Chapter Text
The autumn sun beamed into the Impala as John pulled into Bobby’s. An array of orange, yellow, and red graced the gravel of the driveway. It was still a bit too warm for jackets, yet too cold for short sleeves, so Dean sat in the front seat with a flannel over one of the shirts he had cut the sleeves off of. His heart was racing as John parked the car. He wasn’t sure why he was anxious, they had been here many times before. Bobby took care of them. He had a place for them to stay, and always made sure they were fed and never bored.
Why was this different?
Dean pulled himself from the seat and into the beaming evening sun that glared on his skin. He felt both far too warm, yet the autumn air was cold amongst his neck.
“I gotta get going, grab your duffels.” John said, closing the driver seat door. Dean grumbled and pulled the heavy bag from the trunk. Sam followed suit, and trudged to the front door. A crisp wind picked up as they walked, rustling the loose flannel that Dean had on. He felt each moment it touched his skin, before pulling away again.
John knocked on the door. They waited for a moment. The wind died down once again, leaving the crisp air to nip at Dean’s hands, which were cold now. The blue sky was deceiving, though it seemed to always be in the cold. The blue felt as if it should be warm, welcoming - then it would just barrage him with the cold, making everything feel worse.
“I’m sorry for such a late notice, but this is one that I don’t want to get them involved in.” John said, as Bobby opened the door. Dean looked to his dad, remaining confused. He was now 17, and John had taken him on everything, even cases that were quite dangerous. Why was this one any different?
Though Dean knew not to question his dad, so he followed along.
“I get it, especially with something like that. I’m happy to take them for a few days.” Bobby said, holding the door open and motioning for them to step inside. Dean walked with gentle trepidation.
“It should be a few days, at most a week if things aren’t going well.” John said. Sam had already started his trek up the stairs to the room Bobby had assigned to him. Dean stood awkwardly beside John, shifting his weight left and right.
“I’ll call ya on day three, don’t forget to pick up.” Bobby said, looking at Dean. Dean looked up with big eyes. He could feel Bobby’s eyes hovering over him as if something was wrong, so he stopped moving and stood still once again. Sometimes John would tell him off for fidgeting, perhaps Bobby felt the same.
“Don’t cause too much trouble now Dean.” John said as he turned toward the door.
“Won’t be happening sir, we’ll be right here.”
John smiled, vaguely, Dean could tell it was somewhat real.
The door closed again and the sounds of the Impala were heard from behind the walls. Dean stood awkwardly.
“Boy, go put your stuff down, I’ve got dinner on the stove.” Bobby said, shooing him off. Dean nodded awkwardly and shuffled himself up the stairs. He could feel the hunger that had caught up with him from the long drive. They had stopped for food and Dean had picked at his food before packing it into a styrofoam leftover box. It sat at the top of his duffel. He wasn’t about to alarm John about any of his bad habits, nor did he want Sam to follow his example.
He had every intention of throwing it out later, once Sam was asleep.
Dean walked to his room, passing by Sam’s. Sam was reading something, already unpacked for the weekend - or week - they didn’t know yet. He put the bag down and took the flannel off. Bobby liked to keep the house somewhat warmer than what he was used to. Dean looked at his own bare arms. He noticed how much smaller they had become since the last time they were at Bobby’s. It wasn’t intentional - though not fully unintentional.
It had been years of somewhat poor eating habits. Dean had always opted to give Sam food before himself. He had been told to take care of his brother, so he did. He made sure Sam was fed before himself. It changed once John started taking him out on hunts, which meant diner food - and Dean was always hungry. He ended up gaining a couple pounds due to the binging.
Dean did not find it enjoyable.
Around March Dean had let John down quite intensely on a hunt, leaving Sam in a vulnerable position. Sam remained fine, but Dean had not heard the end of it. He had felt it many times before, the disappointment of letting his dad down or allowing Sam to be hurt.
Dean was riddled with guilt, and while he did take it out on himself many times - he felt perhaps he was the burden.
So what started as a way to lose a couple pounds had become his only reality.
It wasn’t like he was starving himself all the time - he’d have ended up in a hospital if he did. John wouldn’t have any of that. Dean had to keep it hidden from everyone, as word spread far too fast. He always lied.
The scars that littered his skin were always just hunting wounds. Dean tried to cut in less even patterns, though he always wanted to.
The not eating was just illness or stress.
The throwing up he did every once in a while was an unsettled stomach.
Lying was easy for him.
It all was.
Dean packed away the few pairs of underwear in the top drawer with his jeans and a few shirts. He had a couple jackets and two flannels in the other drawer. Luckily he only had fading scars on his skin at the time, as hiding new wounds would be a nightmare in front of Bobby.
Somehow Bobby knew everything.
Though the flannel helped hide how much weight he had lost. Bobby would see that immediately and he’d never hear the end of it. Dean already dreaded dinner. He fell onto the bed, exhausted from the traveling. He noticed a couple of magazines on the end table, new ones from the last time he had visited. Dean smirked and pulled one off the stack. He had nothing better to do, and while it wasn’t the most interesting - it at least kept his mind occupied.
A knock on his door startled him. Dean looked up to see Sam. The magazine fell to the floor as he scrambled for the flannel.
“Uh, Bobby yells dinner.” Sam said. Dean sighed, pulling the flannel over his arms and rolling the sleeves to the elbows.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming, I just need to go to the bathroom first.” Sam rolled his eyes as Dean walked down the hall.
Weight was never an obsession he had wanted. The fear of waking up everyday and being dictated by some number was hell. This was the part that made him feel deep shame. The only things he ever heard of in school was that this was for girls, and that he was ridiculous for even starting it.
It was one motel that he had started the obsession - which it was always a crapshoot if the motel had a scale or not - though the ones that didn’t had Dean distressed. He never intended to weigh himself, nor did it matter until one day it did. Suddenly 175 was too much and he had to lose weight immediately.
Dean still wasn’t sure why the numbers gave him peace of mind. Though he was always the obsessive type - it was something he picked up from John.
He closed the bathroom door and pulled the absolute dusty scale from the corner of the room. No one really used it, but he knew it was there. It always sat there, collecting dust. He stepped on, knowing it wouldn’t be accurate, since he was fully clothed. The little ticker moved to the 147 mark. Dean sighed, knowing that had been the same number he had seen all month. He had done so well up until now.
Sure, his habits were spotty and if he actually starved himself properly, then maybe it’d actually move somewhere. Dean wasn’t always consistent. Sometimes the hunger took over any control he held. It was also why he hadn’t ended up in the hospital yet.
He trudged down the stairs, unsure of how to get away with eating as little as possible. Bobby would know, Sam would know. Everyone would know what he was doing if he just didn’t eat. Dean had to be strategic.
He entered the kitchen, and was met with some form of casserole - typical for Bobby. He could cook, but not anything groundbreaking. Sometimes there’d be fresh baked goods on the table when they were over - even if he’d never admit to making them.
Dean took a plate and put a small amount of food on his plate - enough to where picking wouldn’t be too noticeable, but enough to make Bobby happy. All he had to do was keep it all hidden, it should only be four days.
He always hungry. It took everything in him to not devour the entire plate and then some in seconds. The starving was only heightened as he restricted himself more - especially once his weight started dropping. It was annoying how obsessed he was with food. When he would binge, it was a sight of disgust. His body assumed it was the only thing he’d get in years.
“Dean?” Bobby said, snapping him back to reality. Dean had realized that he was just sitting and staring at the food - the exact thing he had tried to avoid.
“Sorry, long drive.” Dean said, and picked the fork up to eat a few bites. If he just didn’t eat much of anything, it might be alright. Enough to fool Bobby, but also help him lose more weight.
“But uneventful, I hope?” Bobby asked.
“Yeah. Nothing but trees and roads.”
“We stopped at some diner for lunch, though it wasn’t any good.” Sam said, eating freely. Dean smiled as at least his brother was fed. He deserved it, unlike Dean.
“But you both ate?” Bobby asked. Sam nodded.
“Yeah, well, Dean ate half before boxing it. Don’t blame him. It looked bad.” Sam said. Dean glared. Sam likely knew what Dean did - though only the surface level of it. Dean was quite strict on keeping Sam safe from his habits.
“Yeah uh. I mean it’s upstairs if I get hungry later.” Dean said, awkwardly hoping to fix the conversation.
“Sure.” Bobby said. Dean picked again for a bit, before eating another few forkfuls. He hoped the few bites would keep the suspicions away.
The closeness of the kitchen to the dining table wasn’t easy. Sometimes Dean scraped his plate into the sink. It was much harder when everyone could watch him do it - so he sat with the half finished plate. He chugged some water, hoping it’d help him feel less hunger, as he waited for everyone to finish.
“Sure you’re done?” Bobby asked, taking the plates. Dean nodded, picking at the edge of his flannel cuff. His eyes drifted to the floor.
Nothing was actually helping him be less suspicious. He got up and headed into the living room. Sam followed, understanding something was up with his brother.
“Are you still upset?” Sam asked.
“About what? Dad yelling at me earlier? Kinda.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”
“Doesn’t make it any easier.”
Bobby joined them and turned on the TV. Dean sat, pulling one leg into his chest. He hadn’t realized how loose the waistband of his pants had become, especially without a belt. He pulled the pants up at his waist, and laid his head onto his hand.
He was exhausted.