Request by 1010Binarie0101.
Summary: Dally hated how he looked, so much so that he developed an eating disorder. It was all going well for him until the gang found out about his anorexia.
o-o-o
Ugly. Fat. Bulgy. Gross. Obese.
Dallas Winston sneered at his reflection. He pinched at his sides, pulling at his skin which wrapped thinly around his protruding ribs. He let out a long sigh, looking into his sunken eyes as he put on layers of clothing—tank top under a white shirt, a flannel, and a leather jacket. It was bulky and it wasn't the greatest outfit since it was so hot and all, but the layers allowed him to hide how fat he actually was.
So disgusting. So fat. So pudgy.
He wished that he could lose more weight. That way, he wouldn't have to wear all of this clothing. He huffed. Why did he have to be so fat? Why couldn't he look like everybody else?
Growling, Dally punched the mirror. Pain shot up his hand as glass dug into his knuckles. Hissing, he shook his hand, splattering blood into the porcelain sink. It hurt, but he didn't mind in the slightest. It was welcoming, distracting him from his own image. Instead, his attention turned to the glass that was everywhere, like a mosaic mural. But this mural wasn't one of bright colors, depicting happy symbolism. This image was dark and twisted. Some of the glass shards were tinted red, showing how sharp the edges were. Dally knew that he couldn't leave the bathroom like this. He had to use it later, after all. He needed to clean it up, but, first, he had to worry about his hand.
He washed off his hand, plucking out small shards of glass and throwing them into the trashcan. He didn't bother to disinfect or to bandage it, moving onto the room. He threw away the glass, being careful to not cut himself even more. When he was finished doing that and when he cleaned up the blood, he took a deep breath. He needed to compose himself before going out.
Somehow, the gang managed to convince him to go out and eat at a diner with them. He didn't want to in the slightest. The mere thought of food made his stomach lurch. But an agreement was an agreement and he wasn't the type of person to back down from anything.
It took time to get to the Curtis' house. The heat dragged him down as he trudged his way over, limbs shaking with each step. He supposed he could have stolen a car. It would have saved him a lot of trouble, but his brain felt fuzzy. By the time he made it to the house, he was sweating like a pig. It was a relief when he was hit with the cool air of the house.
"Hey, Dally," Johnny greeted, smiling smally at him.
"Hey," he said back, crashing onto the sofa. He pulled at his shirt to cool down faster. "When are we heading out?"
Johnny shrugged. "Soda should be finishing up his shower any moment now."
Nodding, Dally leaned back on the sofa. At one point—he didn't know when—he fell asleep. But it felt like it was short-lived because he was soon being shaken awake by Johnny.
"What?" Dally groaned, sitting back up to fully wake himself up. "Are we heading out now?"
"Yeah, the shower just turned off," Johnny answered, staring at him curiously. "But, jeez, Dally, you've been sleeping all the time now…"
Dally could only shrug, too exhausted to talk. He didn't need to, however, as the bathroom door opened, and Soda waltzed out with a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair dripping wet. Dally lowered his eyes to the other greaser's torso, clenching his teeth. Staring at him, he couldn't help but feel jealous.
Appearance-wise, Soda was perfect. His body was practically sculpted by Michelangelo, and, most of all, he wasn't fat. In fact, everyone in the gang wasn't. It was just him. Dally longed for the day where he would be able to walk around shirtless like how the rest of the gang could.
There was one thing that Dally hadn't told the gang. Actually, there were many things, but there was one big topic that he had yet to talk about and he planned to keep it locked away in a box. That secret was that he used to be fat as a kid. Well, he didn't think that he was fat at first. He thought he had a normal weight, if not a bit more than the other guy. He used to be picked on for it when he was in New York. Dally wasn't always the sharp, tuff greaser with elfish features that everyone knew him by.
'Fatty'. That was what people kept calling him when they slammed him against the wall with a blade jabbing the skin of his stomach. They cut into him, carving words both into his stomach and his mind that he would never be able to erase. That was when he decided to make it all stop by complying with them.
At first, it started out simple. It wasn't anything bad. But that quickly transitioned into him not eating meals. His weight dropped dramatically, and he was proud of that. But that didn't stop the people from commenting about his heavy weight. No matter what he did, he was never good enough. He was always fat.
"Hurry up and change! I'm starving!" Steve complained, popping out from nowhere. "We won't get served until you put on a shirt and some shoes."
"We can eat without pants on?" Two-Bit quipped, smiling really huge as he tried to unsuccessfully pull away Soda's towel.
"Trust me. Nobody wants to see you without any pants on," Darry retaliated, a grin on his face as well. The gang laughed but Dally couldn't bring it in himself to join in. Instead, he put all of his energy in getting back onto his feet. They all talked for a bit before driving over to the diner where they got a table.
A menu was placed in front of him, but he already knew that he didn't want to eat anything. He looked at each item, feeling his stomach turn in disgust. A hamburger was over three hundred calories. Same with fries. A glass of Pepsi was over one hundred calories. A club sandwich was around six hundred. Just eating one of those dishes would make him fatter than how he already was.
He really shouldn't have come. It was a mistake. He couldn't eat any of these foods. He was already fat enough. He could just imagine his belly bulging out of his pants and his shirt not being able to cover it completely.
While he was practically screaming at himself in his head, a waitress walked over. She pulled out a notepad from her apron, giving the gang a wry smile.
"Can I start you off with anything to drink?" she asked.
"Yeah, and we're ready to order as well," Darry answered, placing his menu down and effectively starting a pile for them. Dally nervously added his menu as well, trying his best to mask his discomfort and panic. Cold sweat trickled down his back. He wasn't ready to order, but he had a reputation to keep in regard to his aloof personality.
"I'll just have a water," Dally said when it got to his turn. The gang all turned to look at him incredulously.
"That's it?" Ponyboy asked, hands stopping from continuing his napkin origami.
"Are you sure?" Soda said, unsurely. "Is it a money problem? Cause we can all chip in to pay for your food."
"No. I'm just not hungry, man. I just ate a big breakfast," Dally answered, waving his hand in an attempt to pass the conversation over to something else.
"You sure don't look like you ate breakfast." Dally wasn't sure who said that because he was practically burning holes into the table with his eyes at that point. He just wanted them to move on and forget about him not ordering food. But even as he was thinking that he could feel their eyes boring into him, examining him. He wished that they would stop, not wanting them to see how fat he was.
"Fine," Dally said when he couldn't take them looking at him any longer. "I'll get a burger."
"What would you like for a side?" the waitress asked, causing Dally to raise an eyebrow at her.
"Did I tell you that I wanted to side?" He waited for the waitress to shake her head. "Cause I didn't. Now scram."
The waitress scampered away, and Dally turned towards the gang who was still staring at him.
"Great going," Two-Bit groaned. "She's going to spit in our food."
"Yeah. What's got you so moody today?" Steve added.
Dally ignored them, flipping out his switchblade and slowly carving the bottom of the table inconspicuously. It was a busy day, so it took a while for their food to come. The gang was excited, but Dally felt dread. His plate was dropped in front of him, plate clanging against the wooden table. The waitress glared at him as she put the other plates down before leaving, sticking her nose up in the air.
Carefully, Dally picked up his burger, breathing in the strong scent of the patty and the condiments. Again, his stomach turned in disgust. He took a bite, chewing slowly before swallowing it. His stomach already felt full, giving him a stomachache. But he continued to eat even though it was hurting him.
"Are you alright?" Johnny asked, noticing how slow Dally was eating. "You look sick."
"I'm fine," Dally growled, even though he wasn't.
"You don't look it."
"I said that I'm fine." Dally glowered at Johnny without meaning to. "Now are you gonna eat or not?"
Johnny sank down in his seat. If he were a puppy, his ears would have flopped down and his tail would have tucked itself between his legs. "Sorry…"
At one point while they were eating, Dally stood up to go to the restroom. He placed his half-eaten burger down, not intending to take another bite from it. He instantly threw himself over a toilet, ignoring the shit that was stuck inside the bowl. Dally stuck his fingers inside his mouth, gagging so hard that vomit eventually came spewing out. It splashed inside the bowl, some of it bouncing off the water and hitting him on the cheek. He continued to vomit the mush of the burger that he had just eaten, cringing at how vile the taste was. It burned his throat, but he was used to the feeling. Vomiting wasn't his preference when it came to removing unwanted food from his system, but it was effective, and he was willing to do almost anything to get rid of it. He was too busy vomiting that he didn't notice the bathroom door opening and Ponyboy stepping inside.
"Dally?" Ponyboy called out, noticing the greaser's bent knees on the floor from the stall's gap. He walked to where the door was. It was still open. Dally had forgotten to close it, too preoccupied with the need to remove everything from his system. "Are… Are you alright?"
Dally wiped the excess vomit on his face with his sleeve, reaching over to flush the toilet. After it was gone, he walked over to the sink to rinse his mouth out. He didn't talk to Ponyboy, not at first at least. The water was cool in his hand, seeping over the sides of his palm as he scooped it into his mouth and sloshed it around before he spitted it out.
"You were sick," Ponyboy continued when Dally turned his attention to him.
"I ain't sick," Dally sneered.
"You were just vomiting. Why didn't you tell us you weren't feeling well?"
"I'm feeling fine, man. Drop it." He tried to walk away, but Ponyboy wasn't done talking to him. He reached out, hesitated, before grabbing Dally by the wrist. It was bony, way bonier than a normal wrist should have been. Ponyboy's eyes widened in surprise. His hand could wrap completely around the wrist, overlapping his fingers. This wasn't normal. There were people with small wrists where doing so was possible, but this was Dally. Surely, he would have noticed his wrist size by now. It's been years since he had first met him. He practically grew up with him around. But maybe, he didn't notice a small detail like his wrist size even though he was sure he would have. He drew his picture all the time, so he had a great understanding of what he looked like from head to toe.
"You're not fine… That was stomach acid… There wasn't food coming out." Ponyboy wished that he hadn't seen what he saw. The images were burned in his mind. He didn't understand why Dally was being so defensive about this. He kept his problems to himself, sure, but this was to a ridiculous amount.
Dally whacked the hand off him, glowering at Ponyboy, causing him to shrink back in response. "Let it go. I'm fine. How many times do I have to tell you that, man?"
Ponyboy looked like he wanted to protest but held himself back from doing so. Nobody messed with Dally, and he knew that. The last thing that Pony wanted was to have his head bashed in. He nodded, letting Dally go.
o-o-o
Dally ended up not eating the rest of his meal. The gang left, hopping back into their vehicles. Ponyboy sat behind him, whispering stuff to Johnny. He could feel both of their eyes on him. He wanted to turn around at tell them to knock it off but refrained himself from doing so.
When they arrived at the Curtis' house, Dally was more than excited to leave. However, Darry suggested to play some football, and, once again, Dally was roped into it. They were playing shirts versus skins, and they put him on the skins team. He could feel his blood run cold.
If he was skin, they were going to see his fat belly. They were going to see him jiggle as he ran. Dally rapidly shook his head.
"Nah, man. I'm going to be on the shirts team," he said, subconsciously pulling at the bottom of his shirt.
"But then the teams wouldn't be balanced," Soda commented. The skins team included Darry and Steve while the shirts team was everybody else. He sighed though when he saw how stern Dally was with his decision. "I'll be on the skins team then."
The gang members on the skins team all removed their shirts, revealing their perfectly thin and muscular bodies. Dally clenched his teeth, balling his hands into balls. The cuts on his knuckles stretched, on the verge of opening again. Why did everybody in the gang have to be so perfect while he looked like mashed potatoes? He wanted to hit all of that muscle off of them so that they would be more in par with him. If only he was able to do that. They all got ready to play, but, yet again, they stopped to stare at him.
"Aren't you going to remove your jacket? You're going to overheat in that leather," Darry said.
"I'll be fine," Dally replied. It might have been his catchphrase at how many times he said 'fine' that day.
Giving him a reluctant look, they began the game. At first, it started out alright, but it wasn't long until he started to feel dizzy from the heat. He slowed down, everything becoming blurry around him. He tried to continue moving, but his limbs weren't listening to him. Something was wrong. His head was pounding, skin clammy. He wavered before coming to a stop. His fingers pressed deeply into the football that was recently passed to him, not noticing the approaching figure until he was tackled.
Air got knocked out of him as he was sent crashing on the dried-up lawn in front of the house. It was a weak tackle, but Dally's body finally caved in to the temptation to sleep. Before he could stop skidding, the world darkened around him.
o-o-o
When he woke up again, he was inside, feeling cold from the fan that was spinning above him. He hugged himself, trying to keep warm but that was when he figured out that he wasn't wearing his jacket nor was he wearing his flannel. He completely woke up, snapping up from where he was lying down. He glanced at his body, happy that his tank top was on at least, but his shirts and pants were removed to cool him down, exposing his skeletal structure. The gang was all around him, staring at him with worried eyes. And, for the longest time, nobody knew what to say. Dally felt like getting up and fleeing but his pride stopped him from doing so. At last, Darry was the first one to open his mouth.
"Why?" Darry started, gesturing to his body. Perhaps he could have stated the question differently, but he didn't know what to say or what would be appropriate in that matter.
Dally didn't want to talk about it. Why would he? Who likes talking about their weight? "Why what?" Dally asked.
"Why haven't you been eating?"
There was a long pause as Dally considered what he was going to say. But the thing was: he couldn't come up with anything. There were no excuses for his dieting. There were no excuses for him being overweight. So, he became defensive. "It's none of your business. I'll eat when I want to eat."
"Dally, please," Johnny pleaded, eyes giving him that puppy-dog-look that he always fell for. He was the only person that could do this. "Please, tell us. We're here for you."
Dally let out a long, drawn-out sigh. He scratched at his temple, which looked weird to the other gang members. His saggy skin flapped, draped over his boney arm. When he moved, his rips poked out even more. "I'm fat, man. It's fucking obvious."
"You… What?" Steve said incredulously. His mouth opened before it closed again. He shook his head, eyebrows twitching. "Have you… Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?"
Dally flinched before he glared at Steve. Yeah, I fucking have. I look at myself every fucking day. I don't want to, but I have to. I hate having to be reminded of my weight, man."
Steve held up his hands in defense. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Yeah, sure." Dally rolled his sunken eyes. "Now are you going to continue looking at me like I'm a museum display or are you going to give me back my jacket?"
His leather jacket was tossed back to him by Two-Bit. Dally slipped it back on, instantly feeling more at ease. He sighed in relief. A hand touched his shoulder and he turned to see Johnny sitting next to him.
"I don't understand a lot about this so I can't say much, but we all have insecurities. We all see flaws in ourselves and we want to change them," Johnny started, speaking in his gentlest voice.
"None of you have flaws," Darry argued, squinting his eyes at all of them.
Steve snorted, "Nobody's perfect."
Ponyboy nodded in agreement. "We all struggle with self-image problems, but we learn to love ourselves," he spoke.
"We're here for you," Soda continued. "If you ever want to talk to someone, any of us are here to listen. We all care about you. So, let us help you, okay?"
Dally's lips were pressed tightly together. His eyes fell onto an empty beer bottle. To love himself… How could he love himself when he looked like… a skeleton? His eyes widened. For the first time in a forever, he saw himself like he saw his image. He didn't see an overweight guy anymore. Instead, he saw someone who was barely surviving.
He needed help. How could he let himself get like this? He didn't want this. He wanted to be skinny, but this wasn't what he pictured it to look like.
"I…" Dally managed to get out with a dry mouth. "I need help."
Soda smiled at him. "And we'll be there for you," he said.
o-o-o
"Dally, ready to go?" Two-Bit boisterously asked one day.
"Give me some time, man," Dally said, closing the door to the bathroom of the Curtis' house. He looked at himself in the mirror. It had been months since he saw that skeletal figure. Those months had been the hardest times in his life, but it was worth it. His ribs were still sticking out of his skin, but his stomach was no longer caving in. He had muscles now, filling him in.
Dally still wasn't satisfied with himself, but he knew that he would never be. Nobody could be one hundred percent in love with their body. But what mattered the most was that he learned to love himself more.