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He hadn't meant for it to get this bad. Really, he hadn't.
It had all seemed so simple at first, he would drop some weight and everything would go back to normal. He never understood how something like this could possibly be an addiction. He did now.
He had messed up. It was spiraling out of control, and he could do nothing to stop it.
He was Dean Winchester, ladies man and monster's worst nightmare. He was a thirty-seven year old man, not a teen with body image issues.
He leaned his forehead to the cold porcelain, fingers shaking and dripping with bile, he needed help.
////
It had all started out so normally, a simple salt and burn, home within the week. For once everything had gone as planned and they returned to the bunker much as they had left, aside from some sweat and dirt clinging to their skin and clothes.
Sam had showered first while Dean made himself lunch. It was almost painfully domestic, too calm for the hardened warrior.
By the time Sam was out of the shower, Dean had eaten far too much and was ready to be clean. Hey, it wasn't like he was used to having this much food, he could binge from time to time.
That mentality vanished when he saw himself. When had he gotten a stomach? Where there had always been chiseled muscle there was now bulging skin, flabby and loose.
He shrugged, he could do a diet, Sam would be happy to have some extra rabbit food around the bunker, no skin off his back.
He couldn't help but poke at the extra skin in the shower, though. Yeah, he definitely needed a diet.
////
It had been slow at first, Sam had been proud of him. He ordered salads instead of burgers, cooked with less oil, joined Sam on some of his jogs.
The weight just wouldn't come off though. No matter what he did, he just seemed to get fatter and fatter.
He started eating less, not daring to step on a scale, he felt disgusting. He joined Sam on more of his jogs, meeting him outside nearly every morning to run around the woods around the bunker.
He ate around Sam less, choosing instead to nibble at bites of lettuce and crackers when he was alone. How could he let someone see him eat? He was disgusting, he didn't need so much food.
It didn't help that Sam was all hard abs, chiseled thighs, and bulging biceps. Beautiful and perfect, confident in his body.
Dean started joining him on all of his runs.
////
Sam started to notice how little Dean was eating. It was easy to get caught up, he could forget to eat for days at a time, holed up in the library.
It wasn't difficult for him to start cooking for them, family dinners. Something they had never really had, that he thought Dean would appreciate.
Dean's eyes had nearly left his skull when he saw the array of food Sam had laid out, and the younger smiled proudly. Yes, this had been a good idea.
Dean complacently sat for the meal, eating a small portion. Then going back for seconds. And thirds.
Sam beamed, he knew what Dean had done to get them food when they were younger, and he could finally start to repay him.
Dean was disgusted. How could he possibly have eaten so much? He thanked Sam for the meal, excusing himself to the bathroom.
He felt sick, he was going to thr- yes, that was perfect. He fell to his knees, jabbing his fingers down his throat.
He gagged and retched, white knuckling the toilet bowl with his free hand. It burned, and his eyes were streaming with tears by the time he was finished.
He watched the water churn, watched the bile and chunks of food drip from his fingers. He felt calm, full, none of the emptiness, the dull ache from the last few months. He felt good.
////
It was easy to miss. The way Dean's clothes were hanging too loosely, the dark circles under his eyes.
It took Sam a while, but once he noticed he started looking closer. Dean's hair had lost it's shine, his teeth were turning yellow with his nails. His eyes looked hollow. More than the haunted look he always wore, the one that came with all he had seen, all they had done.
Sam started monitoring his brother, watching him run to the bathroom every time he ate, watched how much faster he ate his food, watched his bright eyes turn dull and hopeless.
Enough was enough.
////
He started slow, dragging Dean out immediately after meals, coming up with excuses on why they had to leave right that second.
He stopped jogging, instead asking Dean to help him in the library, arguing that they had to get it done as soon as they could.
He started making comments, in passing of course, that Dean looked good.
When he would catch him glaring at a slice of bread, “Dean, man, have you been training without me?”
When he stared longingly at the bathroom after a meal, “he come on, I need the hot one if we're gonna get free drinks.”
Slowly the rhythm changed. Dean would be waiting in the impala after a meal, for whatever excapade they would be taking that day.
He stopped looking for times to jog and instead helped researching.
His clothes started to fit again, his bony face filling out.
Months passed, then a year, and Dean seemed to be his old self. Sam started inviting him on jogs, shorter, less intensive, but Dean clung to the activity. Especially when Sam pretended he was much more winded than he was.
////
The more time they spent together, the more Sam watched over his brother, the more old feelings came back.
Dean started staring at his brother instead of the bathroom door, reaching for him instead of the toilet. Sam was there, every time, with a subtle compliment and a smile.
It was slow, careful testing of boundaries, gentle touches, soft kisses to hair-shoulders-neck. A tentative re-learning of soft curves of flesh, hills of muscle and bone.
When they finally passed the point of no return, it was slow. Sam spent hours worshiping his brother’s smooth skin, kissing every scar and freckle, nibbling and the soft bulge of his stomach that had started all of this.
“Beautiful, Dean, just how you are. Love you, love your body, just like this.”
////
There was still a lot of healing that needed to be done, but gradually, Dean started to realize how stupid he had been. Sam loved him, even if he had a small pouch, Sam liked having the extra skin to hold onto, and Dean liked being held so tightly in his brother’s arms.
There were tears, and long talks. Nights Sam spent showing his love to every inch of Dean’s body, beautifully breaking him apart and putting him back together with capable hands. Days off spent holding each other, accepting flaws and embracing strengths seamlessly.
Dean didn’t know when he stopped wanting to run to the bathroom after a meal. When he became comfortable eating a burger in front of his brother again. Sam was always there, smoothly leading him into healthier routines.
He didn’t know what he had done in his life to deserve a little brother as amazing as Sam. He couldn’t possibly be worthy of the other man, so beautiful, inside and out. But maybe that was the point of all this. Showing Dean that he is worthy, is good enough. Sam thinks he’s beautiful, Sam loves him, and maybe that’s all that matters. That ever really mattered.