Some Nights

Hunger Pangs

caution: contains the spanking of Sam Winchester trigger warning: (for food insecurity/depression/ anxiety/ mental health)

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"Lately right now,

I feel like it's all over.

Because I've been trapped inside my head for so long.

I should've called when I was sober.

Some days I get scared to be alone."

-Freaking out(A.R.I.O.N.Z.A)

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How did it come to this?

Sam Winchester watched as his brother Dean and their friend, Cas began to put the food out on the table. His stomach lurched in response to the smell, and he couldn't tell if he was hungry or revolted by the sight of the roasted chicken, along side of the potatoes and beans. Dean rubbed his hands together, grinning madly before sitting down.

"This looks amazing, Cas."

Cas, for his credit, simply shrugged. He had been spending a lot of time in the kitchen since losing his grace. Cooking seemed to be the only thing that brought him out of his post angelic funk, that and long walks with Dean in the evening. Sam had no idea where they went, the two would disappear for hours, often coming back with voices low and calm as they parted ways in the hallway of the bunker.

Sam looked now at the food, and began to think of how long it would take for him to burn it off. Today was only a quarter day anyways. He had missed the first shot on their hunting trip, and had tripped when they were in pursuit of the werewolves. So that would be a quarter plate, and 50 crunches, but now looking at the hot meal before him on the table, he opted to just skip and go straight to the crunches. He would do better hunting tomorrow, especially if he disciplined himself more harshly tonight.

"Sammy, help yourself." Dean motioned to the food while filling his own plate. He didn't seem to notice how his younger brother flinched at the words.

Help yourself. 

That's literally all Sam was trying to do. He learned from the best. If their father was here, Sam wouldn't be getting any dinner at all with the way the hunt had turned out today. He would be out doing laps while his father and Dean ate dinner.  And that was just the way it was. Sam had begun to get sloppy, making more and more mistakes. This WAS him helping himself, he thought to himself decidedly before pushing his plate further away from him.

"I'm not feeling great." It wasn't a complete lie. He wasn't. He was full of shame, and ready to greet the those fifty crunches with gusto.

Dean frowned at him now from across the table. "Still?"

Shit. Sam inwardly cursed himself. He knew better than to use the same excuse three times in a row. Twice was coincidence, but three times was a pattern. "It's my throat." Sam said weakly, glancing at the chicken bones. "It's pretty sore. I should probably just-" 

He began to get up out of his chair, but Dean stopped him with a motion of his hand. Cas, who was had begun to sit a little further from the brothers, slowly put his fork down, his eyes widening slightly. The once angel had been around the Winchesters long enough to see the warning signs of a disagreement.

"When is the last time you ate something?"

Shit. Shit.

He should've just eaten the goddamned potatoes. That counted as a quarter plate, right? Now Dean was giving him that look, and it was all Sam could do not to slide down in his chair, feeling like a little kid in trouble. Dean cleared his throat slightly, making Sam jump slightly, focusing back on the question.