Untitled Pain
So this is in response to the challenge set up by @thisismysecrethappyplace and I used the dialogue prompt of “If you can look me in the eyes and tell me you feel nothing between us, then I’ll stop and leave this alone.”.
Characters: Dean Winchester x Female Reader (she/her pronouns)
Warnings: Undiagnosed condition, low-self-esteem, insecurity
Summary: Angst that does turn to Fluff! She’s sure she’s unlovable, that she’s too broken to be held together in loving arms. Dean wants to prove her wrong.
She really didn’t deserve him.
Not him with his sharp jawline and enthralling emerald eyes. Not him with the body of a Greek God and killer-watt smile that lit up plenty of girls – and guys – when he entered a room. Not him, whose determination could rival that of a hundred soldiers and was fiercely loyal to those he loved. It was a fantasy to believe he could love her, and she knew it. Nobody could love something so broken, and this…this was exhibit A.
She was doubled over in the kitchen of her small apartment, unable to straighten out but also unable to sit at the bar stools behind her while she waited for the water to boil. Her hot water bottle lay discarded on the side, ready to be filled as another sharp wave of pain made her fold even further in the middle before she forced herself to straighten out. She was desperate for it to end. She’d taken pain killers and the antispasmodics her doctor had prescribed for her in an effort to relieve the pain when it came, but nothing had kicked in so far, and even when they did, she knew the pain would linger in a form of discomfort unlike anything else she’d ever experienced.
For now, she’d have to hobble like a hunch-back to get her water bottle back to her bedroom, gasping and whimpering as she went when the pain let her know that whatever it was wasn’t a fan of the movement. She had to just get to bed, to lie flat on her back and let the waves of pain lap at her until they passed. There was no other treatment, no other remedy. The hot water bottle was burning hot against her skin, even above layers of pyjamas, but the heat was soothing in a way the drugs never were. She was still unsure what worked to “cure” the pain, to stop the stabbing and tearing of her lower abdomen as it tried to…well she wasn’t even sure what it was trying to do.
Two hours of relentless torture where her bladder and bowels malfunctioned, taunting her with the need to use the bathroom and then deciding that actually there was nothing to come away with at all. Two hours of sharp twisting and pulling and stabbing in her gut that had her sure she was dying before it ceased and she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she was lucky enough for that to be the last one. It never was, and she couldn’t move. Movement hurt, to sit up straight at a chair hurt, to lie down still hurt – there was no winning. No…no, he could never love someone this broken. As if the pain wasn’t enough to make her cry, the overwhelming desperation of just wanting to be well again, coupled with the intense feeling of rejection and hopelessness certainly was. It wasn’t the first time she’d cried herself to sleep that way either.
Not that Dean knew. All he was aware of was that she wasn’t answering her phone, and that could mean many different things. Logically he had concluded that she was most likely fine and simply busy, perhaps with her college work, but the niggling anxiety wouldn’t leave him just yet. Cas had just come home, Cas had been dead, Dean had grieved. He wasn’t going to be grieving again anytime soon if he could help it. Maybe that was what had pushed him into Baby and onto the open road? He had never consciously made the decision to go and was taken by surprise when he found himself outside of her apartment. He’d been seeing her for roughly a month now, long enough for him to have been to her place once or twice, but never for anything more than dinner. Oddly, Dean didn’t mind.
He couldn’t remember ever having anything steady since Lisa, and the thought that maybe this was a sure thing was terrifying. To drag her into this world was to drag her away from innocence and normalcy and into a whole other realm of destruction and death. Did he really have it in him to do that to her? Then again, he didn’t think he had it in her to live without her anymore either. A month wasn’t long, but it felt like a lifetime when it was with the right person. She was funny, never took herself or life too seriously, and it helped she was truly gorgeous. More than one person had eyed her for her figure, for her hair, and he had glared them all away to claim her for his own. She wouldn’t let him do that just yet, but he was sure he would be allowed one day. He didn’t want to just leave her this time, didn’t want a one-night thing, but he was also too afraid to selfishly ask her to stay in his world. Hell, after she saw it, she probably wouldn’t want to stick around anyway.
Her door was open.
His hand automatically went to the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans, and with his hand resting on the grip he tentatively pushed the door open. It looked the same as it was when he’d left a few nights ago, the same bright open space in her closet sized apartment with the colourful furniture still in place and –
The bills were on the floor.
Dean pulled the gun free of his jeans, keeping it held at chest level as his entire body tensed. He was sure she’d have picked them up, she was too much of a neat freak to leave them there like that scattered on the floor. Water had splashed on the side in the kitchen to and the tap was still dripping where it wasn’t properly turned off. No, no something here wasn’t right. A floorboard creaked behind him and he whirled around, eyes widening when she jumped and almost immediately clutched at her side with a grimace.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, lowering his gun and hurrying to her side.
He had to get her out of here, whatever had attacked her might still be lingering. She wasn’t bloody, maybe broken ribs? No, her hand was placed way too low for ribs.
“Dean what the hell are you doing in my apartment? With a gun!” she cried.
She was watching him with wide eyes, and he swallowed.
“Are you hurt? Who else is in here? Did they attack you?” he asked again, voice firmer now.
He needed answers, had to find and deal with whatever it was to give her time to escape and-
“Dean there’s no one here, just me. How did you even get in?” she asked exasperatedly. He slowly lowered the gun, his brows furrowing.
“Your door was open and the letters on the floor, the water spillage…looked like signs of a struggle to me. Your favouring your left side Y/N, what’s wrong?” he questioned.
She bit her lip, looking away from him, and Dean wondered briefly if the whole situation had been misread. Maybe she was going to come out with a funny story about pulling a muscle reaching for something on the cupboards top-shelf. He had to take a moment to process the idea that she was really safe and sound.
“I must not have closed the door properly when I came back in, sorry for scaring you.” She sighed.
She forced herself to straighten out, but he could see her rubbing her side still, massaging the skin as she made herself a cup of coffee and offered him one. Dean shook his head, gripping her arm and turning her to face him with eyes full of concern.
“I want to know why you’re in pain sweetheart.” He said, voice softer now, “Please…let me help.”
By now she had turned her face away, the shame in her eyes obvious. Dean didn’t understand, couldn’t see the internal debate she was having. She didn’t want him to run from her, didn’t want him to leave because she was too broken and required some maintenance. She really did like him. She liked how he’d hold her on movie nights in that way that always made her feel warm and safe. She liked how he’d come in here guns blazing just to make sure she was okay, because he cared. She liked that he had a smile that crinkled his eyes, and more often than not she was the reason he smiled that smile. She liked him, but if she wanted to keep him, she had to be honest and let him decide.
“I…I’m not hurt. I have a condition that causes me a lot of pain sometimes.” She confessed quietly. Dean was silent for a moment, and when she risked a glance up at him, he looked more concerned than before. Slowly, he nodded his head and reached behind her to fix his own mug of coffee. With a mug in each hand he jerked his head towards the sofa, and her heart leapt. He’d hear her out at least, and then he’d most likely be gone.
“What condition?” he asked. She savoured looking at him, tracing the plains of his face with her eyes and trying to brand the image into her memory.
“I don’t really know. I’ve had an ultrasound before, and a pelvic MRI just last week that I’m waiting on results for. It could be any number of things, but my doctor said it’s potentially adhesions, ovarian cysts or endometriosis.”
“Okay, so…what the hell’s the first and last ones?” his brows furrowed considerably, and she couldn’t help but smile.
He looked darned adorable when he was confused, though it was rare since he was quite sharp and intelligent. She explained it as best she knew how, that adhesions were internal surgical scars that stuck her organs together and endometriosis was essentially tissue you’d find in the womb growing where it shouldn’t be. He had paid rapt attention throughout her entire explanation as she told him exactly how debilitating the pain could be, that it had flared up suddenly that morning and she’d had to stagger back up the stairs to her apartment and in through the door, hence why it had failed to close properly. His hand had moved to her knee at some point, thumb rubbing soothing circles over her pyjama’s bottoms.
“It’s only occasionally like that though right? I mean, you’ve been fine whenever we’ve seen each other.” Dean said, looking somewhat hopeful.
“Actually, not always. It’s not always sharp enough to confine me to bed, sometimes it’s just really uncomfortable, like a tight cramp where your muscles really tense in your shoulder but, low in my stomach, like the skin’s been stretched too far underneath. It’s easier to work around that though.” She admitted.
Dean’s frown deepened as she explained that pain medication was only of limited use, that it didn’t really work, and as he listened to her story he saw her change from his happy-go-lucky girl to a fighter. She was strong to live with this, he realised. Too always be in discomfort or pain was no easy challenge, he knew from wearing his injuries as they healed, and to know she suffered in silence with a smile on her face most days was both heart-breaking and…daunting. How strong was this woman? Strong enough to tackle his lifestyle choice, he was starting to think. But she was crying now, and he automatically reached for her tears, surprised when she flinched away.
“Hey, hey come on now sweetheart.” He murmured.
“D-don’t pretend, it’s okay. You can leave, I get it.” She sniffed.
Dean’s head jerked back in surprise. She wanted him to leave? No…no she wouldn’t meet his eyes. She didn’t want him to leave, she thought he wanted to, she was ashamed of her condition, of having no name and no diagnosis, of being unable to help herself just yet until the results she needed were found. He cupped her face firmly in his grasp, turned her head and planted a short but forceful kiss on her lips. He searched her wide eyes, spotted every insecurity and formulated plans on how to tackle them.
“I ain’t leaving sweetheart. Not now, not ever.” He promised her.
“But – but why? There’s thousands of girls out there who aren’t broken, people you don’t have to look after or fix.”
Dean let his hands fall to her sides, one place tenderly on her waist while the other gently rubbed the sore spot on her stomach. She looked at him with such vulnerability that Dean understood his next words would make or break them, and his tongue suddenly felt heavy as he thought of what he wanted to say. He weighed each word carefully before he spoke, praying they were the right ones.
“I don’t mind some maintenance work, I’ve got enough scars that need some TLC every now and then to. You’re not broken, not to me, your strong, and beautiful. I don’t know what this is, but I’ll be with you every step of the way as we find out, and when we get a diagnosis we can get you a proper treatment and get you better, okay? Alternatively…if you can look me in the eyes and tell me you feel nothing between us then I’ll stop and leave this alone.” He said.
He pulled back to give her room to think, to let her decide to let him in or not. Her chin touched her chest briefly, fingers twisting together as was her nervous habit. She wanted it, he could see she wanted it so badly, but she was still so afraid it was too much for him, that he’d leave. He mentally prayed she’d take the chance, hoping Chuck was listening and felt like throwing some divine intervention his way so he could keep the angel across from him.
“I feel it to…I’ve always felt it.” She conceded.
Her eyes met his, and Dean couldn’t help but grin at her, scooting forward to properly take her hand and pull her closer to his body. She bit her lip, a small smile forming on her face.
“We’re in this together then, you and me vs…whatever the hell’s going on down there.” He vowed. A breathy laugh escaped her, the relief evident in her face as Dean kissed her. It was slow and sweet, savouring the taste of her lips as his hands slipped around her waist. He hoped she could feel it all through that kiss, the love and the passion, the desire and the admiration. His hands had automatically moved to dip below the waistband of her jeans and she pushed him back slightly with a light blush. He gave a quiet apology and she smiled.
“Probably not a good idea for me when I’ve had a flare up to be tensing my muscles like that…but there’s no reason you can’t.” her coy smile was enough to get him halfway there as it was, and when her hands began to tug at his belt buckle, he knew he had been right.
Chuck had certainly sent him an angel, and he was determined to help heal her.
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