Limits
Conan was scared. Well, truly, he was always scared; scared of being found out, of being killed, of being hurt, of…of not making it, of messing up, of accusing the wrong man. It was a terrifying gravity that was weighing against him, but that wasn't his worry right now.
No, right now he was more worried about the fact that it wouldn't take much more for him to snap. He was hanging on by a thread as it was. And when he finally snapped…it would be terrifying.
He knew he could be harsh when he was irritated. He also knew it would be worse if someone angered him. But even that, he suspected, would be nothing compared to what he'd be like when that string broke.
It really was terrifying, mainly because he didn't know what he might do. If provoked, he could be capable of anything. And that thought scared him more than even being found by the Organization that did this to him.
If he broke his limits, if he abandoned his morals in order to survive…he'd be no better than them. And that was something he wouldn't stand for.
Still, it's not like the string holding him together was without strength. It had held on this long, after all. And with the help of those around him, those that knew…well, maybe he could push those limits just a little in order to hang on.