Dean and Bobby were talked quietly, nursing cooling coffee at the table, when Sam stumbled in.
"Got any more of that?" The taller boy questioned, shuffling over to the coffee pot.
"Got a fresh pot brewing right now. How do you feel?" Bobby asked, studying him.
Sam smiled, yawning. "Feel good. Damned good. Thanks to you." He wandered over and sat down, robe trailing in his wake. He smiled at Dean. "We're so gettin' bathrobes, dude. I could seriously live in this thing."
Dean snorted. "I ain't exactly the bathrobe type, Sammy, in case you haven't noticed."
"Trust me on this, Dean. You need one of these." Sam yawned again, stretching like a lazy cat. He finished and sat smiling at the two men who made up his entire family.
Silence engulfed them for a moment as they all reveled in the fact that Sam was cured. Then Bobby broke it. "You're hungry, ain't ya." He said it as a statement and not a question.
"Yes!" Sam blurted immediately, then blushed. "I mean, yeah, but I can grab a sandwich or something, Bobby. Stay put." Sam made to rise.
But the older hunter had beaten him to the draw.
"Sit still, ya idjit. I got some leftovers around here someplace. I'll heat 'em up." He said gruffly, his hand falling comfortingly on Sam's shoulder as he passed.
Sam smiled at Dean, reaching up and patting his uncle's hand. "Thanks Bobby. I owe you one."
"Owe me more than one, kid." Bobby grumbled, walking away, and both boys snickered.
"So …" Dean started, taking a sip of coffee.
"So?"
"So, what's on the agenda for today, little brother? I mean, you only been sleepin' for …" He glanced at his watch, "oh, about sixteen hours."
Sam grinned, "Best sleep I ever had, Dean. Woke up feeling like myself again. Nothing hurts."
Dean nodded. "Good."
Sam's eyes lit up as a huge mug of coffee found its way into his hand. He took a taste. It was light brown and sweet, just the way he loved it. He savored the taste, suddenly thinking back to the last time someone had served him coffee at a table. He frowned, reliving the boys with the sugar packet and the waitress who'd snubbed him.
Dean sensed the change in mood, his head tilting. "Sammy? You okay?"
Sam looked up, shooting his brother a sad smile. "Yeah. I'm good."
Dean studied him. "Liar."
Sam shrugged, "I was just thinking about how it was … you know … before."
"How was it?"
Sam shuddered. "Well, it wasn't like this." He shared, as Bobby set a plate filled with fried chicken breast, macaroni salad and green beans in front of him. His eyes went huge at the sight, and he all but drooled.
"So … how was it?" Dean repeated, refusing to let his brother off the hook.
Sam took a bite of the salad, "Just, you know. They always thought I was a junkie." He chewed slowly, savoring the taste of home. "Bobby, this is so good."
"Who?"
"Everyone. They treat you different."
"Different how? Hey Bobby, you got anymore of that?" Dean struggled to look around his brother.
Bobby sighed exaggeratedly as he set a second heaping plate in front of Dean. "Like I didn't think you'd be hungry too." He growled.
Dean's eyes widened at the sight of the ridiculously heaped twin to his brother's plate. The boys' eyes met, and they grinned.
But Dean was persistent. "Different how?"
"I don't know, like … like the waitress wouldn't refill my cup. She did everyone else, but ignored me."
Dean's eyes sparked, but he just nodded, keeping silent.
"And the kids in the next booth, they put stuff in my cup."
Dean frowned, "While you were drinkin' it?"
Sam nodded.
"What kind of stuff?"
Sam sighed, "You really don't want to hear this, Dean."
"Yeah, Sam. I do."
"Trash, okay? They dropped their trash in my coffee, and I fished it out and drank it anyway. I had to. It was all the money I had."
Bobby froze in the doorway, hearing that last bit, and locked eyes with Dean. The older boy's face was a study in fury, but he held himself in check.
"Kids? Like little kids?"
"Kid's like teenagers. They called me a junkie, asked me if …"
"Yeah?"
"Nothing, Dean. Can we just eat?"
"No, finish what you were saying. What'd they ask you?"
Sam sighed, sitting back and nailing his brother with a hard stare. "They asked me if the junkie was gonna cry. Then they tossed their shit in my cup and said that now I had something to cry about. Is that what you wanted to hear, Dean?"
Sam dropped his fork with a clatter and rose, taking his coffee. He stalked away into the other room.
"Sam!" Dean called after him, penitent. "Come back and eat!"
But both men heard the screen door slam.
Bobby sat down across from Dean, and took a sip of coffee. "Guess he didn't wanna share that." He glanced woefully at Sam's still-full plate. "If I have to heat that up one more time."
Dean snorted then. "Give him a minute to cool off. He'll be back."
The two sat in comfortable silence, listening to the creak of front porch swing as Sam gathered his thoughts. The sound of car tires crunching over gravel made Dean look up.
"We expectin' company?"
Bobby shrugged. "There was a guy called for you earlier while you were in the shower. Least, I think he was talking about you. Asked for Dean Singer."
And suddenly Dean couldn't breathe.
