WARNING: The following story contains elements of a fetishistic nature. Erotic weight gain, stuffing, and very mild Sam x Dean
suggestions.
Just in case you didn't catch that in the description.
OTHER THINGS OF NOTE: Written through Dean Winchester's point of view, set sometime in the second season. I am so woefully
behind when it comes to watching this show...
He's my brother. Of course I want him to be safe.
I mean, it seems like ever since Dad died, things just get harder and harder every day. It seems like every job we take, Sam gets a little closer to getting himself killed. And I can't take it anymore. I don't...I just don't know what I'd do if I lost him. So I started thinking about stuff I could do to get him to stay in one place, give up hunting.
I could have let him get hurt. But it was too damn risky-I trust most of these things about as far as I can throw 'em, and I wanted Sammy disabled, not dead.
I could have hurt him myself. But...Jesus, no, I couldn't.
Besides. Knowing him, he'd do his best to shake it off and keep on going, no matter what it was. Hell, I could have broken his spine and he'd've found himself a faith healer or a shaman or something. Just so he could come after me.
And then he wouldn't even beat me up. He'd just want to know why I did it, and so I'd have to tell him, and he'd forgive me. Because he's Sam.
But I'm getting off-topic. I stitched his wounds and told him Dad would have been proud as we moved from town to town, and every time, I wondered when he'd get hurt so bad I couldn't take care of him and neither could anyone else. I kept thinking about what I could do to keep that from happening. "Accidentally" shoot him in the kneecap? No, he could hunt with a cane. Actually, he might get better at it, adopt some sort of creepy House persona or something.
I got it one night, lying in bed at some crappy motel. I don't remember the name, they all start to blur together after awhile. I was thinking about all the hunters we'd seen, and how they all had a pretty similar build. Me and Sam included. Lean, muscular...y'know, it was just on of those stupid things you think about right before you go to sleep. It made me laugh a little. I guess you can't chase demons with a spare tire around your waist.
I sat up straight. Damn. That was it!
I rolled out of bed, pulled on my pants, and fired up the laptop. A quick search for what I needed brought up a lot more than I had expected. I clicked through website after website, scanned forums, even posted a couple comments. It turns out there's actually a fetish for this sort of thing. Is that effed up or what?
It was about three in the morning before I finally cleared the history and logged off. I was stretching, trying to work out a kink in my back, when I heard bed springs creaking behind me.
"Dean?" Sam's voice was husky with sleep, and I turned around. He was squinting in the blue light coming off the computer screen. "What're you doing?"
"Think we might have a job, but I'm gonna need to do some more research." I sat down on the edge of my bed. "Nothing yet. I'll start again in the morning."
"D'you want me to help?" He sat up, coughing to clear his throat.
"Nah. I've got it."
"If you say so." He laid back down. I watched him for a couple minutes, hearing his breathing even out. I hate lying to Sam. But damn, I'm good at it.
And it was for his own good. Should be okay.
I kicked him out in the morning, told him to go have some fun because his whole celibate-warrior thing or whatever was driving me nuts. After shutting the door halfway through him asking what kind of fun he was supposed to have in central Utah at seven in the morning. I went back to the laptop.
I had a better idea of what I was looking for this time around. Plus, somebody'd replied to my comments. They pointed me towards a small, discreet town in Texas. Called Berington. I'd never heard of it for a couple minutes, I let out a long, low whistle.
It looked like some sort of hot spot for these weight gain fetishists. There were a whole bunch of restaurants, none of them healthy, and some industrial-sized supermarkets. A dietitian's office. A hotel that seemed to cater to couples.
It was weird as hell, but it was perfect.
Someone started hammering on the door. I hit the power button on the laptop.
"Dean!" Sam yelled. "Dean, unlock the door!"
I did, and he practically fell in.
"What were you doing?" he demanded. I just tossed him his coat and slung mine over my shoulder.
"Pack your stuff, we're going hunting."
"Berington?"
"Yep."
"I've never heard of it."
"Neither have I."
"What exactly are we hunting down there?"
"Don't know yet. Maybe a demon. There's been a few disappearances, some symbols at the scenes. I just thought we should get a closer look."
Sam didn't say anything, just stared out the window. We were a couple miles outside of Berington, and I was driving. No way was I trusting him behind the wheel. I didn't like the idea of him flipping the car if he got one of his visions.
Those were another reason I wanted him out of the game. They were painful, and dangerous. Maybe they'd fade if he stopped hunting.
I stared straight ahead once we entered town, trying to avoid the weird looks I knew Sam'd be giving me. Berington was pretty small, but there were a lot of people everywhere. Almost always couples. Usually, they were made up of a skinny guy and a fat girl, though I spotted a bunch of different variations on that. A chubby guy hand-in-hand with another man caught sight of us as I guided the car through the narrow streets, glanced at Sam, and flashed me a grin and a thumb's-up. I gritted my teeth.
It's to keep him alive, I reminded myself, looking at Sam out of the corner of my eye. It's all about him.
He shifted a little, and I could see a cluster of faint scars on his cheek where God-knows-what had clawed him. It helped to cement my resolve.
"Stay here," I ordered, parking in front of the hotel. The Golden Heart Inn. That sounded innocent enough. I got out.
"Since when do I have to stay in the car while you get the room?" Sam demanded.
"Since now." I slammed the door.
The girl at the desk was gorgeous. Blonde, slender, blue-eyed, but I was to strung-out to hit on her. I kept my hands in my pockets, asking for a room with twin beds. I glanced back over my shoulder, trying to see Sam in the parking lot.
The girl said something. I looked back at her. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I asked if you've got an unsuspecting feedee," she said. "You just seem pretty nervous."
I drew a blank for a second, until I remembered the research I had done. Right. Feedee. Fetishist lingo.
"You could say that." I let out a breath I hadn't even known I'd been holding.
"Your girlfriend?" she asked, smiling. "She doesn't want to lose her figure?"
"Uh, no, actually." I rubbed my forehead. "It's-uh-I brought...my..." I cleared my throat, then leaned in and lowered my voice, doing my best not to go red. "...boyfriend."
If Sam ever found out about this, he was never gonna let me live it down.
"He's not into this?" She tapped a few keys on her computer.
"His job's dangerous. I want him to quit. This seemed like a good idea," I replied.
"Well, I've got a room for you, Mr. Parker." Fake names. A must-have. "Good luck."
She handed me a key. I nodded to her and walked back to the car with stiff legs.
Sam was leaning against it, eyeing me with his mouth set in a hard line. I could practically feel his suspicion.
"What's going on?" he asked, pushing off and meeting me halfway. "Why are you acting so weird?"
"Just shut up and follow me," I said under my breath. "I think we're being watched."
Not by anybody but a 200-pound chick sitting near the window of a restaurant across the street, who was giving me a look I really didn't like, but he didn't have to know that. It shut him up until we reached the room.
Now for the hard part.
