46 hours. That was how long it had been since he'd seen Sam eat.
Dean had started counting after the first full day that Sam had skipped meals. At first, he'd just thought he was sick, but as it went on he was afraid there was a deeper problem. He had to do something about it before it got out of hand.
When he gets up to the takeout window, he order his sandwich and a salad for Sam. Back at the hotel, he finds Sam sitting on the bed, right where he left him.
"Sammy?"
He turns around. "Hey, Dean." He looks so tired, dark bags heavy under his eyes. The ghost of a smile that he attempts does nothing to calm Dean's nerves.
"I got you a salad."
His slight smile drops, "I said I wasn't hungry."
"Yeah, well, you're gonna eat anyway," Dean replies, hanging his jacket on a hook. He turns to hand Sam his salad, but the gesture goes unanswered.
"Nah, I'm alright."
Dean stares at him for a couple of seconds before asking, "When was the last time you ate?"
Sam pales, clearly caught off-guard by the question. "Uh, I... it doesn't matter, I'm just not hungry, okay?"
"No, not okay!" Dean runs his hands over his face. "Sammy, you gotta eat."
"It's none of your business," he mutters.
"None of my - Sam. It's a salad. Just eat it."
"I'll eat it later," he snaps back.
Dean shakes his head, throwing the salad into the fridge.
"Fine."
"I'm going for a walk," Sam says, storming out before Dean can argue.
When Sam gets back, it's late. The sun has set, and Dean is already asleep, turned on his side to face the wall. Sam collapses on his bed with a sigh.
Dean wasn't supposed to notice. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It's fine, he's fine. It's really not a big deal. So what, if he goes a couple of days without eating? He's not gonna die. He lays down on his bed, exhausted and entirely ready to pass out. It's several more hours before the hunger pangs allow him any rest.