Lists and Layers
Title: Lists and Layers
For chubwinchesters 3rd drabble meme (although I failed miserably at the 'drabble' portion of the challenge... oops)
Prompt: Dean's put on some weight (not a lot.. maybe 25-50lbs? Just to make him a little chubbier or out-of-shape than usual), and isn't very happy about it. He's a little self-conscious. While out one day someone makes-fun or cruelly teases him (could be to his face or he over-hears, though I'd prefer the latter). Dean gets depressed/upset over it and it's up to Sam to cheer him up. [ Link]
Word Count: ~2,000
Dean Winchester is many things.
Awesome? Check. Badass? Check. Devilishly handsome? Double check. The list goes on.
The one thing he is not, however-in any way, shape, or form-is self-conscious. He’s an infinite hollow of esteem and confidence. Or so the trend has been. Now, however… well, now he feels utterly discomfited in his own skin and it sucks.
It started with letting his belt out a notch, then two. It was easy enough to put out of his head at first, but after a final fight with jeans that refused to button, it was impossible to deny the actuality of the situation: he’d gained weight.
It wasn’t noticeable at first. It distributed itself across his frame, softening hard planes ever so slightly. After some time, however, a hearty layer settled over his thighs and his abs gradually gave way to a visible potbelly.
It comes with age, he supposes. Late night meals and the stress of the job finally catching up with him.
The weight makes him feel awkward and disjointed. He was raised a solider-solid and reliable-and this new body is anything but. Even now, with new jeans and t-shirt, he feels uncomfortable.
As he dresses for the day, he runs his hands over his t-shirt repeatedly. It fits, but the fabric still hugs the swell of his belly. So he tugs on a plaid button down-winces when he recognizes how tight it's getting in the shoulders-and pulls a jacket on over that. He glances in the mirror: he looks broader, the contours of his face softer. He sighs and stalks across the room.
“M’gonna fill the car,” he calls, pounding a fist against the bathroom door. “Want anything for breakfast?”
“Pancakes,” Sam calls back. Dean nods to himself and leaves the motel room.
He fills the Impala at a gas station two miles down the road and there’s a diner next door. He goes inside to order and while he waits he sits at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee. It’s pretty dead and his interest is only piqued when a girl appears at his side.
“Mind if I borrow a few?” She asks him with a smile. She takes a handful of napkins from the dispenser to his right and he allows his eyes to trail down her body. She’s dressed just the way he likes in short shorts and a low-cut tank top.
“Oh, you can borrow whatever you like, darlin’,” he responds with a wink. A short giggle escapes her chest and when she turns to leave, he glances back to watch her walk away. Yeah, he’s shameless but he’s too old to change his ways. She slides back into a booth across from a friend and sets the napkins down. She keeps her voice low as she leans across the table, but it's still audible in the quiet of the diner.
Did you see that?
What?
He totally hit on me.
Who?
Dean turns forward again and he hears another round of giggles. He smirks to himself, figuring they like what they see, but the feeling is fleeting.
God, you attract some winners, don’t you?
I know, right?
What’s up with you and chubby guys?
I don’t know but you should see the gut on him, and he’s wearing all of these layers… it’s like, really? Who do you think you’re fooling?
More laughter and Dean feels his cheeks begin to burn. He lowers his gaze to the countertop, mortified.
A minute later the waitress reappears and sets two boxes down in front of him.
“Two pancakes and eggs, one bacon and one turkey sausage. You need more than one set of silverware?” She asks.
“Of course I do,” he barks. The words come out louder than intended and the waitress lifts her brow. He frowns and quickly collects himself. “Of course I do,” he says, starting again. “It’s for two people, not just me.”
“Whatever, honey,” she says as she slides him two packets of plastic cutlery. He takes it and rushes out of the diner.
::
“I’m eating this,” Sam says as he snags the last of Dean’s pancakes off his plate. Dean waves him off with a hand and Sam lifts his brow. “What’s up with you?” He asks as he cuts the pancake with his fork. He glances back at Dean’s plate, which sits relatively untouched. Instead, he sits stiffly in his seat and engages the window frame in a heated staring match. “Normally you’re finished and taking my food before I even start to eat.”
“Not hungry,” Dean mumbles. He folds his arms firmly across his stomach.
“That’s a first,” Sam remarks. Dean’s gaze narrows.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sam rolls his eyes, as if the offense Dean’s taken is some kind of joke. Given his history however, it sort of is. Dean frowns and continues, “I’m just saying-we eat a lot of crap.”
“We? I’ve seen you eat bacon cheeseburgers for breakfast, man. Don’t lump me into your habits.”
“I’m just saying,” Dean replies, looking away. He can feel his cheeks begin to burn once more and Sam hmphs quietly.
“So, you’re all about health now, or what?” He asks as he pushes the rest of the eggs into his mouth. Dean shrugs.
“Maybe I am.”
“Dude, you’re being really weird. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he snaps. He adjusts his arms and glances down. His t-shirt rides up ever so slightly, revealing a sliver of flabby skin. He tugs it down, finger brushing over the softness of his stomach. His jeans are beginning to get tight again, the denim and button cutting into his skin. He can imagine the relief he’d feel if he’d unbutton them right now, allowing his belly to escape-the way it would partially fill his lap and push his t-shirt up. He winces internally at the thought.
“Whatever,” Sam mumbles. He doesn’t touch the subject again.
::
He continues to artfully attempt to conceal his girth with layers. Every time he does so, the words of those girls echo in his mind. He knows he isn’t fooling anyone, but it makes him feel a little better. If anything, his jacket at least covers the way he has to unbutton his jeans during long drives-covers the way his t-shirts are beginning to ride up with increasing frequency.
He ignores Sam’s curious, bewildered looks at his growing irritability.
A month later finds them three states over and investigating a series of strange deaths at a local mall. It’s there that they’re finally forced to broach the subject.
They’re set to interview the latest victim’s mother in forty-five minutes, and Sam is flipping through some newspaper articles on his computer when Dean slips into the bathroom, suit in hand. Sam is already dressed and checking his watch periodically.
It’s ten minutes later that he opens the bathroom door a crack. He hesitates, and then calls, “Sam?” Dean’s own voice sounds foreign to himself. His tone is stripped of its usual cocky reassurance, replaced by sheer vulnerability. And Sam, being the giant girl that he is, is next to the door-brow pinched in concern-in a flash.
“What?” He asks.
Dean opens the door a little wider. He’s dressed in boxers and an undershirt. “I… I can’t do it,” he admits.
“What?” Sam asks again.
“My suit’s too small, man," he says as he walks out of the bathroom .
“Oh.” Sam hesitates. "Did it... did it shrink?" He pulls a look of curiosity that might pass as believable to the most gullible of idiots, but Dean isn't fooled for a moment. It's to shield him from the embarrassment he's already feeling.
"No, it didn't shrink. I can hardly fit into my jeans, let alone this stupid thing," he says as he throws it onto the bed.
Sam nods his head slowly. He glances at the discarded suit and then shrugs, “Well, that’s ok. I can handle this on my own and we’ll get you a new one.”
Dean huffs, irritated and more than a little humiliated. He can only imagine what his brother is thinking of him right now. He grabs a pair of jeans and pulls them on over his boxers. He takes a breath to button them, struggling with the button and zip for a moment, and then adjusts the waistband below his stomach. He glances down and grimaces at how pronounced it is beneath the thin white t-shirt.
“I’m fat. I know it.” He pauses and looks away. “Those girls were right to be disgusted.”
The confusion on Sam’s face is back. “What?” He asks once more and Dean waves him off, not wanting to explain. He can hear their laughter in his head and that's more than enough.
“You’re better off without me. Go interview the mom and I’ll stay here and eat a box of donuts or something because that’s all I’m really good for, right?”
“Ok, you’re being ridiculous,” Sam starts as he takes a step toward Dean. “This really isn’t a big deal. Yeah, you’ve gained weight-but that doesn't change who you are as a hunter. We’ll buy you a new suit, maybe some new jeans, and everything will be fine.”
“Whatever,” Dean mumbles. He feels worthless. Useless. He can't even complete the simple task of an interview, for christ's sake. How will he deal when they come face to face with an actual monster?
He turns to walk away from Sam-gain as much distance possible from that let me feel your pain and hug it out look on his face. Before he can move too far, however, Sam grabs him from behind. An arm clamps across Dean’s throat, and he reacts automatically. He struggles briefly before he's able to break Sam’s hold. He turns and drives himself into his brother's waist and throws him onto the floor. There’s another brief struggle before he flips Sam and pins an arm behind his back. He forces his elbow up and pushes a knee into his back.
“What the fuck, man?” Dean shouts. Beneath him, Sam squirms, trying to break the hold.
“Ok, ow. Fuck-I was trying to prove a point but this actually hurts,” Sam mumbles, cheek pressed against the carpet. Dean’s expression softens and after a couple of seconds he lets go. He slides off of Sam and inches over to sit against the wall. Slowly, Sam turns over and winches. He rubs absently at his arm and Dean leans in to pat him on the chest.
“Sorry,” he says.
“No, no-it’s fine. You proved my point and then some,” Sam responds.
It's Dean's turn to have his expression knit into confusion. "I did?" He questions.
Sam looks up at him from where he lies on his back. He nods and says, “Heavier or not, you’ve still got it. I mean, fuck, I really didn’t see that coming. You’re quick. And strong.”
Dean turns the words over in his mind and finally nods to himself. “Guess I am,” he says. Gradually, a smirk begins to tug at his lips as a familiar self-congratulatory feeling bubbles up in his chest. He is pretty awesome, after all.
“You are.” Sam says. He then pauses and reaches back. He places a hand on Dean’s stomach and pats it. The way Dean is situated on the floor leaves it to settle on his lap, looking rounder than ever. It jiggles lightly beneath the motion and Sam grins, “Buddha belly and all.”
“Dude,” Dean warns. Sam retracts his hand automatically.
“Too soon?”
“Way too soon.”
“Ok, fine.” He smiles and sits back up, then climbs to his feet. “I’m going to interview the mom. I’ll be back.”
“Sounds good,” Dean says.
He remains on the floor and, for the first time in a long time, he feels kind of good. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t relish in the way Sam continues to flex and rub at his shoulder as he walks toward the door.
Dean Winchester is, and always will be, many things.
Awesome? Check. Badass? Check. Devilishly handsome? Double check. Able to beat his brother up no matter what? Quadruple check.
For chubwinchesters 3rd drabble meme (although I failed miserably at the 'drabble' portion of the challenge... oops)
Prompt: Dean's put on some weight (not a lot.. maybe 25-50lbs? Just to make him a little chubbier or out-of-shape than usual), and isn't very happy about it. He's a little self-conscious. While out one day someone makes-fun or cruelly teases him (could be to his face or he over-hears, though I'd prefer the latter). Dean gets depressed/upset over it and it's up to Sam to cheer him up. [ Link]
Word Count: ~2,000
Dean Winchester is many things.
Awesome? Check. Badass? Check. Devilishly handsome? Double check. The list goes on.
The one thing he is not, however-in any way, shape, or form-is self-conscious. He’s an infinite hollow of esteem and confidence. Or so the trend has been. Now, however… well, now he feels utterly discomfited in his own skin and it sucks.
It started with letting his belt out a notch, then two. It was easy enough to put out of his head at first, but after a final fight with jeans that refused to button, it was impossible to deny the actuality of the situation: he’d gained weight.
It wasn’t noticeable at first. It distributed itself across his frame, softening hard planes ever so slightly. After some time, however, a hearty layer settled over his thighs and his abs gradually gave way to a visible potbelly.
It comes with age, he supposes. Late night meals and the stress of the job finally catching up with him.
The weight makes him feel awkward and disjointed. He was raised a solider-solid and reliable-and this new body is anything but. Even now, with new jeans and t-shirt, he feels uncomfortable.
As he dresses for the day, he runs his hands over his t-shirt repeatedly. It fits, but the fabric still hugs the swell of his belly. So he tugs on a plaid button down-winces when he recognizes how tight it's getting in the shoulders-and pulls a jacket on over that. He glances in the mirror: he looks broader, the contours of his face softer. He sighs and stalks across the room.
“M’gonna fill the car,” he calls, pounding a fist against the bathroom door. “Want anything for breakfast?”
“Pancakes,” Sam calls back. Dean nods to himself and leaves the motel room.
He fills the Impala at a gas station two miles down the road and there’s a diner next door. He goes inside to order and while he waits he sits at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee. It’s pretty dead and his interest is only piqued when a girl appears at his side.
“Mind if I borrow a few?” She asks him with a smile. She takes a handful of napkins from the dispenser to his right and he allows his eyes to trail down her body. She’s dressed just the way he likes in short shorts and a low-cut tank top.
“Oh, you can borrow whatever you like, darlin’,” he responds with a wink. A short giggle escapes her chest and when she turns to leave, he glances back to watch her walk away. Yeah, he’s shameless but he’s too old to change his ways. She slides back into a booth across from a friend and sets the napkins down. She keeps her voice low as she leans across the table, but it's still audible in the quiet of the diner.
Did you see that?
What?
He totally hit on me.
Who?
Dean turns forward again and he hears another round of giggles. He smirks to himself, figuring they like what they see, but the feeling is fleeting.
God, you attract some winners, don’t you?
I know, right?
What’s up with you and chubby guys?
I don’t know but you should see the gut on him, and he’s wearing all of these layers… it’s like, really? Who do you think you’re fooling?
More laughter and Dean feels his cheeks begin to burn. He lowers his gaze to the countertop, mortified.
A minute later the waitress reappears and sets two boxes down in front of him.
“Two pancakes and eggs, one bacon and one turkey sausage. You need more than one set of silverware?” She asks.
“Of course I do,” he barks. The words come out louder than intended and the waitress lifts her brow. He frowns and quickly collects himself. “Of course I do,” he says, starting again. “It’s for two people, not just me.”
“Whatever, honey,” she says as she slides him two packets of plastic cutlery. He takes it and rushes out of the diner.
::
“I’m eating this,” Sam says as he snags the last of Dean’s pancakes off his plate. Dean waves him off with a hand and Sam lifts his brow. “What’s up with you?” He asks as he cuts the pancake with his fork. He glances back at Dean’s plate, which sits relatively untouched. Instead, he sits stiffly in his seat and engages the window frame in a heated staring match. “Normally you’re finished and taking my food before I even start to eat.”
“Not hungry,” Dean mumbles. He folds his arms firmly across his stomach.
“That’s a first,” Sam remarks. Dean’s gaze narrows.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sam rolls his eyes, as if the offense Dean’s taken is some kind of joke. Given his history however, it sort of is. Dean frowns and continues, “I’m just saying-we eat a lot of crap.”
“We? I’ve seen you eat bacon cheeseburgers for breakfast, man. Don’t lump me into your habits.”
“I’m just saying,” Dean replies, looking away. He can feel his cheeks begin to burn once more and Sam hmphs quietly.
“So, you’re all about health now, or what?” He asks as he pushes the rest of the eggs into his mouth. Dean shrugs.
“Maybe I am.”
“Dude, you’re being really weird. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he snaps. He adjusts his arms and glances down. His t-shirt rides up ever so slightly, revealing a sliver of flabby skin. He tugs it down, finger brushing over the softness of his stomach. His jeans are beginning to get tight again, the denim and button cutting into his skin. He can imagine the relief he’d feel if he’d unbutton them right now, allowing his belly to escape-the way it would partially fill his lap and push his t-shirt up. He winces internally at the thought.
“Whatever,” Sam mumbles. He doesn’t touch the subject again.
::
He continues to artfully attempt to conceal his girth with layers. Every time he does so, the words of those girls echo in his mind. He knows he isn’t fooling anyone, but it makes him feel a little better. If anything, his jacket at least covers the way he has to unbutton his jeans during long drives-covers the way his t-shirts are beginning to ride up with increasing frequency.
He ignores Sam’s curious, bewildered looks at his growing irritability.
A month later finds them three states over and investigating a series of strange deaths at a local mall. It’s there that they’re finally forced to broach the subject.
They’re set to interview the latest victim’s mother in forty-five minutes, and Sam is flipping through some newspaper articles on his computer when Dean slips into the bathroom, suit in hand. Sam is already dressed and checking his watch periodically.
It’s ten minutes later that he opens the bathroom door a crack. He hesitates, and then calls, “Sam?” Dean’s own voice sounds foreign to himself. His tone is stripped of its usual cocky reassurance, replaced by sheer vulnerability. And Sam, being the giant girl that he is, is next to the door-brow pinched in concern-in a flash.
“What?” He asks.
Dean opens the door a little wider. He’s dressed in boxers and an undershirt. “I… I can’t do it,” he admits.
“What?” Sam asks again.
“My suit’s too small, man," he says as he walks out of the bathroom .
“Oh.” Sam hesitates. "Did it... did it shrink?" He pulls a look of curiosity that might pass as believable to the most gullible of idiots, but Dean isn't fooled for a moment. It's to shield him from the embarrassment he's already feeling.
"No, it didn't shrink. I can hardly fit into my jeans, let alone this stupid thing," he says as he throws it onto the bed.
Sam nods his head slowly. He glances at the discarded suit and then shrugs, “Well, that’s ok. I can handle this on my own and we’ll get you a new one.”
Dean huffs, irritated and more than a little humiliated. He can only imagine what his brother is thinking of him right now. He grabs a pair of jeans and pulls them on over his boxers. He takes a breath to button them, struggling with the button and zip for a moment, and then adjusts the waistband below his stomach. He glances down and grimaces at how pronounced it is beneath the thin white t-shirt.
“I’m fat. I know it.” He pauses and looks away. “Those girls were right to be disgusted.”
The confusion on Sam’s face is back. “What?” He asks once more and Dean waves him off, not wanting to explain. He can hear their laughter in his head and that's more than enough.
“You’re better off without me. Go interview the mom and I’ll stay here and eat a box of donuts or something because that’s all I’m really good for, right?”
“Ok, you’re being ridiculous,” Sam starts as he takes a step toward Dean. “This really isn’t a big deal. Yeah, you’ve gained weight-but that doesn't change who you are as a hunter. We’ll buy you a new suit, maybe some new jeans, and everything will be fine.”
“Whatever,” Dean mumbles. He feels worthless. Useless. He can't even complete the simple task of an interview, for christ's sake. How will he deal when they come face to face with an actual monster?
He turns to walk away from Sam-gain as much distance possible from that let me feel your pain and hug it out look on his face. Before he can move too far, however, Sam grabs him from behind. An arm clamps across Dean’s throat, and he reacts automatically. He struggles briefly before he's able to break Sam’s hold. He turns and drives himself into his brother's waist and throws him onto the floor. There’s another brief struggle before he flips Sam and pins an arm behind his back. He forces his elbow up and pushes a knee into his back.
“What the fuck, man?” Dean shouts. Beneath him, Sam squirms, trying to break the hold.
“Ok, ow. Fuck-I was trying to prove a point but this actually hurts,” Sam mumbles, cheek pressed against the carpet. Dean’s expression softens and after a couple of seconds he lets go. He slides off of Sam and inches over to sit against the wall. Slowly, Sam turns over and winches. He rubs absently at his arm and Dean leans in to pat him on the chest.
“Sorry,” he says.
“No, no-it’s fine. You proved my point and then some,” Sam responds.
It's Dean's turn to have his expression knit into confusion. "I did?" He questions.
Sam looks up at him from where he lies on his back. He nods and says, “Heavier or not, you’ve still got it. I mean, fuck, I really didn’t see that coming. You’re quick. And strong.”
Dean turns the words over in his mind and finally nods to himself. “Guess I am,” he says. Gradually, a smirk begins to tug at his lips as a familiar self-congratulatory feeling bubbles up in his chest. He is pretty awesome, after all.
“You are.” Sam says. He then pauses and reaches back. He places a hand on Dean’s stomach and pats it. The way Dean is situated on the floor leaves it to settle on his lap, looking rounder than ever. It jiggles lightly beneath the motion and Sam grins, “Buddha belly and all.”
“Dude,” Dean warns. Sam retracts his hand automatically.
“Too soon?”
“Way too soon.”
“Ok, fine.” He smiles and sits back up, then climbs to his feet. “I’m going to interview the mom. I’ll be back.”
“Sounds good,” Dean says.
He remains on the floor and, for the first time in a long time, he feels kind of good. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t relish in the way Sam continues to flex and rub at his shoulder as he walks toward the door.
Dean Winchester is, and always will be, many things.
Awesome? Check. Badass? Check. Devilishly handsome? Double check. Able to beat his brother up no matter what? Quadruple check.