lexophilia
in
ohsam
Fic: Anorexic Sam (Gen, WIP) 4/6
It's been a while since my last update, but here's the next part.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Word Count: 3,827
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 had been several hours since they'd left the restaurant. Dean still hadn't received a call from his father; however, he'd received a text message containing coordinates not long after leaving the restaurant and exiting onto the highway.
After driving a few hours in the direction of the coordinates he'd been given, he knew he would eventually have to have some type of conversation or at least come to some sort of understanding with Sam if John was going to start sending him to destinations unknown for reasons unknown. So when the sun started to get low in the sky, Dean decided to get off the highway and locate a motel for them to settle down in for the night.
For the first full hour after getting the room, Sam sat at the small table alternating between playing with his telephone and ignoring the elephant in the room; and while Sam sat at the table, Dean found himself resting on one of the beds flipping through channels and also doing his best to ignore the elephant in the room.
Dean was walking on eggshells around Sam. Sam was walking on eggshells around Dean. Dean was afraid to say something that might push his brother over the edge. Sam was afraid to say something that would finally push his brother away.
Sam didn't want anything to eat, but he knew his brother had probably started to feel hungry. He knew that Dean hadn't had a chance to eat much before their argument. And if past experience was any indicator, Sam knew Dean would probably wait until he was on the verge of experiencing a hunger headache if it meant prolonging the inevitable fight that usually came along with trying to get him to eat as well.
Sam realized that his lack of appetite had everything to do with his depression, and how he'd been struggling to keep it together while dealing with Jessica's death.
Even with that being the case, Sam couldn't keep himself from thinking that even if he was feeling depressed and not really caring about his own needs, he still couldn't help but feel guilty for what he'd been putting his brother through, especially in the last month or so.
Since Jessica's death, Dean had taken care of everything. Sometimes Sam had to remind himself that Dean was only older than him by four years. And when he allowed himself to focus on that, he couldn't help but feel guilty because Dean once again had to make sacrifices for him.
It was after Sam left to attend Stanford that he came to realize some of the roots and causes of his damaged relationship with food and his body image. He'd spent so much of his life growing up hating his dad and hating their way of life and hating the fact that Dean seemed okay with things the way they were that he hadn't had a chance to focus inward. He'd spent so much of his life focused on killing demons, monsters, and ghost all while constantly having to fight them to stay alive that it wasn't until he was truly alone for the first time in his life and away from all of that drama that he truly could reflect on what was going on in his head and in his heart.
Sam sat thinking all of this as he sat pretending to read something on his phone.
It was during his first year in college when he started reflecting on all of the times throughout their childhood that Dean went without just so that he wouldn't have to.
As a child, he hadn't been aware that that was what was taking place, but as an adult he began looking back with guilt and regret because he realized that he'd been on the receiving end of unconditional love, care, and support from his brother while Dean often ended up living off of the dark fears of not being able to take care of Sam properly or of not being able to be the perfect little soldier John expected him to be.
Sam realized that Dean did things for him that no child should ever have to do for another child. Especially when said children are so young and vulnerable. Especially then.
Sam sat thinking all of this as he sat pretending to read something on his phone.
When Dean turned ten and Sam was a few months from being six, their father started leaving them alone for extended periods of time. At first, it would only be two or three days, and he would only be gone from Friday nights to late Sunday evenings.
Sam remembers being happy that Dad was home on most school nights. He'd been in kindergarten or first grade at the time and loved telling Dean and his father about all of the things he'd learned in school and about all of the things he already knew because Dean had already 'teached' them to him.
He also remembers from around that time his brother explaining to him their father did 'important work' on the weekends.
He remembers being loved during that time.
He also remembers Dean being really quiet and sad at times, too.
He remembers Dean being the one that made him breakfast, lunch, and dinner whenever their dad was gone. He would like to be able to forget the times his brother would fix dinner for him, but then Dean would just sit across from him with only a glass of water or a glass of milk while he ate. Sometimes he would ask his brother why he wasn't eating with him, and Dean would say that he wasn't hungry or that he'd already eaten. Sometimes Sam would ask his brother the exact same question, and Dean would get really angry and yell at him or tell him to just shut up and eat. Actually, Dean yelling about it really didn't happen that often, and he would always apologize afterwards with this look in his eyes that Sam as a child hadn't understood.
It wasn't until Stanford that Sam could give Dean's outbursts all those years ago a name.
It did something to his heart when he realized that there were times growing up that Dean went hungry so that he didn't have to. Dean had only been a kid, but he'd been forced into situations where he'd had to make adult decisions. Because their dad had either forgotten to leave behind some cash for them or was too broke to buy groceries, Dean sometimes sacrificed his personal well-being for his brother's sake.
Sam sat thinking and remembering all of this as he pretended to read something on his phone.
When Sam looks back, he's pretty sure those instances are ones that triggered his eating disorder later in life.
And there were other things, too.
The year that Dean turned thirteen and Sam turned nine was the year life changed forever. Any sense of stability he'd felt evaporated. It was the year realities were shifted and perceptions were altered. Truths about common lies and lies about common truths were revealed.
At nine, John told him that monsters were real. He explained that he was now old enough to learn how to protect himself from the evil that hid and attacked in the dark. He told him he would start something called 'training' so he'd always be ready and 'fighting fit' if something supernatural were ever to attack him. John finished by telling him he was his 'little man' and that he wanted Sam to do all he could to 'make him proud.'
Sam remembers getting really sick that night.
His little stomach just would not stop turning and cramping. And he tried his best not to, but he couldn't stop himself from crying when the pain got really bad. He couldn't stop himself from thinking that monsters were going to kill them all. And he knew he couldn't voice his fears because Dad wanted him to be brave like a real man.
He remembers crying so hard and feeling so sick that he ended up vomiting up everything that was still in his stomach.
As they tucked him into bed that night, his father told him it was just nerves making him ill and that he'd probably just eaten too much, and Dean promised him that he would feel better when he woke up in the morning.
Sam sat thinking and remembering all of this as he pretended to read something on his phone.
After that night, Sam didn't see or talk to his father for an entire week.
Dean told him the next morning that their father had gone on a hunt and he would be back as soon as he could. Dean made him scrambled eggs in their motel microwave that morning and by nine he was puking his meal back up into the toilet. He hadn't purposefully made himself sick. It just happened. Afterwards, Dean found him a clean shirt to put on since the one he'd been wearing had been splattered with stomach bile and half-digested eggs. Dean had then asked him what was wrong and if he felt like he was coming down with the flu or something.
He remembers shrugging his shoulders and saying that he didn't know.
While at Stanford, Sam realized that at nine he never would have been able to articulate to his brother that the information their father had dropped on him had shaken him emotionally to the point that it was making him physically ill. All he understood at nine was that every time he thought about what his father had explained to him, it felt like his stomach was boiling. All he understood at nine and started to appreciate more by ten and even more by eleven, was that if something stressful was happening, especially if it involved monsters and his dad or Dean possibly dying, his stomach wouldn't bother him as much if it was empty.
There was another thing he'd figured out that caused his issues with food.
When Sam was twelve, his father stepped up their training regime. Instead of only sparring with his brother, Sam sometimes found himself faced against his dad. Dad didn't spar full out with him like he did with Dean at that point, but there were still times when he wasn't fast enough to avoid a fist to the gut or having his legs swiped from under him. And he hated sparring with his father. Not only was his father bigger than his brother, but he also hit harder, too.
Sam was a quick study and it didn't take long for him to come to a few conclusions in his still very young mind. The strenuous training and exercise plan his father wanted him to follow was a whole lot easier to accomplish if he wasn't feeling sluggish or weighed down by a heavy meal. He also realized that getting hit in the stomach by his father's giant fist or even by his brother's or having to run long distances as fast as he could didn't make him feel like vomiting if his stomach was pretty much empty.
Sam sat remembering and thinking about all of this as he pretended to read something on his phone. He sat there remembering how miserable he'd been. And the more he got lost in his own thoughts, the more whatever he'd been staring at on his phone started to get blurry as tears welled up in his eyes.
Just as he felt tears about to fall whether he wanted them to or not, he was abruptly snatched out of his musings as Dean's stomach gave a long, deep growl from across the room.
Sam found himself looking up for the first time since getting the room to see his brother's face, and something happened in that moment that sent an almost instant rush of nervous nausea through his stomach. He ended up dropping his phone and covering his mouth with one hand to stop himself from retching and grabbing onto the table with the other to keep himself balanced.
It wasn't until Stanford that Sam could give Dean's outbursts all those years ago a name. And it did something to his heart when he realized that there were times growing up that Dean went hungry so that he did not have to. Dean had only been a kid, but he'd been forced into situations where he'd had to make adult decisions. Because their dad had either forgotten to leave behind some cash for them or was too broke to buy groceries, Dean sometimes sacrificed his personal well-being for his brother's sake.
As Sam sat with his hand over his mouth, a sob came out of him instead of the bile and stomach acids he'd been expecting and hot tears burned tracks over the back of his hand.
"Sammy!" Dean said as he jumped from the bed and knelt beside where his brother was sitting.
"Are you going to be sick? Do you need me to help you to the bathroom?" Dean asked as he tried to get Sam to look him in the eyes. Dean knew from experience that Sam's body would sometimes vomit up small amounts of bile if he let his stomach get too empty, and he'd kinda been waiting for it to happen.
"N- no, I'm o-okay," Sam said as he did his best to force himself to stop crying. "I'm okay. I'm just - I just want you to know how sor - so, so sorry I am for putting you through all this crap."
"What do you mean?" Dean asked as he moved to sit on the bed so that he was no longer crowding his brother but still close enough to get to him quick if need be.
Sam looked down to his phone where it sat on the table and the time read 7:50 p.m. When Sam looked back up and into his brother's eyes, all he saw was Dean at ten-years-old going hungry just so he wouldn't have to. It was in that moment that he could neither stop the words that left his mouth nor the tears that started to fall from his eyes.
"Dean, I don't think - I've never told you how much I appreciate all the things, I mean, everything you did and gave for me when we were young. When we were just kids. I mean, you did it all. And you - you shouldn't have had to, man. I mean, you don't know this, but I remember. I remember you even giving me your food. And you went - you went hungry, and I didn't know better. And I'm so, so sorry. And with - with Jess, I just don't - god, it just hurts so much that- " was all Sam got out before he found himself crushed in his brother's strong embrace.
"Sammy, I'm so sorry, man. I'm so sorry," Dean said as he felt tears run down his own face. All he could do was hold Sam and let him cry against his shoulder. And as he slowly rubbed up and down his brother's back to comfort him, he had to struggle with himself not to react to the movement and feel of sharp bones underneath his brother's shirt.
There was so much Dean wanted to say to Sam.
He wanted to tell him that the depression was so intense because he was starving himself, and that the more he starved himself the stronger and deeper the depression would get. He wanted to tell him how much he loved him and how sorry he was that he was suffering so deeply. He wanted to say all that and so much more, but he knew that in the end there would never be anything he could say to take away the feelings of guilt his brother carried for things that were not his fault. Sam had always been that way. It was one of the things he'd tried to help his brother overcome when he got really sick for the first time at twelve and had to stay in the hospital for almost three weeks; one week for his physical health and two to address his mental and emotional state.
Dean held onto and continued to hug his grieving brother until both of their tears had stopped and his own hunger started to make him feel a little light-headed.
Dean grabbed some tissues from the box on the nearest nightstand and handed them to his brother. Dean knew he couldn't avoid the subject of grabbing something to eat any longer. All he could do was hope that he wasn't about to upset Sammy more.
"I'm kinda hungry, man. I think I'm going to the diner up the street and grab something. Do you wanna come with? If not, I can just bring you something back." Dean said as he walked over to the dresser to grab his wallet in order to both avoid his brother's eyes and to not seem like he was putting direct pressure on his brother.
"Um, can you just bring me something back? Whatever you bring back is fine, just - just nothing too heavy, okay?" Sam said as he forced himself to do this one thing that he knew would make his brother happy.
"Yeah, man. Sure. I'll be back in a little while. I have my cell if you need something before I get back," Dean said as he opened the door.
"Yes, mom," Sam called back just as he caught his brother giving him the one finger salute as the door closed behind him.
As soon as the sound of the Impala heading out of the parking lot faded, Sam could feel the warmth that always came with his brother's presence start to fade. The suddenness of it left him feeling cold and shaky. He knew he would have to eat at least some of whatever his brother brought back, and the anxiety surrounding something that should be so simple was making him feel sick.
He carefully stood up from the table and made his way to the bathroom. He purposefully avoided looking at his reflection in the mirror as he splashed a few handfuls of icy cold water on his face. However, he quickly realized that may have not been the best idea when his teeth almost instantly began to chatter and his body started to shake.
Sam reached over to grab a towel and froze when he saw himself in the mirror.
Intellectually, he knew there were times when his illness distorted what he actually looked like when he looked at his reflection. His 'anorexic mind' would see a pudgy body while his hands could feel every rib, the tip of his sternum sticking out, and a slightly concave stomach. His eyes would see a chubby face while his hands would feel prominent cheekbones and slightly hollowed cheeks. In his mind, he felt big and heavy and that's what the illness allowed him to see more often than not.
He'd grown accustomed to seeing himself in a certain way, and he'd come to accept that. However, the thing he saw staring back at himself at that moment was a total stranger. The person he saw appeared to be both fragile and sick.
The eyes were too big and the circles around them were too deep and too dark. The line of the chin and the line of the jaw were both too sharp and the cheeks were desperately hollow. The face was too long and too narrow, and the water that dripped from his hair and pale face made him look more like one of the creatures his family hunted and less like a human being. Sam knew there were times when his illness distorted what he actually looked like, and unfortunately, this was not one of them.
Before Sam realized what he was doing or before considering the consequences of his actions, he punched the image in the mirror with all the power he possessed. And then he punched it again. And again. And again. And again until his hand and wrist felt numb and blood was all he could see and its warmth dripping off of his hand was all he could feel.
Once the rage died down, Sam felt completely hollowed out emotionally to the point that all he could do was sit on the closed toilet seat, wrap a towel around his hand to try to slow the bleeding, and wait for his brother to get back.
Sam waited and waited.
After a few minutes, the strong smell of his own blood started making him nauseous and a cold sweat broke out all over his body. He found himself leaning forward while resting his elbows on his thighs and allowing his head to hang down between them in order to keep himself from falling over. Sam waited, and he waited. And as his vision started to blur and darken around the edges, he continued to wait. As fatigue and blood loss and the effects of hunger all threatened to pull him under, he fought to keep his eye open.
Sam knows that Dean will show up soon. He knows his brother will handle the situation and make sure everything is taken care of. And even though he knows these things, he can't help but feel guilty because Dean is going to be once again left with carrying the burden of his little brother's issues.
Sam doesn't want this life.
Sam doesn't want these issues.
He would love to be able to look at food like a normal person and not feel guilty every time he puts it into his mouth; feeling it slide down his throat, and settling like a heavy rock in the pit of his stomach.
"I don't want to be like this, Dean. I never wanted this. Sometimes I just think it would be easier if I died - if I were dead. Then no one would have to care."
And as the darkness began to close in around Sam Winchester, the dark and tender voice of anorexia continued to whisper sweet, deadly nothings into his ear.
And it was the last voice he heard as the darkness finally pulled him under.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Word Count: 3,827
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 had been several hours since they'd left the restaurant. Dean still hadn't received a call from his father; however, he'd received a text message containing coordinates not long after leaving the restaurant and exiting onto the highway.
After driving a few hours in the direction of the coordinates he'd been given, he knew he would eventually have to have some type of conversation or at least come to some sort of understanding with Sam if John was going to start sending him to destinations unknown for reasons unknown. So when the sun started to get low in the sky, Dean decided to get off the highway and locate a motel for them to settle down in for the night.
For the first full hour after getting the room, Sam sat at the small table alternating between playing with his telephone and ignoring the elephant in the room; and while Sam sat at the table, Dean found himself resting on one of the beds flipping through channels and also doing his best to ignore the elephant in the room.
Dean was walking on eggshells around Sam. Sam was walking on eggshells around Dean. Dean was afraid to say something that might push his brother over the edge. Sam was afraid to say something that would finally push his brother away.
Sam didn't want anything to eat, but he knew his brother had probably started to feel hungry. He knew that Dean hadn't had a chance to eat much before their argument. And if past experience was any indicator, Sam knew Dean would probably wait until he was on the verge of experiencing a hunger headache if it meant prolonging the inevitable fight that usually came along with trying to get him to eat as well.
Sam realized that his lack of appetite had everything to do with his depression, and how he'd been struggling to keep it together while dealing with Jessica's death.
Even with that being the case, Sam couldn't keep himself from thinking that even if he was feeling depressed and not really caring about his own needs, he still couldn't help but feel guilty for what he'd been putting his brother through, especially in the last month or so.
Since Jessica's death, Dean had taken care of everything. Sometimes Sam had to remind himself that Dean was only older than him by four years. And when he allowed himself to focus on that, he couldn't help but feel guilty because Dean once again had to make sacrifices for him.
It was after Sam left to attend Stanford that he came to realize some of the roots and causes of his damaged relationship with food and his body image. He'd spent so much of his life growing up hating his dad and hating their way of life and hating the fact that Dean seemed okay with things the way they were that he hadn't had a chance to focus inward. He'd spent so much of his life focused on killing demons, monsters, and ghost all while constantly having to fight them to stay alive that it wasn't until he was truly alone for the first time in his life and away from all of that drama that he truly could reflect on what was going on in his head and in his heart.
Sam sat thinking all of this as he sat pretending to read something on his phone.
It was during his first year in college when he started reflecting on all of the times throughout their childhood that Dean went without just so that he wouldn't have to.
As a child, he hadn't been aware that that was what was taking place, but as an adult he began looking back with guilt and regret because he realized that he'd been on the receiving end of unconditional love, care, and support from his brother while Dean often ended up living off of the dark fears of not being able to take care of Sam properly or of not being able to be the perfect little soldier John expected him to be.
Sam realized that Dean did things for him that no child should ever have to do for another child. Especially when said children are so young and vulnerable. Especially then.
Sam sat thinking all of this as he sat pretending to read something on his phone.
When Dean turned ten and Sam was a few months from being six, their father started leaving them alone for extended periods of time. At first, it would only be two or three days, and he would only be gone from Friday nights to late Sunday evenings.
Sam remembers being happy that Dad was home on most school nights. He'd been in kindergarten or first grade at the time and loved telling Dean and his father about all of the things he'd learned in school and about all of the things he already knew because Dean had already 'teached' them to him.
He also remembers from around that time his brother explaining to him their father did 'important work' on the weekends.
He remembers being loved during that time.
He also remembers Dean being really quiet and sad at times, too.
He remembers Dean being the one that made him breakfast, lunch, and dinner whenever their dad was gone. He would like to be able to forget the times his brother would fix dinner for him, but then Dean would just sit across from him with only a glass of water or a glass of milk while he ate. Sometimes he would ask his brother why he wasn't eating with him, and Dean would say that he wasn't hungry or that he'd already eaten. Sometimes Sam would ask his brother the exact same question, and Dean would get really angry and yell at him or tell him to just shut up and eat. Actually, Dean yelling about it really didn't happen that often, and he would always apologize afterwards with this look in his eyes that Sam as a child hadn't understood.
It wasn't until Stanford that Sam could give Dean's outbursts all those years ago a name.
It did something to his heart when he realized that there were times growing up that Dean went hungry so that he didn't have to. Dean had only been a kid, but he'd been forced into situations where he'd had to make adult decisions. Because their dad had either forgotten to leave behind some cash for them or was too broke to buy groceries, Dean sometimes sacrificed his personal well-being for his brother's sake.
Sam sat thinking and remembering all of this as he pretended to read something on his phone.
When Sam looks back, he's pretty sure those instances are ones that triggered his eating disorder later in life.
And there were other things, too.
The year that Dean turned thirteen and Sam turned nine was the year life changed forever. Any sense of stability he'd felt evaporated. It was the year realities were shifted and perceptions were altered. Truths about common lies and lies about common truths were revealed.
At nine, John told him that monsters were real. He explained that he was now old enough to learn how to protect himself from the evil that hid and attacked in the dark. He told him he would start something called 'training' so he'd always be ready and 'fighting fit' if something supernatural were ever to attack him. John finished by telling him he was his 'little man' and that he wanted Sam to do all he could to 'make him proud.'
Sam remembers getting really sick that night.
His little stomach just would not stop turning and cramping. And he tried his best not to, but he couldn't stop himself from crying when the pain got really bad. He couldn't stop himself from thinking that monsters were going to kill them all. And he knew he couldn't voice his fears because Dad wanted him to be brave like a real man.
He remembers crying so hard and feeling so sick that he ended up vomiting up everything that was still in his stomach.
As they tucked him into bed that night, his father told him it was just nerves making him ill and that he'd probably just eaten too much, and Dean promised him that he would feel better when he woke up in the morning.
Sam sat thinking and remembering all of this as he pretended to read something on his phone.
After that night, Sam didn't see or talk to his father for an entire week.
Dean told him the next morning that their father had gone on a hunt and he would be back as soon as he could. Dean made him scrambled eggs in their motel microwave that morning and by nine he was puking his meal back up into the toilet. He hadn't purposefully made himself sick. It just happened. Afterwards, Dean found him a clean shirt to put on since the one he'd been wearing had been splattered with stomach bile and half-digested eggs. Dean had then asked him what was wrong and if he felt like he was coming down with the flu or something.
He remembers shrugging his shoulders and saying that he didn't know.
While at Stanford, Sam realized that at nine he never would have been able to articulate to his brother that the information their father had dropped on him had shaken him emotionally to the point that it was making him physically ill. All he understood at nine was that every time he thought about what his father had explained to him, it felt like his stomach was boiling. All he understood at nine and started to appreciate more by ten and even more by eleven, was that if something stressful was happening, especially if it involved monsters and his dad or Dean possibly dying, his stomach wouldn't bother him as much if it was empty.
There was another thing he'd figured out that caused his issues with food.
When Sam was twelve, his father stepped up their training regime. Instead of only sparring with his brother, Sam sometimes found himself faced against his dad. Dad didn't spar full out with him like he did with Dean at that point, but there were still times when he wasn't fast enough to avoid a fist to the gut or having his legs swiped from under him. And he hated sparring with his father. Not only was his father bigger than his brother, but he also hit harder, too.
Sam was a quick study and it didn't take long for him to come to a few conclusions in his still very young mind. The strenuous training and exercise plan his father wanted him to follow was a whole lot easier to accomplish if he wasn't feeling sluggish or weighed down by a heavy meal. He also realized that getting hit in the stomach by his father's giant fist or even by his brother's or having to run long distances as fast as he could didn't make him feel like vomiting if his stomach was pretty much empty.
Sam sat remembering and thinking about all of this as he pretended to read something on his phone. He sat there remembering how miserable he'd been. And the more he got lost in his own thoughts, the more whatever he'd been staring at on his phone started to get blurry as tears welled up in his eyes.
Just as he felt tears about to fall whether he wanted them to or not, he was abruptly snatched out of his musings as Dean's stomach gave a long, deep growl from across the room.
Sam found himself looking up for the first time since getting the room to see his brother's face, and something happened in that moment that sent an almost instant rush of nervous nausea through his stomach. He ended up dropping his phone and covering his mouth with one hand to stop himself from retching and grabbing onto the table with the other to keep himself balanced.
It wasn't until Stanford that Sam could give Dean's outbursts all those years ago a name. And it did something to his heart when he realized that there were times growing up that Dean went hungry so that he did not have to. Dean had only been a kid, but he'd been forced into situations where he'd had to make adult decisions. Because their dad had either forgotten to leave behind some cash for them or was too broke to buy groceries, Dean sometimes sacrificed his personal well-being for his brother's sake.
As Sam sat with his hand over his mouth, a sob came out of him instead of the bile and stomach acids he'd been expecting and hot tears burned tracks over the back of his hand.
"Sammy!" Dean said as he jumped from the bed and knelt beside where his brother was sitting.
"Are you going to be sick? Do you need me to help you to the bathroom?" Dean asked as he tried to get Sam to look him in the eyes. Dean knew from experience that Sam's body would sometimes vomit up small amounts of bile if he let his stomach get too empty, and he'd kinda been waiting for it to happen.
"N- no, I'm o-okay," Sam said as he did his best to force himself to stop crying. "I'm okay. I'm just - I just want you to know how sor - so, so sorry I am for putting you through all this crap."
"What do you mean?" Dean asked as he moved to sit on the bed so that he was no longer crowding his brother but still close enough to get to him quick if need be.
Sam looked down to his phone where it sat on the table and the time read 7:50 p.m. When Sam looked back up and into his brother's eyes, all he saw was Dean at ten-years-old going hungry just so he wouldn't have to. It was in that moment that he could neither stop the words that left his mouth nor the tears that started to fall from his eyes.
"Dean, I don't think - I've never told you how much I appreciate all the things, I mean, everything you did and gave for me when we were young. When we were just kids. I mean, you did it all. And you - you shouldn't have had to, man. I mean, you don't know this, but I remember. I remember you even giving me your food. And you went - you went hungry, and I didn't know better. And I'm so, so sorry. And with - with Jess, I just don't - god, it just hurts so much that- " was all Sam got out before he found himself crushed in his brother's strong embrace.
"Sammy, I'm so sorry, man. I'm so sorry," Dean said as he felt tears run down his own face. All he could do was hold Sam and let him cry against his shoulder. And as he slowly rubbed up and down his brother's back to comfort him, he had to struggle with himself not to react to the movement and feel of sharp bones underneath his brother's shirt.
There was so much Dean wanted to say to Sam.
He wanted to tell him that the depression was so intense because he was starving himself, and that the more he starved himself the stronger and deeper the depression would get. He wanted to tell him how much he loved him and how sorry he was that he was suffering so deeply. He wanted to say all that and so much more, but he knew that in the end there would never be anything he could say to take away the feelings of guilt his brother carried for things that were not his fault. Sam had always been that way. It was one of the things he'd tried to help his brother overcome when he got really sick for the first time at twelve and had to stay in the hospital for almost three weeks; one week for his physical health and two to address his mental and emotional state.
Dean held onto and continued to hug his grieving brother until both of their tears had stopped and his own hunger started to make him feel a little light-headed.
Dean grabbed some tissues from the box on the nearest nightstand and handed them to his brother. Dean knew he couldn't avoid the subject of grabbing something to eat any longer. All he could do was hope that he wasn't about to upset Sammy more.
"I'm kinda hungry, man. I think I'm going to the diner up the street and grab something. Do you wanna come with? If not, I can just bring you something back." Dean said as he walked over to the dresser to grab his wallet in order to both avoid his brother's eyes and to not seem like he was putting direct pressure on his brother.
"Um, can you just bring me something back? Whatever you bring back is fine, just - just nothing too heavy, okay?" Sam said as he forced himself to do this one thing that he knew would make his brother happy.
"Yeah, man. Sure. I'll be back in a little while. I have my cell if you need something before I get back," Dean said as he opened the door.
"Yes, mom," Sam called back just as he caught his brother giving him the one finger salute as the door closed behind him.
As soon as the sound of the Impala heading out of the parking lot faded, Sam could feel the warmth that always came with his brother's presence start to fade. The suddenness of it left him feeling cold and shaky. He knew he would have to eat at least some of whatever his brother brought back, and the anxiety surrounding something that should be so simple was making him feel sick.
He carefully stood up from the table and made his way to the bathroom. He purposefully avoided looking at his reflection in the mirror as he splashed a few handfuls of icy cold water on his face. However, he quickly realized that may have not been the best idea when his teeth almost instantly began to chatter and his body started to shake.
Sam reached over to grab a towel and froze when he saw himself in the mirror.
Intellectually, he knew there were times when his illness distorted what he actually looked like when he looked at his reflection. His 'anorexic mind' would see a pudgy body while his hands could feel every rib, the tip of his sternum sticking out, and a slightly concave stomach. His eyes would see a chubby face while his hands would feel prominent cheekbones and slightly hollowed cheeks. In his mind, he felt big and heavy and that's what the illness allowed him to see more often than not.
He'd grown accustomed to seeing himself in a certain way, and he'd come to accept that. However, the thing he saw staring back at himself at that moment was a total stranger. The person he saw appeared to be both fragile and sick.
The eyes were too big and the circles around them were too deep and too dark. The line of the chin and the line of the jaw were both too sharp and the cheeks were desperately hollow. The face was too long and too narrow, and the water that dripped from his hair and pale face made him look more like one of the creatures his family hunted and less like a human being. Sam knew there were times when his illness distorted what he actually looked like, and unfortunately, this was not one of them.
Before Sam realized what he was doing or before considering the consequences of his actions, he punched the image in the mirror with all the power he possessed. And then he punched it again. And again. And again. And again until his hand and wrist felt numb and blood was all he could see and its warmth dripping off of his hand was all he could feel.
Once the rage died down, Sam felt completely hollowed out emotionally to the point that all he could do was sit on the closed toilet seat, wrap a towel around his hand to try to slow the bleeding, and wait for his brother to get back.
Sam waited and waited.
After a few minutes, the strong smell of his own blood started making him nauseous and a cold sweat broke out all over his body. He found himself leaning forward while resting his elbows on his thighs and allowing his head to hang down between them in order to keep himself from falling over. Sam waited, and he waited. And as his vision started to blur and darken around the edges, he continued to wait. As fatigue and blood loss and the effects of hunger all threatened to pull him under, he fought to keep his eye open.
Sam knows that Dean will show up soon. He knows his brother will handle the situation and make sure everything is taken care of. And even though he knows these things, he can't help but feel guilty because Dean is going to be once again left with carrying the burden of his little brother's issues.
Sam doesn't want this life.
Sam doesn't want these issues.
He would love to be able to look at food like a normal person and not feel guilty every time he puts it into his mouth; feeling it slide down his throat, and settling like a heavy rock in the pit of his stomach.
"I don't want to be like this, Dean. I never wanted this. Sometimes I just think it would be easier if I died - if I were dead. Then no one would have to care."
And as the darkness began to close in around Sam Winchester, the dark and tender voice of anorexia continued to whisper sweet, deadly nothings into his ear.
And it was the last voice he heard as the darkness finally pulled him under.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~