Work Text:
July, 1994
Dean rolled over in bed and pulled the thin, rough comforter over his head. Just a few feet away, in the adjacent queen-sized motel bed, his 11-year old brother Sam slept soundly. Dean could hear his breath as it moved gently in and out; not an intrusive sound, but enough to distract Dean from falling back asleep.
He wasn’t exactly a heavy sleeper to begin with, but his insomnia got worse when their dad was out on a hunt. It had been six days since the boys had seen or heard from their father, but a disappearance of that length was nothing unusual for John Winchester. And while Dean knew the dangers inherent in his father’s line of work, it still didn’t keep him from worrying.
But beyond fearing for his father’s life, there were other pressing matters to be concerned about. The paltry sum of money John had left for his children prior to his departure had run out. With no family friends nearby and no money, Dean knew that he would have to find a solution soon if he and Sam wanted to eat. As if on cue, Dean’s stomach gave a loud gurgle, reiterating the reality of their current situation. Dean pressed a hand into his belly, trying to force the mix of fluids, bile and air to settle. The hunger made Dean actually miss school, a thought that he found mildly disturbing and a true marker of his desperation for food. At least at school they had dependable meals, even free breakfast in some cases, depending on the district’s lunch program policies.
Unable to abide lying down any longer, Dean flung the covers off of himself and groggily rose from bed. He made his way over to the small table by the heavily-curtained window, trying to be as quiet as possible while Sam snoozed on. In the past 24 hours, all Dean and his little brother had consumed by way of food was a small cup of heat-and-eat macaroni and cheese – the last of their supplies. The individually packaged rations held about as much flavor as the plastic microwave-safe bowls they came in, but Dean had wolfed his down with enthusiasm, surprised to find his cup empty after only a few bites. It still pained him to remember the look on Sammy’s face as he ate, tears nearly brimming in his eyes as he chewed at an agonizingly slow pace. Dean knew he was trying to make it last, to trick his brain into believing his stomach was satisfied, but God help him if he didn’t consider reaching across the table and snagging away Sam’s portion. He arrested the thought before it could pose any real temptation, but Dean eventually had to force himself away from the table, unable to continue looking at the food in front of his brother.
Sam finished his meal soon after, and after a few hours of TV it was time for lights out. Neither of them were able to focus much on the shows anyway, with their stomachs twisting in uncomfortable knots. Dean had kept flipping channels, letting out heavy sighs every now and then as a wordless form of complaint. Little Sammy was a trooper, Dean remembered thinking, never once complaining though he knew he was just as hungry.
Sam stirred in the bed across the room, breaking Dean away from his thoughts. He tried to sit in silence for a while after, not wanting to wake his brother up, but his restlessness overtook him. Though he knew it did little to alleviate the pain, Dean fired up the single-serve coffee maker at the sink in the motel room. While the water heated up, Dean rinsed out his styrofoam cup. The boys had been instructed by John over the years to never let anyone into the rooms they stayed in – not even the cleaning lady. So it had been engrained in them to remember things like never throwing away disposable cups, because then you were sorry-outta-luck if you needed a new one. Dean’s particular cup was getting grimy; a dark brown ring coated the inner walls. Still he attempted to rinse it, and filled it with the fresh coffee. They were running low on that as well, Dean noticed with a grimace.
Dean quickly drank the hot beverage, letting the warmth sooth his aching belly. As he swallowed the last mouthful, he saw Sammy rustle in his bed. Sam peered out at Dean from underneath his mess of tangled hair.
“Mornin’ Sam,” Dean boomed from his place at the table. He swirled the last drop of coffee around in his cup, tilting it to his mouth. Waste not, want not.
“Dean,” Sam groaned. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick.”
Dean set his cup down, satisfied he had drained every bit of liquid from it. “What do you mean, like flu sick?” he asked, half-listening to his little brother.
“No,” Sam paused, hesitating. “I’m so hungry.”
It was what Dean had been warily anticipating, waiting for that moment when Sam would break, when he just couldn’t take it anymore. It was a moment – though expected – he had been dreading. It was times like these, their most desperate of circumstances, which would lead Dean into the most desperate of acts. Dean’s mind immediately weighed the options, though admittedly, he had been considering them before now. When they were younger, it was easier to fool people with an innocent face. Having the wrong amount of change in the check-out lane, or simply looking dejected enough had sometimes brought them good fortune. People took pity on little kids. But those kind of stunts were getting harder to pull, now with Dean well past his fifteenth birthday. There was always the option of begging, but it was something that Dean had never seriously considered. He had too much pride for that. The riskiest choice was the one Dean had most often resorted to as of late, which was flat-out stealing. Yes, there was a certain rush to it, but at the end of the day it didn’t exactly sit right with him. Yet still, they were so hungry.
“Yeah, well, join the club,” Dean muttered. He clenched his jaw in a hard line, trying to brush off the way that Sammy looked at him – all withering and weak, eyebrows knotted in misery, tears forming in his eyes again.
“You want some hot water?” Dean asked, trying to deflect some of the hopelessness of the situation. When Sam shook his head, Dean sighed, rising to his feet.
“Where are you going?” Sam asked, worry in his voice.
“Out,” Dean said flatly, pulling his shoes on.
“When will you be back?” Sam sat up now, a little life coming back into him.
“I don’t know, Sam,” Dean spat, annoyance coloring his tone. “Depends on how long it takes me.”
Dean looked back at Sam who sat scrunched up in bed, hugging his legs against himself. Defeated, Dean felt the brief flare of anger drain out of him. He let his hand fall from the door handle, turning towards his little brother.
“Give me a half hour,” he said softer, more comforting. “I promise I’ll be right back.”
***
Outside the motel room, Dean could see the cleaning ladies pushing their carts from door to door, busily going about their duty as they cleaned each unit. Dean glanced back at the door to his and Sammy’s room, making sure the “Do Not Disturb” sign was still in place on the handle. He didn’t want to risk having anyone go in, especially when Sam was alone. If anything happened to Sam while Dean was out, his dad would tear him limb from limb. No matter the excuse.
Just ahead of him in the walkway, a stout, sweaty-looking woman came rushing out of one of the units, hurriedly emptying one of the room’s small garbage cans into a larger trash bag that hung from her cart. In her hastened state, she didn’t notice – or didn’t care – when several pieces of garbage flew out of the can and fluttered out into the hall. Dean quirked an eyebrow, meaning to walk quickly past before he had a barrage of trash dumped on him. But as he made his way down the hall, one piece of the discarded scraps caught his eye.
Crumpled, though still recognizable, Dean saw the familiar yellow arches stamped out on the little coupon. With one quick glance to make sure no one was watching, Dean bent to pick up the paper. He hurried down the hall, waiting to get outside before checking the slip. The whole walk outside he silently hoped it would be something they could use, some lucky break, though he didn’t give any words to his wish for fear it would be dashed too quickly.
Once out in the bright light of day, he retrieved the tiny piece of paper from his pocket. Unfolding it, he couldn’t help but smile when he saw that the ticket was good for one free sandwich – no purchase necessary. Enlivened with new purpose, Dean set out for the nearest McDonald’s.
***
When he entered their motel room again, Dean wasn’t surprised to find Sammy in the same position in bed, mindlessly flipping through TV channels. He whistled as he entered the room, indicative of a cheerful atmosphere that had not existed for the past couple of days. It grabbed Sam’s attention, and when he caught sight of the take-out bag in Dean’s hands, he nearly leapt off the bed.
“That’s right, I’m awesome,” Dean smirked as he tossed Sam the bag. “Dig in, kiddo.”
He didn’t ask questions, which Dean was grateful for. Sam sat down at the table, excitedly reaching inside the bag to pull out the warm sandwich. He unwrapped the paper in a rush, mouth already open to take the first bite. He was just about to sink his teeth in when he stopped, looking at Dean.
“Here,” Sammy offered, starting to tear the sandwich in two.
“No,” Dean stopped him, waving him off. “I already ate mine on the way back, Sammy. You go ahead.”
Sam’s eyes lit up as he tore into the food, not wasting another second. While Sam ate, Dean moved to open the curtains, letting sunlight pour into the room. He fired up the coffee maker again, while the knots in his stomach wrenched and tore at him. His brother didn’t have to know.
All he needed to know was that he had been taken care of.