It started with small things. Sam noticed it during hunts when you would brush off meals, claiming you weren’t hungry or making excuses that you were “too busy” to eat. At first, he didn’t think much of it—hunters live crazy, unpredictable lives, and it’s easy to skip a meal here and there. But as the days turned into weeks, he began to see a pattern.

Your portions were getting smaller and smaller, and you barely touched your food when you did sit down for a meal. Sam wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, but he couldn’t ignore the changes in your behavior. You were avoiding eating, disappearing around meal times, and there was something else…something quieter but more concerning. Your energy was lower, your clothes were fitting looser, and sometimes, Sam caught you looking at yourself in the mirror with an expression that made his heart ache.

One night, after a long day of research and chasing leads, the three of you—Dean, Sam, and you—sat at the bunker’s table. Dean had ordered a mountain of greasy takeout, as usual, and Sam noticed the way you poked at your food, barely taking a bite.

"You okay?" Sam asked softly, careful not to draw too much attention from Dean, who was preoccupied with his burger. You nodded quickly, offering a weak smile.

"Yeah, just not really hungry," you mumbled, pushing your plate away.

Sam frowned, watching as you excused yourself from the table, leaving the food untouched. Something inside him twisted, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Later that night, when Dean was passed out in front of the TV, Sam found you in the library, pretending to be engrossed in one of the books.

"Hey," he said, leaning against the doorframe, his voice soft. "Can we talk for a second?"

You looked up at him, sensing the seriousness in his tone. Reluctantly, you closed the book and nodded.

Sam sat down across from you, his eyes gentle but full of concern. "I’ve noticed you haven’t been eating much lately… and I’m worried about you."