Destiel Oneshots

Me, You, and Mia {Destiel}

Trigger warning:
bulimia, self harm based thoughts, slight glorification of eating disorders

Food wasn't always a part of Dean's childhood, John only gave them so much money, and sometimes that would run thin, leaving only enough for Sam. Without much food around Dean had always been slim, never bony, but slimmer, something that at eleven years old, Dean realized people liked about him.

They would compliment him on his figure.

On his sharp jawline.

On his slim waist.

On his looks.

On his control around food.

They seemed to be the only compliments he got, John never being one for open compassion.

By thirteen Dean realized as long as he didn't eat the compliments would keep coming. The reassurance that at last he was doing something right. John didn't seem to notice, though Bobby, who always made sure both brothers were fed, did, and that's when Dean learned a new trick.

Two fingers down the throat, and he could eat whatever he wanted, as long he made sure it came back up.

Two fingers down his throat, and no one would know.

Two fingers down his throat, and he'd stay skinny.

Two fingers.

It wasn't like he was hurting Sammy.

For once in his life he was doing something right, the starvation, the burning feeling through his skin, the light headed sensation, it became a drug. He craved it. He needed it.

It killed him, and he loved it.

~

"Alright," Dean said, placing his empty plate into the sink. He turned to Sam who still ate, one hand around his fork, his other holding his phone, eyes on the device. "i'm going to shower, then we can head out."

Sam only gave a small hum in response, eyes still locked on his phone.

It didn't bother Dean in the slightest. It was easier that way, gave him more reassurance that Sam wouldn't be curious in following him, not that he ever had before.

Despite that the fear still ticked at Dean's mind as he slowly walked through the bunkers halls, jaw locked, in an attempt to keep his food down. He could feel it burning in his stomach. He'd eaten more then his stomach could handle and was now paying for it both physically and mentally.

His whole body alive with anxiety, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Part of him said stop there in the hallway. Throw up there and then. Get it out of him, calm the anxiety, let the nausea win. He needed it out of him.

He couldn't let it sit in his stomach, build up fat, when he already had so much.

One step

Two steps.

No matter how much quicker his footsteps became he never seemed to be close enough.

Another step.

A spinning of his head.

Another step.

His stomach growling. Full yet still desperate for more.

Another step, and he was pushing his way into his bedroom, a gasped breath filling his lungs.

Dean locked his bedroom door before making his way to his bathroom, locking that door as well. He then turned the shower on, as powerful as it would go, before kneeling in front of the toilet, eyes on the clear water.