The first time Adam had come to live with the winchesters he had been a skinny little thing, all skin and bones. A lot’s changed since then.
"How's he doing?" Dean asked, glancing toward Sam as he stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind him.
"Uh, dead to the world," Sam answered. "I don't think we're getting him back 'til morning, he crashed out pretty hard."
"Well, no wonder, with how much he ate tonight." Dean had been washing dishes. He turned the water off, dried his hands as he turned to face his brother. "He at least finish off the brownies before he went down for the count?"
"Ooh, yeah." Sam nodded, then gestured to the door. "He's probably gonna need a belly rub. If you wanna...?"
"You seriously gotta ask?" Dishtowel tossed over his shoulder, Dean threw a wounded look at Sam as he passed him, who smirked.
"You're right. My bad."
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.
"Shit, Sammy." Taking a seat on the coffee table in front of Adam so he could tend to that much-abused stomach, Dean sighed dramatically. "Think our kid might be getting kinda fat."
