#reader trauma

what the FUCK BRANDON FUCKING SANDERSON WHEN I CATCH YOU

IT WAS LESSIE IT WAS LESSIE THE WHOLE FUCKING TIME LESSIE IS A KANDRA LESSIE IS BLEEDER AND WAX FUCKING KILLED HER SHE SHE WAS A KANDRA SHE WAS LESSIE IT WAS FUCKING LESSIE LESSIE WHAT THE FUCK BRANDON FUCKING SANDERSON I AM CRYING RIGHT NOW AND I AM GOING TO BLAME YOU FOR ALL MY FUTURE SFFERING BECAUSE THIS. YOU CAN NOT DO THIS TO AN INNOCENT READER WHO JUST WANTED AN ENJOYABLE READ AND TO NOT HAVE THEIR FUCKING HEAR WRENCHED OUT BECAUSE WAX KILLED LESSIE BUT FOR REAL THIS TIME

AND HARMONY KNEW THE WHOLE TIME THAT IS WAS LESSIE BUT HE DIDNT FUCKING TELL WAX BECAUSE OH WHY WOULD HE HES <ugh> SAZED WHEN I CATCH YOU

BRANDON WHEN I CATCH YOU

I THOUGHT LESSIE WOULD BE THE CENN OF MISTBORN CAUSE SHE DIED IN THE FIRST CHAPTER (stormlight reference) BUT NO FWIBWGI[UWHRGIEURGJOWRGWGRHHRGGRUHRUGREUGRERGEHUIRGUEHIGRHIURGEUHGRHUIREGIUHRGHUIRGHIURGHUIE

THIS IS THE MOST. THE MOST EVIL THING THAT YOU HAVE DONE TO US BRANDON. NOT EVEN THE FUCING NIGHT OF SORROWS AMOUNTS TO WHAT YOU DID TO US AT THE END OF FUCKING SHADOWS OF SELF!!!!!!!!!!!!!

oh HARMONY

oh fucking HARMONY

SPEAKING of harmony that lying bitch~

I AM ACTUALLY GOING TO STRANGLE BRANDON CAUSE WHAT? SAZED THE FUCK?????

also is the "other god" meLaan mentions in the last few pages possibly thaidakar? (ive already read wind and truth and secret history so ik the spoiler sort of)

OH CAUSE TRELL IS KELL

“Liam!”

You sat up, sweat clinging to your body, and Dean was there.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you gently, holding you together as your heart pounded in your chest.

“Shh, baby, shh, he’s okay. You’re fine. You’re both here, you’re safe. Shh, baby, I’ve got you, Y/N. I’m right here, honey…”

His murmured reassurances, his fingers stroking your back slowly brought you out of your panic, helping you wake up from your recurring nightmare.

Would the wreck never leave you?

You’d walked away from the hunting life when you’d gotten pregnant with Liam—and you’d never looked back. You still had nightmares from that life, you still worried about Dean who hunted closer to home, even as he tried his best to make the world a safer place for your son.

But what good would that do if you couldn’t take care of him?

What kind of mother were you that you couldn’t keep your baby safe?

You let out a sob, and Dean slid even closer behind you, ignoring your sweat, your bed-head, how hideous you must look with the bruises you hadn’t let Castiel heal.

You knew it was irrational, but you just couldn’t. You couldn’t let Cass just erase the marks of your failure. They were a reminder and a punishment you felt you deserved, considering the pain you had put him through.

You found Dean’s hand, gripping it hard enough that he should have winced as you tried to control your breathing, to avoid the panic attack that was only barely held at bay right now.

Liam was fine. He was.

You’d tucked him in yourself, just like every night.

“I’ve got you, baby. It’s okay. Do you… do you want to talk about it?”

Dean was trying so hard. He’d been frantic when you hadn’t shown up that night. When you hadn’t answered your phone, he’d assumed the two of you had been snatched by Crowley, or Lucifer, and he’d had Castiel hunting for you.

But it hadn’t been a supernatural beastie or possessed person—just a bad driver who had run a red light.

Liam—his pelvis had been fractured, and he’d suffered some superficial cuts to his face from flying glass. You had woken up briefly in the upside-down car—long enough to twist and see Liam completely still, bleeding in the back seat. You had been trapped, trying to call out to him and utterly helpless, unable to move, and that image….

You couldn’t get it out of your head. It had been two and a half weeks, and it was still the first thing you saw when you closed your eyes. You still fought back panic every time a car came within 10 feet of any vehicle you were in.

When you’d next woken up, you were in the hospital. You couldn’t think past your fear for Liam—was he even…? You couldn’t even call for help from the doctors through the drugs in your system. A nurse had come in at the change in your vitals, a kind lady who told you that your son was alive and healing.

It had been what you needed most to hear, and it allowed you to clear your mind enough for a prayer.

You’d called for Castiel, praying as hard as you could through the wooziness of the sedatives, and thankfully he’d heard you. He was there soon, with Dean and Sam—they had all been desperate with worry.

And Dean was still worried about you. You felt guilty about that too.

“It’s the same, Dean. I can’t stop reliving the wreck, the moments right before it. I saw the car coming at us. I should have done something, should have protected Liam better—” The damn tears were back, clogging up your voice.

You’d cried so much.

You felt so damn weak watching your hands shake in the dimness of the bedroom you shared with your husband.

“Oh, baby, you know it wasn’t your fault. We both know you are an amazing mom—you always do everything you can to make sure Liam is safe.”

“But he wasn’t safe, Dean! He was hurt, and I couldn’t—I woke up in that damn car, and I couldn’t get to him, I couldn’t even see if he was—” Your voice cut off and the tears welled up in your eyes, falling over and dripping onto your cheeks.

And it wasn’t just his physical injuries—Castiel had healed those that day, and your baby hadn’t been in pain since.

But he was still so scared. You weren’t the only one who woke up crying in the night—your beautiful son was still having nightmares over something you should have prevented. And it killed you that you couldn’t make those better for him either.

“I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry you went through that, that I wasn’t there to help you. But you can’t let it eat at you like this. Hey, look at me.”

He turned your unwilling face to look at him, and his own eyes were wet as he wiped the tears away from your cheeks.

“There was nothing you could have done. It was an accident. Liam is okay, and you’re okay, and I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, but the pit in your gut was still there, and Dean could tell. He could always read you.

“What is it, baby? Please, tell me. What’s wrong?”

You sniffed, gathering your thoughts to try and explain it so that Dean could understand.

“You know how when your dad died—or when Sam did?” You felt him tense as he remembered those dark points in his life. “How guilty you felt, how you knew you had to do something, anything to save them?” You and Dean had talked about this a lot over the years.

“Yeah.” He ran his fingers through your hair, a motion that calmed both of you as you sat in bed beside each other, the sweat cooling on your body.

“And you remember how Sam felt so guilty about the apocalypse, about killing Lilith and setting Lucifer free that he said yes and went to the Cage to fix it?” Dean’s jaw flexed and you thought about backing off the topic that was still a tough one for him all these years later.

“Maybe it’s the hunter in me, maybe it’s just the mother—but I would give anything to fix this, to make everything okay. I’d pay any price, just like you and Sam did. Seeing Liam hurt, seeing him upset, and knowing that I was there and had no control to stop it, to help him, to fix him afterwards… if Castiel hadn’t been here, I’d have had to watch him suffer for so long, and the fact that I had to let someone else help my son—that I couldn’t do it…. I couldn’t take care of him, Dean. I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t help him.

“I just feel like such a failure, so weak. I fucked up, and every time I look at him, every time I try to sleep, every time you touch me, or Cass offers to heal me—it just… it feels like acid eating my insides…”

You gripped your stomach, focusing on the feel of Dean’s fingers threading through your hair, calming you. Keeping you centered and in the moment.

It was quiet for several minutes, Dean holding your bruised and battered form as you simply breathed.

It was strange, but you felt a small bit of relief.

The feelings weren’t gone—the acid was still eating at you inside, but it did feel better, somehow, talking to Dean. Like sharing the burden of your guilt had lightened it somehow.

“You’re his mother, Y/N….and you’re, well… you. The woman I love. The woman I married.” He pulled you slightly, laying you back down on his bare chest while he spoke in your ear.

“Hell, you’re a Winchester. Guilt goes hand in hand with that, it seems like. I don’t know what to tell you to help, sweetheart. I certainly can’t say, ‘stop’ or to not carry the weight on your shoulders.” He chuckled grimly and you joined him, then stopped surprised at yourself.  Your hubby did know the feeling of guilt, to be sure.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, Y/N. You are neither weak, nor a failure. You are a fierce mother, a fighter, and that fear that’s eating you up inside? That guilt?” He slid you gently up his chest, but you still winced slightly before you met his gaze.

“You’ll beat it, in time. And I’ll be here, in whatever way you need me, until then.” He smiled and leaned upwards, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “And afterwards too. Because I love you… and I always will.” He leaned up again, pressing another kiss to your lips.

His mouth was soft, undemanding, but coaxing. You found yourself kissing him back, the all too familiar heat stirring inside you.

When Dean realized what he was doing, and how you were responding, he pulled back, “baby—you’re hurt. I want you, but….” He leaned up and kissed you again, tasting your lips, his hands gentle on your bruised back, threading through your hair again.

Then he pulled away, his head going flat on the pillow behind him as he stared at the ceiling. “We should stop, sweetheart.” You shifted your lower body, and he groaned—his chest vibrating beneath your own.

“What if I don’t want to stop, Winchester?” You pressed your pelvis into him gently, rocking back and forth in the way you knew would drive him crazy. “What if I want you to distract me from the nightmares, hmm?”

It was an antidote you hadn’t tried yet—and one that was surely worth a shot.

And at least part of Dean was fully on board with the idea.

He groaned again, sliding sideways and lowering you gently to the bed, placing your head on the pillow as if you were a fragile porcelain doll. “Sweetheart, you’re going to kill me, you know that?” He was so careful as he settled back down beside you, seemingly content just to hold you again, as he had every night since the accident.

“Oh, please. We both know you don’t die very well.” You murmured into his chest, not quite ready to give up your intended antidote.

Dean sensed your plans and put a finger beneath your chin, pushing it away from his skin and lifting your head up to meet his kiss.

It wasn’t an inflaming kiss—Dean kept it gentle, slow, his passion obviously banked now, held back. The stupid, over-protective man.

You groaned, knowing that when it came to being stubborn about your safety, Dean was in a whole other league than you. His lips smiled against yours as he chuckled.

“You know I’m right. The doctor said you had to take it easy, so you’re taking it easy. Even if you’re making it harder than it needs to be—” he pressed his erection into your hip, then lifted away as you moved to encourage him.

“Nuh uh, Y/N. Not till you’re healed up. And since you won’t let Cass help you….” You scowled and Dean dropped it, lying back down beside you and cuddling you close in the semi-darkness.

“Go on to sleep, baby. If the nightmares come back, I’ll be here.” He pressed a kiss to your temple as you sighed and snuggled into his chest. “I’ll always be here.”

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