Dean bent down, examining the contents of the tiny motel fridge again like somehow he could magically make more food appear.
"Deannnnnnnnnnnn," Sam drew the words out in a distinctly whiny tone. "Why do I have to eat this for breakfast again this week?"
Dean turned around, mentally calming himself so he didn't say something he would regret. As expected Sam was staring disdainfully at the slice of bread and peanut butter like it had done her some personal wrong. "I hate this and you made it every day this week" She shoved the plate away. "It's not fair. Why can't I have some cereal?"
"No."
"Fine, you eat it then." She slipped off the chair and dropped to her knees by her backpack.
Paper rustled as she shoved books inside and more carefully packed her folder of homework assignments.
The peanut butter toast was tempting, the rich nutty flavor coupled with the toasted bread had his mouth salivating…or maybe he was just so hungry anything was appealing. For a moment Dean was tempted to do as Sam had suggested, he could practically taste the food. He could almost rationalize it, It would serve Sam right for acting so spoiled. But it wasn't her fault Dad was over a week late and the money for food had long run low. With difficulty Dean snatched up the uneaten sandwich and placed it in a zip lock bag. If he saved it for tomorrow's breakfast then the almost empty jar of peanut butter and half loaf bread would last a little bit longer.
Sam straightened up. Noting the sandwich he was sticking back in the motel fridge. When Dean turned back her face was triumphant. "Ha, you don't like either."
He ignored the comment and grabbed his jacket, not waiting for Sam to follow as stalked out. It's not Sam's fault. He kept repeating the mantra to himself but right now he wanted to slap her.
It was freezing outside and his thin jacket didn't do much for the cold. Sam was better off, even though she would complain about wearing boys clothes and how the kids at school would laugh, her hand-me down coat was a lot warmer than what he was now.
Sam trudged talking about what food they would eat when Dad came back. She knew the money for food was low, but she didn't know just how low it was. Dean wasn't being mean when he said she couldn't have a 25 cent candy bar, or when he told her that she wasn't getting cereal for breakfast. They just didn't have any money left for those things. Total, counting the change in his pocket, Dean had one dollar to his name. He had stretched the money they had been given as far as possible trying to make it last and there was no more stretching that could be done.
His stomach twinged and growled as Sam described the pizza she wanted to eat, followed by what she would have for dessert. Finally Dean couldn't take it anymore. "Will you shut up, Sam!" He stopped midstride and glared at her. Sam looked shocked and if he was honest a bit hurt but at least she shut up.
When they got to school breakfast was just finishing up. The grades third thru kindergarten got free breakfast and lunch three times a week. Sam's days were Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, which had made it easier at first. When the food first started running low he reasoned that with Sam eating at school for a few days he could afford to eat what would have been her share of breakfast. Now, the food was so low and he didn't know when John was coming home that even the few slices of bread he had been subsisting on seemed like too much.
Sam didn't deserve to go hungry because he couldn't stretch the food longer. That's what his dad would say if he knew, that's what Dean already was telling himself.
Except, a little bit of him hated Sam as he watched her traipse off to the cafeteria those three days for a hot breakfast and he was so hungry he would have eaten pretty much anything.
He tried to concentrate in class, but he was exhausted and his stomach growled so much he couldn't focus. At lunch he caught up with Sam, she skillfully wasn't looking at him as they wound their way towards the cafeteria. He sighed, memories of what he had said earlier coming back.
"I'm sorry I told you to shut up."
Sam didn't speak.
"I'm really sorry." Dean added, this time earning a glance from Sam.
"Yeah okay." She glanced upwards and leaned closer. "Did Dad say when he's coming back?"
He already knew what she was asking and frowned. They weren't supposed to mention Dad being out of town in school, if someone ever found John Winchester was leaving his 11 year old and 7 year old in a rundown motel room by themselves CPS would be on them so fast.
But he knew why she was asking, so he answered. "In a few more days."
She scuffed her toe against the floor, but other than that and the low set of her shoulder's didn't indicate her disappointment. A chorus of noise reached them as the voices of tens of children could be heard through the open doors. "Yeah, he said that a few days ago." Sam muttered almost so low he didn't catch it. Then she was gone, heading through a smaller set of doors towards the area where the younger kids ate.
Dean nearly felt sick at the smell of food, he was so hungry. Stale pizza, canned fruit, colourless gravy and mash potatoes mocked him from the lunch line. For a moment he just stared at the food he couldn't afford to eat then some kid jostled knocking him out his reverie. Dean turned away from the lunch line and started towards an empty table and was stopped halfway there.
"A word with you Dean." The voice that boomed out was nasally and loud enough that half the cafeteria heard.
Kids were turning towards them and Dean mentally cursed the teacher addressing him. It was Mr. Angerson, who ever since he had started school here had been on his ass. Get some neater clothes Mr. Winchester, be a role model for your sister, stop sleeping in class….blah, blah, blah.
This time he gestured out of the cafeteria and Dean reluctantly followed him. The guidance office was just a few doors down and once they were safely ensconced in the office, the teacher/counselor didn't take a breath before he started in.
"Sit down Mr. Winchester. I have some concerns."
Dean sat mentally wanting to pummel the teacher and outwardly knowing how important it was that Mr. Angerson have whatever he concern was relieved so he didn't dig deeper.
"What is it sir?"
"One of the students was mentioning that you never ate lunch."
Dean forced his face to be expressionless. Angerson considered himself a do-gooder when in reality he was nothing but a nosy man who had nothing better to do with his life then interfering with the lives of middle-schoolers. As such he wouldn't hesitate to call CPS if he thought he needed to. Dean shrugged. "I eat. "
"You lunch card hasn't had any meals marked on it."
"I bring lunch from home."
"And do you eat it in the cafeteria?"
"No." Dean knew Angerson was suspicious, knew that he was digging because he probably suspected the truth. So Dean went for broke, playing on the teacher's sympathy card and need to fix everything. "I've got uh…allergies."
Mr. Angerson raised his eyebrows, looking skeptical. "Allergies?"
Dean squirmed in his seat trying to look embarrassed. "Yeah, I can't eat a bunch of stuff." He stared downwards at the desk like he was hurt. "the kids at my old school used to make fun of me for that so..." Dean trailed off.
Angerson sighed, but in keeping with his hard ass demeanor added. "Not disclosing your allergies is a violation of school policies as is eating outside of the cafeteria. After, school I want you to stop by the nurse's office and give her a full list of any food allergies and from now on eat in the lunchroom."
Dean wanted to say something else but instead he answered. "Yes, sir." He was grateful when he was dismissed a moment later. The rest of the day passed slowly, he went to classes, gave a fake list to the school nurse, and was watching the clock the entire time for the last bell.
It was over 2 weeks since Dad had started the hunt he was on, he had said only a few days then he would be home….he had to be home now. But wishing wouldn't make it so. When he opened the motel door it was still as empty as ever, he tried to ignore the gnawing in his stomach, trying and failing to convince himself it was just disappointment. As Sam finished up homework he stared at the TV, surfing through the slim pickings of channels trying to avoid any food commercials. Sam was once again on his case, asking what was for dinner, why he wasn't doing his homework, when was dad coming home, could she have something different for breakfast tomorrow?
Finally Dean, had had enough. "Shut the hell up Sam, you're driving me fucking crazy." He ignored the sudden silence at his outburst and stalked away into the bathroom, the one place he could get away from her in their tiny motel room. Once there he turned on the water and stared in the mirror, his head was aching and his face was pale.
He was irritable and he knew he shouldn't have yelled, and normally wouldn't but lack of food was getting to him, adding to the irritability he already felt at the whole situation. There was no way he could make his father come home faster, but he could at least do something about the hunger only adding to his bad mood. Trying to fool his gut into calming down he leaned over and took several large slurps of cold water from the rusty faucet.
The water had a weird metallic taste and as it settled in his stomach he thought he was about to be sick. The sudden full feeling of his gut had a wave of nausea coursing through him before it decided to accept the water in lieu of actual sustenance.
When he emerged from the bathroom Sam was staring at the TV, homework papers forgotten on the motel bed. He could hear her sniffling and once again felt like crap. He knew he should apologize but instead he moved to the kitchenette to begin making dinner…her dinner.
Briefly Dean considered making enough for two, then he checked the cabinet again and reality set in. There was a can of tomato soup, one dented tin of tuna fish, and a small half box of macaroni. Barely enough for one person for a few days and certainly not enough to last a week for two people.
He cooked a quarter of the macaroni, and then added some of the tuna. "Sam, come eat."
She ignored him like he hadn't spoken but he knew she had heard. He sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He longed to eat her meal, but if he did that she would be hungry later. There was one solution, but he desperately didn't want to do it. If they were in a bigger town it would be easier. He could maybe pickpocket someone…if he got caught it would be easier to get away without anyone knowing. Plus bigger towns tended to have seedy bars, where a 11 year old hanging outside looking for quick cash would be less noticeable. He wasn't old enough to play poker there but he could probably find a guy there who would pay him for…Dean shook his head. He didn't want to do that, not again…. The last time he still remembered vividly, kneeling in the back of some truck…a hand shoving him down and holding his head in place.
He'd rather be hungry than to suck some guy off or at let some perv fondle him. Dean shook his head and swallowed trying to get the image out his mind. He settled down near Sam. "I'm sorry."
She still ignored him, frustrated he ran a hand through his hair and snapped. "I'm fucking sorry Sam! What else do you want me to say?"
This time she answered. "Dad said you're not supposed to swear."
Dean didn't particularly care what Dad thought at that moment, but before he could say anything Sam continued. "And you keep yelling at me for no reason."
"No I don't."
"Yes you do."
"Fine." Dean gave up, there was no point arguing. He was pissed and he was irritated, and the lack of food was making his already bad mood even worse. But he didn't tell Sam that, instead he gestured to the cooling bowl on the table. "Will you at least go eat?"
Sam looked like she might refuse then stood up and eyed him challengingly. "Where's your bowl?"
"I'm not hungry." The skeptical look on her face was clearly evident, so he added. "I don't feel good, my stomach hurts." Which was true, but it wasn't pain from any illness, it was hunger pangs.
She seemed mollified by that and Dean curled up on the bed trying to watch TV and not listen to the clang of Sam's spoon against her bowl as she ate.
XXX
At some point he fell asleep only to be awakened by someone shaking him. He opened his eyes to find Sam standing there with a mug of something hot held in two hands. "I made you tomato soup."
His mind wasn't working at full speed, yet and he blinked back sleep as he yawned and asked . "Why?"
"Because you're sick." She seemed pleased with herself and pushed the mug into his hands. The smell was tantalizing and his stomach was growling. Before he could take a coherent thought, his stomach overruled his mind and he took a gulp. It was barely hot and a little salty, but after eating nothing all day it was the best soup he had ever tasted. The mug was already mostly finished before he stopped and realized what Sam had done.
Abruptly he set the now empty container down, mentally tallying how many days of food were left now. Sam had used the can of soup meant for her own dinner. She had also apparently raided the med kit and had Tylenol and a thermometer with her. He waved off her ministrations, only reluctantly allowing her to use the thermometer after she frowned.
He drank the last of the soup, feeling greedy for doing so but the hunger was too strong. Afterwards his stomach felt fuller, but he also felt a little sick. He forced himself to smile, ignoring what he actually wanted to say…none of this was her fault. Instead he let her shove a thermometer in his mouth and as she took it out added. "Thanks Sammy."
She beamed before saying with all the authority her seven year old voice could muster "You've got a fever." She held out the thermometer and sure enough it read 99F, he didn't bother telling her it was a false reading because he had just drank warm soup. He pretended to take the Tylenol she gave him and let her climb in next to him as she whispered. "Night, Dean."
He laid awake in bed long after the lights were out, hoping that tomorrow Dad would be home. He fell asleep knowing it wouldn't happen.
Breakfast the next morning passed without incident. He could tell Sam was trying to not complain even though she turned her nose up as he reheated her peanut butter toast from yesterday.
At school, he felt better for his first few classes, he could actually pay attention, but by lunch his stomach was growling again. This time he had packed a lunch bag. It was empty, but if he sat in the corner away from everyone else…nobody would notice that he actually didn't have food.
His plan worked. Mr. Angerson glanced at him but rather than come over and complain he nodded approvingly and moved on to harass a group of laughing sixth graders.
Dean had a few minutes to get to his next class and was walking out the lunchroom still as hungry as when he had went in, when a thought struck him. There were two large garbage cans where kids dumped their trays. One was directly by the lunch room door but the other was tucked in the corner by the doors to the younger kids lunchroom. The one by the younger kids lunchroom was used less, and as such people were much less likely to notice someone going through it.
It was just like dumpster diving…only maybe a little more gross. All the food was unpackaged and already eaten off of, but at that point he didn't care.
Dean riffled through the dumped contents of trays , worrying any moment someone would wander by and find him. And yet he couldn't stop himself from picking through the trash. He pushed empty milk cartons, and pudding containers aside, and snagged a half eaten piece of cold pizza. The cheese was slimy (and he hoped it wasn't from saliva) and the sauce was cold but he crammed it in his mouth and grabbed a handful of soggy fries. He found a piece of a burger and a leftover half a banana before he heard footsteps. Quickly he turned around, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans, and swallowing the food in his mouth. He was just in time as two 8 year olds, raced in dumping their trays.
Dean walked away, feeling disgusted with himself but also not having the gnawing hunger that had been plaguing him for days. For the next few days an uneasy routine started. It wasn't always possible, but when he could he raided the trash cans near the end of lunch. It was the only food he could look forward too, there wasn't enough food at home for him to have dinner or breakfast but at least this way he wasn't starving. He had gotten faster chewing and swallowing food, then cramming more in, some items like pieces of bread and half eaten apples he shoved in his pocket for later.
Yesterday he hadn't eaten, Mr. Angerson had been hanging around, watching him and he hadn't dared go to the garbage can. Now, after over 24 hours since he had last ate he was starving. Maybe that was the reason he didn't hear the footsteps behind him.
"Dean?"
He whipped around, dropping the piece of chicken tender he was holding. Sam was staring at him eyes wide, holding her nearly empty lunch tray. He was disgusted with himself for noticing immediately that she hadn't finished all her meatloaf and there was a piece of bread and…he pulled his eyes up staring at her again.
He wiped a hand across his mouth, smudging away the evidence of the food he had eaten. There was nothing he could say, but he tried anyway. "I was—I was uh."
His face felt flushed, Sam was still staring at him with a weird expression on her face, part confused, part grossed out…part something else. She took a step forward and he flinched. He didn't know why, but he did.
She held her tray out and wordlessly he took it, automatically about to dump it for her when her voice stopped him. "I didn't eat all my mash potatoes and the corn is still there." She almost whispered the words.
Dean felt sick. She knew. Sam knew.
He was supposed to be protecting her from all this, and here he was showing her just how bad things were.
But Sam wasn't done. "I'll save half my lunch, we can share."
Dean didn't speak, instead he dumped the tray he was holding, trying not to watch as the food tumbled into the trash. He stacked the tray and turned to lie. "I—" There was nothing he could say that would explain."Go to class." He told her and walked away, feeling sick.
He walked to the bathroom and locked himself in a stall. The stolen lunch he had eaten didn't stay down but he felt a bit better after he had thrown it up, like somehow he could pretend that he had never eaten it and he wasn't such a loser.
He couldn't look at Sam as they walked home. He wasn't weak…and yet he couldn't stop thinking that was exactly what his father would think he was if he knew. If had had been smarter Dean knew he could have stretched the money…if he wasn't such a coward he would just hitch a ride to one of the other towns and make some quick money. Instead he was dumpster diving and feeding Sam half stale food. He was pitiful.
Wind was blowing icy cold, and Dean convinced himself that was what was making his eyes water as he walked.
When he made dinner that night he settled back on the motel bed once again watching TV to ignore the smell and sound of her eating. He was surprised when she came towards him with her bowl of food and two spoons.
"Let's share."
There was barely enough for her in the bowl he had made and certainly not enough for both of them.
Dean shook his head. "Eat your own dinner Sam."
"But you're hungry too."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"Eat your fucking dinner."
"You're hungry too!" She insisted stubbornly, though her voice was breaking. "I saw you eating out the trash cans."
"You don't know what the hell you saw." Dean stood up and yelled at her. "Now, eat your dinner."
Things got ugly after that quickly. Sam told him he wasn't supposed to curse. Dean yelled, Sam shouted back. Dean swore again and eventually bullied Sam into eating. He felt like an asshole as he listened to her crying as she choked down mouthfuls of cold macaroni.
She was still crying as she went to sleep, but Dean tried to convince himself her tears were better than the pain he felt ripping through his abdomen and the dizziness in his head as his body begged for food.
The next day he made her breakfast, and packed her lunch, like nothing was different.
He staunchly avoided the garbage can where the trays were dumped, but he couldn't help glancing at it. When they got home that night there was nothing left but a few bites of macaroni, a slice of bread and the scrapings of the peanut butter jar. Dean pretended to eat a few spoonfuls so Sam would eat her dinner. And when they both crawled into bed back to back, he could hear her stomach growling, not as much as his, but still growling.
The next day was worse. It was the weekend, there was no school lunches for Sam. Dean made the last of the bread and peanut butter for breakfast and then spent the rest of the day thinking about what to do.
He could go dumpster diving at the grocery store down the road but if anyone saw him they might call the authorities and then him and Sam would be taken away. The other option wasn't much better at least for him. He'd have to catch hitch a ride to one of the bigger towns. There was a truck stop a few miles over…once there he knew what to do. He had his mother's face…and he hated it. But others loved the softened angles of his jaw line, the youth in his face, the way he moved his lips and tongue.
Dean nearly gagged but there was nothing else to do. It was late afternoon when he steeled himself and was about to tell Sam he was leaving for a few hours. Sam would complain and ask where he was going, but she was still young enough that some lies he could get away with easily.
He had snagged his jacket and grabbed the remote to turn off the TV when the door rattled, instantly Dean went for the gun his dad had left him. Sam automatically stood up edging behind.
"Who is it?"
"Your father, John Winchester."
It sounded like Dad, but that wasn't the way things worked. Dean knew he was supposed to wait for Dad to give the knock they had agreed upon, then carefully open the door but Sam didn't wait. She bounded to the door and opened it.
"Dad!"
"Sammy wait—" Died on Dean's lips.
His dad was pissed, maybe about Sam opening the door. But probably about something else. Dean watched him warily as he gave Sam a brief hug but he was staring at Dean with a frown on his face. "Do you forget everything I tell you?"
"No, sir."
"You could have gotten your sister killed. Do you know how many—mon—" John changed what he was about to say in deference to Sam's lack of knowledge about the supernatural. " people can mimic someone else's voice."
"Yes, Sir."
"Obviously you don't or you would have waited until I gave the fucking signal before you opened the door."
"But I opened the –" Sam began rushing to Dean's defence.
John ignored her. "You're responsible for your sister and—"
The lecture continued on and on and Dean forced himself to stand stock still holding his father's gaze and answering as he was expected to do. He felt dizzy though and the room was spinning. It was almost two days without food and his body was letting him know.
Finally John stopped, he was more irritated then truly angry. He wasn't drunk so Dean knew he'd probably get off with just the lecture and not a beating later.
"We've got a hunt in another town, a day south of here."
"Yes , Sir."
"I want you and Sam packed in few minutes."
Dean tried to get the bags packed but he was dizzy and John Winchester was even more impatient than usual. He was shoving the last bit of clothes into a duffel when the motel door slammed back and Dean flinched.
"I told you to have those bags packed five fucking minutes ago."
"Yes, sir." Dean squared his shoulders biting his lips, he felt exhausted and the words came out harder than he intended.
His father's face automatically darkened. "Your fucking sullen tone is going to get somebody killed Dean. Do you want that?"
"No."
"No, what?"
"No, sir." John took a step closer and Dean had to force himself to stay in place for the blow he was sure was going to come. Instead his father stopped as Sam popped her head in past the motel door looking back between John and Dean.
"I'm hungry." She half-whined, obviously missing out on how tense the moment was.
"We'll get lunch on the road." John said glaring at Dean one last time before he walked out the door.
XXX
Lunch was sandwiches to go from some diner. John slammed the door starting up the engine and tossed a greasy paper bag on the seat next to Dean. The odour of cooked meat and grease wafted toward Dean making his mouth water.
John pulled onto the interstate before he opened the bag passing out the food. A cheese sandwich for Sam, a sub filled with thick slices of beef and melting onions for John and…the bag crumpled as John tossed it out the window.
Sam didn't miss the movement. "Where's Dean's?"
"You brother wants to act disrespectful, he can miss a meal or two until he straightens his act up."
"But dad Dean—"
"No but's Sam, shut up and eat your food."
"Dad,-"
"I mean it."
Sam fell quiet but the full force of her sulking permeated the car. Her feet could be heard kicking the back of the driver's seat until John made her switch sides. Then she used the opportunity to try to sneak a piece of her Sandwich to Dean, he appreciated the gesture but John was watching and before she could complete the maneuver he had snatched the remaining food from her hand and sent it out the window to join the other refuse at the side of the road.
"When I say something I mean it both of you. Your brother needs to learn discipline and you need to learn to do as I say Sam. It won't hurt Dean not to eat for a meal."
Sam was about to say something else but Dean gave the slightest shake of her head reaching a hand back to squeeze her knee in warning. Reluctantly she lapsed into silence.
XXX
Hours passed and Dean felt himself actually growing less hungry. It wasn't like he didn't want to eat, but the sensation was much more bearable. They finally stopped late in the night for dinner at a hole in the wall small town restaurant. It was almost at closing time, but the woman behind the counter was sympathetic to the two youngsters and their father.
"Most everything is cleaned up but I've still got some meatloaf leftover and mashed potatoes…maybe a pie."
"That'll be fine, ma'am." John answered before massaging his temples as she moved away to get their food ready. Dean might have thought he wasn't hungry but his stomach was reawakening at the lingering smells of food hanging around the diner.
When their plates came it was all he could do to forgo shoveling it in his mouth with his hands and use a spoon. As it was he finished his plate in record time. He could see his father was antsy and wanting to leave but Sam was still steadily eating away. The waitress came back to the table and saw Dean had finished his plate. "You're a hungry little boy, reminds me of my own son. How about I get you seconds so you can grow up tall and strong like your father." Her voice was annoyingly sweet , like the kind of adults who didn't get the difference between a child and toddler but her offer was too tempting.
He glanced at his father, and the waitress added helpfully. "It's the end of the day, refills are on the house." John nodded and Dean was soon settling down to another plate of food. He knew it had been a bad idea to eat all that food at once after being hungry for so long but he couldn't stop himself. All told he ate three in the time it took Sam to eat her one then they were back on the road. His stomach was uncomfortably tight but after being hungry for so long it was definitely more welcome than the gnawing sensation that had been plaguing his gut.
It wasn't fifteen minutes after they had left the dinner that Dean began to feel really sick. His stomach had grown even more tight and the food felt like it was roiling. He tried to calm it by drinking a few sips of water and shifting in his seat but that didn't work.
Saliva was starting to fill his mouth, and he felt like he was going to be sick. He would have asked to stop but he knew his Dad would be pissed at stopping so soon just after they got on the road.
So he endured for more minutes growing more and more uncomfortable by the second. John noticed after Dean was forced to bring a hand to his mouth when they hit a pothole and the sudden jerk forced acid into his mouth.
"What's wrong?"
Dean swallowed thickly and waited a moment before bringing his hand away from his mouth and answering, truthfully. "I feel sick."
John swore , then twisted his head away from the road for a second to bark into the back seat. "Sam wake up and find a plastic bag or something for your brother to puke in."
After a moment of search Sam turned up empty, and a quick search of the front seat gave likewise results. John swore and added as an undertone to himself. "Forgot I cleaned up in here. " He sighed and turned to look at Dean. Dean quailed under his glare. "I need to gas up anyway, can you hold it until we get to a station or should I pull over?"
It was raining outside, and probably still freezing cold. And Dean really didn't feel like leaning over with icy water running down his face and neck as he emptied his guts by the side of the road. More importantly, and the real deciding factor was the expression on his father's face. It wasn't a question John had asked it was an order and Dean read between the lines. If we're going to stop because of you, then at least let's not waste more time than necessary.
So Dean answered. "I can hold it sir." He was still having to swallow every few seconds…but he prayed he was right or his Dad was going to kill him if they had to stop or even worse if he blew chunks in the car.
It was a ten minute ride to the gas station and the whole time John kept up a steady commentary half under his breath but just loud enough so Dean and probably Sam who was silent in the back seat, could hear.
The reason you feel sick is because you sat there like a pig and ate too much. Not enough discipline. Greedy ass. Spoiled…
John kept up a steady litany, and Dean felt like shit as he listened to it all. But he couldn't open his mouth to defend himself he was too busy trying not to be sick and he wouldn't have defended himself anyway. His dad was right.
They pulled into a deserted station just off the highway. No sooner had John turned off the engine did Dean open the door. He made it two steps before the nausea became too much. He hunched up his stomach cramping and didn't even have time to find a trash can before undigested food poured from his mouth onto the pavement.
He heard a car door slam followed by a second one. His father spoke first. "Sam get back in the car."
"But Dean's sick."
"Your brother's not sick. He acted like a greedy little shit now he's paying for it. Get's what he deserved, now get your ass back in the car."
"No!"
"Sam , don't make me tell you again."
"I said get your fucking ass back in the car."
"I'm not."
Dean heard the defiant tone in Sam's voice and would have turned around to order her back in himself to save her the spanking that was sure to come but he was heaving too hard to turn around. His hands were trembling where he had braced them against his knees to hold himself up and he felt dizzy. He heard footsteps come closer and then Sam was there, touching his arm, rubbing his back, giving him a semblance of what he did for her every time she had been sick in her short life. What John rarely ever did for either of them.
"I don't know what's got into you two kids, but this is it. Sam you're catching it and Dean too when he gets done puking up his guts." He heard footsteps come nearer and Dean flinched but John didn't reach for him as he came closer, instead he grabbed Sam snatching her back. Dean fell to his knees without her support, barely missing the puddle of vomit.
Out the corner of his eye he could see Sam starting to cry and John holding her, shaking her shoulder with one hand. "You do as I tell you when I tell you. Your brother is sick because he's greedy. He missed lunch that's all, he's acting like he hasn't eaten in days—"
"Because he hasn't!" Sam screamed stomping her foot.
John started up again, only to stop as Sam's words registered. Sam was still crying though and yelling. Her voice pissed and scared…and probably a whole bunch of stuff he didn't even know how to characterize. She was sniffing as she spoke. "I saw him eating out the—tr-trash at school—and—he—he though I didn't notice—b—b—but he hasn't eaten in days and he made me eat and it's my fault he's sick because he gave his food to me and he was star-starving-" She broke off sobbing too hard to do anything more.
Dean heard John then. "Okay Sam—" He fell quite for a moment and then he said again, his voice soft like he was so tired. "Okay."
Dean was reduced to gagging now and tried to stand up as he heard his father approaching. He knew he was going to catch it for letting the money run low and not taking better care of Sam and probably a whole bunch of stuff. And yeah maybe kneeling on the ground being sick would delay punishment a bit but he'd rather stand up and hear his fate. Instead as he tried to get off his knees his head swam more and another bout of nausea started up bringing with it more heaves. He fell back down, as his stomach cramped and bile rose into his mouth as it contracted. Dean shuddered as he heard John come near, then he felt a hand on his back. "I'm sorry son."
Dean couldn't speak but John continued anyway. "I'm so sorry…I didn't realize the money had run low, or—God, I'm sorry."
Dean managed to stop at that, forcing himself to swallow down the heaves. "It's—It's not your fault d—dad."
John didn't say anything to that, instead Dean allowed him to guide him to his feet and stood swaying for a moment. John's voice was low as he asked. "D'you need to go to the bathroom or want to wait in the car while I get the gas?"
Dean felt weak and tired and knew he wouldn't make it to the bathroom under his own steam, so he whispered with a sore throat. "The car."
"Okay." John helped him in the car and took a still sniffling Sam with him as he went to the gas station to pay for the gas. They were on the road within a few minutes, Dean slowly sipping a soda his dad had bought for him.
He expected to be on the road for a few more hours but halfway down the road, his dad was pulling into a motel. "We'll start fresh and early in the morning."
Dean undressed and had stretched out on the bed, ready to sleep. Sam was in the bathroom brushing her teeth when John came over. Dean pushed himself up, waiting for a lecture when John surprised him. "I'm proud of you."
Out of all the things Dean had expected to her this wasn't one of them. But John wasn't finished. "It must have been hard not eating so Sam would have food, and I swear I didn't realize the money had run out or I would have come home sooner. You should have gotten a hold of me and let me know."
Dean swallowed feeling chastened. "Yes sir."
John looked at him a moment longer. "But you did well, son, you took care of your sister and you held things together. If your mother knew just how well you're turning out to be—well" John broke off and Dean could see that his father was getting that weird watery look in his eyes like he did when he was drunk…like he did whenever he mentioned his dead wife and Dean's mother. Instead of speaking again, his dad leaned out clapping a hand on Dean's shoulder and stood up.
Sam had finished brushing her teeth and gave their dad a hug before snuggling up next to Dean. Her breath tickled his ears , the lights went out and she whispered. "Do you feel better?"
"Yeah." And he really did, because everything was worth it, because he had made his dad proud, and that was worth whatever he had to endure.
"Good night, Dean."
"Night, Sam."