ever since his stay at Lisa's Dean has been gaining weight. He was honestly okay with it until soul-less Sam started making cruel comments. The comments made him upset which casued Dean to eat more and gain more weight. Now Sam's been back for a while and hasn't said anything about Dean's extra 50-60 pounds. But then someone (supernatural creature, a group of teens, a girl ect.) says something about Dean's weight and Sam jumps to Dean's defense. Suddenly all the comments that soul-less Sam made don't matter anymore once Dean learns that his brother sees him the same. [ Original Link]
Seeing (What Everyone Else Has Seen)
"You're going with him, aren’t you.”
It isn't a question. Not really, at least. As soon as Sam stepped back into their lives she already knew the answer. Maybe she knew all along, even - knew that this was only a temporary life for Dean. A pit stop before he goes back to what he's made for.
"I don't know,” he replies. It’s a lie, of course. "I'm out of practice." Not as much of a lie. Part of him is nervous. He can spend his nights doing research and keep the sigils up within the house, but the thought of kicking actual demon ass makes his stomach twist a little more that it should. His fingers twitch instinctively and he wishes Lisa let him keep his knife beneath the pillow.
"You've done this all your life, Dean. I don't think a year off will make a difference."
"True." He sighs, because she's right. Something stirs inside him - an inkling of excitement that edges away at the nerves. He misses it, to be honest. It's always been a burden, something thrust upon him when he was four years old and never had a choice in doing - except now he does have a choice, tried something new, and damnit, he misses it. "Little afraid I've gone soft, I guess."
"You haven't."
He pauses. With a glance down he pats his stomach. It's a little rounder than it used to be, a visible result of Lisa's tremendous cooking and a few too many beers with the guys. He hasn't given it much thought up until this point, maybe cracked a few jokes here and there but nothing more. Now, however, he can’t help but frown.
"Matter of opinion,” he murmurs.
Lisa leans over in bed and places a hand on his stomach. She gives it a light jiggle, her fingers digging in a little, and smiles at him. “What, this? This is adorable.”
“Not so adorable when a werewolf catches up and tears me to bits.”
“Remember that charity baseball game Dale talked you into playing in a couple months ago? You hauled ass around those bases. My girlfriends couldn’t believe how fast you were, so don’t talk like you don’t know how to run or fight anymore.”
His lips twitch into the hint of a smile. He kicked ass at that game, but then again he was up against a bunch of suburban dads and not a supernatural creature. He hides the smile and shrugs. “I guess.”
“I know you want this, Dean.”
“I do,” he finally admits.
She smiles and kisses him quietly on the lips. “You’ll be fine,” she murmurs.
::
He’s sure that Lisa’s worked out some kind of deal with the universe because, as always, she’s right. He is fine.
Their first night out they handle a routine salt and burn with ease and finesse. Instinct kicks in when necessary and it’s like he never stopped hunting.
When they get back to the motel he showers off the dirt and grime and changes into a fresh set of clothing. Comfortable jeans and a t-shirt that Lisa bought for him when his old ones got a little snug. These ones are nice and roomy. He pulls a flannel over top of it all and Sam is out getting dinner so he has time to assess himself in the mirror. He looks at himself from multiple angles and decides that he doesn’t look that different. The weight has settled primarily in his stomach; his abs have softened and given way to a small, round belly and he has a hint of a double chin, but other than that he looks the same.
He shrugs to no one in particular and walks back out into the room just as Sam comes in. He carries and a case of beer that he sets down on the table and hands a bag of food to Dean.
He glances inside (a burger and fries) and then looks back to Sam. “Where’s yours?” He asks.
Sam shrugs. “Not hungry,” he answers. He takes a beer from the pack however and pops the cap off.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Go ahead. Think I’ll get started on looking for some new leads.”
He hunkers down at the table with a couple newspapers and his laptop, and Dean takes a seat across from him. He feels little awkward eating without Sam, but his stomach growls at the mere thought of food. He’s pretty ravenous after a night of digging and a little bit of fighting when the spirit figured out what they were about to do, so he opens the bag and starts in on his dinner.
One bite in, however, he pauses and takes the top off the burger. “Dude, what is this? Where’s the bacon and cheese?” It’s a plain burger with lettuce and tomato. No ketchup, even. Across from him, Sam shrugs.
“Do you really need it?” He asks. He glances up at Dean and lifts an eyebrow. Dean pulls a face and goes back to his burger - his crappy burger, but a burger nonetheless. Across from him, Sam stares intently at his computer screen and jots down a couple of notes.
::
It’s the same thing every morning. The sun is hardly up and Sam is at it with the sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups and what else. Dean likens it to a late-night infomercial, something awful like I made my crappy motel room into a gym and so can you!
This morning Dean sits in bed, newspaper draped across his lap, and watches from the corner of his eye. Sam goes through the motions with a scary amount of intensity and Dean finally has to ask, “Ok, what is this? You training for fight club?”
“No.” He doesn’t even smirk, just carries on with the push-ups. Down, up, down, up. He pauses and looks up at Dean. “I need to be on top of my game.”
“Well, I think you can cool it. Before you know it, a zombie’ll take one look at you and run the other way.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
Dean makes a face because, duh, of course it doesn’t. He’s starting to feel like he’s talking to Cas here. Soon he’ll need to preface each joke with a disclaimer.
“Would be kind of funny, though,” Dean mutters.
Sam ignores him and continues, “This is a tough job that needs to be taken seriously, Dean. It’s easy to let yourself go.” He finishes the set and climbs to his feet, brushing his hands against his thighs. He glances at Dean and with a pointed look adds, “You should know.”
It takes a second for the words to sink in. Once they do, Dean swallows a little harder than necessary. “What’s the supposed to mean?” He asks. He feels a little self-conscious suddenly and rucks the paper up higher in vain attempt to hide his belly.
“Well, I’d rather not get fat,” Sam replies bluntly. “I mean - you put on, what? Thirty? Forty pounds?” He walks over to the side of the bed and looks down at Dean, as if assessing his new bulk and internally calculating just how much weight he’s gained.
“Dunno,” he mumbles.
He’d gone in for a physical before they let him on at the construction site. He weighed in at 204 that day, which was a little bit of a shock since he’s never been above 190. That was ten months ago though and he knows he’s heavier than that now - he just hasn’t cared to put an exact number to it.
“I don’t think I’m fat, though,” he adds. He could take it in stride. Make a joke, he tells himself, but as his cheeks begin to burn he can hardly remember what a joke is let alone how to make one. Sam doesn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor these days, anyway.
“Well, I’m not saying you’re obese or anything but yeah, you are kind of fat.”
“Thanks, man.”
“I’m just saying.” Sam shrugs. Without a number word, he heads for the bathroom and closes the door behind himself.
Dean remains in bed a moment longer. He dances between feeling sorry for himself and being genuinely pissed off at Sam. Part of him rationalizes it: But he was just being honest - you have gained weight. The other part knows that Sam would never say anything so intentionally hurtful, though. He’s not a girl or anything with fragile feelings, but that was a dick thing to say no matter how you put it. It’s like he doesn’t know the guy anymore.
Dean mans up after a few seconds and gets out of bed. He dresses for the day in heavy boots with a t-shirt and jeans, and piles a few more layers than necessary on top. He can hear the shower running and he doesn’t really care what Sam has on his itinerary for the day so he heads out to fill the car and get some breakfast.
He finds a spot in the corner of a semi-crowded diner and orders a three-egg omelet with four cheeses, smoked bacon, ham and sausage with a side of potatoes and toast. He misses Lisa’s cooking, but he has a knack for finding places that can at least offer a semblance of it. He finishes it all and leaves the waitress a nice tip before heading for the car. His stomach is comfortably full and if he’s not mistaken some girls coming out of a book shop give him the eye as he gets into the car.
He heads back to the motel feeling considerably better.
::
The feeling is fleeting.
The comments continue to come. They start out small at first, nothing more than Maybe you should order a salad instead, but after a few weeks they become more cutting: Remember that girl in Albany? The one who wouldn’t shut up about your abs? Wonder what she’d think of you now.
They finally find out that Sam’s missing his soul. It briefly makes Dean feel a little better knowing that his Sam isn’t actually saying these things, but it’s a temporary relief. The sting is still there every time he comments on Dean’s size or food choices.
They grab dinner one night. Dean orders the special, a huge helping of pot roast and mashed potatoes smothered in gravy with a side of biscuits. When he’s finished he orders a slice of caramel apple pie à la mode. He gives the waitress a wink and when he looks back across the table Sam has his best I’m judging you face on. He’s getting used to it though and tries to handle it with a sense of humor. The best he can, at least.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Sam asks.
“But they’re known for their pie.” He jerks a thumb toward the glowing sign in the window that claims they have not only the world’s best cup of coffee but the world’s best slice of pie as well. He grins and Sam rolls his eyes.
“Right. You should at least come running with me in the morning, then.”
“Ah, Sammy, I spend my nights running from shit - why would I do it for fun in the morning?”
“Because I can see how tight your jacket is from here and a little extra exercise would do you good.”
Dean shifts in his seat. His jacket has been getting a little tight, as well as the jeans that Lisa bought him right before he left. He knows he’s put on more weight. His tactic thus far has been to eat even more whenever Sam points out anything in regard to his weight. On one hand, it’s just to spite him (Oh, you don’t think I should go in because I probably won’t fit through that window? Fine, I’ll eat two burgers then instead of one when we get back to the motel). On the other hand, it’s because the food tastes so damn good and it reminds him of Lisa, who doesn’t judge him.
The pie comes and he digs in. It’s delicious and he ignores the irritated huff Sam lets out. He eats in silence for a minute or two before Sam speaks again.
“So,” he says. “Tomorrow night I want to check out that warehouse just outside of town. I think that might be where the nest is.”
“Yeah?” Dean asks around a mouthful of ice cream. Sam wrinkles his nose slightly and nods.
“Yeah. You can stand guard by the door, if you want.”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s like six floors of stairs, man.”
“I’m not incompetent, y’know.”
“I know.” Sam pauses and then shrugs. “I just don’t want you to get winded.”
“When have I ever gotten winded? I can sprint like hell when I need to.”
“I’m just saying: I see the way that gut of yours bounces when you run, and it’s not like it’s getting any smaller. It just might be hard to run up and down all those stairs.”
“Dude, shut up.”
“You’ll be just as useful if you stand guard at the exit.”
“Fuck.” Dean glowers for a moment. He takes a moment to quickly finish the last two bites of his pie and wipes his face. He then throws the napkin onto the table and spits, “I don’t want to be useful, I want to be your partner. I can do everything you can so stop treating me like I can’t.”
He slides out of the booth and heads for the exit. He’s pissed off and a little embarrassed. It doesn’t help that he feels like everyone’s eyes are on him as he stalks across the room. He’s a little bloated from all the food and his already too tight jeans strain around his stomach’s bulk. He’s painfully aware of the way his t-shirt clings to the plump curve of his belly and how his jeans dig uncomfortably into the soft flesh. He wishes he could unbutton them. He can imagine how gratefully his stomach would push the zipper down and settle in front of him - how good it would feel to just massage it for a bit.
As he walks out the door, he can see Sam throw some money down for the bill. He knows he’ll be outside soon enough and he can just hear the comment he’d make if he caught Dean in such a state: I see you’ve gotten so fat you can’t even button your jeans anymore. Why don’t you just stay at the motel and do some research while I go be Super Hunter on my own.
Dean winces at the thought and gets into the car. His stomach swells over the waistband. They way they cut into his sides is almost painful now and he glances out the window. Sam is hovering by the door of the diner, checking his phone. Dean decides to go for it; he pops the button and his belly is quick to surge forward. It pushes his t-shirt up a little and he quickly tugs it back down. A sliver of soft skin still peaks out at the bottom, but the car is dark and he hopes his jacket conceals the rest.
He rubs his stomach until Sam is at the door. He slides in and says something about another attack, maybe they could follow up on it. He then glances at Dean and rolls his eyes. “Maybe we should just get you some sweats. Save you the trouble of ever having to button your pants.”
Dean blushes. He quickly tries to rebutton his jeans, sucks his belly in and struggles with the flaps. There’s no way he’d be able to do it when he’s so full and sitting down like this, though. He can’t even get the button to meet part way so he gives up, allowing his stomach to sit free and plump in his lap.
He turns the key in the ignition and they drive back to the motel in silence.
::
It’s a grueling process, but they’re finally able to get Sam’s soul back.
Dean’s gone up another size in jeans by then, a fact that Sam sans-soul made him painfully aware of. He had a field day when Dean sat down at the motel one afternoon and the button popped right off his old jeans. He could have sworn they were starting to fit better - maybe it really was all bloat and he was finally starting to lose a little weight, he’d thought hopefully - but they had clearly been accommodating him the best they could before giving up. Sam lectured Dean on the importance of a balanced diet and body fat percentages - he even gave Dean’s belly a good pinch for emphasis. Look how much I can grab - that's just wrong.
Dean almost punched him right then, but instead left the room and wound up at a drive-thru. He ordered two burgers, a large fries, and a milkshake. The food made him feel sick but he ate it all. This is why your jeans popped, he'd thought to himself through a mouthful of fries. How could you have been losing weight when you eat like this? He went to the store afterward and bought a few new pairs of jeans. Ones that he didn't have to suck his belly in or lie on the bed to button.
He wonders if Sam will feel guilty for the things he said. Or maybe he won’t. It doesn’t really matter though, because right now all he cares about is Sam waking up. Period.
When he finally does come to, he hugs Dean almost immediately. It’s a warm, strong hug and Dean knows that this is his Sam. Finally.
Sam pulls back and looks him over. A fond smile turns his lips and part of Dean waits for him to say something. He braces himself for some blow about his weight, but Sam says nothing. He just pats Dean on the shoulder and moves on to give Bobby a hug as well.
They catch up. Dean tells him about his time with Lisa, but dances around what it was like once Sam came back into his life. What is there to say? It was awesome save for you being a total dick. Read: Awful.
The thing is, this Sam - his Sam - doesn’t as much as raise an eyebrow in Dean’s direction even in the weeks and month that follow. Dean knows that he’s put on a good fifty pounds - probably more - since Stull. He has a gut and it’s pretty hard to miss. Sam hasn’t said a word, though. Maybe he’s trying to figure out a nice way to bring it up. Maybe he feels sorry for Dean. Maybe part of him remembers mocking him and figures he’s said enough. Who knows.
They start hunting again, gradually. Dean wants to take it slow but Sam assures him with, “Dude, I’m fine. Seriously.” As fine as one can be with a year and a half missing from their memory and a wall up in their head, shielding them from things too horrific to even imagine, that is.
“Fair enough,” Dean says. He’s just glad to have him back. Have him back for real.
::
They’ve been back on the road for almost two months before it finally comes up.
They’re in a small town in Arizona, chasing the lead on what might be a case. It’s hot and they’re both down to jeans and t-shirts. They get to know a few of the regulars at a local bar and play the role of curious tourists as they ask about the recent deaths. Once they get what they need they head out the back. The alley is dark and they walk a few yards before a figure steps out of the shadows. It’s a girl who looks a little too familiar. Dean instantly recognizes her as a low-level demon that got away a few months back.
She recognizes him as well. “Dean Winchester,” she murmurs. Her eyes flash black and Dean can feel Sam tense at his side.
“The one and only.” He takes a step toward her and she looks him up and down with a smile.
“Looks like you’ve put on a few more, huh?” He instantly folds his arms across his round belly, trying to conceal it. She glances at Sam and says, “What was it you said about him last time? Fat but able?” Sam’s eyebrows shoot up and Dean winces. Yep, that’s about as close to a compliment as he got from Sam: Sure, he’s fat but he can still hunt. Talk about backhanded.
“What?” Sam asks. He looks at Dean who waves him off.
“Nothing.”
“Little sensitive?” She asks. She pauses and then smiles. “I guess the word ‘little’ wouldn’t be the right term for you, though. You’re a big boy now, with those thick thighs, and that round, fat ass…”
Dean’s jaw clenches as does his fist. Through gritted teeth he starts, “Listen, yo-” but before he knows it Sam has Ruby’s knife out and has the girl up against the wall. He presses the blade to her throat and she gasps.
“You. Do not talk. About my brother. Like that.” He spits. The blade begins to cut the skin with a hiss. She cries out again and he stabs her in the arm. Another hiss and she screams, but she manages to grapple out of his hold and is gone in a flash.
Sam curses beneath his breath. He glances around the now empty alley and wipes the knife against the thigh of his jeans. With a shake of his head he walks back toward Dean. “What a bitch,” he says. “I’ll get her next time.”
Dean nods and they head back to the car. The silence between them is heavy and after a bit of shuffling Sam finally asks, “Did I really say stuff like that?”
“Like what?” Dean asks.
“Like… was I really that mean to you?”
“Oh.” He pauses. They reach the Impala and he runs a hand over the hood. With a chuckle he says, “Well, I am kind of fat so… I guess you were just being observant?” He doesn’t know why he’s defending soulless Sam’s actions. He hates how guilty Sam looks though, so he tries to sugarcoat it the best he can.
Sam is quiet for a few seconds. He chews absently at his lower lip and looks up. With a tilt of his head, he looks Dean over and finally says, “You have put on weight, haven’t you. Like, kind of a lot.”
There’s a moment of silence before Dean laughs. It was just about the last thing he expected Sam to say and he has to ask, “Seriously, dude?” He finds himself patting his stomach and he feels like he’s back at Lisa’s, joking about his weight. “You didn’t notice this?”
“I don’t know.” Sam pushes his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “I guess I knew you were a little heavier, but I just thought you looked good. You actually look kind of comfortable and happy these days.” He shrugs again. “S’not like your hunting has changed much. You’re still as vicious as ever.”
“Damn straight,” Dean agrees. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and his hand lingers over the curve of his stomach. He knows Sam is looking at him, but it’s more curious than calculating. To finally know he isn’t silently judging him is a tremendous weight off his shoulders.
Dean shakes his head, feeling better about himself than he has in months. He walks around to the driver’s side of the car and as he opens the door says, “And here I thought you were the smart one, Sammy.”
“Oh, c’mon.” Sam rolls his eyes and slides into the passenger’s seat. “Sorry for not noticing how well you’ve been taking care of your tummy, Pooh Bear.”
Dean turns the key in the ignition. “Ok, first off: do not call me Pooh Bear again. Ever. And second-” he pauses as he stomach grumbles. It’s late and he’s running on the few beers they had back at the bar. “And second: I’m starving. Wanna grab dinner?”
“Yeah.” Sam nods and relaxes back in the seat. As they take off down the street, he rolls his head to the side and looks at Dean once more. “Look, I don’t remember what I said and I don’t want to scratch the wall, but I really am sorry for anything I-”
Dean raises a hand, stopping Sam mid-sentence. “Don’t go there, alright? We can go back to the motel for a great big heart-to-heart, or we can grab some grub. I’m all for the latter, personally.”
“Fair enough,” Sam says. He shifts in his seat and quietly adds, “You really do look good, man.”
Dean is quiet for a moment. He finds himself smiling a little, and then murmurs, “You too, Sammy.”
He turns the radio up a little louder and they drive the rest of the way in comfortable silence.
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, past Dean/Lisa
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~4,200
Warnings: curel robo!Sam, chubby!Dean
Note: Fill for chubwinchesters September Fic/Art Meme
Prompt: Ever since his stay at Lisa's Dean has been gaining weight. He was honestly okay with it until soul-less Sam started making cruel comments. The comments made him upset which casued Dean to eat more and gain more weight. Now Sam's been back for a while and hasn't said anything about Dean's extra 50-60 pounds. But then someone (supernatural creature, a group of teens, a girl ect.) says something about Dean's weight and Sam jumps to Dean's defense. Suddenly all the comments that soul-less Sam made don't matter anymore once Dean learns that his brother sees him the same. [ Original Link]
Seeing (What Everyone Else Has Seen)
"You're going with him, aren’t you.”
It isn't a question. Not really, at least. As soon as Sam stepped back into their lives she already knew the answer. Maybe she knew all along, even - knew that this was only a temporary life for Dean. A pit stop before he goes back to what he's made for.
"I don't know,” he replies. It’s a lie, of course. "I'm out of practice." Not as much of a lie. Part of him is nervous. He can spend his nights doing research and keep the sigils up within the house, but the thought of kicking actual demon ass makes his stomach twist a little more that it should. His fingers twitch instinctively and he wishes Lisa let him keep his knife beneath the pillow.
"You've done this all your life, Dean. I don't think a year off will make a difference."
"True." He sighs, because she's right. Something stirs inside him - an inkling of excitement that edges away at the nerves. He misses it, to be honest. It's always been a burden, something thrust upon him when he was four years old and never had a choice in doing - except now he does have a choice, tried something new, and damnit, he misses it. "Little afraid I've gone soft, I guess."
"You haven't."
He pauses. With a glance down he pats his stomach. It's a little rounder than it used to be, a visible result of Lisa's tremendous cooking and a few too many beers with the guys. He hasn't given it much thought up until this point, maybe cracked a few jokes here and there but nothing more. Now, however, he can’t help but frown.
"Matter of opinion,” he murmurs.
Lisa leans over in bed and places a hand on his stomach. She gives it a light jiggle, her fingers digging in a little, and smiles at him. “What, this? This is adorable.”
“Not so adorable when a werewolf catches up and tears me to bits.”
“Remember that charity baseball game Dale talked you into playing in a couple months ago? You hauled ass around those bases. My girlfriends couldn’t believe how fast you were, so don’t talk like you don’t know how to run or fight anymore.”
His lips twitch into the hint of a smile. He kicked ass at that game, but then again he was up against a bunch of suburban dads and not a supernatural creature. He hides the smile and shrugs. “I guess.”
“I know you want this, Dean.”
“I do,” he finally admits.
She smiles and kisses him quietly on the lips. “You’ll be fine,” she murmurs.
::
He’s sure that Lisa’s worked out some kind of deal with the universe because, as always, she’s right. He is fine.
Their first night out they handle a routine salt and burn with ease and finesse. Instinct kicks in when necessary and it’s like he never stopped hunting.
When they get back to the motel he showers off the dirt and grime and changes into a fresh set of clothing. Comfortable jeans and a t-shirt that Lisa bought for him when his old ones got a little snug. These ones are nice and roomy. He pulls a flannel over top of it all and Sam is out getting dinner so he has time to assess himself in the mirror. He looks at himself from multiple angles and decides that he doesn’t look that different. The weight has settled primarily in his stomach; his abs have softened and given way to a small, round belly and he has a hint of a double chin, but other than that he looks the same.
He shrugs to no one in particular and walks back out into the room just as Sam comes in. He carries and a case of beer that he sets down on the table and hands a bag of food to Dean.
He glances inside (a burger and fries) and then looks back to Sam. “Where’s yours?” He asks.
Sam shrugs. “Not hungry,” he answers. He takes a beer from the pack however and pops the cap off.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Go ahead. Think I’ll get started on looking for some new leads.”
He hunkers down at the table with a couple newspapers and his laptop, and Dean takes a seat across from him. He feels little awkward eating without Sam, but his stomach growls at the mere thought of food. He’s pretty ravenous after a night of digging and a little bit of fighting when the spirit figured out what they were about to do, so he opens the bag and starts in on his dinner.
One bite in, however, he pauses and takes the top off the burger. “Dude, what is this? Where’s the bacon and cheese?” It’s a plain burger with lettuce and tomato. No ketchup, even. Across from him, Sam shrugs.
“Do you really need it?” He asks. He glances up at Dean and lifts an eyebrow. Dean pulls a face and goes back to his burger - his crappy burger, but a burger nonetheless. Across from him, Sam stares intently at his computer screen and jots down a couple of notes.
::
It’s the same thing every morning. The sun is hardly up and Sam is at it with the sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups and what else. Dean likens it to a late-night infomercial, something awful like I made my crappy motel room into a gym and so can you!
This morning Dean sits in bed, newspaper draped across his lap, and watches from the corner of his eye. Sam goes through the motions with a scary amount of intensity and Dean finally has to ask, “Ok, what is this? You training for fight club?”
“No.” He doesn’t even smirk, just carries on with the push-ups. Down, up, down, up. He pauses and looks up at Dean. “I need to be on top of my game.”
“Well, I think you can cool it. Before you know it, a zombie’ll take one look at you and run the other way.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
Dean makes a face because, duh, of course it doesn’t. He’s starting to feel like he’s talking to Cas here. Soon he’ll need to preface each joke with a disclaimer.
“Would be kind of funny, though,” Dean mutters.
Sam ignores him and continues, “This is a tough job that needs to be taken seriously, Dean. It’s easy to let yourself go.” He finishes the set and climbs to his feet, brushing his hands against his thighs. He glances at Dean and with a pointed look adds, “You should know.”
It takes a second for the words to sink in. Once they do, Dean swallows a little harder than necessary. “What’s the supposed to mean?” He asks. He feels a little self-conscious suddenly and rucks the paper up higher in vain attempt to hide his belly.
“Well, I’d rather not get fat,” Sam replies bluntly. “I mean - you put on, what? Thirty? Forty pounds?” He walks over to the side of the bed and looks down at Dean, as if assessing his new bulk and internally calculating just how much weight he’s gained.
“Dunno,” he mumbles.
He’d gone in for a physical before they let him on at the construction site. He weighed in at 204 that day, which was a little bit of a shock since he’s never been above 190. That was ten months ago though and he knows he’s heavier than that now - he just hasn’t cared to put an exact number to it.
“I don’t think I’m fat, though,” he adds. He could take it in stride. Make a joke, he tells himself, but as his cheeks begin to burn he can hardly remember what a joke is let alone how to make one. Sam doesn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor these days, anyway.
“Well, I’m not saying you’re obese or anything but yeah, you are kind of fat.”
“Thanks, man.”
“I’m just saying.” Sam shrugs. Without a number word, he heads for the bathroom and closes the door behind himself.
Dean remains in bed a moment longer. He dances between feeling sorry for himself and being genuinely pissed off at Sam. Part of him rationalizes it: But he was just being honest - you have gained weight. The other part knows that Sam would never say anything so intentionally hurtful, though. He’s not a girl or anything with fragile feelings, but that was a dick thing to say no matter how you put it. It’s like he doesn’t know the guy anymore.
Dean mans up after a few seconds and gets out of bed. He dresses for the day in heavy boots with a t-shirt and jeans, and piles a few more layers than necessary on top. He can hear the shower running and he doesn’t really care what Sam has on his itinerary for the day so he heads out to fill the car and get some breakfast.
He finds a spot in the corner of a semi-crowded diner and orders a three-egg omelet with four cheeses, smoked bacon, ham and sausage with a side of potatoes and toast. He misses Lisa’s cooking, but he has a knack for finding places that can at least offer a semblance of it. He finishes it all and leaves the waitress a nice tip before heading for the car. His stomach is comfortably full and if he’s not mistaken some girls coming out of a book shop give him the eye as he gets into the car.
He heads back to the motel feeling considerably better.
::
The feeling is fleeting.
The comments continue to come. They start out small at first, nothing more than Maybe you should order a salad instead, but after a few weeks they become more cutting: Remember that girl in Albany? The one who wouldn’t shut up about your abs? Wonder what she’d think of you now.
They finally find out that Sam’s missing his soul. It briefly makes Dean feel a little better knowing that his Sam isn’t actually saying these things, but it’s a temporary relief. The sting is still there every time he comments on Dean’s size or food choices.
They grab dinner one night. Dean orders the special, a huge helping of pot roast and mashed potatoes smothered in gravy with a side of biscuits. When he’s finished he orders a slice of caramel apple pie à la mode. He gives the waitress a wink and when he looks back across the table Sam has his best I’m judging you face on. He’s getting used to it though and tries to handle it with a sense of humor. The best he can, at least.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Sam asks.
“But they’re known for their pie.” He jerks a thumb toward the glowing sign in the window that claims they have not only the world’s best cup of coffee but the world’s best slice of pie as well. He grins and Sam rolls his eyes.
“Right. You should at least come running with me in the morning, then.”
“Ah, Sammy, I spend my nights running from shit - why would I do it for fun in the morning?”
“Because I can see how tight your jacket is from here and a little extra exercise would do you good.”
Dean shifts in his seat. His jacket has been getting a little tight, as well as the jeans that Lisa bought him right before he left. He knows he’s put on more weight. His tactic thus far has been to eat even more whenever Sam points out anything in regard to his weight. On one hand, it’s just to spite him (Oh, you don’t think I should go in because I probably won’t fit through that window? Fine, I’ll eat two burgers then instead of one when we get back to the motel). On the other hand, it’s because the food tastes so damn good and it reminds him of Lisa, who doesn’t judge him.
The pie comes and he digs in. It’s delicious and he ignores the irritated huff Sam lets out. He eats in silence for a minute or two before Sam speaks again.
“So,” he says. “Tomorrow night I want to check out that warehouse just outside of town. I think that might be where the nest is.”
“Yeah?” Dean asks around a mouthful of ice cream. Sam wrinkles his nose slightly and nods.
“Yeah. You can stand guard by the door, if you want.”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s like six floors of stairs, man.”
“I’m not incompetent, y’know.”
“I know.” Sam pauses and then shrugs. “I just don’t want you to get winded.”
“When have I ever gotten winded? I can sprint like hell when I need to.”
“I’m just saying: I see the way that gut of yours bounces when you run, and it’s not like it’s getting any smaller. It just might be hard to run up and down all those stairs.”
“Dude, shut up.”
“You’ll be just as useful if you stand guard at the exit.”
“Fuck.” Dean glowers for a moment. He takes a moment to quickly finish the last two bites of his pie and wipes his face. He then throws the napkin onto the table and spits, “I don’t want to be useful, I want to be your partner. I can do everything you can so stop treating me like I can’t.”
He slides out of the booth and heads for the exit. He’s pissed off and a little embarrassed. It doesn’t help that he feels like everyone’s eyes are on him as he stalks across the room. He’s a little bloated from all the food and his already too tight jeans strain around his stomach’s bulk. He’s painfully aware of the way his t-shirt clings to the plump curve of his belly and how his jeans dig uncomfortably into the soft flesh. He wishes he could unbutton them. He can imagine how gratefully his stomach would push the zipper down and settle in front of him - how good it would feel to just massage it for a bit.
As he walks out the door, he can see Sam throw some money down for the bill. He knows he’ll be outside soon enough and he can just hear the comment he’d make if he caught Dean in such a state: I see you’ve gotten so fat you can’t even button your jeans anymore. Why don’t you just stay at the motel and do some research while I go be Super Hunter on my own.
Dean winces at the thought and gets into the car. His stomach swells over the waistband. They way they cut into his sides is almost painful now and he glances out the window. Sam is hovering by the door of the diner, checking his phone. Dean decides to go for it; he pops the button and his belly is quick to surge forward. It pushes his t-shirt up a little and he quickly tugs it back down. A sliver of soft skin still peaks out at the bottom, but the car is dark and he hopes his jacket conceals the rest.
He rubs his stomach until Sam is at the door. He slides in and says something about another attack, maybe they could follow up on it. He then glances at Dean and rolls his eyes. “Maybe we should just get you some sweats. Save you the trouble of ever having to button your pants.”
Dean blushes. He quickly tries to rebutton his jeans, sucks his belly in and struggles with the flaps. There’s no way he’d be able to do it when he’s so full and sitting down like this, though. He can’t even get the button to meet part way so he gives up, allowing his stomach to sit free and plump in his lap.
He turns the key in the ignition and they drive back to the motel in silence.
::
It’s a grueling process, but they’re finally able to get Sam’s soul back.
Dean’s gone up another size in jeans by then, a fact that Sam sans-soul made him painfully aware of. He had a field day when Dean sat down at the motel one afternoon and the button popped right off his old jeans. He could have sworn they were starting to fit better - maybe it really was all bloat and he was finally starting to lose a little weight, he’d thought hopefully - but they had clearly been accommodating him the best they could before giving up. Sam lectured Dean on the importance of a balanced diet and body fat percentages - he even gave Dean’s belly a good pinch for emphasis. Look how much I can grab - that's just wrong.
Dean almost punched him right then, but instead left the room and wound up at a drive-thru. He ordered two burgers, a large fries, and a milkshake. The food made him feel sick but he ate it all. This is why your jeans popped, he'd thought to himself through a mouthful of fries. How could you have been losing weight when you eat like this? He went to the store afterward and bought a few new pairs of jeans. Ones that he didn't have to suck his belly in or lie on the bed to button.
He wonders if Sam will feel guilty for the things he said. Or maybe he won’t. It doesn’t really matter though, because right now all he cares about is Sam waking up. Period.
When he finally does come to, he hugs Dean almost immediately. It’s a warm, strong hug and Dean knows that this is his Sam. Finally.
Sam pulls back and looks him over. A fond smile turns his lips and part of Dean waits for him to say something. He braces himself for some blow about his weight, but Sam says nothing. He just pats Dean on the shoulder and moves on to give Bobby a hug as well.
They catch up. Dean tells him about his time with Lisa, but dances around what it was like once Sam came back into his life. What is there to say? It was awesome save for you being a total dick. Read: Awful.
The thing is, this Sam - his Sam - doesn’t as much as raise an eyebrow in Dean’s direction even in the weeks and month that follow. Dean knows that he’s put on a good fifty pounds - probably more - since Stull. He has a gut and it’s pretty hard to miss. Sam hasn’t said a word, though. Maybe he’s trying to figure out a nice way to bring it up. Maybe he feels sorry for Dean. Maybe part of him remembers mocking him and figures he’s said enough. Who knows.
They start hunting again, gradually. Dean wants to take it slow but Sam assures him with, “Dude, I’m fine. Seriously.” As fine as one can be with a year and a half missing from their memory and a wall up in their head, shielding them from things too horrific to even imagine, that is.
“Fair enough,” Dean says. He’s just glad to have him back. Have him back for real.
::
They’ve been back on the road for almost two months before it finally comes up.
They’re in a small town in Arizona, chasing the lead on what might be a case. It’s hot and they’re both down to jeans and t-shirts. They get to know a few of the regulars at a local bar and play the role of curious tourists as they ask about the recent deaths. Once they get what they need they head out the back. The alley is dark and they walk a few yards before a figure steps out of the shadows. It’s a girl who looks a little too familiar. Dean instantly recognizes her as a low-level demon that got away a few months back.
She recognizes him as well. “Dean Winchester,” she murmurs. Her eyes flash black and Dean can feel Sam tense at his side.
“The one and only.” He takes a step toward her and she looks him up and down with a smile.
“Looks like you’ve put on a few more, huh?” He instantly folds his arms across his round belly, trying to conceal it. She glances at Sam and says, “What was it you said about him last time? Fat but able?” Sam’s eyebrows shoot up and Dean winces. Yep, that’s about as close to a compliment as he got from Sam: Sure, he’s fat but he can still hunt. Talk about backhanded.
“What?” Sam asks. He looks at Dean who waves him off.
“Nothing.”
“Little sensitive?” She asks. She pauses and then smiles. “I guess the word ‘little’ wouldn’t be the right term for you, though. You’re a big boy now, with those thick thighs, and that round, fat ass…”
Dean’s jaw clenches as does his fist. Through gritted teeth he starts, “Listen, yo-” but before he knows it Sam has Ruby’s knife out and has the girl up against the wall. He presses the blade to her throat and she gasps.
“You. Do not talk. About my brother. Like that.” He spits. The blade begins to cut the skin with a hiss. She cries out again and he stabs her in the arm. Another hiss and she screams, but she manages to grapple out of his hold and is gone in a flash.
Sam curses beneath his breath. He glances around the now empty alley and wipes the knife against the thigh of his jeans. With a shake of his head he walks back toward Dean. “What a bitch,” he says. “I’ll get her next time.”
Dean nods and they head back to the car. The silence between them is heavy and after a bit of shuffling Sam finally asks, “Did I really say stuff like that?”
“Like what?” Dean asks.
“Like… was I really that mean to you?”
“Oh.” He pauses. They reach the Impala and he runs a hand over the hood. With a chuckle he says, “Well, I am kind of fat so… I guess you were just being observant?” He doesn’t know why he’s defending soulless Sam’s actions. He hates how guilty Sam looks though, so he tries to sugarcoat it the best he can.
Sam is quiet for a few seconds. He chews absently at his lower lip and looks up. With a tilt of his head, he looks Dean over and finally says, “You have put on weight, haven’t you. Like, kind of a lot.”
There’s a moment of silence before Dean laughs. It was just about the last thing he expected Sam to say and he has to ask, “Seriously, dude?” He finds himself patting his stomach and he feels like he’s back at Lisa’s, joking about his weight. “You didn’t notice this?”
“I don’t know.” Sam pushes his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “I guess I knew you were a little heavier, but I just thought you looked good. You actually look kind of comfortable and happy these days.” He shrugs again. “S’not like your hunting has changed much. You’re still as vicious as ever.”
“Damn straight,” Dean agrees. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and his hand lingers over the curve of his stomach. He knows Sam is looking at him, but it’s more curious than calculating. To finally know he isn’t silently judging him is a tremendous weight off his shoulders.
Dean shakes his head, feeling better about himself than he has in months. He walks around to the driver’s side of the car and as he opens the door says, “And here I thought you were the smart one, Sammy.”
“Oh, c’mon.” Sam rolls his eyes and slides into the passenger’s seat. “Sorry for not noticing how well you’ve been taking care of your tummy, Pooh Bear.”
Dean turns the key in the ignition. “Ok, first off: do not call me Pooh Bear again. Ever. And second-” he pauses as he stomach grumbles. It’s late and he’s running on the few beers they had back at the bar. “And second: I’m starving. Wanna grab dinner?”
“Yeah.” Sam nods and relaxes back in the seat. As they take off down the street, he rolls his head to the side and looks at Dean once more. “Look, I don’t remember what I said and I don’t want to scratch the wall, but I really am sorry for anything I-”
Dean raises a hand, stopping Sam mid-sentence. “Don’t go there, alright? We can go back to the motel for a great big heart-to-heart, or we can grab some grub. I’m all for the latter, personally.”
“Fair enough,” Sam says. He shifts in his seat and quietly adds, “You really do look good, man.”
Dean is quiet for a moment. He finds himself smiling a little, and then murmurs, “You too, Sammy.”
He turns the radio up a little louder and they drive the rest of the way in comfortable silence.