Chapter Text
Salads were a… not a comfort food, really. No food was a comfort to Sam, who struggled daily just to make himself ingest anything and keep it down.
Salads were… safe.
They were the stepping stone that helped him move up from nothing when his brother finally threatened to send him to an in-patient clinic. With Sam’s weight so severely low, Dean was certain (and convinced Sam) that any judge would grant him adult guardianship and he’d have the right to make medical decisions for Sam.
Dean had given Sam one week to start eating, and he was serious. Sam gave in and, while Dean had finished his burgers almost an hour ago, Sam sat at the table in the motel with a small boxed side salad. His eyes were wet as he held onto one piece of lettuce, shredded it into smaller and smaller pieces, and put one tiny fingernail sized piece in his mouth.
He felt Dean’s eyes burning him as he tried so desperately to swallow that one piece of green. He gagged and brought his napkin up to spit, tears freely falling down his cheeks.
Sam tried again. He ripped and shredded the leaves, ignoring the other nutrients in the vegetable mixture.
After several false starts and another hour, Sam was able to eat one fourth of the small side salad. Dean hugged him as Sam sobbed and clutched his stomach. His older brother rocked him gently and held onto him because he was forbidden from using the bathroom for the first half hour after eating.
For a while, that was all Sam could stand to eat, supplementing the bare meals with tiny containers of Pediasure and multivitamins. But eventually he ate the carrots, tomatoes, and mushrooms that also came in the salad.
Dean still ordered for him since food decisions brought on near panic attacks for Sam. After a month of veggie side salads with no dressing, Dean ordered a side salad with strips of broiled chicken.
The first night he did that, Sam tore the chicken until it was almost unrecognizable as a protein. Then he mostly ignored it.
When he noticed his hairbrush getting more clogged as his hair came out easier, Sam gave in to the chicken too. Nothing like vanity to scare you into taking care of yourself.
He couldn't stomach the meat unless it was shredded beyond belief and mixed in with the rest of the salad, but at least he ate it. He ignored Dean’s sigh of relief the first night he finished all the chicken. Dean held him as his stomach cramped from the unfamiliar food and his brother tried to tell him that vegetarians couldn't even handle broth, so he was still tougher than them.
Salads were how Dean was able to ease Sam back into eating. It never became easy and he still preferred the lightest salad he could get away with when he became depressed or overwhelmed, but they made it bearable.
They were not comforting, but they were as close to comfort food as Sam would ever get.