The State of Perdition

Chapter 3

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Summary: A/U: The boys never got into hunting because their mother died of natural causes. Years later, Dean struggles to find acceptance from his father. Eating-disorder theme.

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Sammy. Sam. Dean wanted to push him away. He wanted to embrace him. He found that he couldn't do either.

"Hey, man, good to see you, too, but come on. It hasn't been that long." That seemed… appropriate. Something.

Still, Sam continued to hug Dean for another few seconds, and Dean almost, almost allowed himself to fall back into the sweet surrender of yesteryears. Almost. When his brother finally decided enough was enough, their hug parted, and Dean felt giant hands against his cheeks.

God, look at you, Sammy. You got so big. That grip. You got so strong.

Everything had changed.

"Dean." Sam was still smiling as he touched at his brother's cheeks, thumbs running along his gaunt features – shit. His eyes turned from happy to concerned. "Have you been eating all right?"

Dean forgot how smart Sammy was.

"Jesus, would you lay off with the touching, man?" Dean pushed his brother's hands away, a toying, hiding smirk coming to play on his lips. "I have a woman who does that for me." Be disgusted, Sam. Make some rude comment about insinuating something.

Sam didn't take the dig, though. He didn't care about his girlfriend, or his new life; and just how fair was that? Wasn't Dean supposed to be here to pretend some semblance of Sam's new life was important? Was that why he was here? This back and forth was starting to give him a headache. He needed to ground himself. He needed control.

Wait, that really was a headache he felt. Perfect.

And now, Bobby was giving him a second-over, looking concerned himself. Extra perfect.

Sam grabbed at his wrists, but Dean folded away and back. "Jesus, a few months away and you're all handsy. Don't you have a girlfriend or something?" Dean didn't know if he had a girlfriend now, but back then when they were talking, he would often times talk forever about this beautiful blond Jessica.

"Dean, just answer the question." Sam demanded, in a voice that actually reminded Dean of their father. However, Sam wasn't their father. He didn't have any damn right to demand crap from him.

"Would you get the Hell off my back?" Dean was pissed and he wasn't holding back. Dean was still trying to keep his secret. "I come all this way just to see you, and the second I step in the door the two of you are interrogating me like I can't handle myself!"

"Boy-" Bobby warned. "We're not saying that. Just given your history-"

"In front of my girlfriend?" Dean hissed.

The two looked in her direction, and it was as though it were the first time they were seeing her.

"Come on, Dean, baby." Carmon grabbed at his arm and pulled away from them. "Let's go upstairs, get settled in-"

"Wait!" Sam stepped forward, his hands held up defensively. "Look, Dean, I'm sorry. I just haven't seen you in so long, and I worried and…" he took a deep breath. "The food smells really good. Why don't we go into the kitchen, have a good meal and…" he was trying, it looked like. Only, the one thing that Dean had learned over the years of dealing with idiots who said he was too thin when clearly he had way too much on him, looks could be deceiving. "… just catch up? Have a beer?"

Beer was empty calories, Sam. Dean was stronger than he was before; he didn't even bat an eye about refusing. "You know, I'm starting to regret this whole thing-"

"Baby, baby." Carmon kissed him on his cheek – his gaunt cheek. "Just… go upstairs. I'll bring us up some dinner, okay?"

Carmon, pretty little vixen. She'd bring up food, all right; all for the sake of appearances. She wouldn't tempt him like his family. She knew exactly what it was that he wanted, what he needed. Dean leaned momentarily into her neck and gave a short nod. "All right, baby." He gave her a slap on her ass – her nice, thin, beautiful ass. "Don't keep me waiting, sugar."

Dean headed up the stairs. He could hear talking below, but he knew his baby girl wouldn't let him down.

His old room didn't bring back any bit of nostalgia; even if there were still two beds in there. He didn't really give a damn about where Sam was going to sleep; he could take the couch for all he cared. In fact, sleep sounded good. Or at least, just to lay down.

Dean near-collapsed against his bed, his light weight making little much of a dent in the cushions.

Carmon was fast. Almost too fast. The door opened and Dean looked up, almost afraid that it would be either Sam or Bobby; but no, it was Carmon, carrying a plate of food that smelled so, so good. The door shut behind them and, with no surprise, he found the smell diminishing after the sound of its collapse in a trash can. Carmon tied it up, the smell receded, and Dean felt so good just thinking about the fact that he wasn't going to eat, that he wasn't going to put those calories in his body.

"You're doing so good, baby," Carmon's sweet voice filled the air, and soon her face came within Dean's sight. She leaned across him, smelling far better than any plate of fat, calories and cholesterol ever could. Her hands moved underneath his layers of shirt, feeling what Sam and Bobby were never allowed to see; what nobody was allowed to see. Not until he was perfect. He felt her fingers move and trace over his ribs, could feel each of them bump along each of them as skin sunk between bone. He felt her hands move lower, caressing his concave stomach, feeling and moving what must be fat. More fat. No.

"Stop." Dean took her by the wrists, his eyes warning.

"Oh, Dean, baby, don't worry." Carmon kissed his lips slow and wanting, and Dean found his hands releasing her own. He moaned as her hands came back to his stomach, lightly pulling at the tip of his belly button. "You're not perfect yet, but… you're getting there. Still… I like you anyway."

Carmon was the only one who would touch him while he wasn't perfect.

"I love you, baby," Dean told her.

It was okay that she didn't say it back.

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To be continued…