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The next day, Dean woke up around 7:45 in the morning. It was freezing, and he knew there was no way he was going to be able to sleep. He looked over towards Sammy's bed, but it was empty. Perplexed, he rolled out of bed and walked down the stairs.
A delicious scent was coming from the kitchen-he walked towards it, mouth watering. Sam was sitting at the table, eating chocolate chip pancakes and having a cup of hot chocolate. Bobby was standing over the stove, cooking; he was the best chef in the group of hunters. When the hunter turned around, he was shocked to see Dean standing there.
"What are ya doin' up?" Bobby asked. Dean walked over to the table, shivering; it was freezing.
"Couldn't sleep," Dean answered. His teeth were chattering, and he had to work hard to keep from sliding off of his chair. He looked over at Sammy. "W-why are you awake?"
"I've got school, Dean," Sam answered, taking another bite of his pancake.
Dean had forgot that it was Monday, and Sam would have school. From 8:30 in the morning to 3:30 in the afternoon, he would be alone.
"Oh, y-yeah," Dean replied, rubbing his arms. Didn't anybody else realize that it was freezing?
"You cold, kiddo?" Bobby asked gently. It was warm in the house, but he knew that this was a side effect of this damn disease the kid was fighting; he had no body fat, so he had no insulation.
Dean nodded. "C-could you turn up the heat?"
Bobby walked over to the thermostat and turned it up to 75. Then he poured Dean a mug of hot chocolate, put some marshmallows in, and set it in front of him. "Drink that and put a sweatshirt on, okay?"
Dean nodded and took a swig, as Sam stood up and put his plate in the sink. He pulled on his coat and put on his backpack.
"The bus'll be here soon," Sam told Dean. "Have a good day, Dean."
"You too, Sammy," he replied as Sam walked out the door. He let out a dejected sigh as the boy walked out.
"You alright, boy?" Bobby asked, concerned. He didn't want Dean feeling depressed at all right now, not when he was at such a crucial stage in his recovery.
"Yeah, Bobby," Dean answered, taking a sip of hot chocolate.
"Don't lie to me, son," Bobby chided gently, sitting by him. "Tell me what's goin' on."
"I just don't know what I'm going to do over the next few days," Dean told Bobby. "Sam's not around, I'm not allowed outside-I love my TV and gameboy and everything, but there's only so many times I can watch Jaws."
Bobby nodded. Dean worried that Bobby would think he didn't appreciate the amazing gifts that the hunter had bought him, and opened his mouth to apologize.
"I know how ya feel," Bobby agreed. "After a couple days in the house, I feel a bit stir crazy too. What do ya wanna do?"
"I'm not sure," Dean answered, pushing the hot chocolate away.
"Well, how 'bout you and I go run some errands?" Bobby asked, standing up. He reached into the cabinet for the meal replacement shakes that Dean drank to replace the calories he couldn't eat. He also grabbed a packet of oatmeal; it was on the list of foods that would help Dean to recover.
The doctors had recommended laying off of the major carbs for a while, and focusing on a diet rich in whole grains and lean proteins. They aimed for a caloric intake of at least a thousand calories a day, but they were usually lucky to get eight hundred in before Dean couldn't eat another bite; as such, he drank at least one meal replacement shake a day.
Bobby set the bowl of oatmeal in front of Dean and sat down by him to eat his own breakfast. It made Dean feel a bit less self conscious if he wasn't the only one eating.
Dean ate about half of the oatmeal before he was full. He threw the rest out and washed the dish in the sink. Then, turning back to Bobby, he said, "I don't think so. I'm just not feeling up to it."
But Bobby wasn't about to leave the teenager alone; the last time that they had given him his space, he had run away. "Cm'on, please? I get lonely all by myself."
He knew that it was a dirty trick, but it worked; Dean answered, "I guess."
Dean walked up the stairs and into his room; both beds were unmade, so he made them both up. He pulled on a pair of jeans that his father had purchased from Goodwill and a sweatshirt; John had finally accepted that he would need to buy clothes that fit Dean's current frame. Over his sweatshirt, Dean put on his leather jacket; it had fit him perfectly two months ago, but now he looked like a toddler who dressed in his father's clothes.
Before walking downstairs, he looked in the mirror; he almost gasped, because he saw a boy who weighed at least sixty pounds more than him. He wanted to run, vomit, exercise; he wanted to restrict his calories again.
But instead, he closed his eyes and turned away from the mirror. "You are not fat. You are not fat."
"Your right, you're not," Bobby agreed, walking into the room. "Ya don't really see yourself right when ya look in the mirror, do ya?"
"No. I think I'm huge, no matter how small I get," Dean answered honestly. "I don't want it to be like this anymore, Bobby."
"I know, kiddo," Bobby replied. "We've just got to keep working on it, alright?"
"Yeah," Dean walked out of the room, and Bobby followed. "What do we have to do today?"
"Well, I gotta send a letter up to Rufus, pick up some groceries, and I was thinkin' we could pick you out some new clothes," Bobby answered, as they exited the house into the bright sunlight. The snow glistened under the powerful rays, and it was surreal. But Dean was cold, so he hopped in Bobby's pickup truck and blasted the heat.
"So do you have anythin' ya want to do?" Bobby asked as he backed out of the driveway. "I've got the entire day."
"Not really," Dean answered, pulling his legs to his chest. He really didn't feel like himself anymore; he hadn't for a long time. He laughed for Sam and John, smiled to keep everybody happy; but ever since he'd let this thing overtake him, he had lost himself. Today was just one of the days that it was particularly bad. If he hadn't promised himself he would quit, he would have cut.
"Dean, what's up?" Bobby asked, glancing at the boy. He was curled up in a ball, sitting on the seat. It was obvious to Bobby that his mind wasn't there. "Dean?"
"Yeah?" Dean snapped out of his trance and turned his head towards Bobby.
"What's goin' on?" Bobby repeated. "You seem kinda outta it."
"Nothing," Dean lied. He couldn't trouble Bobby with his problems.
"Nothin' my ass," Bobby growled. "Spill it, Winchester. I can read ya like a book."
"It's just that I don't feel like me anymore, Bobby," he answered. "There's this-this emptiness inside me, like a deep, dark hole that keeps getting bigger and bigger. And it makes me want to cut again."
Bobby did his best not to gasp. Dean was hurting, seriously hurting, and there was nothing he could do about it. He looked over to the boy, and asked, "Do you want me to get'cha a counselor or something? Is there anything I can do for ya?"
"I don't want to talk to anybody," Dean insisted as Bobby pulled into the post office parking lot. "And I don't want to sound like a bitchy chick, but talking to you does help a lot."
"Well, you know I'm always here for ya, kiddo," Bobby said as they walked up to the mailbox and dropped the letter in. "I was wonderin'-after this, do you wanna come back to the salvage yard for a bit? You, Sammy, and your Daddy?"
"I don't know if Dad would go for that," Dean answered, bitting his lip. "But I know that Sammy and me would love it."
"I'll talk to him when we get down to the wire," Bobby told the boy as they pulled out of the parking lot and headed to the supermarket. "There anythin' special you want for dinner tonight?"
"Nah," Dean shook his head. They were pulling into the parking lot, when Dean saw a group of guys his age. He ducked his head. Shit.
"Dean? Ya alright?" Bobby asked.
"Yeah, Bobby," Dean answered. "Can I stay in the car? Please?"
"Why?" Bobby asked. Then he glanced out of the windshield and saw the group of teenagers. "Do you know any of them?"
"No, but they'll stare," Dean said. "Please, Bobby."
"Dean, if Sam was afraid of the exact same thing, what would ya say?" Bobby asked, pulling the keys out of the ignition.
"I'd agree with him and let him stay?" Dean suggested hopefully.
"That's bull, and you know it," Bobby told the boy gently. "You'd tell him to stop bein' an idjit, and that you'd protect him. And ya would follow through. Plus, there not gonna say nothin'."
"Fine," Dean replied.
Dean sighed and stepped out of the car. But when they past them, nothing happened.
"I'm always right, boy," Bobby told him. "Don't you forget it."
Thoughts?