#feeder!sam

"I don't think so, Sammy. Just a bad case of the Mondays."

"Yeah, but he missed breakfast," Sam pointed out, then asked, "Has Dean...ever missed a meal before?"

Mom stood there for a moment, then shook her head, gesturing for Sam to get up and go upstairs.

"Could you check on him? I need to finish packing your lunch."

Sam looked down at his book, then set it regretfully aside. "Okay." Much as he didn't want to stop reading, he would do anything for his big brother.

He heaved himself off the couch with a grunt, then headed slowly upstairs. He walked down the hall, past his room to Dean's, then opened the door.

Dean was still in bed, red-faced and huffing and sweaty. Sam wondered what he could possibly have been doing. Instead of asking, he told him, "Mom's mad at you. She wants you to get up."

"Yeah, well, trust me, that makes two of us," Dean grunted out, and then swung his beefy arms up and attempted to heave himself into a sitting position. He tried a couple times, but never got further than what looked like the very earliest stages of a situp...which was the closest Sam had ever actually seen his brother get to a situp. It made him jiggle, his round belly creasing in the middle where it was spread across the bed.

As Dean collapsed back, mattress squeaking and bedframe groaning, Sam stared at him.

"Can you not get up?"

"Starting to look that way," Dean replied tersely.

"...how come?"

Dean snorted, then looked at Sam, chins dragging as he turned his head. He seemed to realize he was serious, then heaved out a deep sigh.

"So, you know how I've always been...big," he began.

"Uh huh." One of Sam's earliest memories was of Dean eating an entire birthday cake all by himself, stomach rounder than one of the balloons tied to his high chair.

"And you know how much I ate over Thanksgiving," Dean continued. Sam nodded. His older brother had barely even stopped cramming food into his mouth to breathe, the sheer fullness of his food-packed gut pinning him in place. "Well. Think I. Might've finally gotten too fat to get outta bed. Without help, at least."

He looked shamefully at Sam, who asked, "Do you want me to help you?"

Dean shook his head, sighing deeply. "Don't want you hurting yourself." He groaned, and kneaded the heels of his plump hands against his eyes. "Goddammit. Know what the worst part is?"

"What?"

"I'm starving."

"Oh!" Sam turned, wondering why he was kind of excited. "I'll go get you some breakfast." A lot of breakfast.

"Wait, Sammy - "

Adam Milligan had first come to them as a runaway. Mother dead, no place to go, he'd gone looking for his biological father, who happened to also be theirs, and found the two of them instead. He hadn't initially wanted to intrude. He hadn't been all that comfortable with their relationship, either. But with plenty of wheedling, and cajoling, the tiny, underfed kid who was pretty much nothing but eyes and ribs and collarbones had reluctantly agreed to stay. Just for a month. Maybe two. Long enough to find a job and get on his feet.

That was four years ago, now.

Sam was a part-time lecturer at the local college and a personal trainer. Dean worked back of house at a local high-end restaurant, and had the hefty gut to prove how much he enjoyed his own (excellent) cooking. Four years ago, they had absolutely towered over their little half-brother. Even if he'd been taller than both of them, they would have entirely dwarfed him.

That wasn't exactly the case anymore.

They had a very comfortable couch in the living room, not that big but not that small either, secondhand, much beloved. Adam took up two of the three cushions now, and was steadily inching onto the third, better-fed by the day. Sitting, his plush thighs spread in order to accommodate his perpetually-bloated gut, with the round little tits perched on top of it his shirts only barely seemed to contain. Love handles, double chins...he had it all.

Right now, he sat stuffed to the gills and snoring gently to himself, belching, occasionally hiccupping. It was loud in the living room, but it wasn't his mouth making the noise; it was his churning, gurgling belly, full of gas and rich, heavy food. In need of a belly rub, indeed.

It had started with Dean's cooking, and a lack of activity. Sam needed hours at the gym to burn off what he ate. Adam was young, had a fast metabolism, but after a month, he was looking at a little muffin top that could've been water weight. After two, it wasn't water weight anymore. Then there had been the snacking, including at night, the doubling and tripling of his portions, the extra desserts, the introduction of the belly rubs, the fact the kid asked for everything because he was as natural a glutton as could be, and...well. Miracle he only weighed six hundred by now, really.