I DO NOT OWN TEEN WOLF!
Stiles wasn't always as skinny as he is now. But they don't need to know that. They just thought he used to have a little problem with food. No one remembers, anyway, they won't believe anyone who tries to say otherwise. But nobody will, because nobody knows. Nobody knows.
They didn't know about the hours spent in the bathroom, shoving his fingers down his throat, coughing up the tiniest sliver of food that had made its way to his stomach, because he was so, so weak, and he couldn't resist. But he should have. Oh, he should have. It would have saved him so much trouble. It would have saved him so many lies, the ones that didn't matter, but did. The "I ate at Scott's, dad" normally followed by, "I ate at home, Ms. McCall" or, his favorite "I'm fine. Don't worry" Don't worry. I'm fine.
They didn't know how much lying he had to do to convince his dad that the only reason he was staying at school late was because he had extra classes, and not because he was running 10 laps per hour, just running and running until his feet bled and he couldn't even hear everyone's voice in his head. Are you sure you want to eat that? Isn't that a bit too much? Did you gain more weight? That's enough. Enough. Enough
They didn't know about the way his mother used to look at him, used to look at herself. She loved him sure, but she didn't love his appearance. But mommy, I look like you. Exactly, sweetheart. She would stand in front of the mirror in her room, and Stiles could see his own reflection, almost identical to hers, from where he would be sitting on her bed. Disgusting, she would say, and Stiles would wonder whether she was talking to him or to herself. She would pinch the practically non-existent skin on her arm and say, I look pathetic. And then she would swivel around and stare at Stiles, as if expecting him to say no, you don't mommy, but he would be too busy staring at his own reflection, wondering how it was possible to get so fat without even eating that much. Get so fat. So fat.
They didn't know how sad he was when she passed, not only because she was his mommy and he loved her, but also because now she wouldn't be there to warn him to stop eating, or to take the food away from his too-chubby hands, with an elegant it's for your own good, honey. Good. Your own good.
When he was 10, a year after his mom died, he became best friends with Scott, and Stiles liked him, not just because he was fun to play with, but also because he ate so much he never noticed Stiles' lack of appetite. So hungry. No, not hungry…
And since Stiles has been doing this since he was 8, it came as a bit of a shock when he would slip up. The first time was after everything with the Nogitsune happened. Don't let them know about what I taught you do in the bathroom after eating, OK baby? Yes, mommy. Everything happened.
They were all at Derek's house, and Lydia, hell bent on celebrating and getting over Allison, had brought all kinds of food. Pizza, burgers, pasta, curly fries… And Stiles didn't touch a single thing. He had already eaten too much yesterday, granted he had choked it all up later, but he couldn't do that in a house full of people with super-hearing. Scott noticed, because Allison wasn't there to distract him and Kira was with her family. That smells so…terrible, Stiles.
"Hey, man, aren't you going to eat anything?''
Stiles were scared that if he opened his mouth, he would vacuum the whole table. So he just shook his head with a tight-lipped ''uh-uh''. This was a mistake, because Scott looked worried. He had slept over at Scott's last night and had been with him for the whole day yesterday, and it seemed Scott had only just noticed his best-friend hadn't eaten anything. Like, at all.
Stiles felt his heartbeat quicken, and he silently cursed it as the rest of the pack turned to stare at him. It was obvious something was going on, and Stiles could already feel the cold fingertips of a panic attack starting to clench his heart.
''Stiles,'' asked Scott, oblivious to the fact that everyone else had completely shut up '' when was the last time you had anything to eat?''
Stiles shrugged because now he was pretty sure that the panic attack was coming in full force. But he would not give in. He was doing so well. He knew that the last thing he had eaten was breakfast yesterday with his dad, but, like he had said, he had left that in his bathroom. It's for your own good, Stiles.
But it was too late. He already couldn't hear any of his friend's voices, but their lips were moving and Stiles wondered if he would be blamed for having ruined the celebration. Just go to sleep, sweet. But mommy, I haven't had lunch or dinner yet. You don't need it, baby. It's for your own good.
It's for my own good, thought Stiles as his head lolled to his chest and he succumbed to the blackness…
