For elitist_bitches - 9.D.11 - Kakorrhaphiophobia
9.D.11. Kakorrhaphiophobia - Fear of failure or defeat.
Sam is deathwontstopme and Castiel is angelofthursday and are mentioned with much love. Set after this and this.
By the time the doctor had finished giving him the instructions for continued care of his injuries, Dean's eyes started to glaze over. Jesus, what the hell had happened to 'change the bandages once a day, put neosporin on the burns and bites, and don't get the stitches wet' and when did they start handing out 'aftercare instruction' print-outs?
He wasn't about to turn down the painkiller scrip, though, and the doc wanted him to listen to the whole spiel first, so... Yeah, zoning out behind his eyes.
And then there were the other instructions he didn't really want to hear, and especially didn't want others overhearing. And not just because he had his heart set on some pie for his birthday. He already knew the whole liquid diet blah blah blah, and damn it, how was he going to get better fast if he was stuck with chicken noodle soup?
But mainly, he didn't want people knowing what had happened. Hell, he knew how screwed up he was -- he just didn't really want to say it out loud and make it that much more real. And he still didn't want to know what it said about him that he would rather have been tortured by Alastair than suffer the same treatment at the hands of a renegade angel. Was it that some twisted part of him that actually missed the demon's touch? He had known it for nine years longer than the span of his natural life -- despite the obscenely twisted nature of it, it was the longest relationship he'd ever had. With anyone. What the hell did that say about him?! Or was it just that having proof some angels were still working against them was too much to bear?
Whatever it was that was wrong with him, it went deep. If he were a building, he would have been condemned years ago. Unsafe, unsound. Broken.
But he couldn't give up -- he had to protect Sam, keep his little brother safe, because that was what he did. Even if his little brother had moved on and didn't need him anymore. And that just further illustrated the cracks: Sam didn't need him, but he still needed to protect Sam.
It wasn't just Sam, either. Castiel had been there at the hospital with him, but when he got new Orders, he kissed Dean and vanished from the room without a moment's hesitation. Dean knew that it was because his angel took his duty very seriously, but there was a part of him that couldn't help wondering whether it was because Castiel could see how deep the ugliness went in him. He needed his angel -- he needed to know that his Bonded wasn't disgusted by what he was. But he was terrified that his corruption might drag his lover down. If he made his angel Fall, he would never forgive himself...
He wondered just how many of them knew how weak he truly was, that he needed the others so much they were the only thing that kept him going. They were the only reason for him to carry on. So he'd keep on doing what he did best even when he felt like he was drowning, because if he didn't -- if he stopped fighting, then he knew he'd truly be lost.
And when he got home and reassessed his wounds; when he dug fingers into one particularly nasty bruise, it was just the endorphins that made it feel so good, right?
-----
Muse: Dean Winchester
Fandom: Supernatural
Wordcount: 586 per My Writing Nook
Crossposted to: elitist_bitches
Sam is deathwontstopme and Castiel is angelofthursday and are mentioned with much love. Set after this and this.
By the time the doctor had finished giving him the instructions for continued care of his injuries, Dean's eyes started to glaze over. Jesus, what the hell had happened to 'change the bandages once a day, put neosporin on the burns and bites, and don't get the stitches wet' and when did they start handing out 'aftercare instruction' print-outs?
He wasn't about to turn down the painkiller scrip, though, and the doc wanted him to listen to the whole spiel first, so... Yeah, zoning out behind his eyes.
And then there were the other instructions he didn't really want to hear, and especially didn't want others overhearing. And not just because he had his heart set on some pie for his birthday. He already knew the whole liquid diet blah blah blah, and damn it, how was he going to get better fast if he was stuck with chicken noodle soup?
But mainly, he didn't want people knowing what had happened. Hell, he knew how screwed up he was -- he just didn't really want to say it out loud and make it that much more real. And he still didn't want to know what it said about him that he would rather have been tortured by Alastair than suffer the same treatment at the hands of a renegade angel. Was it that some twisted part of him that actually missed the demon's touch? He had known it for nine years longer than the span of his natural life -- despite the obscenely twisted nature of it, it was the longest relationship he'd ever had. With anyone. What the hell did that say about him?! Or was it just that having proof some angels were still working against them was too much to bear?
Whatever it was that was wrong with him, it went deep. If he were a building, he would have been condemned years ago. Unsafe, unsound. Broken.
But he couldn't give up -- he had to protect Sam, keep his little brother safe, because that was what he did. Even if his little brother had moved on and didn't need him anymore. And that just further illustrated the cracks: Sam didn't need him, but he still needed to protect Sam.
It wasn't just Sam, either. Castiel had been there at the hospital with him, but when he got new Orders, he kissed Dean and vanished from the room without a moment's hesitation. Dean knew that it was because his angel took his duty very seriously, but there was a part of him that couldn't help wondering whether it was because Castiel could see how deep the ugliness went in him. He needed his angel -- he needed to know that his Bonded wasn't disgusted by what he was. But he was terrified that his corruption might drag his lover down. If he made his angel Fall, he would never forgive himself...
He wondered just how many of them knew how weak he truly was, that he needed the others so much they were the only thing that kept him going. They were the only reason for him to carry on. So he'd keep on doing what he did best even when he felt like he was drowning, because if he didn't -- if he stopped fighting, then he knew he'd truly be lost.
And when he got home and reassessed his wounds; when he dug fingers into one particularly nasty bruise, it was just the endorphins that made it feel so good, right?
-----
Muse: Dean Winchester
Fandom: Supernatural
Wordcount: 586 per My Writing Nook
Crossposted to: elitist_bitches