A/N: This went over a lot better than I was expecting! Thank you so much for your reviews, favs, and follows!
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing! I make no profit off of this. This is solely for my enjoyment and hopefully for the enjoyment of others! ;)
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Wasteful : using or expending something of value carelessly, extravagantly, or to no purpose
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Dean snorted sharply as he was abruptly shaken awake. He lowered his fists (which had risen automatically) when he realized who was standing in front of him.
John smiled softly as the twenty year old rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
"Hey, Dad," Dean said groggily, voice thick with sleep. John set down the two paper bags he was carrying and plopped onto the couch beside his son.
"You get a good nap?" He asked, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles. Dean nodded slowly as a wide yawn cracked his face. John's smile grew as he watched his eldest sink back into Bobby's sofa. Dean had barely slept since they'd brought Sam home from the hospital.
He was in a constant state of vigilance, hovering around Sam like a mother hen. It was almost as if he were afraid that the teenager would ripped out from under his nose again.
Dean suddenly sat bolt upright, eyes wide as he stumbled to his feet. "Where's Sam?"
John frowned and shook his head. He'd only just gotten back after all.
Dean cursed softly under his breath. "Sam?" He called, heading for the kitchen. "Sammy! Whe–" He stopped short when he step foot in the kitchen, catching sight of Bobby seated across from the Winchester in question.
Bobby looked up upon the abrupt entrance, a mild frown on his face. "Where's the fire?" He asked gruffly, eyebrows climbing towards his hairline. Dean let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as Sam swiveled in his seat to face his brother, distress painted clear as day across his face.
Dean crossed the floor and plopped down in the seat next to Sam. "What're you guys doing?"
He heard the familiar sound of his dad's boots on the tile as the elder man entered the room.
"Been trying to get Sam here to eat for the last half hour," Bobby said gently, flicking a finger in the direction of the sandwich that was sat in front of Sam. "Don't think he's ready quite yet."
Dean glanced down at the sandwich Bobby had made. It had been cut into two triangles, the insides boasting of peanut butter and bananas, one of Sam's favorites. Dean flicked his gaze upwards and attempted to meet his brother's eyes. Sam kept his gaze fixed determinedly on the wood of the table.
"C'mon, Sammy," Dean said encouragingly, reaching out a hand and sliding the plate over in front of himself. He tried to ignore the way that Sam flinched at the abrupt movement. "It's not like Bobby poisoned it."
He lifted one half of the sandwich off the plate and raised it to his mouth. He suppressed a grimace as he took a bite of the food. Dean had never been a fan of the fruit and nut combination Sam had concocted when he was younger.
Dean chewed determinedly, pretending not to see the way Sam's eyes slowly raised and watched his brother. Once Dean had swallowed his bite, he flashed a smile at Sam.
"See?" He said, ignoring John's chuckles from behind him. "It's just food."
Sam's eyes dropped back to the table, the teenager not making a move to try the food for himself.
Dean sighed softly, eyes meeting Bobby's across the table. The grizzled hunter shrugged, lips quirking to the side. They had yet to find a method to get Sam to eat. The only reason the kid had eaten in the hospital was only due to the fact that Dean and John had been practically forcing it down his throat.
John came around the table into Sam's line of vision before addressing his youngest.
He'd made the mistake that morning of touching the kid's shoulder from behind without warning, and Sam had flipped out. Sam had fled across the room and buried himself in a corner faster than John could blink.
He'd curled himself into an impossibly tight ball, eyes squeezed shut as he rocked himself back and forth.
It had taken John the better part of twenty minutes to talk Sam down and get him to come out of the corner.
Not a mistake he was going to make again.
"Hey, Sam?" He said, crouching down beside his youngest son. When Sam's eyes momentarily flicked over to him, John took it as an indication to continue speaking. "I got you some new clothes, one's that'll fit you properly."
Sam had grown about a foot and a half since the last time John had seen him. He was currently wearing a pair of Dean's sweats that his brother had lent him for the return trip from the hospital.
Dean himself was pretty tall, but his clothes were still too small on Sam.
John passed Sam one of the brown bags. "Why don't you go get yourself changed?"
Sam accepted the bag and rose wordlessly from the table. It was only once he'd disappeared up the stairs that John let himself sigh, a calloused hand rubbing at his face.
"He's gotta eat, Dad," came Dean's voice from above him.
John sighed again and rose from the floor, sliding into Sam's vacated seat. "I know, Dean. Believe me, I know.
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That night, as they all sat down at the table for dinner, John was determined that Sam was going to eat. He had to. John wasn't going to sit around and watch his son waste away from malnutrition right after they'd got him back. It wasn't going to happen.
Bobby had prepared a hearty dinner of grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas and carrots.
John made plates for both of his sons before he made one for himself.
All three hunters had their eyes trained on the silent teen as he made no effort to notice the plate set in front of him.
John suppressed a sigh. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but John shook his head swiftly, effectively cutting off whatever Dean had been about to say.
"Sam," he started, heart aching as his son flinched at the authoritative voice. "You can't keep not eating. Your body needs the nutrients. Now eat."
Dean couldn't help the flutter in his stomach as Sam picked up his fork and began scooping food into his mouth. He shot his dad a small smile, earning one in return. It was only once Sam was eating that the other three men started on their own plates.
Sam had cleared his plate long before anyone else, waiting patiently with his hands in his lap and eyes cast downward. John took the gusto with which Sam ate to mean that the boy was starved and ready for more. He quickly loaded Sam's plate back up and watched as the youngest Winchester again cleared his plate in minutes.
John refilled the dish a third time just as he himself was finishing his first. The kid must've been hungrier than John realized.
Dead helped himself to more potatoes as he watched in amazement as Sam devoured his third full helping. Talk about zero to a hundred.
It wasn't until John had placed Sam's fifth helping on the kid's plate that he began to suspect that something was up. Sam had eaten everything that was placed in front of him without a fuss, dutifully downing each and every morsel off his plate. There was no possible way he was still hungry.
Dean watched the kid from across the table with wary eyes as Sam lifted a forkful of mashed potatoes to his lips. A frown creased his brow as he watched the kid open his mouth and insert the forkful, but he never really got to the chew and swallow part.
Sam's pallor suddenly blanched, his eyes widening marginally. Dean knew that look. Knew it all too well.
He was barely out of his seat when Sam abruptly gagged and dropped his fork. All four and half platefuls of food made an unpleasant reappearance as Sam vomited onto the table and all down his shirt.
John and Bobby recoiled on instinct as Sam retched horribly.
Dean rounded the table and slid an arm around his brother's chest, ignoring the slimy feeling of the sick from Sam's shirt. "You're all right, kiddo. You're okay," he mumbled as he swept Sam's hair out of his eyes.
As Sam continued to throw up the half-chewed food, John rushed to the sink to wet a cloth and grab a glass of water. Bobby quickly cleared away the dishes on the table.
To Dean's horror, as soon as the retching and gagging abated, Sam started scooping up handfuls of the sick and began shoveling them back into his mouth.
"Sam, stop! Stop it!" He brutishly shoved his fingers into his brother's mouth and swept out the regurgitate.
"No!" Sam cried out, voice garbled by the fingers still in his mouth.
Dean's heart gave a spasm. The first word he'd heard his baby brother speak in over two years and it was a cry of distress.
He pinned Sam's arms against his chest as Sam continued to struggle to eat what he'd thrown up.
"Sammy–"
"No!" Sam cried again. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He screamed. And damn if that didn't just break Dean's heart.
"I'm not being wasteful! I'm not! Please, I'm sorry," Sam sobbed as Dean continued to hold his arms in place.
Dean's horror filled eyes flicked up to meet his father's equally disturbed gaze. Dean pulled his sobbing brother out of the chair, muttering, "It's okay. You're not in trouble," over and over again, though it never seemed to make it through the the haze of panic that had overcome his brother.
John felt as if his heart were shattering as Dean herded Sam out of the room to get cleaned up. John buried his face in his hands as he heard Sam's retreating sobs echoing down the hallway.
He didn't look up as a hand settled on his shoulder, knowing that Bobby was standing next to him offering silent support.
This was going to be a long road.
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