lexophilia
in
ohsam
Fic: Anorexic Sam (Gen, WIP) 2/6
Word Count: 1,315
Warnings: Potentially triggering subject matter and self-harm.
Summary: A series of glimpses into the life of Sam Winchester as he deals with an eating disorder. Maybe he's always been this way. Sam knows that he's afraid of stopping, and Dean knows he's afraid of what will happen if Sam doesn't. This is fiction based on fiction, but there are some spoilers for Season 1.
Diclaimer: I do not own anything related to the Supernatural television series.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was the routine of having done this day in and day out year after year that originally kept him moving. The routine of pretending that he could have a normal life. The routine of pretending that if he just tried hard enough and worked hard enough that he would somehow be granted a life of happiness.
The illusion of the routine was shattered as he watched the love if his life die.
What was left of Jessica's once beautiful body was buried in some cemetery in California, and he was alive and whole riding across the country to some unknown destination with his brother.
He'd tried to wash the smell of her death away from his skin, but it didn't work. He'd tried to loose himself in his brother's loud music and crazy stories, but it didn't work.
It was her death that forced him to drop back into something he'd thought he'd beat.
He was used to having people in his life one day and having them taken away for whatever reason the next, but this was different. Without Jess, he was collapsing under the weight of the guilt he felt. And as days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, he could feel his body beginning to collapse.
Jess was buried in the cold ground, and he was staring at plates of food that meant nothing.
It was the routine of tucking emotions away that originally kept him breathing.
It kept the guilt from pressing down too hard on his chest and squeezing the air out of his lungs.
And then it would hit him that he would never again be able to touch her soft blonde hair or stare into her deep blue eyes and wrap his arms around her waist and say "I love you" ever again.
The dead don't speak. They don't love.
He couldn't save her. He'd failed at protecting her. The loss left him hollow and with no direction. He'd felt completely out of control for the first time in a long time, and if he would've allowed himself to think rationally he'd have recognized that it was this deep loss that forced him to drop back into something he'd thought he'd beat.
This was the one thing that he could control. It was the only thing he had power over. It made him feel something when all he wanted to feel was nothing. It was that something that originally kept him moving.
Plus, Dean was trying his hardest to keep him from falling apart. Dean kept making sure that he got out of bed. Dean kept making sure that he would eat at least a bite or two, even if it felt like it was swelling up in his throat and even if those small amounts ended up doing nothing to fill the hollow pit in his stomach. Dean kept trying to get him to talk about how he was feeling. And Dean kept giving him these half-terrified, half-reluctant looks as days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and Sam's body became thinner and thinner.
Emotions fought within Sam for dominance. Sometimes they ran hot in his veins. He was angry at himself for not being there to save her. He was angry at her for leaving him to suffer her loss. He was angry with a passion he'd never allowed himself to feel for the darkness in the world that took her life. He was angry that he'd seen her death before it happened; yet, there was nothing he actively did to try to prevent her murder.
Sometimes his emotions ran cold. They ran so cold that they left him feeling immobile, and the only thing he could feel was the churning of his gut. It was in those moments that he missed her the most because he remembered what they'd shared. That they'd shared everything. That they'd held nothing back and knew each other, secrets and all. She knew about his problem. She knew that he'd worked hard to get better and closer to healthy.
But she was dead now. Gone forever. The routine was damaged. Sam was damaged. And going back to his old comfort, his old sense of control, his old way of being happened. It was a slippery slope, and this time he had no grip on his rate and speed of falling.
What felt like control to him in the initial weeks after losing Jessica, quickly changed into something deep and dark that he hadn't experienced since anorexia first dug its claws into him.
It had been two months since he'd watched Jessica die and all he wanted was to join her.
He knew he should get out of the bed and take a shower and eat and all the stuff that people do on a daily basis, but he didn't see the point.
"Sam, please. Tell me what I can do to help you?" Dean begged his younger brother.
He'd passed the stage of 'asking' two days ago.
"You have to get out of this bed for more than taking a piss. You have to drink something if you're not going to eat. You're making yourself sick, Sam. I don't know what to do. Please, Sam. Please." Dean begged as tears fell from his eyes as he struggled to pull his almost unresponsive brother up into a seated position.
"Leave me alone," Sam rasped as he was sat up by his brother. The room seemed to spin around him, and he weakly grabbed onto his brother for support.
"I got you some soup at the diner down the street. I'm going to go get it for you, okay?"
"No," Sam said as he weakly tried to push away from his brother. Dark spots started floating in his field of vision and he could feel himself about to black out.
Dean felt the exact moment when Sam went limp is his arms.
"Sammy! Wake up, Sam!" Dean shouted as he gently laid his brother back down and tapped him on the cheek.
Dean knew that his brother's body was fighting against the effects of dehydration and starvation, and Sam was quickly losing the battle. They'd been back together for almost two months, and Sam had gotten progressively worse as the weeks went by. This wasn't the first time he'd seen his brother in this state, but in a way it was worse than before because Sam hadn't been dealing with the loss of a loved one on top of his eating disorder.
Dean had read all of the books. He knew the disorder inside and out. He'd had to learn fast when he was encountered with Sam's illness when he himself was a teenager and Sam was on the cusp of becoming one. Sam had always been a skinny kid, so maybe that's why it got as far and as bad as it did before they really took notice. Dad was always off on some hunt. They would maybe see him one or two days out of the week. Sam was acting different, restricting calories to incredibly small amounts. And the longer that dad was gone and the more time that passed, the worse Sam got.
Dean would forever be haunted by the memory of Sam's young, nearly emaciated body.
Shaking himself out of the unsettling memory, Dean continued to tap his brother on the cheek and calling his name as his panic started to climb more and more as the seconds ticked by.
"Whhaa…D'n?" Sam slurred as he started to slowly come around.
"I'm taking you to the hospital."
Warnings: Potentially triggering subject matter and self-harm.
Summary: A series of glimpses into the life of Sam Winchester as he deals with an eating disorder. Maybe he's always been this way. Sam knows that he's afraid of stopping, and Dean knows he's afraid of what will happen if Sam doesn't. This is fiction based on fiction, but there are some spoilers for Season 1.
Diclaimer: I do not own anything related to the Supernatural television series.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was the routine of having done this day in and day out year after year that originally kept him moving. The routine of pretending that he could have a normal life. The routine of pretending that if he just tried hard enough and worked hard enough that he would somehow be granted a life of happiness.
The illusion of the routine was shattered as he watched the love if his life die.
What was left of Jessica's once beautiful body was buried in some cemetery in California, and he was alive and whole riding across the country to some unknown destination with his brother.
He'd tried to wash the smell of her death away from his skin, but it didn't work. He'd tried to loose himself in his brother's loud music and crazy stories, but it didn't work.
It was her death that forced him to drop back into something he'd thought he'd beat.
He was used to having people in his life one day and having them taken away for whatever reason the next, but this was different. Without Jess, he was collapsing under the weight of the guilt he felt. And as days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, he could feel his body beginning to collapse.
Jess was buried in the cold ground, and he was staring at plates of food that meant nothing.
It was the routine of tucking emotions away that originally kept him breathing.
It kept the guilt from pressing down too hard on his chest and squeezing the air out of his lungs.
And then it would hit him that he would never again be able to touch her soft blonde hair or stare into her deep blue eyes and wrap his arms around her waist and say "I love you" ever again.
The dead don't speak. They don't love.
He couldn't save her. He'd failed at protecting her. The loss left him hollow and with no direction. He'd felt completely out of control for the first time in a long time, and if he would've allowed himself to think rationally he'd have recognized that it was this deep loss that forced him to drop back into something he'd thought he'd beat.
This was the one thing that he could control. It was the only thing he had power over. It made him feel something when all he wanted to feel was nothing. It was that something that originally kept him moving.
Plus, Dean was trying his hardest to keep him from falling apart. Dean kept making sure that he got out of bed. Dean kept making sure that he would eat at least a bite or two, even if it felt like it was swelling up in his throat and even if those small amounts ended up doing nothing to fill the hollow pit in his stomach. Dean kept trying to get him to talk about how he was feeling. And Dean kept giving him these half-terrified, half-reluctant looks as days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and Sam's body became thinner and thinner.
Emotions fought within Sam for dominance. Sometimes they ran hot in his veins. He was angry at himself for not being there to save her. He was angry at her for leaving him to suffer her loss. He was angry with a passion he'd never allowed himself to feel for the darkness in the world that took her life. He was angry that he'd seen her death before it happened; yet, there was nothing he actively did to try to prevent her murder.
Sometimes his emotions ran cold. They ran so cold that they left him feeling immobile, and the only thing he could feel was the churning of his gut. It was in those moments that he missed her the most because he remembered what they'd shared. That they'd shared everything. That they'd held nothing back and knew each other, secrets and all. She knew about his problem. She knew that he'd worked hard to get better and closer to healthy.
But she was dead now. Gone forever. The routine was damaged. Sam was damaged. And going back to his old comfort, his old sense of control, his old way of being happened. It was a slippery slope, and this time he had no grip on his rate and speed of falling.
What felt like control to him in the initial weeks after losing Jessica, quickly changed into something deep and dark that he hadn't experienced since anorexia first dug its claws into him.
It had been two months since he'd watched Jessica die and all he wanted was to join her.
He knew he should get out of the bed and take a shower and eat and all the stuff that people do on a daily basis, but he didn't see the point.
"Sam, please. Tell me what I can do to help you?" Dean begged his younger brother.
He'd passed the stage of 'asking' two days ago.
"You have to get out of this bed for more than taking a piss. You have to drink something if you're not going to eat. You're making yourself sick, Sam. I don't know what to do. Please, Sam. Please." Dean begged as tears fell from his eyes as he struggled to pull his almost unresponsive brother up into a seated position.
"Leave me alone," Sam rasped as he was sat up by his brother. The room seemed to spin around him, and he weakly grabbed onto his brother for support.
"I got you some soup at the diner down the street. I'm going to go get it for you, okay?"
"No," Sam said as he weakly tried to push away from his brother. Dark spots started floating in his field of vision and he could feel himself about to black out.
Dean felt the exact moment when Sam went limp is his arms.
"Sammy! Wake up, Sam!" Dean shouted as he gently laid his brother back down and tapped him on the cheek.
Dean knew that his brother's body was fighting against the effects of dehydration and starvation, and Sam was quickly losing the battle. They'd been back together for almost two months, and Sam had gotten progressively worse as the weeks went by. This wasn't the first time he'd seen his brother in this state, but in a way it was worse than before because Sam hadn't been dealing with the loss of a loved one on top of his eating disorder.
Dean had read all of the books. He knew the disorder inside and out. He'd had to learn fast when he was encountered with Sam's illness when he himself was a teenager and Sam was on the cusp of becoming one. Sam had always been a skinny kid, so maybe that's why it got as far and as bad as it did before they really took notice. Dad was always off on some hunt. They would maybe see him one or two days out of the week. Sam was acting different, restricting calories to incredibly small amounts. And the longer that dad was gone and the more time that passed, the worse Sam got.
Dean would forever be haunted by the memory of Sam's young, nearly emaciated body.
Shaking himself out of the unsettling memory, Dean continued to tap his brother on the cheek and calling his name as his panic started to climb more and more as the seconds ticked by.
"Whhaa…D'n?" Sam slurred as he started to slowly come around.
"I'm taking you to the hospital."