Dean Is Hungry. He's Always Hungry. These Days, If He Isn't Hungry Then That Means He's Sick. So The

dean is hungry. he's always hungry. these days, if he isn't hungry then that means he's sick. so the pain is good. it keeps him awake, keeps him sharp, lets him know he's okay.

sammy is asleep, mouth open around snores. face down on the tiny, cramped single bed they're sharing, he's just slightly quieter than the tv. bleeding body heat against dean's hip and leg, a little sweaty and taking up too much space. alive, safe. splayed out across the mattress.

that's okay, though. dean can't lay down. he's not allowed to sleep until his dad gets home. he's got to stay awake, to watch out for sammy.

the tv flashes, spilling light over the mountains of his knees. this motel room is disgusting. everything reeks of cigarette smoke, staining the walls and sheets and making dean slightly nauseous. that could be the hunger, though.

sometimes when he's really, really hungry like he is now, he feels sick. like his stomach is a hole, swallowing up his insides.

he watches the quiet tv screen— some spanish movie is playing. the subtitles are moving too fast for his eyes to keep up, so he focuses on the colors, watches the shadows rise and swell over his knees.

yesterday was his birthday. dad didn't say a word, just dropped a twenty on the table and left for the bar and didn't come home until after four in the morning. there isn't a case in this town that they've found so far, but apparently the whiskey is good because they've been here for days.

he and sam had breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the first time in months. dean has perfected the art of making a cent stretch. he's eleven years old, now. they even had a pie. it was a little stale, and a stupid splurge. but sammy begged, and dean was helpless to say no because he wanted it just as much.

he doesn't feel any older. sometimes he feels ancient. right now he feels small and paper thin.

he's sort of desperately missing the sandwiches they had for dinner yesterday. there are no leftovers. no food waiting in the cabinets, but that's okay. dad fell asleep and dean stole ten dollars from his wallet.

he won't miss it. sammy will have breakfast. dean can wait a few more hours

it doesn't matter if he's starving.

_

"like this. use the spatula to pull them in from the edges so all the uncooked egg spills out. makes them fluffier. that, and the milk."

dean demonstrates. jack watches like a hawk even though he can't even see over the edge of the stove standing on his own, two little fists gripping the collar of cas's shirt like a lifeline to keep him steady as he leans over.

they're all pressed up together to fit in front of the stove, jack perched on cas's hip, and like this, side-by-side, dean can compare their nearly identical facial expressions. blonde hair and dark brown, the same cleft chin and bright blue eyes.

cas makes an identical face watching dean cook scrambled eggs to the one he does while focused on a hunt, channeling all of his angelic skill and strength for something as trivial as food or as important as measuring spell ingredients. jack is mirroring it almost uncannily.

dean isn't ashamed to admit that he finds it adorable.

he finishes up the eggs under the two careful sets of eyes and turns off the stove, letting cas hand him jack's plate first. a tiny pancake with a chocolate chip smile, two slices of sam's shoeleather bacon, and a small spoonful of eggs. there's already a bowl of fruit waiting for him on the table. jack is very particular about what he eats.

cas sets him down gently and dean hands him his plate, trusting the toddler to make it to the table because jack is always very careful.

"breakfast!" dean leans back to shout down the hall, tugging off his apron. cas's hand is huge and warm in the small of his back as he makes their plate, heaping on a pile of real bacon that won't leave the faint taste of burnt plastic in his mouth when he's finished eating it.

sam comes in first, followed shortly by eileen. his hair is still wet from his morning shower and together, they've been slowly reorganizing the library into something efficient.

they all make their plates and settle down to eat. it's a little crowded around the table, but they make do.

cas doesn't eat much. what he does comes off dean's plate, which was made up specifically in mind of that. .

sam piles so much fruit onto his that it spills over into his eggs and he makes a face, freeing a blueberry only to sentence it to being crushed between his molars.

eileen loves pancakes with fruit. specifically strawberries. dean made her's special, and when she sees that she lights up. it makes him smile, wide and happy, as they sign back and forth over the table, conversing silently.

he's still a little clumsy. cas helps him practice. he's getting better every day.

dean isn't full, yet. but, he isn't starving. he hasn't been in years. he won't ever be again.

jack smears his eggs everywhere, babbles on and on in a mismatch of both english and asl. cas watches him with huge, beautiful eyes. jack is telling them a largely exaggerated tale about a lady at the grocery store yesterday with a service dog whose tail and ears had been dyed rainbow. they've all heard about it twice, now. jack had been absolutely fascinated by the colors and the dog until he got distracted by the cereal aisle.

dean feels so young, for the first time in his entire life. he's home. he's happy. he's safe.