[fic] jaded (for girl_ofsecrets)
NOTE: Takes place as a sequel to this fic here. Written using, and by request of, girl_ofsecrets as part of this meme.
He’s seen her get hurt a couple of times, heart-stopping pieces of the mundane that still make him shudder inwardly when he thinks about them. A hand down a running garbage disposal clear up to her wrist, a finger severed while chopping onions in the kitchen…she actually has the nerve to smile and show him as she heals right up again.
Pain means nothing to her.
Stretched out on his side in the middle of the living room floor, he watches her sleep beneath the throw they dragged off the sofa in the middle of rearranging furniture, youthful features peaceful in repose. The eyes he could stare into for a year have seen too much, the unmarked skin already has healed more wounds than he cares to think about. She knows pain and suffering, but she doesn’t understand it the way he does.
She’ll never know addiction. She’ll never know the sick agony of being unwanted and unloved, the raw and alien touch of being accepted when no one else gave a damn. She’ll never know pain’s place or value because it’s transitional for her. It’s less than nothing, because recovery is always on the other side.
As she shifts in her sleep and curls closer, pillowing her head on Cain’s bicep, he recalls the battle with a sick Fyarl demon that kept him away from home for nearly three days. She’s already fussed over the injuries he hid, the sick yellow and blood-brown bruises littering his torso to expose the broken ribs he tried to keep from her. She fears for him because he’s more fragile than she, he breaks and can’t be miraculously repaired.
If he has his way, she’ll never see him fall in battle. She’ll never hear him scream and never watch him bleed. She’ll never see him embrace his pain and let control go, setting loose a monster only his family has ever seen in the worst moments. His well of rage is endless because he can’t stop hurting.
He can’t heal. He doesn’t want to. Pain means nothing to her, but to him it’s everything.
Wrapping an arm around her sleeping body, Cain pulls Claire close and kisses her temple, renewing his vow to himself that as long as he draws breath, she will never learn its worth.
He’s seen her get hurt a couple of times, heart-stopping pieces of the mundane that still make him shudder inwardly when he thinks about them. A hand down a running garbage disposal clear up to her wrist, a finger severed while chopping onions in the kitchen…she actually has the nerve to smile and show him as she heals right up again.
Pain means nothing to her.
Stretched out on his side in the middle of the living room floor, he watches her sleep beneath the throw they dragged off the sofa in the middle of rearranging furniture, youthful features peaceful in repose. The eyes he could stare into for a year have seen too much, the unmarked skin already has healed more wounds than he cares to think about. She knows pain and suffering, but she doesn’t understand it the way he does.
She’ll never know addiction. She’ll never know the sick agony of being unwanted and unloved, the raw and alien touch of being accepted when no one else gave a damn. She’ll never know pain’s place or value because it’s transitional for her. It’s less than nothing, because recovery is always on the other side.
As she shifts in her sleep and curls closer, pillowing her head on Cain’s bicep, he recalls the battle with a sick Fyarl demon that kept him away from home for nearly three days. She’s already fussed over the injuries he hid, the sick yellow and blood-brown bruises littering his torso to expose the broken ribs he tried to keep from her. She fears for him because he’s more fragile than she, he breaks and can’t be miraculously repaired.
If he has his way, she’ll never see him fall in battle. She’ll never hear him scream and never watch him bleed. She’ll never see him embrace his pain and let control go, setting loose a monster only his family has ever seen in the worst moments. His well of rage is endless because he can’t stop hurting.
He can’t heal. He doesn’t want to. Pain means nothing to her, but to him it’s everything.
Wrapping an arm around her sleeping body, Cain pulls Claire close and kisses her temple, renewing his vow to himself that as long as he draws breath, she will never learn its worth.