Work Text:
Trauma shrouds the mind.
Swarming the consciousness like a cloak of lead: suffocating, blinding. To survive one must disappear.
At least, this is the route chosen by one Dean Winchester.
To protect himself from the years of abuse and traumatic encounters, Dean Winchester has vacated the home of his mind. He is present enough to function, work, and do the job - but he is a puppeteer operating his own body, transforming the otherwise active role of life into a passive one. No one recognizes the cloud over his eyes and mind. He is careful to operate himself in such a manner that avoids arousing suspicion.
The lake of his soul is calm, a gentle fog covering the distant shorelines. He sits alone on a boat of his creation, a vessel made to transport himself away from reality and to the center of this internal reservoir. He is muted there. Alone. But he is safe.
In creating this machination he has inadvertently sacrificed the ability to feel happiness. Joy. Love. But he doesn’t care. He has come to be so far removed from himself that such emotions are considered trite. The risk he faces to feel such emotions has been deemed too large. Why chance a fight with the lion to capture the rabbit?
But a boat is not immune to danger, especially when afloat in the waters of the mind. His lake has been a wolf in heaven's clothing. Offering him eternal peace and serenity. But his mind is still his mind. The trauma and abuse sustained are not chained to the shorelines. Under cover of the fog, they will strike. When he is at his most disconnected, they pull him back to reality.
External wounds turn internal. Wrapping around his wrists and ankles, tearing him away from the false safety of his boat. Pulling him under the tide of an assumed haven. Water creeps into his throat, blocking his airways. Scratching and fighting. Thrashing about the water and fighting against the resistance of the waves. He grabs at nothing. There is nothing to offer him leverage and safety.
Down. Down. Cinder blocks of blacked-out pain relentlessly tug him to the bottom. He has pushed himself so far into the subconscious that here, he must fight for personhood. He has no lifeline. Where others took the chance to establish coping mechanisms, Dean Winchester turned and ran. His hands and eyes begin to throb against the pressure change - held breath fights to escape his lungs.
He squeezes his eyes shut, one final attempt to shut out the darkness choking him. His warm blood slowly chills to match the icy water. An air bubble escapes from him, his last grasp on control has been torn away. Before being given the chance to stop-
Stop the instinct of survival-
Save himself from this internal hell-
Save himself from the darkness closing in around him-
Someone, please notice him choking-
Someone, please recognize his pain-
Please-
Someone-
Please-
Help me.
He inhales.
…
His one wish has been granted. He no longer must undergo the trials of his humanity.
Dean Winchester is lost.