Work Text:
The light rapping of knuckles on Sam’s bedroom door force him to open his eyes and roll over onto his back, clutching the stuffed bear that his big brother gifted to him. He knows it’s Dean at the door, so he calls out a weak, “C’me in.”
Dean opens the door and appears in the doorway, already dressed in his work clothes. He smiles softly at Sam, no doubt at the sight of his bedhead. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” he says, the pet name rolling off his tongue.
Dean started calling him sweetheart—among other terms of endearment—as a joke, but Sam is 95% sure it’s unironic for his brother nowadays, which is funnier than the initial joke to him. Dean can be a big sap without even meaning to do so. (Sam is too, with meaning to do so. His favorite pet names are the ones that end with boy: sweet boy, angel boy, baby boy, et cetera.)
Sam hums in response to Dean’s greeting, too sleepy to formulate a response. He absentmindedly pets his stuffed bear, who’s called Mr. Buttons, as Dean approaches and sits on the edge of his bed, careful not to touch.
“Sleep okay?” Dean asks.
Sam shrugs one shoulder. He didn’t have nightmares like he’s been having, but he had trouble falling asleep because his mind wouldn’t quit screaming at him. He got sexually assaulted two and a half months ago, and it derailed pretty much everything about his life, including, but not limited to, his sleeping and his eating.
The big thing is that he’s usually too upset to go to school, so he just doesn’t anymore. Dean called the school and sorted everything out; Sam gets his schoolwork sent to him every week, and he’ll be allowed to graduate with the rest of his classmates at the end of next year if he keeps up. He’s grateful for how accommodating the school has been to his situation, especially considering that, in Sam’s eyes, a normal person would’ve recovered by now.
Dean hums sympathetically. “You can head back to sleep if you want. I just wanted to say bye before I leave for work.”
Sam nods, grateful that his brother thought of him. Sam hates it when he leaves without letting him know first.
Dean has a lot of money saved up from the coffee shop he worked at while they lived with Dad, so he can get away with working only one job now—mid mornings to late afternoons most days at the diner nearby. Dean had been planning their escape ever since the first time Dad hit Sam. Sam thinks Dean should have started planning their escape the first time Dad hit Dean, but whatever.
They live in a tiny, two bed one bath house in California, close to Sam’s dream school and far, far away from Lawerence, Kansas, where Dad is probably getting drunk off his ass, barely noticing his kids are gone except for when he needs something to punch.
“Well, I’m gonna head off,” Dean says, standing up off the bed. “See you later, kiddo.”
“‘Kay,” Sam mumbles, already turning onto his side, hugging Mr. Buttons, and closing his eyes. “Bye.”
Dean softly clicks the door shut as he leaves, and Sam listens for the roar of the Impala to start up outside. He falls asleep for another hour, easier this time because his comforter is still depressed with Dean’s imprint.
He wakes up feeling a tad better. Yawning, he gets out of bed, leaving Mr. Buttons sitting upright against his pillow. He wanders into the kitchen and opens the fridge, where he finds last night’s leftovers that Dean lovingly packed away for him. It’s in a small Tupperware container, and it has Sammy :) written on it in Dean’s handwriting.
Sam pops the food into the microwave and pours himself some water while he waits for it to heat up. He hates eating, he always has, but it’s been worse ever since the assault. If it were up to Sam, he’d eat nothing but snacks that he can eat right out of the packaging to satiate himself because they’re less effort.
He doesn’t want to starve himself, or get skinny—not more than anyone else does. He just hates the act of eating itself, and everything that comes with it—the preparation, the cleaning up. It’s a waste of time, in his opinion, especially because there aren’t any foods that taste particularly good to him. Plus, he doesn’t have the hugest appetite because he’s just naturally small for his height. But Dean makes it easier for him to eat well. He didn’t need to be told that Sam had an eating problem; he just picked up on it and now goes out of his way to make it easier.
The microwave beeps so Sam takes his food out and grabs his favorite spoon—he hates the big ones. Dean isn’t strict about eating at the table, so Sam takes his brunch and his water to the couch, where he can turn on Netflix and pick up where he left off on his third Gilmore Girls rewatch. He’s pretty early on—before they make Dean worse to make Jess look better.
Other fans might, but Sam will never forget how Dean used to read the books Rory recommended to him until Jess showed up, and they made it seem like Dean was too stupid to read. Maybe he is a little biased towards Dean because he has the same name as his brother, but he will still defend him in the early seasons. Obviously, Sam hates late seasons Dean, especially because of the way he treats Lindsay, but he chooses to believe that behavior is the writers’ fault, not Dean’s.
Sam has strong opinions about this show.
Dean, the real Dean, finds Gilmore Girls to be, well, girly, but he knows a fair bit about the show. He’s never sat down to watch the whole thing in order, and he doesn’t know all the details, but having Sam for a little brother means learning by osmosis. Plus, he occasionally, reluctantly, watches an episode or two with Sam when the younger boy is really down in the dumps.
Sam eats slowly, paying more attention to the show than his food. He finishes it eventually, along with his water, and finishes watching the remaining few minutes of the episode before getting up and putting his dishes in the sink. Sighing, he rolls up the arms of his gray long sleeve and washes them. He doesn’t want Dean to come home to dishes in the sink after a day of work. The theme song to the next episode is playing when he finishes.
Sam should get started on his school work, but he sits down on the couch and continues watching Gilmore Girls, too tired right now.
He looks forward to the day when he gets all better and has energy to do his school work and the dishes. It’ll happen before he heads to Stanford. It has to.
He finishes the episode and forces himself to turn the TV off. He stares up at the ceiling for a minute or two before standing up and grabbing his school work for the day. School is the one thing he can do right—on the days he can do it at all, that is. He finishes the work fairly easily and goes back to his room. He lays down in bed with Mr. Buttons, where he intends to stay until Dean comes home.
He doesn’t mean to, but he supposes he dozes off, because the next thing he knows, he hears the front door opening and shutting, and Dean noisily kicking his boots off. He sits up and flattens his hair just as Dean calls out, “Sammy?”
Sam arranges Mr. Buttons in a comfortable position before getting out of bed and going out to greet Dean.
“Hey,” Dean says when he sees him. He’s taking off his jacket. “You didn’t sleep all day, did you, baby?” he asks, slightly concerned.
When the assault first happened, Sam definitely did do that a few times, which he is ashamed of.
“Uh-uh,” Sam says, shaking his head. “Jus’ a nap.”
Dean nods. “Good. You eat?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s good. Um, I’m gonna change then get started on dinner, ‘kay?”
“‘Kay,” Sam says. He sits down in his chair at the dining table. He can see the whole kitchen from his seat. Shortly later, Dean reemerges from his room, wearing more comfortable clothes. The Winchester household lives in sweats. Sam is the one who converted his previously jean-wearing brother.
“You do your school work?” Dean asks as he starts gathering ingredients.
“Yup,” Sam confirms. “Not feelin’ too bad today, mostly.”
Dean smiles at him. “That’s good. That’s real good, Sammy.”
Sam hums. “How was work?”
“Fine,” Dean answers. These conversations where Dean cooks and Sam watches him are pretty common, and they don’t usually delve into deep stuff. Sam looks forward to them all day. “Allison chewed me out for spilling a glass of water, so that was pretty upsetting. But I had this one table—“ Dean turns to Sam, pauses for dramatic effect,“—tipped me 20 bucks on a 30 dollar tab. Isn’t that crazy?”
Sam smiles. The fact that Dean wants to talk to him about little stuff like that makes him feel nice. “Did you serve them well?”
“No. Well, I mean, of course I did. As well I serve any other table.”
“Was there a girl at the table?”
Dean laughs, which makes Sam feel super nice.
“Or, you know, guy who likes guys.”
“Yeah, maybe, actually,” Dean answers.
“Really? Some guy has a crush on you?” Sam is pretty sure Dean doesn’t want to date anyone right now because he has his hands full taking care of him, but that doesn’t stop him from being attractive to other people.
“Oh, shut up,” Dean says. “I said maybe. Besides—what’s funny, Sammy? Is it the idea of gay people?”
Sam looks at Dean with a deadpan expression on his face. Of the two of them, Sam is not the one who should be on the receiving end of accusations of homophobia.
Dean obviously isn’t homophobic—Sam would never stop arguing about it with him if he were—but he has his whole macho tough guy act, and he’s clearly uncomfortable with certain queer things.
Dean turns to Sam to see the bitch face he’s giving him. Having no response, he sticks his tongue out and turns back to his cooking.
Once Dean finishes the food, he brings it on two plates to the table. He sits down in the chair beside Sam and they eat. Sam can tell Dean is slowing himself down so as to not outpace him, which he finds to be a nice gesture, even though it makes him a little guilty. A lot of stuff that Dean does for him makes him a little guilty, so he’s working on ignoring that feeling.
Dean, unlike Sam, actually enjoys food and eating; he doesn’t see it as a chore. So, it’s nice that he takes the time to slowly eat dinner with him. Dean eats lunch at the diner and breakfast before waking up Sam; he doesn’t save any for Sam because Sam isn’t a big breakfast guy. Dean is normal.
About food, at least. He’s a total freak in regard to a lot of other things. That’s Sam’s favorite thing about him.
“You all done, sweetheart?” Dean casually asks. His own plate is empty; Sam’s has a few more bites on it, but he hasn’t taken one in a bit.
Sam looks down at his plate. “No, I can do it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’m gonna.” He shovels some more food into his mouth, chews, then swallows. He’s done well with everything else today, he’s going to do well with this.
Dean doesn’t try to stop him. He just sits back and stays by his side and waits.
Sam manages to finish his food. He looks over at Dean, a small, proud smile on his face. Dean returns the smile. He stacks Sam’s plate onto his own and stands up. “Why don’t you go pick a movie or somethin’ while I clean up here?”
Sam nods, still smiling. Movie nights with Dean are his favorite, especially when Dean lets him pick the movie, which is often.
He sits down on the couch and picks out Monsters Inc. because it is one of his comfort movies. He waits for Dean to come sit next to him before pressing play. Dean doesn’t say anything about the choice of film, understanding Sam’s want for familiarity. He rests his feet on the coffee table and keeps his hands in his lap.
Part way through the film, Sam tests out leaning against Dean. It feels okay, so he leans fully against him, laying his head on his shoulder. Dean knows that Sam initiating touch is permission, so he wraps his arm around Sam, still keeping his other in his lap. Sam places his own hand in Dean’s lap and interlaces their fingers, which makes Dean chuckle, but he doesn’t let go.
“Shh,” Sam says. “This scene is my favorite.”
Dean shushes and watches said scene with him. Sam can’t see his face from their position, but it’s probably making that fond expression it sometimes does.
When the movie finishes, they’re still in the same position. “So good,” Sam mutters, referring to the movie.
Dean hums. “It’s one of my favorite of your favorites.”
Sam lifts his head from his shoulder but continues holding his hand. “It is?”
“Yeah,” Dean says. “It’s better than The Princess Bride, at least.”
Sam frowns. He knows for a fact Dean loves The Princess Bride; he’s just poking fun at it because the title is so girly. “You’re so lame.”
Dean just grins at him.
They stay on the couch talking for a bit longer until Sam says he’s tired and wants to go to bed. Sam and Dean let go of each other’s hand, but Dean keeps his arm around Sam as they walk to Sam’s bedroom. Mr. Buttons is waiting patiently for Sam to pick him up, which he does as soon as he’s in bed. Dean tucks them both in nice and tight.
“Night, sweetheart,” Dean says, brushing Sam’s hair out of his eyes.
“Kiss,” Sam requests. Kissing is a bit different for Sam; Dean needs explicit—not blanket—consent. Dean doesn’t ask if he can give Sam kisses nearly enough for Sam’s liking, so he’s taken it upon himself to just ask for them himself.
Dean obeys; he leans down and kisses Sam’s forehead.
Sam smiles, dimples and all. He gently pulls Mr. Buttons up to cover his mouth. “Mr. Buttons wants one too.” It’s babyish, he knows, but he doesn’t care. Neither does Dean, clearly, because he kisses Mr. Buttons’ forehead. Sam’s smile widens. “Night, Dean.”
Dean returns his smile and leaves the room, softly clicking the door shut.
Sam kisses the spot on Mr. Buttons that Dean kissed before he closes his eyes, hoping to stave off his memories of the assault. It works a little bit.
The bigger accomplishment is two nights in a row without nightmares. Sam will take it.