I'm a bad person, since this is the first thing I thought of after watching "Just My Imagination."

Well, that's a lie. First I thought about how heartbreaking it was that Dean's hostility towards Sully stemmed from the fact that he was jealous of him - of his relationship with Sam.

Anyway, have some fluffy Wincest stuffing.

(And before anyone starts bitching, yes, there will be a sequel. Eventually.)

When Sam had brought it up, he'd just meant for it to be something fun and kind of stupid. Something Dean would probably laugh at, but might not be interested in following through on. Something to take both of their minds off the gory, traumatic case that they'd just worked - and the fact that God or whoever was clearly telling Sam that he needed to back to the Cage. Back to Lucifer.

"Y'know, when I was little, I wanted to be able to eat ten waffles in one sitting. I bet I'm big enough to do it now - don't you think?"

Dean had glanced at him in the darkness of the car, and the glow of the headlights had been just enough for Sam to see the spark of excitement in his eyes. It surprised him - he couldn't imagine why Dean would be so interested in him eating ten waffles. Maybe because he finally wanted to eat junk food? Dean had a long and illustrious relationship with waffles and everything like them, and seemed almost offended by Sam's efforts to maintain a healthy diet.

"Oh, yeah. Definitely. We can do that, Sammy."

The rest of the car ride was silent, for the most part, so by the time they'd gotten back to the bunker and Sam had collapsed into bed, he'd forgotten all about Dean's reaction. It came rushing back to him the morning after, though. He stumbled down the hallway towards the kitchen, his phone's annoying alarm still ringing in his ears and coffee the only thing on his mind. A lot like yesterday, actually - and the day before that, and the day before that. Shuffling through the bunker like a wild-haired zombie was just his normal morning routine.

The scent of fresh, warm waffles registered once he got close enough to the kitchen. Sam's half-closed eyes opened wide, and he remembered. This had to be about that.

All the lights in the kitchen were on, forcing Sam to squint again when he walked into it. The table had already been cleared of all the candy and chips and things that Sully had left behind, which was a relief, because Sam had really thought that Dean would make him take care of it. A pot of coffee was percolating on one of the counters. Sam forced down his first instinct, which was to make a beeline for it, and glanced at the waffle iron sitting next to it. It looked like it was from the fifties (at least) and the light was on.

The squeak of boot soles on the linoleum drew his attention. Dean, showered and dressed, walked toward him, wiping his hands on a dishrag. He smiled brightly at him, but Sam was still too out of it to return it. Dean didn't seem surprised, but, then again, he'd been dealing with Sam's morning allergy for thirty-two years.

"Morning, Sammy," he said cheerfully, tossing the rag aside. Sam blinked and struggled to get his brain in gear.

"Uh, morning..." he managed, then glanced back at the waffle iron. "You're making breakfast?"

"Yeah. For you." Dean put his hands on the table and leaned on them, fixing Sam with an intense green gaze that sent an unidentifiable feeling shivering through him. "We're doing this."

"Doing what?" Sam asked blankly, his mouth moving before he got the chance to make the obvious connection.

"The waffle thing." Dean straightened up. "Y'know. You mentioned it last night? When you were nine, you wanted to eat ten waffles. So I'm gonna make you ten waffles this morning, and you're gonna eat 'em." He smiled again, spreading his hands. "One childhood dream, coming right up."

"Oh." Sam licked his lips and swallowed. "So...right now?"

A small chuckle escaped Dean. "Right. Let's shake those cobwebs of yours off first, shall we?" He pulled the nearest chair out, and Sam immediately sank into it, just glad to be off his feet. "Not sure why it's so easy to forget that you really ain't a morning person."

"Well, I'm not, but I can function," Sam protested, looking up at Dean. "I've been waking up early since...uh..."

"Dad stopped letting you sleep past five-thirtyish when you were around ten." Dean walked away from the table. "Relax, Sam. Just let me get some caffeine in you, then we can talk."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but all of a sudden, there was a cup of coffee with what appeared to be a liberal amount of creamer in it sitting in front of him. Dean didn't have any sort of demonic speed (anymore), so he must have nodded off for a second. Great; that really helped his argument.

Sam surrendered and picked up the coffee as Dean sat down across from him. He sipped cautiously at it, then took a small mouthful once he realized that it wasn't quite hot enough to raise blisters along his tongue. It was good, but then again, Dean making him coffee the way he liked it went hand-in-hand with Dean dealing with him in the morning.

"All right." Sam lowered the cup back onto the chipped saucer that it had come with and looked at Dean, who had folded his hands on the table and was watching him expectantly. "So...you're gonna feed me ten waffles this morning because that's what I wanted when I was nine years old."

He saw Dean's Adam's apple bob in a hard swallow. Almost like he was nervous or something. "Yep. Sounds about right." He smiled, and it didn't look nervous at all. "Figured it might be kinda fun. And we need all the 'fun' we can get right now, what with all the awful shit we're having to deal with."

Sam nodded. That'd been his reasoning behind bringing the waffle thing up in the first place.

"I was gonna hold off until we could go into town and get an actual waffle maker...'cause, y'know, you can't really make waffles without one." Dean smirked a little as he spoke. Sam had never really thought about how you made waffles, but he supposed that his brother was right. Dean was the one with a cooking fetish, not him. "But then I was going through the cabinets this morning looking for a spare coffee pot, and I found that." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the waffle iron that was sitting on the counter and producing a scent that, now that Sam was awake, was starting to make him hungry. "Don't worry, I cleaned it really good. No idea how old it is, but when I plugged it in, it still worked like a charm. And we had all the stuff we needed to make a shitload of batter, so I figured that this was as good a time as any to do this."

Sam had been nursing his coffee (which was really, really good - better than when he made it, unfortunately) all the way through Dean's explanation, and now the cup was empty and he was feeling much more alert. Either the caffeine had hit his bloodstream in record time or coffee was mostly just a placebo for him. He suspected the latter.

The waffle that Dean was cooking smelled great and Sam was starving. It was tempting to just nod, smile, and ask for breakfast - he didn't plan on actually trying to eat ten waffles, but it'd be excellent anyway. Now that all his neurons were firing correctly, though, something had occurred to him, and he had to ask questions.

"Are you doing this for me 'cause you were jealous of Sully?" Sam asked evenly, leveling the cool stare he used for interrogating witnesses at Dean as he moved his cup and saucer out of the way.

"What?" Dean looked genuinely surprised. If jealousy was his motivation, then it was unconscious. "Of course not. Why the hell would I be jealous of that fr - why would I be jealous of him?"

Sam held back a laugh - it was too early in the morning to piss Dean off. "Uh...maybe because you feel like he stole your thunder. I mean, you thought that you were my best friend when I was a kid, and, yeah, we were pretty close." That was one hell of an understatement, but Sam glossed over it for now. "But Sully was around way more than you were. When I was nine, at least."

"I'm not jealous," Dean repeated stubbornly. "I thanked him for helping you out like that. I defended him from that crazy bitch who wanted to gut him. That was only yesterday, so you should really remember it."

"I'm not saying you're not grateful," Sam assured. Dean's expression was hardening into something stony blank, which was almost always a sign of trouble. "Or that I don't appreciate what you did last night. But you have to admit, you sure acted jealous during that case."

"How so?" Dean asked, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. Sam sighed. He got the feeling that his brother thought he enjoyed or at least didn't mind the conflict that always sprang up between them when he pointed out the laws in their relationship or in Dean himself, but the truth was that it ate at him like naga venom. It was way too early in the morning for this conversation, which he knew would be a doozy.

"Forget about it," Sam decided. "Look, I'm sorry I brought it up." He honestly was. Him and his big mouth. "Let's just...eat some waffles, okay?"

Dean drummed his fingers on the table, a habit that wasn't very common for him. It looked like he was halfway between pressing the issue and just letting it blow over. Sam raised his eyebrows, hoping to silently sway him towards the latter. Eventually, Dean let out a deep breath and, with a clear, honest, and regretful expression on his face, made eye contact again.

"Maybe it is about that," he admitted brusquely. "Just a little bit. It's definitely not jealousy, though."

"Okay," Sam said. It was morning and his brain was still a tiny bit foggy, even after the coffee, but he could still read Dean well enough to know that he didn't need to say much right now to keep him talking.

"I guess I just - I feel bad," Dean said. "You're right. Sully was...was weird, and childish, and not even human, but he was there for you more than I was. A lot more. And it shouldn't've been like that."

"But you know that I get it, right?" Sam asked. "You were with Dad. You didn't have much of a choice."

"Still," Dean replied forcefully. "I'm your big brother. You needed someone - you needed me, and I was too dumb to notice it. You were so damn lonely you drew one of those zanna things to you, and if that doesn't say something about how bad I was neglecting you back then, I don't know what does."

"You're not dumb," Sam said. It was the only thing he could think of.

They sat in silence after that, an Sam let it drag on, thinking that Dean would eventually break it. But he seemed to be lost in his own little world, staring at nothing and chewing on one of his full lips. Realizing it was up to him, Sam cleared his throat to get Dean's attention.

"So this is your way of saying sorry," he guessed. "With waffles."

"Don't know if you noticed or not, Sammy, but I ain't exactly a flowers and chocolates kinda guy," Dean said, shrugging.

Sam laughed. He pushed his coffee cup and saucer across the table towards Dean, smiling. "Well, then. Top me off and let's eat some waffles."

Dean grinned and took the cup. A few minutes later, he slid it - once again full of the perfect mixture of coffee, cream, and sugar - back to him, along with a plate. There was only one waffle on the plate, but it looked so amazing that the thought of complaining didn't even cross Sam's mind. It was fluffy and well-shaped, golden and crispy on the top and a soft white towards the middle Syrup soaked it, but not so much that it was going to ruin it, and a slowly-melting pat of butter floated on top. It could've come right out of a commercial.

"Wow," Sam said blankly, staring down at the waffle as Dean set a fork next to the plate. He was momentarily lost for words.

"Looks good, huh?" Dean's voice was smug as he sat down again, a plate and fork of his own in one of his hands. "Thought for sure I'd burn the first one, since it's not like I've got a whole lot of experience making waffles. But I guess I've got a knack for it."

"I'll say," Sam agreed. Usually, he tried to avoid stroking Dean's ego when he wasn't wallowing in self-loathing, but he'd earned the right to preen a little here. This was the best waffle Sam had ever seen.

He picked up his fork, cut off one of the corner squares of the grid, and just savored the sweet, steamy smell for a second. He hoped he wasn't drooling too noticeably. Dean did make breakfast sometimes, but he was unpredictable, and this was a cut above his usual (very good) fare. Sam couldn't even bring himself to care about how many calories were in this thing, or the gluten, or how bad the butter would be for his heart. They both deserved to indulge.

He lifted the forkful to his mouth, and it tasted just as great as it looked and smelled. "Oh, wow," Sam mumbled around the bite of waffle. "That's really good."

Dean grinned. Sam wasn't looking directly at him, focusing more on the waffle, but it was hard to miss the way he rolled his shoulders back and puffed his chest out, obviously proud. It made Sam feel good, knowing that Dean enjoyed this so much.

"Good," he said, nodding. "Glad you like it, Sammy." He looked down at his own waffle and started sawing into it. He spoke casually before putting a piece in his mouth. "So...better than that stuff Sully made you?"

Sam stopped chewing for a second and looked up warily, but Dean was grinning again, so he just smiled back and swallowed his mouthful before replying.

"Yeah. Of course - much better."

The waffle was so good that Sam didn't say anything after that - just ate. Dean didn't seem too interested in starting up a conversation, either. Once Sam had finished (in record time, but still after Dean), Dean took his empty plate. Sam mumbled a thank-you and reached for his cup of coffee, wondering whether or not to mention that he was still hungry. He didn't eat like Dean did, but he still stood at six-four and weighed in at just shy of two hundred pounds, so he needed more than one waffle to fill him up. He didn't end up having to ask for a second one, though, because Dean gave his plate back to him, full again, before he'd had time to take more than a few sips.

"Ah, you read my mind," Sam blurted, reaching for his fork. Dean chuckled.

"Well, I try," he said with a modest shrug, sitting down to his own second waffle.

This one was just as incredible as the first, Sam was happy to realize as he started in on it. It was cooked to perfection again, it had the same excellent ratio of butter and syrup, and it was piping hot and fresh. Dean might actually be better at cooking than he was at hunting or working on cars - which, of course, was seriously saying something. The third waffle that he gave him when he was finished with the second was pushing it, but they were so good, so Sam decided he could make room. He could always opt for a light lunch today. The fourth one that Dean set in front of him, though...he was sure that there was no way he could eat it without making himself sick, so he sat back in his chair and eyed it skeptically.

It was different from the first three. There was whipped cream on top instead of syrup, and two glistening maraschino cherries on top of the whipped cream instead of butter. It was probably to compliment the chocolate chips that Dean seemed to have put into the batter this time.

It was the kind of thing that he would have loved when he was nine. Actually, he'd probably love it now, too, even with all the sugar that was in it. Dean just had that much of a talent for cooking. He was sure that the chocolate chips would be gooey and sweet, melted by the hot, fluffy waffle around them and contrasting nicely with it...his mouth started to water just thinking about it.

Too bad he'd already had his fill. Dean might be the kind of guy who'd eat past the point of comfort just because it tasted good, but Sam had never been able to do that.

"Sorry, Dean," Sam said, reaching out and nudging the plate (pleasantly warm, damn it) away from himself. He really was. "I think I'm full."

"Already?" Dean asked with a frown. He'd apparently finished eating after three waffles, since he'd put his plate and fork in one of the industrial-sized sinks. Now, he was standing over by the waffle iron with a big stainless-steel bowl of batter and a wooden spoon.

Sam laughed, since he had to be joking. "Yeah, already. I just ate three waffles, and they were...fantastic," he said, shaking his head. "But I can't fit another one in. Sorry." He took a quick gulp of his coffee, which had gone lukewarm, to finish it off, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He made to stand up, but stopped when Dean let go of the spoon and walked over to him.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Three. So you've still got seven to go." When Sam just looked up at him, confused, he raised his eyebrows. "Weren't you gonna try and eat ten?"

"Well..." Right. That was what had started this whole thing. Sam had never honestly thought that he could eat ten full-sized waffles in one sitting, though. Not even with how much bigger he was now than he'd been when he was nine. He didn't push his limits every time he ate, so his stomach just didn't have the capacity.

"C'mon," Dean pressed. "Isn't there still a little nine-year-old Sammy in there, just wondering if you can do it?"

"I...don't know. Maybe," Sam said doubtfully. He'd always been pretty sure that his inner child had withered away before he even hit puberty.

"Look. The key word here is 'try.'" Dean leaned a hip against the table. "If you start feeling sick or your stomach starts hurting, you can stop. You can even take a swing at me if you want, for making you do this." He smiled. After a second's hesitation, Sam returned it. "But until then..." He slid Sam's plate back to him. "...let's see how many you can fit."

Sam thought about it as he picked up his fork again and slowly turned it in his fingers. It wasn't like this was without precedent, since Dean challenged him to eating contests all the time - or had back when they were younger, at least. Sure, maybe pushing him to eat ten waffles was a little weird. But none of Sam's alarms were going off, and he'd liked to think that he'd honed his instincts to a pretty fine point over the years. This was his brother, he hadn't been possessed or replaced by a shapeshifter, and he just wanted the two of them to do something stupid together. Sam could get behind that.

Besides. When was the last time he'd consciously overindulged in something that tasted so great?

Sam took his first bite of the chocolate chip waffle, and it was every bit as delicious as he'd known it would be. He thought he might even like the whipped cream as a topping better than he did the syrup. It was heavy, thick, and creamy-sweet, making him suspect that Dean had chosen to whip it himself rather than just spraying it out of a can. The cherries were kind of gross, but literally everything else was fantastic.

The feeling of fullness, which got a little more intense with every warm bite that Sam swallowed, was kind of enjoyable. It made him feel heavy, solid, content. Maybe a little sleepy, too, but he was planning on holding off on any napping until after he'd hit his limits. Or until after Dean was satisfied that he'd hit his limits.

For now, Sam didn't really want to stop. That was why he didn't object to the fifth waffle that Dean gave him, after he'd finished off the chocolate chips and whipped cream. This one tasted like it'd been made with peanut butter, and with the first bite, it brought back about a hundred memories of the peanut butter sandwiches that Dean had used to make him for lunch and snacks back when he was in grade school. That, of course, just made it taste better.

Sam got his first pang of discomfort only after he'd eaten the last bite of the peanut butter waffle, which surprised him. He must have had more room left than he'd thought. He leaned back in his chair with a groan as Dean picked up his empty plate yet again, and the movement forced a burp out of him. It sounded pretty loud, and he almost clapped a hand to his mouth in shock, but Dean didn't even seem to have noticed, so he let it go.

"Halfway there," Dean said, shooting an encouraging smile over his shoulder as he set Sam's plate down in front of the iron, which was no doubt cooking up waffle number six.

"Gimme a second," Sam replied, a slight huff to his voice. Not because he was irritated, though; he hoped Dean didn't take it that way. Because he was fuller than he'd been in a while and he wasn't used to it. "I need a breather."

Sam moved his hands down to his stomach, probing. It felt a little swollen, and there was a definite curve there, one that he could cup his palms over. It was small, though. His sweatpants and boxers felt tight, but that was only in comparison to how they usually felt - the elastic of the waistbands wasn't stretched at all. They were just touching him instead of hanging loosely off his hipbones.

He definitely wasn't in any pain, though. In fact, as he rubbed his full belly with one hand (prompting another, softer burp), it felt like he had plenty of room to expand.

"Just tell me when you're ready," Dean said. He'd popped the waffle iron open, probably so that it wouldn't burn what was inside, and the smell of warm blueberries reached Sam a second after he noticed it. His mouth instantly filled with saliva.

"I think I'm ready now," he replied. "That smells really good."

Dean shot him a grin and transferred the waffle to his plate. Sam watched, interested, as he drizzled syrup and melted butter over it with deft movements, then topped it with a spoonful of preserved blueberries that he'd scooped from a can. "Hope it lives up to your expectations."

It did. While Sam preferred vegetables, he'd always had a soft spot for fruit, and he ate every bite of the waffle. His stomach swelled a little more every time he swallowed, pushing outwards against the clothes he wore as pajamas. He really liked the canned blueberries, even though he suspected that their intended purpose had been to be used in a pie. He made a mental note to buy fresh blueberries the next time they did this, and maybe some other fruit, too, so Dean could use those instead.

Dean had a new waffle ready for him even before he'd finished the blueberry one. This one had white chocolate chips in it. When he was done with it, Sam had to take another break. He leaned back in his chair again, panting softly because it felt like his stomach was pressing up against the bottoms of his lungs. Which it might very well be; by his standards, he was stuffed beyond capacity. He still wasn't hurting, though.

Sam hooked his wrists over the back of his chair and looked down at himself. He could see his belly, the bulge of it obvious under his shirt. It was a weird feeling for him, seeing something like that - thought he was sure it was normal. There were seven waffles in there, after all.

"So how're you feeling?" Dean asked, walking over to Sam. His empty plate was sitting in front of the waffle iron and its red light was on - Dean must have just poured a new batch of batter in there. Sam wondered what he'd added to it this time.

He opened his mouth to reply, but a burp popped out instead of words. Dean smirked a little, but didn't comment. Sam blushed anyway.

"Full," he decided, once he'd gotten over his embarrassment. "Really full. But I don't have a stomachache or anything - I don't even feel sick."

"It's probably 'cause you're so big," Dean responded. "You've got room to stretch out. Your body can take it."

He was close enough now to lay a hand on the upper curve of Sam's stomach, and that was what he did. Sam could feel the warmth of him even through the fabric of his loose T-shirt. His touch sent a weird, tingly frisson racing up his spine. He must be extra-sensitive because he was so full. Dean rubbed a little, pressing down, and, predictably, Sam burped again. He managed to stifle it this time, though. He laughed and pushed Dean's hand away. "What're you doing?"

"Doesn't feel tight at all," Dean replied. That wasn't really an answer, but Sam let it go. "Think you could finish? You've only got three to go."

"Yeah, probably," Sam replied after briefly thinking about it, nodding. "I'd like to try, at least. This is gonna sound weird, but..." He laughed again, feeling self-conscious. "...this kinda feels good."

If Sam hadn't been looking directly at Dean, he wouldn't have caught it. But he was, so he saw the spark in his eyes. The same one that he'd seen last night, when he first brought this up.

"Really?" Dean asked. Sam nodded, and he smiled. "Well...great. Let's get you started on your next one, then."

Dean really went all-out on the eighth waffle, which had pieces of Oreo in it. He covered it in whipped cream, drizzled chocolate syrup over it, and topped it with a tower of whole cookies. It was the kind of thing that, normally, Sam would have balked at and refused to eat. Right now, however, he set to work devouring it without a word.

Dean sat across from him, watching him intently as he worked his way through the Oreo monstrosity, and about halfway in was when Sam realized that this had something to do with sex.

Their relationship had always been innately sexual, and Sam knew it. You couldn't grow up as close as they had, go through puberty together, without something like that developing. But they'd never slept with each other. They'd never kissed. They'd never even acknowledged that there was an incestuous mutual attraction between the two of them. Sam assumed that Dean was too afraid to bring it up, and he was afraid, too - of being labeled even more abnormal as he already was. Of being rejected.

But watching him gorge himself was clearly turning Dean on. Sam had always thought of him as fairly vanilla, but hey, the guy was in love with his little brother. He could easily have other weird fetishes. The idea of that, of finally getting physically intimate with Dean, excited Sam, and he knew right then that he was going to play along and put on a show. Besides. This felt pretty good to him, too.

Sam ate the Oreos. He lapped the leftover whipped cream and chocolate sauce off of his plate. Then he leaned back in his chair with a loud groan, dropping both hands to his stomach and massaging. It shocked him how big it felt, and he had to look down, his act slipping for a second and genuine surprise showing through. He was immensely bloated, forcing the hem of his T-shirt up and the waistband of his sweatpants down. A strip of tan skin was visible there, along with a neat trail of dark hair and a flat mole. He dug the heels of his hands into it, releasing a wave of shuddering pleasure and a belch. He didn't make any effort to hide it this time.

Dean stood up and came around to his side of the table. This time, Sam spotted the obvious tent in his jeans and wondered how he'd missed it before. Dean picked up the empty plate, then set it down again and stroked his hair with clear concern. "Hey. You doin' okay?"

"I'm just really - " Sam grunted and shifted himself. He was shocked again by how much effort it took. He weighed much more than usual right now, and all the waffles sloshed heavily inside of him. For a second, he was afraid. This wasn't healthy. What if he gained weight from it? He'd have to work it off, or he couldn't hunt. But then the excitement came back, and he decided he'd worry about that if and when it happened. " - full. I'm really, really full." He looked up at Dean, eyes wide, and let himself start panting again. "'S hard for me to move. I can't believe how much I ate."

Sam had been going by instinct, feeling his way along in the dark, because this was completely new to him. Dean's reaction, though, told him all he needed to know about whether or not his dirty talk was any good. He caught the shiver in Dean's thighs, the way his eyes got a little wider. The deep breath he sucked in all of a sudden - probably to try and calm himself down. Sam wasn't sure if he noticed all that because he was watching for it, or just because he knew Dean so well.

"Aw, c'mon," Dean replied, his voice still gentle and only a little of his arousal making it through. He was still stroking Sam's hair, too, but the contact felt more sensual now. Or maybe that was just Sam's imagination. "It wasn't that much, if you think about how big you are. This'll be an appetizer if you ate like you're probably supposed to."

"Oh. I really doubt that." Sam winced, mostly for effect. It made his head move, and Dean abruptly stopped stroking his hair, like he'd just barely realized he was still doing it. Sam tried not to look to disappointed.

"Anything I can do for you?" Dean asked, spreading his hands. "Or d'you just wanna be done with this?"

Sam immediately shook his head, which he could tell was what Dean had wanted him to do. He offered a half-smile and ran his hand down over the swell of his stomach, cupping it at the very top of the curve. Dean's eyes, the color of fresh dollar bills in this light, openly tracked the movement.

"I'm full," Sam repeated, making Dean's attention return to his face with a near-audible snap, "but I'm still feeling mostly okay, otherwise. I'd like to keep going - I mean, I'm so close." He paused to burp. "I'd like to try, at least."

"That's all I want you to do," Dean replied, spinning on his heel while he was still talking and hurrying back over to the waffle iron with long strides. Sam couldn't keep a full smile from forcing the corners of his mouth up. Even feeling uncomfortably like a beached whale, he was having fun.

Sam closed his eyes for a second, to gather his strength and take a few deep breaths to prepare himself. He thought it was just for a second, at least. But when he opened his eyes again, Dean had already thrown together his second-to-last waffle and put it in front of him. Sam just looked at it for a little while, examining it and wondering how he was going to fit it inside him.

It was kind of like the last one, in that Dean had totally gone all-out. He'd draped a pile of whipped cream over it, so big that Sam could barely see the waffle underneath. The whipped cream had been drizzled heavily with chocolate syrup and caramel. Crushed nuts (which had probably come from a can, like the blueberries had) had been sprinkled over the top. Sam glanced at Dean, who was standing next to him, his whole posture radiating expectance. There was a dollop of slowly-drying waffle batter on his shirt and he ha his hands folded behind his back.

"Is that a turtle waffle?" Sam asked. Dean nodded, grinning. Sam looked back down at it. "That's disgusting."

"Just give it a try." One of Dean's hands came out from behind his back and he made an encouraging little gesture towards the waffle. "If you don't like it, I'll make you something else."

"Okay." Sam could live with that. Grunting with the effort, he shifted his bloated bulk forward and once again picked up his fork. The underside of his belly brushed against his thighs, and the sensation was so weird it made him shiver slightly. He'd never been overweight. Even when he was sorta pudgy as a little kid, he hadn't had anything resembling a gut. So he'd never had his stomach rest on his lap.

And it wasn't now, even. It was just touching. But if he kept eating like this, it'd go past that stage in no time. Not just eating right now, either, to stretch his belly out, make it heavier. If Dean made a breakfast like this for him every morning, and then a lunch and dinner to match...yeah, he'd put on weight. Fast, too. Even when he was younger, he'd had a slow metabolism, and now that he was in his thirties, he was sure that it'd gotten a lot worse. It was part of the reason he stayed so active, jogging and lifting weights even when they weren't looking for a hunt that he'd have to get ready for.

This was still a one-time thing, though. For now. So Sam should be focusing on eating instead of thinking about how easy it would be to get fat - or how it would feel. He dug into the insanely-rich waffle that Dean had made and pulled a piece of it out. Melted chocolate dripped out, and strings of warm caramel stretched behind it as he lifted it up to his lips. It looked good, if overloaded with sugar, and it smelled great, too. Very sweet. He put it in his mouth and started chewing, and knew that he wouldn't have to have Dean make a replacement for him. This turtle thing was better than he expected. It really tasted more like a candy bar than a waffle, but it wasn't sickeningly sweet. The nut pieces in it offset the chocolate and caramel.

Sam wasn't really aware of eating until the pain started. He was just enjoying the flavor, not paying attention to the mechanics of chewing and cutting the waffle up with his fork. He swallowed a mouthful (he wasn't sure what number it was), then winced and grunted when a cramp suddenly cropped up on the right side of his stomach. He opened his eyes, saw that he'd eaten a little over half of his ninth waffle, and dropped his fork. He pressed the heel of his hand to the cramp and tried to rub it out, but his stomach was so tender anyway that that he was having a hard time.

"What's wrong?" Dean hadn't moved much while Sam was eating, but now he leaned forward. The concern was back.

"Stomachache," Sam grunted, then burped. He'd hoped that that would relieve the pain, but if anything, it seemed to make it worse.

"Okay. I've gotcha." Dean knelt next to Sam's chair and nudged his hand out of the way, then took the hem of his T-shirt and rolled it up over his stomach. He tugged his sweatpants down, too, so that Sam was completely uncovered. Sam shifted, uncomfortable in more ways than one, and burped again because of the movement. "Whoa. You're gettin' pretty big down here, Sam."

"Eight waffles," Sam reminded him, then groaned as the cramp spasmed. Another one blossomed a few inches away from the first. "Eight and a half."

"Just relax," Dean instructed him, before laying both hands on the bare skin of Sam's belly. His hands were hot and dry, and his pulse was thundering in his palms,galloping like a racehorse because he was excited. Or maybe that was Sam's own pulse that he was feeling. "I'm gonna take care of you. You'll be okay."

Sam definitely hoped so. He cringed when Dean started probing, but his fingers were gentle and he didn't make it hurt any worse than it already did. After a few seconds, he started rubbing giving Sam's over-full stomach a light massage. It didn't do much good at first, but soon, the cramping started letting up. Sam sighed in relief and let his eyes flutter closed.

"That feel good?" Dean murmured after a while.

"Uh-huh," Sam replied drowsily. He'd been close to drifting off.

"Then d'you think you can keep eating?" Dean asked, and Sam could hear his excitement. "I mean, like you said: you're so close."

Sam nodded, slowly. "Yeah. I can give it a shot." If he hadn't known that him stuffing himself with waffles was making Dean horny, he would've begged off and had his brother help him back to bed (because he wasn't sure how well he could walk right now). But this was the first opportunity that he could remember to finally end the unspoken sexual tension between Dean and himself, and he wasn't going to let go of it unless he absolutely had to.

Dean grinned and patted Sam's belly. "Attaboy."

Sam reached for his fork and started eating again. With Dean's hands on his stomach, kneading and rolling, he was able to finish the entire waffle. It didn't taste as good to him as it had before, though.

"One more," Dean encouraged with a smile, standing up as Sam dropped his fork onto his empty plate with a clatter.

"Home stretch," Sam agreed, breathless. He just couldn't believe how full he was. He could barely think straight, barely keep his eyes open - he wanted to sleep. No, more than that, he wwanted to hibernate. He wanted Dean in bed with him, but he wasn't even sure that he was aroused anymore. No, actually, he was; he could feel his erection pressing against his stomach.

"You can do this." There was a new waffle in front of him. When had that happened? "C'mon, Sammy." Dean's hands dropped onto his shoulders and started to rub encouragingly. "Just one more."

"Okay." Sam started to straighten up so he could eat, but a sound popped out of him, startling him. It wasn't a burp. It took him a second to realize that he'd hiccuped.

He looked at the waffle, but didn't grab his fork just yet. Just like all the others before it, he wanted to know what it was made of, what its toppings were, and what the best plan of attack would be. As soon as what he was looking at actually registered, Sam smirked a little. Even with enough packed into him to feed three or four men his size, he couldn't help feeling like this waffle was kind of a letdown. After all the others, at least.

It was plain. As far as he could tell, there were no special ingredients - just ordinary batter. There was syrup on top of it, and a pat of half-melted butter. It looked exactly like the first few he'd eaten. He wasn't sure if he'd actually finished them hours ago, or if it just felt like that much time had passed.

"Back to the basics, huh?" Sam asked with a smile that he hoped didn't turn out too sleepy. He twisted his head to look at Dean, who smiled back. He'd grabbed a chair and pulled it up so that he was sitting next to Sam, facing him.

"Yep," Dean agreed, nodding. "Figured it wouldn't hurt you to end on an easy note." He smiled again and patted the dome of Sam's stomach with a tenderness that he rarely saw from him. "Of course, if you want, like, one with ice cream in it - "

"No," Sam interrupted. He looked back at the waffle. The tenth waffle. His last waffle. God, he hoped that he could handle it - and that Dean would reward him if he could. "No. This one's just fine, trust me."

He picked up his fork, and it felt heavy and awkward in his hand. He was still able to cut off a neat corner of the waffle, though, and spear it, and bring it to his mouth. Sam could feel Dean petting his belly as he chewed and then swallowed, the gesture loving and unmistakably sensual, and that gave him the strength to go past the first bite.

He didn't make it very far, though. After a few pieces, he hiccuped again, and it made him hurt. Sam dropped his fork with a groan. He was too full. If he ate any more, he'd throw up, even though he still didn't feel nauseous at all. Panting heavily and struggling not to let another hiccup out, Sam looked at Dean again and weakly shook his head.

"I can't do it," he wheezed. "I'm sorry. I just can't. I have to stop."

"I'm not surprised," replied Dean, who didn't look nearly as disappointed as Sam had expected him to. He was still affectionately rubbing his stomach. "I mean, you're full as a tick." One hand came up and stroked Sam's sleep-messy hair, brushing it away from his eyes. "You did real good, Sammy - better'n I thought you would, definitely." Sam basked in the praise and waited, hopeful, for Dean to kiss him and end everything. He didn't. Jerk. "I really do think you can finish that last waffle, though."

"Deeean..." Sam turned away, groaning, and closed his eyes. His act was entirely gone now. He hadn't whined out his older brother's name in years, and he wasn't doing it for Dean's benefit now. He'd given it his all, every drop of strength was gone, and the only thing he wanted to do now was rest. Not even the promise of finally having sex with Dean could get him to keep going - not least of all because he didn't think he could physically manage sex right now. "I can't do this. I've gotta stop."

"C'mon, baby, don't be like that," Dean replied, a reading note in his voice. He still had both hands on Sam and was stroking and petting like he was trying to reassure him, or calm him down. "You're so close. Ten waffles - you've wanted to do this for twenty years. You said. And you don't even have a whole waffle left to go."

"I can't do it," Sam whispered, feeling like those twenty-odd years had never happened and he was nine again. Young. Weak. Desperate for Dean to notice him the way he wanted to be noticed.

"Yeah, you can. You're strong, this ain't a big deal for you," Dean argued. The fingers of his one hand were tangled in Sam's hair now, but it felt good. "Here. Lemme help you, okay?"

Sam opened his eyes and frowned, watching Dean move his other hand off of his stomach and pick up his fork. The frown turned into a grimace when he realised that he was going to feed him - but he didn't protest or try to move away. Maybe he'd be able to do it, and that would finally break down the invisible barrier between them, even though he'd been disappointed so far.

He opened his mouth obediently when Dean brought the first bite up to it, letting him put the chunk of waffle in. He couldn't remember the last time that Dean had fed him; probably when he was still so young he couldn't handle solid foods. As soon as he'd finished chewing and had swallowed, Dean offered him another bite, then another. Sam ate steadily while Dean stroked his hair, and his eyes drifted closed yet again.

They got into a rhythm. Sam ate, took deep breaths, and leaned back into Dean's hand because it felt good to have his fingernails scraping across his scalp. Dean fed him, and whenever he started squirming and complaining because the cramps were back, Dean put the fork down and used that hand to rub Sam's belly.

"Can't believe how good you are at this," Sam mumbled during one of those times. Dean just chuckled softly.

After what felt like another couple of hours had inched past, Sam opened his mouth and, for the first time, Dean didn't put anything in it. Sam waited patiently, but nothing touched his tongue; he just heard Dean laughing softly again. Finally, he closed his mouth and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was his fork, sitting on a plate that was completely empty save for a puddle of syrup. There weren't even any crumbs left.

"Oh," Sam mumbled. If he'd been a little less full, he might have blushed, but as it was, he just wasn't all that embarrassed. Dean's laughter got a bit louder, though. "Hey." Sam looked at him. He was grinning and his eyes were shining. "Ten waffles." He hiccuped hard enough to make him jerk in his chair, and couldn't believe that it didn't bring his stomach cramps back. "I did it."

"Oh, hell, yeah," Dean agreed happily, bobbing his head in an enthusiastic nod. "You sure did. Ten waffles - plus all the crap I put on top of some of 'em." He put a hand on Sam's stomach and rubbed once again. It was rock-solid, didn't jiggle at all. Sam reacted to Dean's touch anyway, though - underneath his belly, his erection twitched. "I'm gonna be honest. I did not expect you to do this good."

"Neither did I," Sam replied with a snort. A soft one, so as not to trigger another hiccup. "I don't do things like this." Maybe there'd been one or two times before (when he was little, when he was in college) where he'd gorged himself. But never quite like this.

"If we ever see Sully again, you'll have to tell him," Dean pointed out casually as he glanced down at Sam's stomach. "That you managed the waffle thing, I mean. Ate ten of 'em and achieved your childhood dream."

Sam wasn't too full and sleepy to read between the lines of what Dean had just said, or to pick out the subtle smugness in his voice. He'd done something for Sam that Sully never had, so that made him better. Moved him up a space on the totem pole. Ensured that Sam wold love him more. It was childish, in a way, and predictable, but it was so Dean. Sam had figured out years and years ago that even if he wasn't the center of Dean's world, he provided almost all of the structural support for it.

But maybe there was something adult about it, too. Maybe Dean was smug because he'd coaxed Sam to indulge one of his kinks by going against one of the most basic aspects of his personality (healthy eating). He might feel like Sam was wholly his because of what they'd just done, and no part of him would ever belong to Sully again as a result. And maybe it was because he was about to start a sexual relationship with Sam, which was something that Sully had never had and never even wanted. As far as Sam knew.

He didn't think that his brother was capable of getting pleasure from something that dark, though. Especially since he didn't have the Mark of Cain poisoning his soul anymore. Sam was confident that Dean's triumph was of the childish sort.

"Of course, I guess you haven't made it yet," Dean continued, unexpectedly interrupting Sam's thoughts. "You've still gotta keep all this down." He traced a light circle on Sam's belly with his fingertips, indicating everything inside.

Sam concentrated and took stock of himself, but he still didn't feel sick, miraculously enough. The words that came to mind instead were full, bloated. Stuffed. Swollen. Things like that. He shook his head.

"I think I'm okay," he told Dean. "I'd better go lie down for a while, though."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I'd say that's a good idea." He rose to his feet with a sharp exhale - but didn't take his hand off of Sam's stomach. Sam was fine with that. "Need help?"

When Sam nodded, he could've sworn that something in Dean's face jumped with excitement, and he filed that reaction away for later use. He grunted when Dean hooked both hands under his armpit, then had to put his own on the table for balance when he forced him up onto his feet. The contents of his huge stomach shifted all of a sudden, making for a very weird sensation. Sam wasn't thinking about Dean at all when he put one hand on his belly, threw his head back, and moaned like an animal in heat in reaction. If he had, though, he probably wouldn't have done anything differently.

"Whoa. Jeez." Dean put a hot hand on Sam's shoulder. "You okay?"

Sam opened his eyes (he'd closed them when he moaned) and lowered his chin a little. His hair tumbled into his face as he thought his way around his body. His back was arched, because the weight of his stomach pulled it down. His legs were spread to support his new, heavier center of gravity. His ass was up and out because of those two things, boxers and sweatpants pulled tight across the hard curves of his glutes. He probably couldn't have put himself in a more provocative position if he tried. He really hoped Dean had noticed.

"Fine," he managed. At that, Dean put an arm around his shoulders and helped him slowly straighten up. Sam groaned under his breath and used both hands to support his belly.

"Then let's get you back to your bedroom," Dean replied, getting a better grip on him.

It was slow going. Sam shuffled across the floor, barefoot, at a pace that felt near-glacial. He knew that Dean had to be frustrated, and was grateful to him for not saying anything about it. In fact, he didn't say anything at all until they'd made it into the hallway that led to Sam's room. Then Dean laid his free hand on his belly, touching like he was carrying a baby in there instead of ten waffles, and smiled at him.

"Remember how you were so sure that you couldn't make it past three waffles?" he asked. Sam would've laughed, if he'd known for sure that it wouldn't hurt. As it was, he just returned Dean's smile and nodded.

"Yeah," he replied, and was surprised by how wheezy his voice sounded when it came out. The journey back to his bed must be taking a lot more out of him than he'd thought. "Guess I just didn't realize how much room I had left."

"That's 'cause you've never used it before." Dean let go of his stomach in order to open the door for him when they finally reached his room. Sam's knees were already weak, but they got weaker when he saw his bed. Queen-sized, firm spring mattress, pillows and sheets and a thick comforter that he'd picked out himself. He doubted he'd ever wanted to lie down so badly in his entire life.

Dean helped him cautiously sit on the edge of the mattress, then swing his legs up onto it. Sam ended up laying on his side, head on a pillow, knees bent and body curled protectively around his full belly. It was an instinctual position. He wasn't sure if the instinct was to keep anything from hitting what was currently the most sensitive part of his body, or if it was a misguided, vestigial mothering urge that he'd developed around the same time he'd grown nipples. That his body might actually think he was pregnant was both amusing and disturbing.

Sam yawned. God, he could barely keep his eyes open. But his lids were cracked just wide enough to see Dean turn around and take a few steps towards the door. Panic made his heart practically jump into his mouth.

"Where the hell're you going?" he blurted. Dean stopped and looked back at him.

"Wash the dishes?" he offered, raising an eyebrow. Sam tried to shake his head, but that was a hard thing to do when you were laying down.

"No," he said. "Stay with me. C'mon." He tried to shift to make room for Dean, then decided Dean had enough room. He might be big (especially right now), but it was still a queen-sized bed. "Please."

Dean frowned. Sam didn't like how hesitant he looked. "Are you still hurting?"

"Yes," Sam lied, since that seemed like a good way to get Dean to stay. He regretted it, though, when he saw the guilt that flickered across Dean's face.

"Okay." Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and put his right hand on Sam's stomach. When he started rubbing, just like he'd been doing earlier, Sam closed his eyes fully in pleasure. Even though he wasn't really cramping up, it still felt good. "I'm gonna stay until you drop off, okay? You need to sleep this off."

"...okay," Sam agreed reluctantly. Maybe this was a good thing. They could talk and do other, more athletic things when he was less sleepy and could actually move. But he had a bad feeling.

Dean sighed heavily, and Sam pictured him shaking his head. "I'm real sorry, Sammy." Looked like that feeling was justified, because that definitely didn't sound like the beginning to an admission of Dean's true feelings for him. "I got...carried away. Won't happen again, I promise."

Sam's eyes popped open, and he just barely managed not to look at Dean - he didn't want him to completely misread another one of his reactions. He could've screamed with frustration. They had been this close, and Dean was going to shy away because...why? He thought he'd made a mistake? He'd totally misjudged how Sam felt about him? Or maybe Sam was the one who'd misjudged. Maybe he was wrong about Dean secretly wanting to leap in bed with him.

No. Sam was good at reading his brother, and there was no way he could've interpreted the massive erection that Dean had been sporting at the breakfast table as anything but a sign of sexual attraction.

Speaking of which, couldn't Dean see his boner? Couldn't he see that Sam liked this and wanted to take it as far as it would go?

Apparently not. Sam swallowed a sigh as he let his eyes close again. Dean could be thicker than the outer walls of the bunker at times, so he guessed he really shouldn't be surprised that he hadn't picked up on even one of the hints he'd been throwing his way.

"Feeling any better?" Dean asked all of a sudden. Just like he'd been doing all day, he broke Sam out of his thoughts - his angry, resigned thoughts.

"Yeah," Sam replied quietly, lying again. This was the worst he'd felt all morning.

He couldn't be the first to admit it. He couldn't start the conversation that they so desperately needed to have by telling Dean how he felt and what he wanted. Dean had spent his entire life carefully building up a masculine, heterosexual, and definitely not incestuous image, and he'd have to either tear it down or get past it himself. Sam couldn't do that for him. If he tried, Dean's knee-jerk reaction was probably going to be rejection, maybe even anger or disgust, too. It could permanently ruin their relationship, put a distance between them that would never go away, and Sam knew that he couldn't handle that with the same visceral certainty that he knew he'd loved Dean for his entire life.

Dean had to go first. He had to admit that he loved Sam as more than a brother without any prompting from him.

Sam didn't really have any idea of how to get him to do that, though. It probably wasn't helping that most of his blood had drained out of his brain and down to his stomach so he could digest. For a second, he fervently wished that he had Sully back, so they could talk about this and he could help him brainstorm. But he doubted that that was the kind of thing you were supposed to talk to imaginary friends about. Especially if they were zanna.

Dean smoothed his palm over the curve of Sam's stomach, fingers trailing almost appreciatively over the warm skin despite his awkward apology for what had happened, and all of a sudden, Sam knew what he was going to have to do.

He pretended to fall asleep, which was hard because it would have been a lot easier to actually fall asleep with how tired he was right now. After a few minutes of him breathing evenly with his eyes closed, Dean stopped rubbing his belly and stood up. He moved carefully, most likely so he wouldn't jostle the mattress. Sam heard him quietly pad out of the room, then close the door.

As soon as the sound of Dean's footsteps faded down the hall, Sam opened his eyes and rolled onto his back - not without some difficulty. Because of the weight and size of his belly, of course, which he began to absentmindedly stroke with the fingertips of one hand. He couldn't see why he shouldn't; after all, he was going to have to get used to it.

He knew what Dean liked, and he was going to run with it - which meant he was going to eat. As much as he could hold and still function, at every meal and snacks in between, whether it was Dean's cooking or something from a diner or convenience store. And he was going to gain weight because of that, just like he'd realized earlier. He'd have to play it up, put on a show for Dean, get him to notice every bite he took when he was past the point of personal comfort, make him so hot and bothered that he couldn't keep it in any longer. The way to Dean's heart was through his own stomach.

Sam took a deep breath. He couldn't deny that he was afraid, or that a part of him didn't want to do this. Change his body so drastically - maybe even jeopardize his health. But he was sick of waiting for a breakthrough in what was between Dean and himself, and...Sam put a little pressure on his belly, then grunted and closed his eyes as a wave of muted pleasure swept through him. He could learn to like this. For Dean.

Yes, it was dangerous, it went against everything he'd stood for during most of his adult life, and there were probably going to be times when he hated both himself and Dean for what he was doing to get his attention.

But when Sam remembered Dean talking about being there for him and taking care of him, he had a feeling that it would be worth it.