It was a couple weeks after the incident at Derek's house and Stiles was trying to get better. Where he would eat only two bird bites a day, he now ate full breakfasts and lunches. The pack had tried to make him eat dinner, but he still grimaced at the sight of food, so they decided to take it slow. For now.
The team was getting ready for practice. The usual routine. With a twist. Every time, before practice, while everyone would be getting ready for a good ten-laps, Scott, Liam or Danny (Jackson pretends not to care) would give Stiles something to eat. A small candy-bar. Chocolate. Things like that.
Today it was a granola-bar. Scott fished it out of his bag and turned just in time to see Stiles hastily pull down his shirt, eyes wide and a blush creeping up his pale cheeks. Clenching his jaw, the werewolf worked up a smile and moved towards his best friend. Stiles looked up from staring at his shoes, just to have a granola bar practically shoved into his mouth. He grimaced at first but accepted the food. He took a deep breath and stuck it between his teeth.
Together they walked into the field, desperately hoping that nothing was going to ruin the fragile stability. No such luck.
"Stilinski!" shouted coach "what are you- are you still eating?! Every time I turn around, you're right there, eating! God, breath a little, kid"
Oh.
Oh. Shit.
The pack knew he meant it as a joke, but Stiles didn't. Stopping mid-field, the young boy scrunched his eyebrows. What was he doing? Why was he doing this? Eating before practice, eating lunch, eating at all. What would his mother say? Oh, God, his mom would be so disappointed.
"Stiles," Scott tried, "listen, don't listen to him, he doesn't know what he's talking about he's always like this, please, just-"
"Scott." Said Stiles, eyes shut tight and knuckles white with the way he was clenching them, "Stop. Just, don't. Look, I know you're just trying to help, but I don't need you okay? All I have to do is lose those last few pounds, and everything will be just fine. Just leave me alone."
Scott blinked. "Last few pounds? Are you kidding me, Stiles you can't afford to lose a last few anything right now, don't you get it? You're sick, and you need help, Stiles."
But Stiles didn't hear him. Already making his way to the locker room, the calculator in his mind starting to turn back on, the numbers flowing at him at a crazy speed.
Scott stared after his friend, too angry to say anything. Jackson stood next to him, seething , and Liam glared at the coach. The coach, who had just ruined every bit of progress they had managed to make in the past few weeks, who had probably made everything worse than it already was.
Meanwhile Stiles stood in the bathroom. Staring at himself in the mirror, he grimaced at his reflection and turned away. The coach was right. He was always eating, all the time. This had to stop, and he hoped his friends would understand that this was all just for the best.
Sliding to his knees in front of the toilet, he lifted two shaking fingers to his mouth. The physical need to throw up all the food he had ingested over the past few weeks was overwhelming and he found himself thinking about how good it was about to feel when he got rid of it all.
Which he did.
Half an hour later, he got up and walked out of the bathroom, looking for all the world as if he had just come back from an energizing nap, which to him, it kind of was.