Wynonna Earp: Strong For Her (Patreon)

In real life, it would be over in a heartbeat. But this wasn’t real life.

In her dream, Waverly knew every detail. She could see the skin of Wynonna’s forehead scorch from the heat of the bullet, even as it entered, and she heard the sound of lead cutting through skin and bone and brain. She smelled the singed flesh, the cordite of the pistol’s discharge, even Wynonna’s bowels releasing as her body shut down. And she felt Wynonna fall, even from feet away. The dead weight of her sister’s body hitting the ground pulsed through her; it prickled her skin and batted at her flesh and pushed into her bones with its awful leaden finality.

Waverly woke up trying to cram herself into her pillow, cringing and nearly crying out, her skin feeling warm and damp and sickly. The nightmare held onto her, pulling her away from her surroundings, keeping her for monstrous seconds in a life where Wynonna was dead.

Then she realized where she was and who she was with, what had happened. The gun had been knocked away with preciously quick reflexes, she’d been overpowered and tied up, they’d gotten the thing out of her. Just another day in paradise. Now she was back in the homestead, Nicole sleeping next to her, and everything was back to normal and there was nothing to worry about.

Only she couldn’t breathe. No matter how much she sucked in air, how full her lungs grew, how she gasped out carbon dioxide and inhaled again, she couldn’t breathe.

Her heart racing, Waverly reached for the nightstand. She didn’t want to wake Nicole, Nicole didn’t know her, not like Wynonna, she needed Wynonna, needed her big sister, just—needed.

Her cell phone, she tapped out the text, and less than a minute later there was Wynonna, easing the door open, slipping into the bedroom, kneeling down by the bed and not judging Waverly, not thinking she was weak or pathetic. Waverly didn’t think Nicole would be like that, knew she wouldn’t be, but she still didn’t want Nicole’s pity, Nicole’s sympathy, Nicole’s knowledge of just how stupid and silly she was—

“Hey, baby girl,” Wynonna whispered, her drawl as close as it could get to sympathy without being outright concern. “What’s the matter? You want breakfast in bed?”

Waverly almost cried. Over that. Over Wynonna kidding her about breakfast in bed, like that was dumb… “I need to go to the bathroom.”

Wynonna blinked. Pursed her lips. “Okay.”

Waverly felt a need to explain that was almost hysterical. “I have to go down the hall to the toilet and it’s dark and it’s the middle of the night and I don’t wanna wake Nicole… I need someone. I need you.”

“Alright. It’s alright,” Wynonna assured her. “Let’s go.”

Waverly got out of bed for her, walked down the hall with her, went into the bathroom and left the door open a crack just to know that Wynonna was still there. She kept waiting for the questions, the refrains: a psychologist? Medication?

It didn’t come, but it lingered in the cracks. Wynonna wanting to help her, but not knowing how. Waverly wanting to be helped, only not wanting to be as scared and as fragile and as useless as she was.

“I can’t go,” she said to the ajar door, Wynonna’s feet casting shadows under it. She was all knotted up with tension, the pressure in her bladder uncomfortable, but her body wouldn’t suspend its rebellion long enough for her to urinate.

“Just wait,” Wynonna told her. “I’m right here. We’ll just wait.”

Waverly hung her head. “Remember that time I shot at people?” she asked her pajama bottoms, puddled around her ankles. “Mafia assassin people?”

“You’re still her,” Wynonna said. “You just got a black eye, you know? Took a hit.”

“Black eyes are badass. If I had been a badass, Nicole’d be fawning over me. You’d be fawning over me. And you get black eyes taking a punch, not… not almost…”

Pressure pushed against the door, an outstretched hand, making the hinges creak as it swung a few inches. “Can I just come in there and hug you?”

“Yeah,” Waverly sniffled. “Sure.”

Wynonna came in, heel kicking the door shut again, and stooped down to put her arms around her sister. “Though I generally prefer to do my pantsless hugging on a Friday night, after some heavy drinking.”

“I could go for some heavy drinking,” Waverly said.

Wynonna fisted her back, stiff as a boy, but holding on so tight the bony point of her chin drilled into Waverly’s shoulder. “Just so you know, it’s not like anyone in this family’s not screwed up. Dad almost helped Bobo del Rey escape. I’m me. Willa shot your girlfriend. If it weren’t for Black Badge, we’d all be on the Jerry Springer show. You’re gonna have to try a lot harder if you want to be the black sheep.”

“Wynonna?”

“Yeah.”

Waverly gave her a last little squeeze. “I’m actually pretty ready to pee now.”

Wynonna let go of her. “Okay. Wash your hands.”

She backed out the door, shutting it behind her, and Waverly relieved herself, redressed, soaped her hands. When she came out, Wynonna gave her an easy escort back to her bedroom, one hand on the small of her back, touch firm but not unyielding. When Waverly came to her bedroom door, the hand dropped away, faintly grazing her tailbone as it retreated.

“Goodnight, Waverly.”

“Goodnight, Wynonna.”

Waverly went into her room and into her bed and somewhere in her sleep, Nicole reached out and got an arm around her. Waverly flipped her pillow to its cool side and let it pull her in.

Maybe she wasn’t weak and pathetic and traumatized. Maybe she was. But at least she had Wynonna to be strong for her, no matter what.