@eagerturntables said: ‘everyone’s dying, and that includes me too.’
“Don’t be a dumbass. You just re-opened the wound.” he snaps, shifting closer so his knees sit solidly underneath dean’s spine. dean’s side is hot and wet, and dirk’s shirt sticks to his stomach in a way that makes him feel achingly nauseous. his head swims, but his vision stays sharp and clear. dirk’s treated injuries before. there’s a haphazard and wobbly scar on his calf that he earned when he misjudged a roll and almost got impaled by his own fucking sword, back when he was still learning.
but dean never got to learn.
he’s still so clumsy. he still gets hurt.
sickness washes over him, a harsh and acidic wave as his hands fret lightly over dean’s chest. his ribs still expand as he inhales. dirk takes solace in that, for now. the little things, the actions, they’re always easier. if dean is still breathing now, he will still be breathing later. “You’re not dying.” it doesn’t sound like dirk’s trying to convince himself, because he forces it not to. he doesn’t know why he’s so dizzy at the sight of this gore, why he’s so okay with being covered in blood so long as it’s his own -- he’d died over and over, before this. he’d watched his friends die. he’d seen the love of his life curled around the blade of his own sword, still and pale and bracketed by another one of his closest friends --
he’d seen all of that, and he’d given up.
that’s not an option this time.
eventually, his his hands still, the flat of his palm rests against dean’s chest, and he pours all of his focus into that one spot, that point of contact. “Sorry about this,” he manages around a gasp, as he pushes through dean’s chest in an attempt to locate his soul.
it’s not hard to find. it’s still so lively, even now. dirk has to lean away from the pull of it, the magnetising way it invites him in, and work on doing the job he came to do. it’s still one of his shakier powers, one he doesn’t quite have a grip on yet, but dean’s heartbeat is so frantic. he needs to think.
he pours calm and quiet into dean’s soul as slowly and blissfully as he can. it exhausts him, giving over so much emotion, but he knows better than he knows anything that if he stops he’ll never forgive himself. he needs to calm dean down. maybe he’s projecting, but maybe he’ll feel better when dean feels better.
“I think I got bandages in my deck,” he hears himself saying, voice still flat in some places but soothing in others. “You sit your ass here and don’t even think about moving until I’ve called Jane and she fixes you up. You hear me? I’m serious.”
