Weighed Down (Part 3)
Characters: chubby!Dean, Sam
Pairings: Gen
Rating: PG for language
Warning: I'm leaving ya on a cliffe. Sorry.
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For days Dean tried to keep his self-control in check, so he didn’t have to let Sam get involved any more than he had to be. He ate right (Sam talked him into a full-blown diet, at least for a few weeks, much to his regret), he reluctantly worked out every day (the whole time counting for the minutes till he his hour was up) and in general was miserable. He missed food. He missed it so much, it hurt.
But he also missed being able to run without having it hurt.
One night, after a full-days drive, they had settled in at a hotel for much-needed rest. Sam fell asleep the second he hit the pillow. Dean on the other hand lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, restlessly arguing with himself over whether it was worth it to just sneak out and grab something to eat, or suck it up and wait until morning. He literally felt like he had a bickering little angel and devil on either shoulder.
You’ve suffered enough, one little snack won’t hurt.
That’s what you said, a hundred pounds ago, fatass. Just wait for breakfast.
What good is breakfast going to do if Sam won’t even let you eat anything? You’ll starve all day.
But you’re doing the right thing. You need to do this, you can’t let Sam down again.
Screw Sam, he doesn’t know what this is like. Eat something, you’ll feel better.
You’ll feel worse later, especially if Sam find out.
Judging from his snores, he’ll sleep through an earthquake. He’ll never notice you gone.
Do you want to be fucking huge?
You’re already huge, you mind as well not be miserable too.
You can’t afford to gain any more weight. Stay put.
It’ll only be one little snack. It won’t make a difference.
You’re kidding yourself. You’ll turn into a pig, like you always do.
What are you waiting for? Go before Sam wakes up!
“Uhg, shut up.” Dean moaned, rubbing his growling stomach wearily, hoping it would ease the pangs. He looked over at Sam’s bed, and watched his outline rise and fall slightly, as he slept. The glaring red alarm clock read 2:37 in the morning. There was no way he’d sleep like this. But there was no way he was going to lay like this either.
Slowly Dean sat up in bed. Struggling with himself, he glanced at Sam, then the door, then the clock again, weighing his options. He sighed, and swung his legs out of bed, watching Sam, bleary-eyed.
“Sam?” He called quietly. Sam didn’t move. Run for it, his mind and stomach pleaded. Dean stood up and tried again. “Sam?”
You shouldn’t wake him up.
Dean inched closer and hesitated.
Wake him up already, you moron!
Dean nudged his brother, whispering his name. Sam stirred. “C’mon Sam, wake up.” Dean said more harshly, shaking his shoulder. Sam’s eyes opened, and looked up at Dean, still drowsy and confused.
“Dean?” He yawned. “What is it?”
Dean shifted foot to foot nervously. “I….It’s just…I’m….” Dean heaved a sigh and looked away, feeling a blush creep across his face.
Sam stared at Dean, finding it too late in the night to interpret what Dean was trying to tell him. “Dean, spit it out. What’s wrong?”
“I’m hungry, alright?” Dean huffed.
Sam blinked. “Ohh…..” He sat up and rubbed his eyes, yawning again. “Ok.”
Dean fidgeted while Sam turned on the bedside lamp and got up. Dean sat back down and suddenly felt incredibly exposed and self-conscious as the bed springs creaked loudly beneath him and he realized, away from the cover of darkness, he must look massive in just a t-shirt and boxers. Maybe I should put something on, he worried, as he fought the urge to cross his arms over himself. Instead he worked on making himself appear as small as possible, and told himself Sam wasn’t going to care.
Sam sat across from him, hair disheveled and sticking out at odd ends, eyes heavy, making a valiant effort to wake up. The guy had already been up for almost 24 hours straight, and Dean felt guilty. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”
Sam waved at the notion, and shook his head. “Nah, I’m already up. So what do you want to do?”
“…Break into that bakery I saw up the street.” Dean confessed.
Sam’s eyes widened slightly and he slowly nodded. “It’s that bad, huh?”
“I wouldn’t have woken you up if it wasn’t.” Dean mumbled.
Sam offered Dean a reassuring smile. “Well, I’m glad you did. It’s better than the alternative.”
“Whatever. So what now, we sit here and twiddle our thumbs?”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. Never really thought about it.” He glanced around the room, hoping a distraction for Dean would jump out at him, but he had no such luck. “Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Why are you hungry?”
Dean moaned. “Sam, don’t. I woke you up, I told you what’s going on. I’m being honest. I don’t need the caring and sharing on top of it.”
“But just try,” Sam pressed, “You ate dinner, and it should be enough to last you till morning. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” Dean muttered darkly. “Maybe it’s what happens when you have me surviving on leaves and twigs. Can we do something else now?”
Sam sighed. “Movie?”
Dean seemed to agree with this idea because he laid back down, and began propping his pillows up into a comfortable position. Sam grabbed the remote and began surfing through stations for something reasonable.
They settled on some Godzilla marathon, that Dean seemed to like. Dean had always enjoyed the movies, even the really old and cheesy versions, when they were younger. And while he seemed distracted, halfway through Sam actually heard Dean’s stomach rumble. He looked over, and Dean shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. Sam frowned and got up.
“Where you going?” Dean asked.
“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” Sam said, as he hopped into some jeans, threw on a jacket, and was out the door in a matter of a minute. Dean sat, perplexed, wondering what was going on. He wanted to bolt. The hunger was killing him. Instead he curled up on his side and tried his hardest to focus on the movie.
Maybe I should start smoking, he thought.
Sam returned a half hour later with a plastic bag, and made a beeline for the kitchenette. Dean heard the microwave door slam and beep. A minute later he heard the unmistakable smell and sound of popcorn.
Dean sat up. “I thought I was on a diet?”
“You are.” Sam said as he took his jacket off and tossed it on his bed. “But what’s a movie without popcorn?”
Dean was too tired and delirious from hunger to grasp what Sam was getting at, so he flopped back down on the bed. Thirty seconds later Sam was holding a bowl of popcorn out to him. He reached out to take it, but hesitated. “What’s the catch?” Dean imagined Sam making him exercise for an extra hour the next day, or something equally unpleasant.
Sam chuckled. “It’s ok. Just take it.” Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He accepted the offering and practically inhaled it. Sam laughed. “Dude, slow down. You’ll choke.”
It wasn’t cookies and cake, but his stomach didn’t know the difference. A moment later the bowl was empty, and Dean was looking mournfully into it. He wanted more, but he didn’t want to seem greedy. Sam caught him staring at the bag and held it out.
“Eat slower this time. That’s all you’re getting.” Sam said while pouring him a second helping.
Dean tossed a handful in his mouth. “I don’t get it. Why’d you do this?”
“You need sleep. And you’re not going to sleep until you eat something.” Sam said simply. “Besides, it’s not that bad for you anyway. I got the healthy kind.”
“Is that why it tastes weird?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome.”
Dean smiled a little, and turned back to the movie.
Fifteen minutes later Sam glanced over at his brother, only to find him fast asleep.
~~~~~
“Maybe I’m being too hard on you.” Sam said.
“Why do you say that?” Dean asked, walking beside Sam. Yesterday they had both woken up at nearly noon, and had to catch up on driving time, so they skipped Dean’s workout. And technically since they were digging tonight, Dean could skip it again, but Sam insisted they try and make up for the loss by doing something that afternoon. Dean argued over it, but Sam managed to talk him into at least going for a walk.
“Just, maybe it’s too much. You didn’t seem too happy the other night.”
Dean dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. “Forget it. That was my stomach talking. Besides, I need this. I need a drill sergeant… like dad.”
Sam smiled, amused. “I’m comparable to dad now? Wow, I’ve really been rough on you, huh?”
Dean laughed. “No, not nearly. It’s just… I need it. Sometimes I need someone to push me around. Don’t worry about it.”
“Alright…” Sam still wasn’t sure Dean was being completely truthful. He had doubts, about what he was doing to him. Pushing him so suddenly into a strict regimen made him wonder how the stress was affecting Dean. He always looked worn out lately. And even when he tried to convince Sam he felt fine with a smile or a joke, Sam would occasionally catch him with his guard down, looking downright depressed. This morning Sam had found him in the middle of getting dressed, holding one of his favorite old, much-too-small-to-fit, jackets in his hands, just looking at it so unhappily, he was sure he was about to cry.
Sam had tried to cheer him up throughout the day, but nothing seemed to work. Dean remained withdrawn, unnaturally quiet, focusing mainly on tugging his overshirt defensively around his waist, making ill-attempts at sucking his stomach in, and in general just looking uncomfortable.
In truth, Sam didn’t think he looked that bad. Yes, he was a lot heavier than usual, but he had always been stocky, so the weight at least distributed itself evenly over his frame. He was still muscular, and though his face was much fuller, he still looked like his old self. Sam wished Dean wouldn’t be so hard on himself, because he figured a major part of Dean’s compulsions, had to do with his attitude.
Sam caught Dean staring at a ice cream truck in longing. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I wasn’t.” Dean said lowering his eyes back to the ground.
Sam worked to change the subject. “Easy hunt tonight.”
“Since when is it ever easy?”
“Well it’s just a ghost. Could have been another pack of zombies like last month.”
“Yeah those were fun.”
“I think zombies train for Olympics on the side, because they can really sprint fast for dead people. At least you don’t have to run from a ghost. You just point and shoot. It’ll be a lot easier.”
Dean stopped. “I can run.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”
“Yeah, you did. You said at least I won’t have to run.”
“I was just saying it’s a break from something more…. Strenuous.” Sam finished lamely.
Dean crossed his arms, annoyed. “You know, I’m fat, but I’m not useless.”
“Dean,” Sam sighed, exasperated, “I never said that you were.”
Dean turned away shaking his head. “Whatever.”
Sam watched Dean walk off and smirked. “Fine” He challenged, “I’ll race you. First to the Impala wins, and loser has to do laundry for a month.”
Dean turned back, but by the time he did, Sam was already running towards him. “Son of a bitch!” He turned on his heels and began to sprint as fast as his legs could manage. Sam caught up to him in a matter of 10 seconds, laughing.
“Want me to give you another head-start Dean?”
Dean couldn’t say anything because he was too out of breath, but he did manage to give Sam and the middle finger and bump into him with all his weight. Sam was taken off-guard, and stumbled, almost falling over, and Dean laughed, quickening his pace, even though everything in him begged him to quit. His whole body shook as he ran, stomach bouncing sharply with every footfall. Dean ignored that and the stinging in his side, the pain in his lungs, the cramping in his legs, and the thudding of his heart.
His beloved Impala came into sight, but so did Sam. Dean really dug in deep, propelling himself forward for the last few dozen feet. He jumped over a tree stump, bounded around a light post, gasping harder and harder. His legs and chest burned.
So close.
His heart pounded so unnaturally hard against his ribs, he was sure it was going to bust through them.
Don’t stop.
Dean couldn’t breathe. No matter how fast or hard he inhaled, he couldn’t catch his breath.
A few more feet.
He crashed into the side of the Impala, barely registering how hard or fast he hit it. Sam had been right behind him, and if he had let Dean win, he didn’t show it, because even Sam doubled over to pant.
“I’ll…. Never doubt you… again….” Sam half-huffed, half-laughed. When Dean didn’t respond, Sam looked up. Dean lay against the car, eyes closed and chest rapidly heaving up and down to the point Dean sounded like he would hyperventilate.
“Dean you alright?” When Dean didn’t answer, Sam immediately rushed to his side. “Dean?”
Dean made an attempt at a nod, but only gasped harder. He held his hand up for Sam to back off, but Sam ignored it and opened car door, leading Dean over to sit down. Dean hung his head between his knees the best he could with his gut in the way, and gulped air.
After a couple of minutes, Dean slowed down a bit and looked up feeling dizzy and light-headed. His heart was still ramming itself against his chest. He could feel his pulse rushing through his temples and throbbing throughout his body. His stomach churned uneasily.
“Dean?” Sam repeated.
“M’fine.” Dean croaked, more out of natural reaction than in truth. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding and he a bad case of vertigo. Still, he sucked it up for Sam’s sake and worked out a reassuring nod. “I’m ok. Just rusty…”
Sam still looked concerned. “You sure? Because I won’t laugh at you if you need to rest or something.”
Dean shook his head and put on a false smile. “Dude, I ran like, a hundred feet, not a marathon. I’ll be fine. Quit being a mother hen.” He playfully shoved Sam back and Sam retreated.
“Alright, well sorry. I’m just making sure you’re not gonna keel over tonight.” Sam said.
“Make sure when you wash my clothes, you don’t use softener. Stuff always makes me itch.” He smirked at Sam, who still seemed worried. He let the smirk slip and managed a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Promise.”
~~~~~
Dean was definitely not fine. At first he figured it was the typical after-exercise effect, but now he was beginning to worry. He felt awful. Aside from his muscles aching and the occasional head spinning, his heart had slowed down, but he could still feel it pounding oddly every once in a while. His chest hurt too, which Dean tried assuring himself was just a muscle he pulled somehow, but that lie was wearing thin.
He was standing in the grave, because for some reason he insisted on doing the digging. Sam tried to persuade him otherwise, but Dean had ignored him and got right to work. Now he was several feet down, and hurting badly. His back and knees ached from shoveling. His heart was fluttering around in his chest oddly. And since his stomach was in knot, for once, he wasn’t even hungry. But Dean shoved it all aside and kept going, either to protect his pride or something else he didn’t want to acknowledge.
He weakly tossed another mound of dirt out and it barely cleared the hole. Dean swayed a bit and caught his balance by leaning on the side of the grave. He felt short of breath again, and it wasn’t entirely from the digging either. He had felt like that ever since leaving the park, but it was more so now. Sam held out a water bottle from above which Dean gladly took and gulped down, spilling some on the front of shirt in his haste. Not that it mattered, since his shirt was already drenched with sweat, clinging to his every roll like it was painted on, displaying every jiggling movement he made. Normally Dean would have been self-conscious, but at the moment he felt too shitty to care.
Dean handed the bottle back up, but Sam suddenly grabbed his arm and wrist and tugged on him. “Come on, let me finish.”
Part of Dean wanted to argue, but an even bigger part of him was in a massive amount of pain, so he dropped the shovel and gripped the side of the grave, hauling himself up. Sam did most of the work though since he had barely any strength left. Sam handed Dean the flashlight and jumped down to continue, while Dean situated himself with his legs dangling over the edge of the grave, and concentrated on not toppling back in.
Shortly afterwards Dean began feeling incredibly drowsy. His eyes bobbed up and down, as he fought to keep them in focus. Sleep, that’s what he told himself, he just needed some sleep….
“Dean!”
Dean jerked his head up in time to feel himself get thrown like no living human being could manage. He saw the scraggily old woman looming over her grave, and thought of Sam in danger gave him just enough of an adrenaline spike to jump back into reality and lift the gun that was still in his hand.
“Hey granny!” Dean fired and the woman dissipated.
Three seconds later she was zooming next to Dean, while he was struggling to get back up. “Fuck off, you old bag.” He went to fire again, but she threw him back again, sending him and the gun, flying in different directions. He landed by a tree, barely missing it, and cursed as he tried to roll back over, but stopped when he felt a stinging in a back and a tightening in his chest.
The old woman stood over him as he groaned and clutched his shirt front, heart pumping madly beneath it. She smirked. “Old I may be, but at least I’m not a great useless lump like you.” She bent over and smiled a wicked, toothless grin, tsking. “Husband had pains like those. He died hours later. Cardiac arrest.” She grabbed Dean’s shirt and lifted him up like he weighed an ounce. “You won’t be alive long enough to die of that though. Not once I’m through.” She lifted her other hand and bared her yellow, talon-like nails, ready to strike. Dean flinched as she went in for the swipe, but instantly he was dropped on the ground as she burst into screaming fireball, and disappeared.
Dean blinked in and out of a fog, and the next time he resurfaced, Sam was over him.
“Dean? Dean!”
“Mmkay Sammy……” Dean slurred, as he tried to sit up and failed.
“Did she do anything to you?”
“Other than toss me around, no… You ok?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Here,” Sam pulled him up, only Dean winced when he did, doubling over in pain. “Are you hurt?”
“I landed wrong, but nothing’s broken. I’m fine. “He lied.
Sam eyed Dean suspiciously, but didn’t push the matter. “Let’s go. Someone was sure to hear that gunshot.”
Dean nodded and followed behind Sam, the weight of his body heavier than ever, making him teeter and stumble. He made it to the trunk before cringing in pain again, unable to stop himself from grabbing his chest this time, and moaning in agony.
“Dean, what’s wrong?” Sam asked, alarmed.
Dean didn’t answer. He was having a hard time catching his breath again. His vision doubled and tripled. He felt Sam grab him with both hands to keep him from falling.
“Whoa, what happened? Dean!”
“I…I don’t feel so good.” Dean whined, groaning again. Instead of fluttering, his heart was bouncing like a rubber ball, slamming around his rib cage. His chest clenched sharply in pain.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked while man-handling him over to the passenger side of the car.
Dean didn’t want to admit it, but he was too afraid to ignore what was going on anymore. The ghost’s taunts echoed in the back of his head, making his panic even worse. “It’s… it’s… my chest.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “Damn it, I knew you weren’t acting right. Where is it hurting?”
“… here.” He waved his hand around the area right over his heart and Sam’s concern intensified.
“Fuck, Dean, why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because it’s probably nothing. I probably just pulled something.” Dean tried insisting.
“Pulling something doesn’t make people pass out Dean.” Sam snapped.
“I didn’t pass out… besides, if it was dangerous, I would be dead… by now. It’s been hurting since this afternoon.”
“What?! Dean, what the hell is wrong with you? This could be serious!”
“It’s not, really… I probably just need some sleep. Maybe a strong drink too.” He added before another wave of wooziness came over him and he rested his temple against the doorframe.
Sam shook head. “We’re going to the hospital. Now.”
“No, Sam…” Dean began to protest but Sam pushed the rest of him in the car, and slammed the door before he could finish. He realized, he was shaking all of a sudden. Why the hell am I shaking? Dean thought anxiously. Sam got in the driver’s seat and Dean turned to him, wincing again. “Sam, don’t do this.”
“There’s no arguing over this Dean-“
“We can’t go to a hospital. We just desecrated a grave, and look at us… we’re going to be their first suspects.”
“We’ll deal with that later.”
“Sam you’re being… paranoid about this…” Dean complained.
“You’re not being concerned enough Dean!” Sam huffed and looked over at Dean, clearly upset. “Just… just go. For me, please. If it’s nothing, it’s nothing. You can pick on me all you want. But you know it’s something, bad, or else you wouldn’t have hid it from me.” Dean lowered his eyes, guiltily. “We’re going. You have to let me look after you once in a while.” Sam added, as he started the car.
Dean’s head felt too heavy all a sudden. He leaned it on the glass and rubbed a hand over the ache in his chest, weakly. He felt soft, he pointlessly concluded, as he drifted off. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Sam calling to him to stay awake, but he was already gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~
TBC