Summary: Just like his freckles and bowlegs, Dean’s slight pudge has always been a part of himself that he’s never felt completely comfortable with. After a few miserable days of unsuccessful dieting and choking down rabbit food, Cas reminds him exactly how beautiful he is.
“You’re getting kinda chubby!”
Charlie makes this remark lightly, offhandedly, as she passes by Dean on the way to breakfast that morning: Dean had been stretching his arms overhead in a yawn so that his cotton shirt rode up over his stomach, which Charlie takes the opportunity to poke.
Startled, he looks down just in time to see the disconcerting way in which her fingertip sort of smushes into the soft, freckly flesh.
Dean halts in his tracks, blinking comprehensively. “Wait, what?” is all he can think to say.
Charlie, who’d been nonchalantly continuing on her way down the hall, turns to look at him. “Well, you don’t have to sound so offended about it,” she laughs. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way or anything!”
Dean folds his arms defensively. “Then what did you mean, Charles?”
“First of all, I answer only to Charlie, Ms. Bradbury, or the Illustrious Queen of Moondoor. Next, I just meant you put on a couple pounds. Maybe getting a bit of a tummy. It’s no big deal.”
Dean looks comprehensively down at his stomach. Now that he thinks about it, he has been eating more these days – he’s been going through sort of a “nesting period” during his relationship with Cas: lots of baking pies, burgers, etc. He didn’t think it was noticeable.
Taking note of the gravity of his expression, Charlie laughs, punching him lightly in the shoulder. “You don’t have to look so glum about it! It’s cute.”
Dean glowers at her, tugging self consciously at his t-shirt. “M’not cute,” he mutters grouchily. “I’m a warrior.”
Charlie laughs again. “Alright, warrior. Hurry up and take care of your morning breath – Kevin’s making waffles again!”
With that, Charlie skips off down the hall, leaving Dean to steep in his juices. He lets Charlie laugh it off, of course – he knows she didn’t mean any harm – but the fact is, Dean’s always known he’s had a little bit of pudge around his midsection, and he’s always been the slightest bit insecure about it. Just like his freckles and bowlegs, it’s one of the things about himself that he’s never particularly liked.
His one solace was convincing himself that these features weren’t as noticeable to everyone else as they are to him. Now, that seems to have changed.
Dean pulls up the rim of his shirt, noting sourly the way in which his pudge protrudes slightly over the waistband of his pajama pants.
Suddenly he doesn’t feel so hungry anymore.