Dean notices it right around the time he stops being a demon.
Sam's tall. Okay, obvious. But he was tall and he's always been a stick because of it.
Bean pole. Svelte would be a good word for it if Dean used words like svelte.
But he doesn't, so Dean's left staring down his brother whose nose is in a book and thinks, 'Skinny.'
Because Sam hasn't been 'skinny' in a long time. Not since he was a teenager.
He's been eating. Dean's four (almost five now) days back from demon-hood has shown him that much.
Sammy's eating. Just kinda…barely.
He'll poke at his food. Maybe roll a cherry tomato or two into a still too-tall mountain of chicken salad.
"Makin' a run to town. We're dry and I'm hungry. Burgers good? Tacos?" Dean eventually says while en route up the stairs and out the door.
"Whatever," Sam says back, distracted and reading.
Dean frowns. Sam's still got his arm in a sling, still winces a little sometimes when he moves wrong.
Sam's still got bruises, yellow and fading, but like billboards of, 'You abandoned your little brother,' every time Dean looks at him.
Banged up, ass kicked, and giving Kate Moss a run for her money.
"Tacos," Dean decides and walks out.
Sam's glad to have Dean back.
Understatement.
Sam's elated to have Dean back. Thrilled. Grateful. So damn happy he might've actually maybe teared up at one point.
But then he's kind of brought down. They only treated a symptom. Not the disease.
Dean's got the mark on him. Eventually he'll be a demon again. Minus the black eyes.
Sam sets the book down, hasn't noticed til now how white his knuckles were or how tight his grip'd been.
Things have been a little tense. They're both glad, relieved, but Dean's got a guilt complex from his demon-fueled bender and Sam hasn't got it in him to just sit back and chill and think everything's A-OK.
In fact, he can't do much else aside from read. Research. Scour the planet until he can find something to save his brother.
Because he will find something. He'll do any damn thing.
Years later and it's still no good. Sam's no good.
Because he let Dean down, Dean who'd gotten black eyes. That was on Sam, letting Dean die, letting him down.
Again.
Does he ever not?
Dean and he have a good back and forth going when it comes to pulling each other out of the fire. The big difference, though?
Sam's the one who lights them. Watches'em burn and burn until there's not much left but ash and Dean somehow always pulls a Harry Potter and goes all phoenix rising.
When Dean's on fire, they're usually collateral. Bleed over. The price for trying to stomp out the ones Sam lit.
Sam can't stomach much else aside from coffee and the occasional beer nowadays, because how could he?
How can he just sit, and eat, and hang out when there's a shadow looming so close to his brother?
The door slides clangs open. Quick trip, but already Taco-smell wafts down to where Sam's sitting and staring at his book.
That was fast Sam thinks, but doesn't say, because his own guilt trip is becoming a little too suffocating.
And it's weird for them, this kind of quiet. Not quiet, in general. In fact, being able to sit in silence is usually one of those things they just have between them, that kind of weird comfortable vibe.
But this kind of quiet is different. There's a lot being analyzed but none of it's clear. Or good.
So Dean doesn't say anything either, because Sam didn't, and why should Dean have to break this weird juju they got going on?
Dean sets the bag of tacos on the table and looks at his big, skinny little brother. Knows instantly Sam's not even reading, just scanning the page over and over.
So, Sam's mad? Pissed off about Dean going Rambo on that Cole douche – who totally deserved (most) of it by the way for laying a finger on Sammy – or just pissed off at Dean in general for causing so much drama?
For the whole, y'know, demon thing?
"Sammy, look," Dean starts, trying for eye contact, "It's good. This is good – you, me. Hanging out here. But look, man, if we're gonna get back on the job soon, you've gotta fuel up."
Sam looks up at that, because, huh?
Dean's pleased at the reaction – Sam's not pissed - continues, "Is this some kinda 'bikini bod' crap or something? I haven't seen you eat more than half a sandwich in like a week."
Oh.
Oh…
"I guess I just… haven't been hungry." It's not a lie. Even now, he's still not particularly salivating at the idea of Tacos. Which are probably starting to get cold, actually.
"Well unless you're going for a featherweight match, eat up." Dean pulls out a few tacos and sits. He pushes the bag at Sam, stares him down pointedly. "How much've you lost, anyway?"
Sam makes a show of grabbing a taco from the bag, though there's a little red in his cheeks.
"Does it matter? I was kind of busy. Didn't really have a lot of time for gourmet five courses."
"Not even one, apparently."
Sam frowns and looks up from the luke-warm taco he's holding.
This quiet, not-sharing stuff doesn't work for them. Much as Dean would make fun of him for it, there's a time and place for 'chick flick' feelings sharing.
Now's one of them and Sam's reigned to it, even if a little reluctantly.
So, Sam sighs and sets the taco down.
"Just... we took care of one problem, but we can't just ignore the future. You've still got the mark, Dean."
Dean manages his bitchy 'No shit, Sherlock' look despite cheeks full of taco.
"We can't ignore that," Sam says, "We can't let it just go again."
Because maybe neither of them will survive it next time.
So Sam's not pissed.
He's worried and he's making himself sick over it.
Reverse situation, in Sam's place, Dean would consume, consume, consume and stuff it all down. Instead, Sam withholds. He fasts.
Dean wants to make it all go away, make it all better. 'It's gonna be ok, Sammy. It's all good, we're good.'
But he tried that months ago. And then he became a demon.
So add lying to the list, thanks.
Dean's quiet for now and shakes his head slow. Says it anyway. "We'll figure something out. But not if you keep running on fumes and caffeine, man."
Sam's surprised and his expression says as much. Leave it to Dean to make his damnation somehow about Sam's wellbeing.
It's not totally all concern, either. That's the heavyweight champ, the head honcho sure.
But a part of it is punishment.
Because he let Dean down. Over. And over.
And the very real danger of doing it again is blinking in neon.
If Dean's going to waste away into madness, if it can't be stopped, he's not going to waste away alone.
"Ok," Sam says, because for now he doesn't need to add even more to his brother's too-full plate, "You're right. Sorry."
Sam takes a bite of luke-warmish taco and washes it down with beer that's been left out too long.
Notes:
Big, BIG into Supernatural lately and the creative juices are flowing! I'll probably continue to pump out some one shots and maybe something longer in the future. This was based on a single word ohsam LJ prompt: weightloss.
And where better to explore that than when we had teeny injured Sammy with his arm in a sling, season 10?
As someone said, there was something certainly serendipitous about sling!Sammy.
*Unrelated - I'm still working on the next chapter for my Naruto: ITFP longer tale. Will be posting the new chapter in early August!
**If you have any prompts you'd love to see written for Supernatural or Naruto, feel free to let me know! I'm always keeping an eye out from prompts because they're awesome jump-off spots!