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Sam knows it’s not healthy. He’s not an idiot. Food in equals energy out, the body needs energy to live, he has a big body and needs more energy than most. If the food in is too low, than the rest of the equation gets messed up too fast.
But it’s not exactly a new thing and Sam’s been coping for a long time, and, anyways, there’s not much about his life that exactly advertises healthy, so the thing with the food isn’t going anywhere and he knows it. He manages.
And then comes Jess. And suddenly, Sam is ashamed.
It’s not healthy. It’s not normal, and just because he’s come to need it–only so many calories in, carefully counted, his little measure of control, something to cling to–just because he needs it more than he has just about anything doesn’t make it acceptable.
So he hides it.
Honestly, he’s more scared of losing her than he’s ever been of this thing. He’ll hide it, he’ll work around it, he’ll make this work forever if he has to. Just so long as he doesn’t lose her.
He has some experience. Dean sometimes had eyes too keen for Sam’s liking, although towards the end, he wasn’t around often enough to really see anything. But Sam knows how to cut up and artfully re-arrange food. He knows how to deflect and distract. He knows how to purge, if it gets that point. He makes it work, and Jess doesn’t suspect a thing.
And then she catches him coming out of the shower.
Stupid, for him not to have dressed completely in the bathroom, but his shirt had slipped from his grasp and gotten soaked, and he’d thought walking back to his room in just jeans would be fine. He didn’t expect Jess to be waiting outside, leaning against the wall, her face taking on some sort of twisted appearance once she saw him.
“What the hell, Sam?” she asks, staring.
He shifts. “What?”
“I can see your fucking ribs,” she says. Then, “inside. Now.”
Sam unlocks his own door, doesn’t say anything about being ordered into his own room, and lets her in before following her and closing the door. Thankfully, his roommate is out. He doesn’t need an audience for this.
“It’s nothing,” he says. “I’m a growing guy, Jess–just stretched a bit.” It’s a stretch to say it, and Sam feels a little bad for lying. But it’s for the best. It’s forthem.
“Nothing my ass,” Jess says, voice sharp. “I always… well, damn, Sam. You don’t eat. I thought I was imagining it. Big guy like you? Had to be eating. But you obviously don’t.”
Sam tenses so much he feels like his body might fly apart in a million little pieces. She knows. She’s going to leave him. It’s over.
“God, Sam…” she says. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Sam looks at her dubiously. “Isn’t it obvious? I didn’t want…well. I didn’t want you to know.”
“Why not?” she demands. “Dammit, Sam, I could have helped!”
“Helped?” Sam croaks, because there is no help, there is managing this and hiding it and going on.
“Yes, help,” she says. “Like, find you a doctor. Listen to you. Talk this out with me. Start working on helping you. All of that.”
“I’m not sure I can be…” Sam begins.
“Well, I’m very sure,” Jess says determinedly. “And I’m very sure we can do this.”
Jess could be sure the moon was made of cheese right then and Sam is pretty sure he’d believe her. She just has this tone of voice.
“C’mere,” she says, opening her arms.
He squirms. She’s hugged him plenty of times, but she’s never seen him like this before, without his shirt, never realized what this has done to him. “Let me get my shirt,” he says.
“You’re fine,” she soothes. And he believes her, and moves into her arms, letting her hold him tight. He wraps his arms around her, hugging her back.
“You’re gonna be fine,” she says.
She doesn’t say it, but he knows it in his heart. They will be fine. And if that’s true, than he’s sure he can tackle anything else along the way.