A/n: TRIGGER WARNING: This fic contains mentions and slight depictions of eating disorders, self harm and self-hate. Read at your own risk.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters within it. Not even you. I do own this story line though. Let it be noted I do not condone self-harm or eating disorders. This fic is not glamourizing those things. It was made to show support. If you suffer from depression that causes you to self-harm or develop an eating disorder, please reach out for help and always keep fighting.
I have posted this fic on my accounts on other sites as well. On those sites it is a three chapter fic. Here it is a one shot. I hope you enjoy it.
It's not something many people know about. Those that do, aren't likely to understand it or sympathize about it. You did everything in your power to hide it from Sam, Dean, and Cas. You punished yourself daily because of it, in one way or another.
Compulsive overeating is the less known eating disorder. It's also referred to as obsessive overeating and binge eating disorder. No one you'd ever met had any compassion for it. It's just as dangerous as anorexia and bulimia and it is often controlled by emotions. It's fairly similar to bulimia, but whereas with bulimia after binging there is purging and self-hate, with compulsive overeaters there is just the self-hate. You yourself had tried purging a few times, but aside from gagging and spit, nothing came up.
For you, binges were brought on by extreme emotions. If you felt upset you could find comfort in food, and it was always nice to experience the explosion of flavor on your taste buds. Making food and sharing it was something you did when you were happy too, but if there was no one to share it with you would feel sad and, in combination with not wanting to waste food, you'd eat it.
Binging wasn't something that happened all the time. In fact, it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been in middle or high school. Now, most days you put off eating until the hunger pains started. Your first meal often happening four or more hours after you'd awoken. Sometimes though, that caused your body to crave more food later on, and if you weren't careful it could lead to binging. Directly after which, you would feel guilt and remorse. Your mind quickly tallying up the calories, scanning the ingredients for hidden trans-fat. Given that purging wasn't an option for you, your inner voice would scream hatred at you.
You'd make your way to the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror, letting all the feelings rush over you at once.
Look at you, you fat pig! You just ate half a family size bag of chips all on your own! No wonder no one will look at you twice! They're probably scared you're going to eat them. Look at that. Is that a new zit? Serves you right for eating all that. Another reason you can't get a date, all your gorging causes you to look more hideous than you already are.
So leaning forward you squeezed the whiteheads and dug at the blackheads. Some of them went deep, too deep for your nails to remove. You didn't let it deter you. You only stopped when you got the whole thing out or when you realized you'd inadvertently removed far too many layers of skin in far too wide a circumference. It would scab over, might even get infected regardless of the Neosporin you applied.
God, you can't even pop pimples right. What is wrong with you? If you wonder why no one likes you, this is why. You're useless.
As you stepped into the brothers' line of sight, Dean took a deep breath and Sam gave you that look.
"I wish you wouldn't do that," Sam said softly.
Although other than that, they left it alone. They always did. You didn't think they'd thought much of it. Almost everyone pops pimples. You just got a little obsessive about it.
Etching was something you'd not done in a long time. It had been convenient because it was easy to hide or explain away and you always had safety pins on you in case of wardrobe malfunctions. However, living with the boys and feeling like you were constantly letting down the people you genuinely cared for had pushed you to pick that old habit up again. Though, hiding it from them was harder than hiding it at school. They knew you didn't have a cat and that you weren't clumsy enough on gravel. You were a hunter for cryin' out loud! Yet, seeing as you never wore shorts that stopped more than four inches above your knees when sitting, and (if the time ever called for it) you only ever wore bathing suits with skirts, your thighs were your new place of choice for the shallow scratches.
Sometimes you got a bit carried away with it. The skin on your thighs was tougher and you often went over a line so many times it would end up deeper than you'd ever etched on your wrists. That's why you started keeping band aids and Neosporin on hand. If Sam or Dean ever found them and asked why, you could just say it wan in case of paper cuts from research. You liked to think it'd earn a chuckle. You often made jokes like that.
You know they don't really like you all that much. They just keep you around out of pity and convenience. Even though you eat like a hippo, you're okay at baking and you can do the research while they're out if they need you to. Of course, you usually screw that all up too…
Then one night after dinner, you and the boys sat looking for some leads to a new case. You had brought a box of Girl Scout cookies you'd bought a few weeks ago outside a grocery store, on the way home from a case. After offering some to the boys, you became consumed in your work you munched away. It wasn't that much longer when you reached for another cookie only to be met with an empty box. You froze. Not even glancing away from your laptop screen. As the panic, realization, disgust, and anguish washed over you, you calmly stood up closing your laptop and picking it up.
"(Y/n), you alright?" Dean asked concern laced in his tone.
"Yeah. Just tired. I think I'm going to head to bed," you told him.
"Okay…Goodnight, then," he responded.
"Night, (Y/n)," Sam called.
You could feel both their gazes as you walked away.
When you got to your room you went straight for the nearest mirror and started picking. After that, you took off your pants taking safety pin to your thighs making 4 long thin marks in each, not stopping until the blood welled into a line. Your teeth were clenched the whole time and you breathed through them. Then you took a wet wipe and cleaned up before adding band aids and your go-to antibiotic cream, before pulling on your favorite pajama pants.
Sitting on your bed you pulled out your favorite book and began to read, but the voice inside kept ruining it so you threw it to the bed and went for your stash of miniature pies you often stocked up on at gas stations. If Dean knew you were holding out on him, he'd give you that kicked puppy look. So it was with guilt, anger, hate, and disgust that you ate all four of them. Tears streaming down your cheeks you didn't bother to look at the back of the little boxes. At least the voice was quiet now; smug as ever, but quiet. As you laid in bed falling asleep, tears still coming, you resolved to do better tomorrow.
When you woke up your resolve hardened. All of these things were just addictions. If you wanted to stop, the best way you could think of would be to quit cold turkey.
So you locked yourself in your room and away from temptation. You sat down and read a book but then you started to get antsy. You felt like you should go back out and help Sam and Dean, but if you went out there, there would be food, and if you ate some you might binge. If you went out there and didn't eat the boys might think you were developing anorexia and force you to eat.
You can't win any way you look at it. You're going to be fat and alone forever. Even with friends, you'll never be quite good enough. Even if you lose weight and get supermodel beautiful, which is impossible by the way, then people would only want to be near you for that. You really don't have a redeeming quality about you.
You booted up your laptop and got back to researching when you found something that looked promising you sent it to Sam's email and went back to bed. Sleeping through the hunger pangs and the malicious musings of your inner voice seemed like the best bet. Eventually your stomach would give up trying to tell you to eat and start using the stores of fat in your thighs, muffin top, and love handles.
A little time later you woke to soft knock on your door.
"Hey (y/n)," it was Sam, "I, uh, got your email. Are you okay? We haven't seen you all morning."
"No," you croaked, forcing out a believable lie so he wouldn't come in, "I'm feeling sick and I didn't want to expose you guys."
"Can I get you anything? Some crackers or ginger ale?" He asked.
'Crap! I forgot his concerned kind nature.'
Tears welled in your eyes as remorse over the lie ate at your insides, "No, thanks. I, um, don't think I'd be able to keep it down."
"Alright then," he answered you, the concern never leaving his voice, "Rest up and I'll check back in a little while."
Wow! Lying to the nicest guy in the universe. Way to go. When you die, you're going to hell. You know that right? And you'll deserve it to. If for nothing else, than for this moment right here. Although if you wanna get technical, you've been lying this whole time. Pretending everything is just peachy, when it's not. You're a monster. An ugly, fat, lying monster.
You cried yourself back to sleep.
It went on that way pretty much the same way for 3 days. Occasionally it would be dean knocking at the door asking if you felt any better. The only time you left your room was to go to the bathroom to shower, relieve yourself, or fill up on water.
They didn't feel comfortable leaving you when you were sick, but when the story you'd found checked out as their kind of gig, they had no choice.
As soon as they left you were able to go to the kitchen and stock up on water bottles. You figured the less trips to the bathroom, the better. You didn't even look at the fridge. Just the thought of what you might find in there made you nauseous. Seems three days was the magic number to gain food aversion. You weren't sure how you were going to wean yourself back into eating, or even when. You were determined to starve yourself long enough to stop yourself from binging and loose a little weight in the process.
You weren't under any illusions. You knew that's what you were doing to yourself. You were starving yourself.
It's not like you can't stand a little bit. Be glad you don't live in the world of The Walking Dead, or they'd use you as zombie bait.
You needed to keep busy, though. Distract yourself from over thinking about it. Because overthinking it would lead to putting it on a pedestal and obsessing over it. If that happened, you could pretty much guarantee a binge as soon as your control would snap. And it would snap if you were obsessing. It was just a matter of time.
So without any new books, you decided to organize the bunker. You kept moving and organizing until your eye were burning and you were tripping on air. It was a miracle you made it to your bed at that point. After that, a new cycle started.
Wake up, drink water until your stomach shut the hell up, go organize the some files until you had to use the restroom. Then you'd find that your stomach was yelling at you again and fill up on more water. You'd work yourself into exhaustion, trying to keep your mind on anything but food and eating. Then when you felt you were about to collapse, you'd drag yourself back to your room and climb into bed.
It was in the shower on the fourth day without the boys you realized that your whole life consisted of cycles.
'But then, it is called a life cycle, so maybe it's unavoidable,' you mused to yourself.
The vicious thoughts hadn't bothered you much today. You giggled at the passing thought that maybe your starved them to death.
You were in a happy mood. You were feeling tired, though. You didn't see why as you had slept for 6 hours straight.
You went to get back to organizing and were shocked when you noticed everything you could sort without help was already given a place and catalogued. With nothing else to do you turned back to the library to read.
It was nearly six p.m. when you heard the impala pull in. You were excited to see the boys again, but it hit you they probably had dinner with them. That dinner would likely consist of juicy bacon cheeseburgers, which to be honest sounded like heaven right about now. However, fearing a relapse into binging you ran for your room. You made it just as the bunker door opened and you heard dean call for you.
In a week you had lost 12 pounds. Plus you had decided to start drinking one serving of juice a day only yesterday. Even if they didn't have dinner with them, they might be suspicious if you didn't eat. They may also be suspicious if you played at still being sick.
Panic rose in you when you heard a knock on your door.
"Hey (y/n), we're back," Dean popped his head in.
"Oh, hey," you responded, "I didn't hear you come in."
"How ya feelin' kid?" he asked you.
"Um. Okay, I guess," you told him nervously
"We brought back some grub, you feeling up for it?" He looked concerned.
"Actually. I, um, just ate," you lied.
"Oh?" he arched a brow.
'Crap. He knows!'
Of course he knows, you idiot. He's not stupid.
'Well. I guess she's still alive.'
"Sorry, I guess I forgot you guys were coming home today," you told him trying not to fidget too much.
He eyed you for a moment, "You sure you don't want any? We brought your favorite."
"If I ate anymore I'd get that stomach about to explode feeling."
'Please just go away. I can't stomach lying to your face,' you begged in your mind.
"Alright, your loss," Dean finally conceded.
You let out a sigh of relief when he turned to go but stiffened back up when he stopped.
"Almost forgot. You up for movie night tonight?" He asked.
"Sure," you squeaked out.
He nodded and closed the door behind him.
Dean walked into the kitchen and looked at his brother unpacking the food.
"Is she coming?" Sam questioned.
"She said she already ate," he informed, voice heavy with sarcasm.
"Well, maybe she did, Dean," Sam retorted.
"She said she 'forgot we were coming' and 'didn't hear us come in,'" Dean scoffed.
Sam froze and looked at Dean, "Okay that's weird."
"Somethin's off with her, man. Before we left, the whole time she wouldn't leave her room."
"She was sick," Sam reminded his brother. Though, the look on his face said he was troubled.
"No, it's more than that Sammy. It's like she was avoiding us. I don't like it," Dean's voice had an edge to it with an underlying hint of concern.
Sam dismissed it hoping they were making a big deal of nothing, "You just saw her, and she'll watch the movie with us tonight. She always does."
"Yeah. Well, we'll see."
Two hours later Sam called you out from your room to watch (y/f/m) with them. You sat on the couch barely able to concentrate on much, overwhelmed with the thought that they were on to you. Sam quietly observed you for a few minutes while Dean was in the kitchen, gathering snacks for the movie. When he noticed your glassy-eyed, zoned-out look and how your leg was bouncing a mile a minute, he thought he might try some small talk to calm whatever was stressing you out.
"So, (y/n)," he blurted out, "You feeling better?"
Your head snapped in his direction, almost startled when he called your name. It took you a moment to process the relevance of his question.
"Oh, um, yeah. Much. I started feeling better the day after you guys left," you lied.
You seem to be doing that a lot these days. Do you think in another universe your nose is as tall as a skyscraper is tall? How ugly would you look then?
Your fists clenched in response to the negative thoughts. Unbeknownst to you, Sam noticed.
"I'm glad. So, you organized all those files while we were gone too?" he questioned.
"Yeah, I got bored, and you guys didn't call for my help. I figured it would be a constructive way to beat out the cabin fever," you explained. It was at least partially true.
"A half-truth is still a lie." Isn't that what mom always said?
Your jaw clenched for a second.
"That must have taken a while. It's a lot of work you got through. Did you get any sleep?" You could hear the concern in his voice now.
"Well, sometimes it's hard for me to fall asleep. Usually I just read a book, but I wanted to do something to help you guys, since I had to hang back on the hunt."
He was looking at you intensely. You could feel it now. Any other time you would almost feel safe with either of them looking that closely at you. Now, though, it felt like someone breathing fire down your back. You were nearly convinced you would start sweating soon. It could only be a matter of time until the whole world came crashing down on you.
Sam didn't let on that he knew something was amiss though, and he leaned close to put his hand on your shoulder.
"Well, we appreciate it. You saved us some time and a lot of work, but you should be taking it easy now. You just got over a nasty bug."
"Yeah," you agreed, "okay. I'll try."
His smile didn't reach his eyes though and the hole in your gut got a little bit bigger.
Dean walked in with three bowls filled to overflowing with ice cream, chocolate sauce whipped cream, sprinkles, and maraschino cherries. The works. You name it, it was probably in the sundaes he whipped up.
'I should have known,' you thought to yourself, 'Movie nights after a successful hunt always call for a sundae. How am I going to turn this down without raising suspicion?'
Maybe you should just give up and eat it. You're so ungrateful. Although you'll probably gain back the twelve pounds you lost and then some with that sundae alone. All that starving yourself for nothing.
"Here we go. Three sundaes with the works, Sammy's in the small bowl, as usual!" Dean announced.
Sam rolled his eyes at his brother. You had to smile at their camaraderie. That smile became tight and forced when dean placed your usual large bowl in front of you.
They knew you almost as well as they knew each other, though, and they noticed the change.
"Something wrong, (y/n)?" Dean probed.
You couldn't look away from the sugary monstrosity. Knowing how delectable it tasted, your mouth was watering. However, also knowing how many calories must be in it made you feel nauseated.
"It's just…After being so sick, I'm not sure if putting that much sugar into my body is such a good idea," you falsely informed them.
In all honesty, before you wouldn't have thought twice about chowing down on the cold beast as soon as your stomach had settled. Now, though, when you were doing so well avoiding your addiction, it was all you could do not to run out of the room.
The look on Dean's face said he didn't buy it.
"You said you were done being sick days ago, (y/n). Was that a lie? 'Cause you're sure as hell keeping something from us!" he accused.
"Dean!" Sam warned.
"No Sam. I'm sick of this tip toeing around the issue. While I was in the kitchen whipping these up, you know what I noticed? None of the food was gone. None of it! Everything is exactly the same as we left it! In fact the only thing we seem to be low on right now is the bottled water! Now, either she's still sick and we need to take her to a doctor asap, or maybe she never was and for some reason she's decided to stop eating!"
Sam faced you then with his hurt-beyond-words look, "(Y/n), is that true?"
The guilt you felt piled heavy on you, until suddenly you got angry.
You stood up and exploded, "Or maybe I really was sick and when I got better I ordered out for all my meals! You don't know everything, Dean!"
You quickly went to leave the room, but Dean was hot on your trail. The concern Sam felt, had him following after the both of you.
"No! See, I don't buy that, (y/n). If you had bought take out for three days straight there'd be leftovers, or at the very least there would be evidence! Silverware in the sink or trash in the bins! But there's nothing! And I wanna know why!" He bellowed after you, following you to your room.
You ignored him, tears already raced down your cheeks. When you reached your room and turned to close the door he there holding it open so you couldn't.
"Just go away dean! I don't want to talk about it!" you yelled at him.
"Well too bad, princess, 'Cause we're talking about it," he told you in a no-nonsense tone.
"Dean, maybe we should give her some space. We can talk about this when everyone's calmed down," Sam voiced.
"Look at her Sam! Her clothes are barely hanging onto her. She's adjusted her jeans like five times just from the couch to here. That shirt used to be form fitting and now it looks like she stole it from an older sister's closet! There's more to this than what she's telling us," he insisted.
You had crouched down between your night stand and your bed, trying to make yourself as small as possible and refusing to look at them. You even went so far as to turn your head so it was hidden in the side of the mattress and closed your eyes.
Sam came over to you getting down and sitting next to you. He looked at you closely. You didn't realize that these particular jeans had developed a hole about an inch in diameter in the right leg, and it was just your luck that there was overlapping etching scabs visible through it. Sam swallowed and looked at his brother, unsure of what to do, but somehow silently communicating that his worries were valid.
"So which is it, (y/n)? You got some kind of serious illness or are you just not eating?" Dean asked you, his tone now sounding more anxious than angry.
You refused to acknowledge them.
"It's okay, (y/n). You can tell us," Sam urged.
"I was never sick," you whispered still hiding your face.
"What was that?" Dean demanded.
"I was never sick," you repeated, though this time loud enough so he could hear.
It was enough to put a little more fuel in Dean's fire.
"You were never sick? So what, were you just avoiding us while you starved yourself? Jesus, (y/n) it's been seven days! Have you eaten anything?" he demanded.
You shook your head in the negative too ashamed to answer.
"Nothing?" Sam questioned incredulous, "Not even, like, a cracker?"
You shook your head again.
"That's it! I am making you some soup, and you are going to eat it. All of it! I knew I shouldn't have eaten your burger," Dean grumbled as he headed for the kitchen.
"Why would you do this to yourself?" Sam queried.
Dean stopped when he heard his brother's question. He wanted to hear your answer.
"It's what you do when you have an addiction," you whispered, "You stay away from the thing and you try to get better."
"I don't understand," Sam fretted, "What are you addicted to?"
"Food!" you shouted, now looking at him, "I'm addicted to food! You guys have no clue! I spend almost all of my extra cash on food! I put it away thinking, save it for later, when I want something to snack on so I don't accidently eat the last of something maybe one of you were looking forward to. And then something happens! And before I even realize I've downed four mini pies, a giant bag of chips, six slim jims, and a half a pound of gummy bears!"
Dean stood frozen in shock at your outburst.
Sam pointed to the hole in your jeans and asked, "And these?"
You looked down, seeing the hole for the first time, noting the scabs and you covered your face, sobbing into your hands.
Dean strode over to you, looking to see what had you in tears. His eyes widened at the sight.
"Are you kidding me?!" he shouted.
"Not now, Dean," Sam implored.
"No! I told you, her digging at her face like that wasn't normal! I told you there had to be something more there! But you said to leave it alone! You said she probably just got carried away. And look! There's the proof right there! She's not okay Sammy. We should have it. I should have seen it!"
Sam put his hand on top of yours and when you looked up to meet his eyes he asked, "When did all of this start, (y/n)?"
"Before I met you," you confessed, "I have always had an issue with binging and picking at my face too much. The etching is something I picked up in middle school. Though, I had stopped that for a long time. And my binging was really infrequent, but recently it's been happening almost on autopilot. I picked the etching back up when I realized how big a problem the binging was becoming. I can't stand it! I hate loving food. Then I sit and think about all those calories, and how fat and ugly I am and I can't stand that! So I have to let out all the bad feelings somehow and negative reinforcement is supposed to help curb bad habits, and honestly I feel like I should be punished for being such a waste of life.
"It all just got completely out of hand so I decided last week, I was going to quit everything cold turkey. That's why you can only see scabs on my legs. And I'm doing better! I started drinking juice yesterday!" you defended.
"Let's get some things straight right now. You are not fat! And you're far from ugly, sweetheart. I don't know where you got those ideas, but they're not true. You may have a little meat on your bones, but that makes you curvaceous. It's sexy as hell. And you probably have the most adorable face I've ever seen. Which is why I hate to see it all scratched up," Dean raved.
You couldn't help but blush a little.
"So, you haven't self-harmed, this whole time?" Sam questioned.
'Leave it to Sam to see the details and get us back on track,' you mused.
"No. There were times where I was itchy, the need to pick up a safety pin was so strong. But I slept most of the time you guys were here and I organized all those files when you were gone. I made sure I didn't have time to do any of that," you revealed.
"But you have to eat, (y/n). You can't survive without food," Sam voiced.
"I know that. Don't you think I know that?" you felt defeated.
"You're going to get through this okay. We're going to help you out. We're going to help you set some limits and Sammy, he'll give you some of his rabbit food to help keep you full," Dean expressed gently.
"It's not even about being full Dean! … It's about drowning the voices and filling the void. It's about every horrid thing anyone who's ever said to me. It's a deep festering wound and triple chocolate cake is a band aid. It helps for a little while but in the end it's not the right tool for the job and it doesn't do enough good. But it's all I know," you lamented.
"Well you can unlearn it. It's going to take time, but it's do-able," he said emphatically.
"And in the meantime, you can come to us. We'll be here for you, (y/n). If you need to talk, we'll listen. If you just want to hang out, we can do that too. You don't ever have to feel like you're alone," Sam interjected.
"And if for some reason Sammy or me can't you can pray to Cas. He'll get his feathery tush down here to help you asap," Dean added
"Yes. All you need to do is call for me and I will be here as soon as possible," Cas said, as he seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
"Jesus Cas! How many times do we have to talk about this?" Dean yelled after being startled yet again by the angel.
You giggled and wiped your tears.
"See? You don't have to do this on your own. Let us be the support you need," Sam pleaded.
"I don't want to be a burden," you uttered.
"You're not a burden! Okay? You're family. And helping each other out through the hard stuff and messy parts is what family's for. You got me?" Dean proclaimed.
"Yeah," you smiled up at him, "I got you."
"Good," he confirmed, "Now what's this about hiding pie?"