Author: The Wayward Angel
Story: Skeleton in the Closet
Word Count:
Chapter: 1/?
Pairings: None
Spoilers: None
Trigger Warnings: eating disorders, self-harm, homophobia, angst, low self-esteem
Summary: Everyone has secrets, closets full of skeletons. It doesn't matter if you're a jock, or a cheerleader, or a nerd…in the end it's all the same. Everyone is made of the same atoms and molecules and when you peel off the skin and muscle we all look the same inside. Everyone has something to hide. Everyone. *Highschool AU*
Disclaimer: Not even close
AN: I really don't know what inspired this, but meh. I decided to make it. I hope everyone enjoys it!
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. Please feel free to point out any grammatical or spelling errors.
Skeleton in the Closet
Chapter One – Dean Winchester
Hunger is a familiar friend. It's constant and loving. Twirling the insides, squeezing and pulsing. Painful but not. Hunger is comforting. Sweet. It's the knowledge that every second the fat is dropping. That skinny is possible. Hunger is beautiful and perfect and kind. Dean loves his hunger, treasures every moment of it.
At lunch, when the other students are eating, all Dean thinks about is the calories. It makes him flinch. Food. Why eat when you're just going to be hungry again later? It doesn't compute with him. Yes, he eats sometimes. Protein bars before he works out. But it's calculated, planned. And the hunger never truly leaves him.
Dean loves lying in bed, running his hands down his stomach and feeling his ribs, not quite pressed against his skin. He runs his hands down his flat tummy and across his sharp hip bones, inhaling deeply. He grins, happy with his hunger. Loving the way he feels as he knows the fat is slipping away from him, lost.
Dean plays baseball for the Angels at Heaven's High School. Heaven's Angels. The name never fails to make Dean snort. He's top of his class, smart as hell and gorgeous. Girls want to fuck him, guys want to be him. But he has a skeleton in the closet, just like everyone else.
Anorexia.
It's such a nasty word, Dean thinks. He doesn't have an eating disorder, he has a friendship with hunger. He's not starving himself, he's making himself better. He's never passed out during a workout or practice. He can't count his ribs through his skin. He's not sickly or weak. He has a loving relationship with his stomach rumbling and churning and growling. With the twisting and cramping and pushing and pulling. It's pain and beauty and love and hate and perfection. It's everything Dean is and everything he strives to be.
Dean Winchester does not have a problem. He has a solution.
He's never been called fat, and he's always been gorgeous. But when he started high school he started noticing that he was bigger than some kids and well, he just had to put a stop to that. So he stopped eating lunch, then breakfast, then dinner. And now he drinks water and eats protein bars and works out six days a week.
He's chasing perfection, and he won't admit to himself that he'll never reach it.