1998

Sam curled into the cheap, threadbare blanket and grubby sheets, wishing the world would just go away. A pounding on the door. "Sammy! C'mon bud! School is waiting!" Dean yelled. Sam sighed. Dad had rented this rundown house for two months, hoping he got a chance to find and stop some monster or other. Sam couldn't be bothered. His life sucked eggs and he wasn't worth the effort his 18 year old brother put in every morning. "Sam! Come on! You still need to eat! I got you Cheerio's." Sam blinked back the tears. He didn't feel like eating, but Dean had looked so worried last night, when Sam had pushed his plate away, burger half eaten. The fact that Dean had gotten him his favorite cereal was telling. He was still worried. Rubbing his face furiously, he sat up. "Coming, Dean!" He dragged his butt out of bed, pulled on some clothes and stumbled down the stairs. Dean was waiting for him in the kitchen. "Morning sunshine! Here, eat up!" He pushed a bowl towards Sam. It was one of the biggest bowls in the cabinets, and it was full to the brim. Sam forced a smile and sat down to his breakfast.

2002

Sam watched the flickering tv-set with a frown on his face. The door to the motelroom opened, and Dean came in from the torrential rain. "Geez! It looks like we might need to build an ark!" Dean joked. Sam looked at him and felt pity and guilt war inside his chest. Dean was drenched. His hair was plastered to his head and dripped steadily. His leather jacket looked more black than brown, his jeans were darkblue instead of stonewashed. If Sam was a gambling man, he'd bet Dean's boxers were soaked too. "Fuck man! You didn't have to brave that, just to get me some food." Dean shrugged off the heavy leather jacket and shook his head, puppy style. "First of all: language." Sam scoffed. "Second: Yes I did. You need to eat, little brother. Don't think I haven't noticed how little you have been eating, since Dad tore your new one because you wanna go off to college." Sam sighed, internally screaming he didn't want food, that he never wanted Dean to risk pneumonia just for him. "Thanks, De... I'm starving." he muttered, pulling the drenched bag of fast food towards him. "You get dried off, De... you wouldn't wanna get sick, would you?" Dean smiled. "I'm good, Sammy. You just enjoy your burger." Sam nodded and bit into the soggy bun.

2005

It was mid December and it was freezing outside. For once Dean and Sam had found a motel with decent comforters. Dean was out, bar hopping Sam supposed, and Sam had wrapped the thick comforter around him like a cocoon. His breathing was heavy and the mattrass under his cheek was wet with tears. He'd known, dreamed about it, but he still didn't believe Jess would die like that... He was lower than the lowest worm. He was streetdust, he was a rat, no a flea on a rat... He should just give up and die. He sighed. He should get up. He'd been here for hours, he hadn't showered, or shaved, he hadn't done anything since they'd gotten there. Dean had obviously given up on him, since he was out. Sam stretched and his warm cocoon fell apart. He shivered in the cold room, but he couldn't make himself turn up the heat. He crawled from under the comfy cover and hoisted his large frame to the bathroom. He sat under the shower for god knows how long, until the warm water was completely gone and he was shivering again. He put on some fresh clothes and got out of the bathroom. Only then did he see the little note, stuck to the top of his laptop. 'Sammy, please eat something. I know you haven't eaten in two days. There's spaghetti-O's on the stove. I'll be back soon with more decent food. I'll bring a salad, ok? Just eat. D.' Crying, because he had made Dean worry again, he warmed the spaghetti-O's and reluctantly forced them down