Thin Line
Chapter 13
Summary: John is walking a thin line. His obsession with hunting will jeopardize one son physically and both sons emotionally. Limp Sam to come.
Warning: This chapter is kinda gross...just so ya know. And please, please, please don't get any ideas from this.
Note: Thank you for reading! I really appreciate all your reviews and PMs, you are awesome!! I think I replied to all of them, but if I missed someone, I'm sorry and thanks!
Enjoy...
On the drive home Dean looked over at Sam who was gazing moodily out the window, with his arms crossed tightly over his stomach.
"Is your stomach bothering you?" Dean asked.
"'s fine." Sam grunted.
"Yeah right." Dean scoffed. "I told you not to eat so fast."
"Shuddup." Sam growled.
"Jeez, I buy you dinner and this is how you treat me? See if I do something nice for you again." Dean teased. Sam didn't take the bait, instead he went back to looking out the window.
Dean pulled up to the house and Sam jumped out of the car before it came to a complete stop.
"Hey what's your hurry? Gotta hot date?—Oh wait that's me." Dean asked not waiting for a reply. "I don't know when I'll be back, don't leave the house, lock the door."
"I will." Sam said shortly. "See ya, have fun on your date." Sam said quickly before closing the car door and running into the house.
Sam slammed the front door shut and locked it, then looked out the window to make sure Dean wasn't following him inside. He watched as Dean drove away from the house.
Sam ran to the bathroom and pulled out the scale so it sat on the floor of the bathroom facing a mirror. He kicked off his shoes, then he took his sling off and tossed it aside, he pulled his shirt and sweatshirt over his head and then he stepped out of his pants.
He took a deep breath before reluctantly stepping on the scale. "118." Sam read aloud.
Great job kid, you've gained three pounds.
Sam looked at himself in the mirror. He nearly started hyperventilating, he was growing wider by the second.
He sat down abruptly hugging his knees to his chest and making a conscious effort not to look at the mirror.
"Don't panic." He muttered to himself. "I can run it off."
Or you could just throw it up.
Sam perked up a bit at the idea. He slowly stood back to his feet, only to walk a step or two the toilet where he dropped to his knees.
He had to admit that he wasn't exactly sure how to do this. Suddenly he got that feeling that this wasn't a very good idea.
"No." He told himself out loud, pushing himself away from the toilet.
Eating only lettuce for nearly a month was one thing, but throwing up your meals was something else.
Wasn't it?
It's not like you're going to do it all the time. You lost control—you screwed up and now you have to fix it. Don't be selfish you need to do this for Dad and Dean and those innocent kids who are dying. How will you be able to help with this hunt if you keep getting fatter? Just do it.
"Just this once." Sam muttered. He felt guilty, not only for eating all that food, but for being so selfish.
That's right 'just this once'...as long as you never eat that much again.
Sam pulled himself back toward the toilet. He suddenly felt very nervous that Dean had forgotten something and would come inside or that John would get back early from his hunting trip.
Sam turned on the shower and the sink faucet and locked the bathroom door, hoping to drown out the noise.
Sam knelt back down in front of the toilet and lifted the lid. He paused a moment, trying to think of anything else he could do to prolong the inevitable. Short of shoving the entertainment system in front of the front door to keep any unwanted intruders out and barring the windows, he could think of nothing.
He brought his hand up to his mouth, which he opened as wide as he could, and shoved his right index finger down his throat, then quickly pulled it back out. He coughed and gagged briefly, but nothing came up.
He was a bit puzzled, but he tried again. This time he dug his finger in deeper and again pulled it back out quickly, to avoid throwing up on his hand. He coughed and gagging, but more intensely this time and for a longer period.
Still nothing came up.
At this point he was more irritated than anything and the thought of throwing up on his hand really disgusted him. He was about ready to give up when his eyes locked on the long handle of Dean's blue toothbrush. His eyebrows shoot up and a light bulb turned on.
A hinted of a smile crossed his face as he thought of how much easier it would be to stick that toothbrush down his throat than his own finger, since his hand prevented him from pushing down any further. And now he wouldn't have to worry about vomiting on his hand. This was the perfect solution.
Sam rinsed the end of the toothbrush off in the sink and then went back to the toilet and put it down his throat. He held it there until he really started to gag and only took it out when he knew he was going to throw up. Once he was done he whipped his mouth with toilet paper.
He knew he didn't get anywhere near all of his dinner out and prepared himself to try again.
This was so much harder than he had expected it to be.
Again he held the toothbrush down his throat, this time to help the process, Sam tried to think of things that disgusted him. Fortunately, he had a weak stomach. Although it made him the butt of many jokes with Dean, it worked to his advantage in this situation.
He could remember one time when the family was traveling through a seeming deserted stretch of road, with no bathroom in site. Dean had gone off into the dense forest to take care of business and when he returned Sam was digging through his duffle bag, looking for a clean shirt to exchange for his dirty, sweaty t-shirt. Sam finally slipped into a new t-shirt, but didn't notice the strange colored stain until he had it on.
He asked Dean what it was and Dean told Sam that he had run out of toilet paper. Sam throw up everywhere and continued to gag even after Dean admitted that he was just joking.
Dean was laughing about it for weeks afterwards.
In fact, just remembering the moment made Sam sick all over again, of course he was so full that he was slightly nauseous as it was.
He was finally satisfied with how much he'd thrown up and put the toothbrush aside. He rinsed his mouth out with water, then started cleaning up the bathroom and turned off the water.
He quickly thought up a story to tell Dean about his toothbrush and then hide it at the very back of the drawer.
He casually walked out of the bathroom and into the living room. He sat on the couch and turned on the TV. He felt much better now and his mood had improved drastically.
That wasn't so bad.
Dean walked into the house at nearly 1:00 in the morning, he looked flushed and he had on the same goofy smile that he had been wearing for the last few weeks.
"Hey Sammy, 'm home."
Sam looked over the back of the couch so he could see his brother and smiled at the sight. "You look like you had a good time."
Dean sighed in contentment. "It was nice."
Sam laughed. "Nice?"
"Yeah." Dean seemed to be lost in thought for a while, daydreaming with a fond smile on his face. After a while he shook himself out of his thoughts and back to reality. "You seem less...angry." Dean commented as he throw his jacket on a table and sat beside Sam on the couch.
"Thanks, I think." Sam replied with a scoff.
"What crawled up your ass earlier?"
"I think you were probably right, I must have eaten too fast."
"When will you learn that I am always right, Little Brother?" Dean asked as he affectionately ruffled Sam's hair and then hammered him in the side of the head with a pillow.
Sam grabbed another pillow and smacked Dean in the face with it. The brothers indulged in an intense pillow fight, which ended with both of them on the ground yelling 'Bitch' and 'Jerk' so loudly they could be heard three house down.
They laid on there backs panting and laughing, but still holding their pillows close just incase the other decided to attack again.
"Hey Dean."
"What?"
"I may have accidentally dropped your tooth brush in the toilet."
"What do you mean you may have?"
"It may have been an accident."
"You little Bitch!" Dean growled hitting Sam with the pillow again, reinstating the pillow war.
Dean sat up after nearly ten minutes and slowly set his pillow on the ground and raised his hands in surrender.
"Truce."
Sam eyed Dean suspiciously for a moment then slowly laid his pillow down also.
"Truce." He agreed.
"I'm gonna go got a water bottle. Want one?" Dean asked.
"Sure."
Sam watched as Dean went into the kitchen and smiled to himself.
See? Throwing that up made everyone happy.
"Yeah." Sam murmured thoughtfully.
When Dean came back in to the living room Sam was still camped out on the floor. Dean sat facing him although Dean didn't look at him. Sam didn't seem to notice the way Dean nervously bite his lip, Sam was too caught up in how great this evening had turned out.
"Here." Dean passed Sam a bottle, but instead of water it was a cold beer. Sam looked the bottle over then gave Dean a puzzled look.
"What's this for?"
Dean was staring at a spot on the ugly brownish orange carpet and took a long swig of the beer before speaking. He slowly meet Sam's eyes.
"I need to talk to you about something." Dean said slowly.
"How many times do I have to tell you that you can talk to me about anything?" Sam asked gently.
"I know that."
"Then what is it?"
"You havta promise not to tell Dad..."
Hey friends,
Thank you all for being ridiculously patient! And for reading and reviewing.
I was sent out of town on business over a month ago with less than a six hour warning and no real idea of when I'd be back. Anyway I'm home now and hoping that you don't all hate me.
I have to say though, after a month with virtually no Supernatural one of the first things I did when I got home was pop in the DVDs! Now that I've finally finished this chapter I'm going to catch up on my alerts.
Please do not get any ideas from this story, I certainly wouldn't want to turn anyone to bulimia.