Dean x Reader One Shots

Statue's Flame (Heartbreak) (TW: abuse, depression, just really triggering)

Warnings: GRAPHIC GRAPHIC GRAPHIC GRAPHIC GRAPHIC. Dark thoughts, abuse, THIS IS THE ONE THAT I ALMOST DIDN'T POST BUT I'M DOING IT ANYWAY. Please please please please please know that this is super dark and graphic and potentially triggering to anyone who has dealt with abuse or the death of a loved one of people who are sensitive to murder and stuff like that. Proceed with MEGA caution and do not say I didn't warn you.

Word Count: 4,559

4 years old. The first time you'd played the violin, the first time you'd seen your mom truly proud of you. She was recording in Hollywood and you remembered her coworkers laughing, smiling while you strung away at the instrument that was easily as big as you; they called you a protégé, told you that there was nothing that was going to keep you from doing whatever you wanted with your life.

6 years old. Your mom took you to New York City and you went inside of the Statue of Liberty. You asked her if the flame ever went out, if the lights at the top of the beautiful green statue ever stopped glowing. She told you 'no.' She told you that the day you stopped loving would be the day the light went out. You loved a lot. The light was never going to go out.

7 years old. You finished your twentieth professional recording with a load of people four, five, six times your age but wouldn't have traded it for the world. You loved music, loved the violin, loved the feel when you pressed the bow to the strings and loved the gentle vibration that came when the sound erupted from the small instrument; you loved being able to watch people's faces when your small, 7-year-old self was able to tell with perfect accuracy about the intonation of an instrument. Your mom bought you pizza that night and even stayed up until midnight to bake a cake for you; it was confetti flavored, your absolute favorite, and she even let you choose whatever flavor frosting you wanted. You chose mango.

8 years old. Your mom got married to Liam and the two of you stopped traveling the country, eating crappy diner food and living out of whatever motel was closest to the next recording agency, stopped late-night talks and viewing 'the largest's of the country. She seemed sad to have had to stop recording—she was the best string player in the world, everyone knew it. She even made a name for herself. But she promised you everything would be okay when you moved to a small, Wisconsin farm and set down the violin to pick up a pair of teat cups (you laughed at that, but your mom said that's really what they were called).

10 years old. Things are very different. Liam drinks a lot, you see Mom crying when she thinks you don't notice. You have a younger sister now, she's a year old. Nina, that's what your mom named her because Liam wasn't at the hospital when she was born; Mom said you and Nina were going to be best friends and that you were going to need to watch after her when Mom was busy. Mom was never busy, she didn't leave the house, Liam only let her milk. Liam was mean.

12 years old. Nina is three. No cake or balloons or parties.

13 years old. It's only you and Liam, now. He drinks a lot but sometimes you see him with bagged flour; he hides it under his floorboards and you made a note that if you ever ran out of flour, you should check there.

15 years old. Liam never leaves the house and you've been taken out of school. You run the farm, run the workers and take care of all of the cows by yourself; you started online schooling and you go to Ms. Tucker's house at night to take your classes. You can't wait to leave.

16 years old. Acid burns. All over your stomach; it went through your jacket, through your shirt. You felt it on your hands when you tried to wipe it off, felt your skin burning and melting away while you attempted to rid yourself of the worst burning you'd ever felt. It was everywhere, it was everything, and you couldn't get it off. You stood with the hose pressing against your stomach, tried to get the acid to get off of you because you were afraid you were going to melt, entirely. You'd read that adding some sort of base to it could help you. Liam wouldn't bring you to the hospital. You passed out from the pain and were untouched when you woke. You survived that.