A/N : Woohoo! A quicker update! Lol. Tell me what you think. Idk whether I really like this chapter though. Eeep!

Warnings : Food related issues. And disorders, I think. Although I didn't write Sam as actually having a disorder. But it might still be triggering.

Read and review, my lovelies. And thank you to all those who liked, followed and reviewed my story! Much love!

Sam had been a bitch to wrangle when he had reached the age of 18. Because the lanky teenager had sprouted sasquatch limbs that outgrew Dean's. Aside from the fact that Dean was disgruntled, to say the least, it was almost impossible to drag Sam back home much less carry him when he was in trouble.

And Sam got into trouble as often as politicians got into scandals.

Dean had always ranted on and off about Sam's growth spurt, much to the amusement of said little brother. They both knew that if circumstances asked for it, Dean would straight up bridal carry Sam even if it meant that Dean's limbs would fall off later.

The Winchester way. They had each other's backs when it actually counted.

Of course, in true brothers fashion, Dean would also tease him mercilessly about having to carry his princess ass to bed and any number of innappropriate jokes that would make Sam turn scarlet.

Right now, though, Dean would give anything to have sasquatch Sam back. Apart from the pasty, zonked out look Sam was sporting (Shock, Dean's brain interrupted) Sam had almost looked alright.

Well ... aside from said look, the fever, the injuries and a whole ass can of worms that was obviously rolling around in Sam's head. A can that Dean would soon have to pry open, if Sam didn't beat him to it, and eventually clean up the mess that would come of it.

All in a day's work of a big brother.

An awesome big brother, he corrected himself sarcastically, as he once again took in Sam's state.

He shook his head, pushing away the guilt and sadness that assaulted his senses.

Later.

Yeah okay, Sam wasn't fine. Which Dean had established the moment he had laid eyes on him when he had miraculously risen from his grave. But the extent of it hadn't struck him hard enough until now.

Gone was the moose-man Dean had always thought was nothing short of a rare phenomenon. The fact that 'salad and green disgusting milkshakes' puppy boy could ever weigh so much more than 'greasy, junk guzzling' handsome dude should have been enough to gather scientists from across the country, Dean had always thought.

Now though, Sam was back to looking like a lanky teenager, except this was no awkward teen phase. This was a full grown man who had failed/forgotten/deliberately ignored taking care of himself. And none of those options gave Dean any sort of comfort.

He hadn't noticed it when he had held Sam in his arms. Too occupied with the sheer amount of pain emanating from his little brother. He hadn't noticed it when he had checked him for injuries. He hadn't noticed it when he had sat up a dazed Sam who didn't seem exactly … present.

He didn't notice it until he had gotten Sam standing, the kid's eyes closed, as he swayed back and forth, blood draining rapidly before his knees buckled. Of course, Dean had been expecting it. Had been bracing himself for the moment when he would have to practically carry his heavy brother to the Impala.

Home.

And had blanched when he had found himself with an armful of little brother who seemed to weigh half of what Dean had been expecting.

Because this?

It was everything he had feared would happen and had hoped wouldn't.

Dean had struggled to keep Sam alive almost all his life because the way Sam ate was not enough to keep a baby bird alive. He was as picky as a cat when it came to food. It had been a pain in the ass for dad.

For Dean? A struggle, yes. But it had never made Dean angry like it had made dad on so many occasions. A couple of occasions of practically being force fed by their dad had not ended well and needless to say, Sam had spent the night worshipping the porcelain god, his big brother rubbing a soothing hand on his back.

Dean had let loose his huge vocabulary of swear words that night at their father after Sam had finally fallen asleep. The whispered argument would have woken Sam up usually but the kid was too tuckered out. 'Sam has to learn to survive with the bare minimum, Dean' 'He already lives with too little, dad, so for fuck's sake don't make eating a nightmare for him, too'.

And round and round they had gone, until John had stormed out with Dean's words 'You told me to take care of him. I'm doing that, dad. I'm not sure that you are' ringing in his ears.

When Sam had left for Stanford, food had just been a worry on a list of worries. But he had turned out alright. Whether thanks to cafeteria food or Jessica, Dean didn't know. But thankful he was.

Jessica's death had sent Sam spiralling. He didn't avoid food by any means, though Dean was the one to remind him. But most of the times, the food tended to make a reappearance. Quite quickly.

John's death had been harder. If that was even possible. Because Dean had been so lost within his own grief that he had taken it all out on Sam. Something he had never forgiven himself for. Even though Sam had done so.

Even though Dean knew that he didn't deserve it. Not when he had failed in the one job that he had ever had. Not when he had failed the one person who was fucking everything.

But Sam had chick flicked him into a brotherly moment and on no particular terms and with surprising colourful language, had told Dean that it was not his fault and that it was okay to grieve and that all he wanted to do was share the pain between them.

And wasn't that so very Sam? Except the coarse language, of course.

But staying at Bobby's had proven them both some good, even if they were barely surviving. At least, Bobby had seen to it that they were both fed and watered.

Dean had half hoped that Bobby would do the same after the deal came due too. But he had known even then that Sam would just run away from everyone.

Hide.

It was what his little brother did. Hid his grief until it festered like an infection, driving him to edges no human should ever teeter on.

While Dean didn't care for talking himself, he drowned himself in alcohol and vented by punching everything in sight.

Sam just shut himself off.

Except, it hadn't worked now, it seemed. Because Sam reeked of alcohol and he felt feather-light to Dean.

The gaunt face and chapped lips and bony cheekbones should have clued Dean in. But he had been too distracted by Sam's eyes and wanting to take the pain away that he hadn't paid any heed to the physical ailments.

In fact, the more he studied his brother, the more the signs of destruction his brother had wrought on his body, popped up.

"What am I going to do with you, Sammy?" Dean whispered, as he hoisted Sam, whose limp form was held against Dean's hip, head lolling onto his shoulder, up and into his arms. If Sam had been awake, he would have bitched to high hell and back.

If Sam had been awake, Dean wouldn't have had to carry him in the first place.

And like a little brother, the bitching would come out loud while the trust would hover unspoken in the air.

Because Sam had always trusted his big brother and chosen him over everything else.

Dean had seen Stanford coming a mile away. He had been hurt but he had been so damn proud. He had seen the guilt and the stubbornness and the pleading in Sam's eyes, the day he had dropped the bomb.

He had hoped Dean would forgive him, defend him. And Dean knew there was nothing there to forgive but he had remained silent while their dad had spoken those accursed words.

Because the hurt of Sam going away burned too raw for lovely bro moments.

Even though he knew Sam wasn't choosing. That he didn't want to choose between his own brother and education. Not until John Winchester had slammed the door on his face.

Dean sighed, shaking away the storm of thoughts and concentrating on the now too hot bundle of little brother in his arms. Sam hadn't stirred. Just continued to breathe shallowly, a permanent frown etched on his brows.

Dean hitched him up higher, adjusting his grip so that Sam's head rested on his chest. He turned towards the Impala, making his way to her slowly, being careful not to jostle Sam too much.

He could feel his arms literally begin to warm up from the amount of heat that Sam's body seemed to be giving out. He mentally added a few things to the 'taking care of Sam' list.

Tylenol and antiseptic and bandages and ice and everything that Dean could think of.

He still didn't know where they were. The closer they were to a motel, the better.

Sam suffering for any amount of time was damn unacceptable in Dean's books.

They reached the car with little to no change in Sam and a rise in Dean's worry. Carefully supporting Sam with one leg and a hand, an act perfected what with years of practice, Dean opened the passenger door.

"I'm gonna have to kick your ass later for leaving my baby unlocked, dude." Dean muttered as he lowered his limp brother onto the seat, taking care to be sure that he was comfortably seated, head lolling against the seat, before shutting the door and hurrying towards his side of the car.

Dean gingerly took a seat, fears instantly calming for a moment as he breathed in the smell of leather and sweat, with the new addition of alcohol. He laid his forehead on the steering wheel, sighing softly, hands gripping tight and reassuring for a second before dropping them on his lap.

Exhaling roughly, he reached out to shut the door, finally turning back to Sam. The younger brother looked even more ghostlike in the ambience of the Impala. Dean palmed his forehead, frowning when he felt the slight increase in Sam's temperature. His breathing now came in short, shallow gasps and his heartbeat raced as if he had just come back from one of his morning runs.

Dean scowled, gently smoothing away a few strands of his hair as they curled over his closed eyes.

"Should cut that mop of yours while you can't bitch about it, little brother." Dean remarked softly, searching for any signs that might indicate that Sam was aware of him.

He sighed again, leaning over the seat to the back, rummaging for a moment, finally extracting a blanket from the floor of the car. He pulled Sam towards him until he lay half over his lap, gingerly supporting his head, before wrapping the blanket over his chest and legs, carefully tucking in the corners.

He glanced once again at his brother's face, his own chest squeezed by a pang of overwhelming love. He laid a hand over Sam's heartbeat, smirking at himself for being a sap before turning the key in the ignition, hearing the Impala purr beneath his hands.

"Aww, Baby! I missed you too. Let's take of our pain in the ass, shall we?"

A/N : So?! Dean and Sam schmoop! Did y'all like it? Hate it? Want more? Well ... review, mon babies : D