Chapter Text
Sam stared in the mirror, scrutinizing his body. He pinched folds of skin on his stomach and thighs, hating the bony, angular shape of his body.
Why can't I be beautiful, like Dean, Sam thought. He pictured Dean's tight muscles and fit physique. And then he looked in the mirror at his own skeletal figure, feeling tears prick his eyes as he saw every mistake on himself. He hated his large, flat forehead. His ears that stuck out too far. His teeth that weren't quite straight. But most of all, he hated his bulging stomach and scarecrow arms. The hollowness in his cheeks. Sam's reflection blurred as tears distorted his vision, and he angrily scrubbed his ugly eyes with the back of his hand. Why did his stupid, ugly eyes have to be a muddy brown? Why couldn't they be a bright, beautiful color, like blue? Or green. Green like soft grass and lush forests. Green like warm plaid shirts. Green like Dean.
Sam choked back a sob. He knew he wasn't fat, but he couldn't get himself to eat. What was a little bit of hunger? Every meal he skipped helped ease the family budget, just a little bit.
Once again, Sam glanced mournfully into the mirror, watching as his distrorted reflection showed how ugly he truly was. As he stared at his monstrous face, steam from the scalding shower started obscuring the mirror, blocking the horror that Sam was seeing. Finally, he walked over to the shower and climbed in, pulling the curtain closed behind him, glad that it blocked his view of the horrid mirror.
He hissed at the pain, loving the feeling of the scalding water running down his skin, as if it could burn away all of the yellow, gummy fat inside of himself. Sam imagined the yellow goop dripping out of his body and down the drain. But when he opened his eyes, he was still greeted by the sight of his bloated belly. Frustrated, Sam scratched his fingers down his torso, leaving red marks where his taloned fingers had clawed down the barren, pale desert of his skin. He reveled in the pain, loving the angry red slashes left behind, watching as a drop of blood fell from one of the cuts. Finally, he shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself in a towel.
It hadn't started this way. Sam had just skipped lunch one day when there wasn't enough money. It was no big deal. But soon, he grew to love the feeling of his empty stomach, craving the hunger, because it meant he was helping the family. Dean was always protecting Sam, but this was the one way he could protect Dean.
Sam was careful to dry off completely and cover all of his skin before leaving the bathroom. Unlike Dean with his chiseled chest and sculpted stomach, Sam couldn't walk around the house in just a towel. Dean would notice the weight Sam had lost. And then he would get worried, which would destroy the point of Sam protecting him. No, Dean had to be blocked from finding out, no matter what. As he walked back to his room to retrieve a latin book on werewolves he was trying to translate, he ran into the source of many of his recent thoughts who had just come in from fixing the Impala.
"Hey Sammy", Dean said, ruffling his brother's wet hair.
"Hey Dean. Is the car doin' alright?", Sam asked, preoccupied by the rumble in his empty stomach.
"She's going to be great by the time I'm through with her. She'll be purring like Sarah was last night", Dean said with a wink. Sam smiled at him, vaguely remembering the blonde bimbo Dean had brought home last night. Had her name been Sarah? He couldn't remember. It was getting harder to remember anything when all he could think about was how empty his stomach was.
"Sammy?"
"Mmmm?", Sam replied, searching for the book on the motel's cheap dresser that was in their room. Where had he left the darn thing?
"What'cha lookin' for?", Dean asked, moving behind his brother. Sam straightened up quickly, hoping Dean hadn't seen the part of his back that had been exposed when his shirt had ridden up.
"The latin werewolf book I was translating yesterday. I can't find it", Sam said, doing his best to not look guilty. Dean looked at Sam for a second, before reaching down and grabbing it off of the dresser Sam had been searching.
"It's right here", he said, his voice laced with worry and concern.
"Stupid me. Hidden right in plain sight", Sam replied, laughing nervously. As he moved to leave the room, he felt Dean try to grab his wrist. Sam quickly twisted his body, not letting Dean feel his emaciated arm.
"Yeah?" he asked, his voice and shoulders tense.
"I said, isn't it a little hot to be wearing a sweatshirt?", Dean asked as his eyes swept over his heavily clothed brother.
"I'm just cold", Sam replied, which wasn't a lie. He was always cold. Even though it was in the upper nineties today, he was still shivering.
"Okay", Dean said with doubt, watching his brother leave.
Sam sighed in relief as he turned the corner. Dean hadn't seen. It was getting harder and harder every day to keep Dean from finding out about his habit. Why, last week he had been only seconds away from seeing Sam shirtless. Sam pushed Dean out of his mind as he went to work on his translation. He liked the work. It distracted him from the gnawing void that was his stomach.
Dean watched in concern as Sam left. Something was up with the kid, he just couldn't quite figure out what.