#man i love these wide shots of them in diners and such

[preseriesdean]

SUPERNATURAL 3.02 | The Kids Are Alright

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green Part 14

masterpost

“You always make the best waffles Hood,” Steph said as she stuffed another syrupy piece into her mouth. She carefully kept her attention on Jay and Cass and not on Danny, who still seemed to be mostly hiding under his mop of black hair at the other side of the table.

“Don’t lie to me,” Jay said. “I know what diner you go to every chance that you get to have waffles. You love those more than mine.”

“No,” Steph whined, looking longingly at the waffle Jay was taking out of the iron right then. “That’s like asking someone to pick between apples and oranges! Or at least oranges and clementines! Diner waffles are working with a whole different set up then your waffles. Those are my favorite diner waffles but yours are my favorite at home waffles. Different things Hood, different things.”

Jay rolled his eyes and handled over the waffle.

Steph took it triumphantly and shot Danny a wink as he covered up his laughter.

“That’s your last one for right now,” Jay said with a pointed jab of his finger. “Danny gets the next one then Cass and then I get to eat some of the damn waffles I’m busy making.”

“Yes, Boss,” Steph chirped and gave a salute with her fork. “How are you liking them, Danny?”

Danny ducked his head back down again, but at least he answered, which was more then Steph had gotten so far. “They’re good. I like them with the fruit.”

“Yeah, that’s the big bad red wolf here trying to get us to be a little more healthy,” Steph said.

“Doesn’t work,” Cass said with that pleased little smile of hers. Steph always loved that smile.

“It sometimes works,” Steph corrected, even if Cass gave a little snort at that.

“They’re good. I missed fresh fruit,” Danny said as he carefully speared another blueberry on top of a precisely cut piece of waffle.

Hell, that made her want to go out and buy Danny a fruit basket. Maybe she would next time she came over. She needed to start earning some points with Danny and he deserved good things.

“Well, luckily Hood will keep you well in stock,” Steph said, making sure her voice stayed cheerful.

“Sure will,” Jason said. “And you can help yourself to the fruit that will be on the counter any time. Your stomach should be good enough now that you can eat pretty freely, just make sure to check with yourself if you’re full before getting seconds or something.”

“Look at Mama Red Hen, in his element,” Steph teased and reached out to catch the piece of fruit she knew would be tossed her way at that statement.

“It’s nice,” Danny mumbled down towards his plate. “Nice to have someone… looking out for things.”

Steph just about melted. “Yeah, it is. You can come to any of us for stuff too. Hood is a real mother hen and Nightwing is pure big sibling energy, but like, O is the best if you need finding things and Red is scarily good at puzzling out a problem. B.B. gives good cuddles and Signal is great when things get too crazy! Robin really protective but not nearly as much as the big Bat himself and Agent A always has what you need.”

Danny looked up at her from under his bangs, blue eyes wide.

“Have we given you a phone yet?” she continued, not knowing what to do with a young Bruce being able to give such good puppy dog eyes. “We need to get you a phone with all our numbers. I’ll have Red get on it, or O. Is O better?”

“Depends on the phone,” Cass pointed out.

Steph nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I’ll ask the group chat I guess what we need for Danny.”

“I don’t, you… Red already gave me a tablet to use.”

“Have to look after you,” Cass explained in that gentle way of hers.

Danny’s gaze darted from Steph to Cass and over to Jason. When that look landed on Jason, it turned to worry in a way that confused Steph. Weren’t they supposed to be reassuring Danny of his continued place with them so that he would talk to the old man?

Jason set another waffle on Danny’s plate. “Told you it wouldn’t change anything.”

“They know?” Danny asked, his voice a rough whisper.

“Yeah, sorry,” Jason said. “With you bleeding like that I needed to explain things to them, not that I know that much. We haven’t exactly gotten back to that talk and there’s no rush to. The point of all this, kid, is that you’ve got us now. Whatever happens, you’ve got us and we’re going to make sure you can always get a hold of us.”

“But you don’t know,” Danny whispered. His grip on his fork was so tight that his knuckles were white and trembling.

Danny flinched when Cass reached out and touched his hand, but he let her unwind his grip from the fork and look the skin over for damage. When she found none, she wrapped it up in her own.

“Look, Danny,” Steph said. “We’re like the worst trio for this. You need like, Nightwing and Signal and O here for that reassuring ‘we’ve got your back’ sorta talk.”

Jason snorted and Steph flapped a hand at him.

“But the thing is,” she continued, “is that the Bats of Gotham have claimed you as theirs now and that means they protect you and care about you. It’s okay whatever we don’t know cause trust me, we have all fucked up pretty big at times, but we’re still Bats and everyone still has our backs. So, I get that we might have some convos ahead of us that are scary for you, talking sucks, but that’s not going to change shit.”

“But you’re, aren’t you…. I’ve read about you on the tablet. Lots think Bruce Wayne funds you. What if he tells me to get out?”

Jason scoffed loudly. “Yeah, no, he doesn’t control us like that.”

“He is nice,” Cass said, “bad at emotions, but nice. He will like you too.”

Danny rubbed his free hand over his eyes. “How can you know?”

“Because you are you,” Cass said simply. From here it sounded like an iron clad fact.

Danny just sniffled.

“Come on, waffles before they get cold,” Jason ordered.

Steph figured maybe they should talk about things more, but they really weren’t the group to do talking, at least not about anything important. She’d let Dick know Danny needed the reassurance though for when he came to the apartment. Even as good as Dick was at playing big brother, Steph didn’t really think that Danny would feel alright until he met Bruce. Somehow, they’d have to convince him that it was time.

---

AN: And we are back by vote with the first part of the next chapter! Sorry for the long delay, but life really was kicking me while I was down. And now I have a cold(?) so you know, expect typos. But Steph finally makes a showing! That means the horde of bat siblings have all met Danny. I wonder what's coming up next...?

Stay delightful, darlings!

[lesservillain]

older!alpha!steve harrington x younger!omega!reader

cw: SMUT, omegaverse dynamics, unprotected piv, modern setting, steve is a divorcee and single dad, steve is in his early 40s and reader is in their mid to late 20s an: this is just a self indulgent lil one shot bc i love older men ugh

“She was totally checking you out, by the way.”

Steve pushes the frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his attempt to hide the pink that dusts over his cheeks at Robin’s comment.

“What? No she wasn’t. Don’t do this today.”

The plastic of the menu bends in Steve’s grip by Robin’s ringed fingers. He tries to focus on the suns glare hitting the laminated paper rather than his best friend’s knowing gaze. He hates that she does this to him.

 It wasn’t their first time at this diner, nor was it their first time being waited on by you. What started as Robin’s attempt to get her depressed best friend out of the house after a quick but painful divorce has turned into a regular bi-weekly Sunday outing for the pair. And thanks to Robin’s commitment to a bit, she makes sure to arrive before Steve every time to sit in your section, all because she caught Steve checking you out one time.

“Why don’t you believe me that she likes you?”

“Robin—”

“Steve.” The tired battle of lifting Steve’s confidence was one that Robin refused to lose. “How many times do I have to tell you that you still got it? A little gray hair and a dorky mustache is, like, the new six pack abs for girls in their 20s.”

“Oh, god, do I need to have Hailey touch up my hair already?” Steve’s hands fly to cover the sides of his hair where his grays tended to show the most. The sudden movement sent his menu flying down to land on the floor next to him. 

“Shit—”

“Here you go—”

Skin meets skin when you went to grab the flimsy plastic at the same time as Steve. A shock wave runs from Steve’s finger through the rest of his body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His hazel eyes jump up to meet yours, and he can feel the breath from your gasp on his cheek. You shoot up, frozen in place as you look down at him. The tension is palpable between you. 

Suddenly, you bolt, leaving Steve still leaning over his seat as he watches you take off out of sight.

“What was that about?” The tone in Robin’s voice had Steve sitting up straight, annoyance clear in his expression.

“What was what, Robin?”

“Um, are we just going to ignore that pheromone drop you just did?”

Steve shifts in his seat, eyes wide as he looks around the diner. A few heads were turned to him, mostly older alpha’s with death glares as their marked omega’s sit blissfully unaware across from them. “Sorry.” He says in a hushed apology, shrinking back into his booth seat.

“Well, at least we have confirmation your girlfriend is an omega,” Robin says over a sip of her coffee. Steve’s ears perk up, but he does his best not to show his interest in the topic of you.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Steve says with a roll of his eyes. “I honestly probably just scared the shit out of her. Did you see how fast she ran off?”

“I’m sure you were watching.” Steve’s head falls back with a scoff, making Robin giggle at his embarrassment. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’ll stop now.”

“Thank you.”

“Are we ready to order?”

Robin and Steve turn to the waitress at the end of the table, immediately noticing she’s not you. They give the girl their order, and Steve can’t help but feel some type of way about how you would have just asked them if they wanted their regulars. With a heavy sigh Steve stares at the table’s vintage pattern until Robin calls his name. Her expression is soft, knowing in a way that is both relieving and disheartening.

“Maybe she’s on a break?”

“She hates me.”

“She does not hate you.”

“Yes she does. I’m a grown man who couldn’t control his pheromones all because a pretty girl touched his hand? We should probably just leave.”

Robin grabs Steve’s arm with a laugh as he attempts to make an escape from their booth. “Steve, it’s fine. I doubt you’re the first person that’s done that to her. Just relax.”

Steve sighs and nods. “Okay, okay. I’m good now.”

SPACE

“So you’re good to pick up the girls from practice this week, right? I’m hoping that this project will be wrapped up by Thursday--”

“Of course, Steven,” Robin says as she opens her car door. “You think I’d ever turn down the chance to spend time with one of my favorite nieces?” 

“I just want to make sure. I don’t want to give Becca any ammunition against me, you know.” Steve’s hands flex, thinking back to the argument him and his now ex wife had those months back.

Robin opens her mouth, but decides against whatever she had to say, simply nodding instead. “I’ll see you later, Steve.”

Steve nods back, watching as Robin gets in her car and drives away. He leans back to see her car disappear down the road before swinging his own door open and leaning inside. Reaching into his center console, he pulls out a pack of smokes and a lighter, bringing the butt to his lips and flicking the lighter. The flame refuses to stay, however, the clicking grating his ears with every failed attempt causing him to curse.

“Need a light?”

Steve spins around, bewildered, large hazel eyes like saucers when they land on you. A bright pink lighter sits between your fingers, and with a flick the flame emerges, waiting for him to lean in. He puffs until the heat hit his throat, pulling back to take in a deep drag, letting the smoke blow upward above him. 

When he looks back down at you, you’ve barely moved. Eyes lidded slightly and lips parted just so, almost like you were mesmerized by him. It makes Steve chuckle out of nervousness, not used to being ogled at his “big age” as his daughters would say.

“Thank you,” he says with a smile that seems to bring you back to this planet, eyes blinking rapidly before you pull out your own pack of cigarettes. 

“Yeah, of course.” Your eyes flicker up to him for a moment before giving yourself a light.

“You’re too pretty to be smoking,” Steve says passively, smoke billowing out between his own lips.

You look up at him through your lashes. For a brief moment you look annoyed at his comment and Steve is sure he fucked up again. The words of his oldest going on about how men shouldn’t comment on what women do rings in his ears and he wants to slap himself.

“Well, I could say the same for you.” There’s a teasing lit in your words, but the cute shuffle and bounce combo that you do gives Steve butterflies as it fuels his delusions. 

Channeling his former self, his mind shifts into King Steve mode after 20 years of retirement. He takes a step into your space and internally celebrates when you don’t move away. “Awe, you think I’m pretty?” The tone of his voice surprises him, coming out more sensual than he intended. But your reaction tells him that he must be doing something right.

“You’re definitely nice to look at.” Your words come out even but breathy. Was he really having this effect on you? Maybe Robin wasn’t wrong about him still having it in him.

“Oh, so you like to look at me?”

“Only for about an hour every other Sunday.”

Steve sucks in a breath. The way you’re looking at him right now is making him have thoughts that aren’t appropriate for the very public parking lot of your workplace. But he can’t get over the fact that you’ve been looking at him of all people.

“Is-is that so?” 

“Mhm,” you hum, taking a drag of your cigarette and blowing it out. “Would be nice to look at you for an hour from a different angle sometime.”

Steve coughs on his hit, completely thrown off by your forwardness. But you don’t seem to be deterred, rather you close the gap between the two of you, chests touching as you look up into his eyes.

Lips move in a feverish kiss as Steve pins you against his front door, keys fumbling in his hand as he attempts to unlock it while keeping the two of you connected. You giggle against his neck when he pulls away, leaving a few kisses against his skin as he finally gets the door open. His hands fly to your hips, walking you backwards into his home where his lips crash into yours once again.

“Nice place,” you say as he moves to leave heated kisses against your neck.

“Thanks,” he says between nips on your skin. A low groan pulls from his chest when he feels your hand slide down to palm at his crotch. A smirk forms on his lips at the little gasp you let out when you feel his size, and he bucks his hips into your hand playfully.

In one swift motion he lifts you up and over his shoulder, delighted by your laughter filled squealing as he carries you to his bedroom. Kicking the door open with a gentle shove, he walks you over to his king size bed and plops you down on the comforter. The huge smile and wild look in your eyes spurs him on, all the blood in his body rushing to his dick when you reach your arms out for him. 

Steve pulls off his shirt with haste, and your eyes fix on the healthy patch of hair that covers his chest that tapers down his stomach to where it disappears into his jeans. He feels a little self conscious under your gaze, but the way your tongue darts out of your mouth, licking across your bottom lip has him climbing over top of you to chase it with his own. 

Hands move between your bodies and clothes go flying until the two of you are fully exposed to each other. Steve’s hard, leaking cock presses into your thigh, laying heavy against your already hot flesh. Your fingers run through his soft locks as his mouth attaches to your breast, nipping and biting until his mouth reaches your hardened nipple. 

While his mouth pays your sensitive chest attention, his large hands have wandered down between your legs and began running his fingers through your folds. His fingers skim over your clit with each stroke, sending little jolts through your body.

“God, you’re so wet,” he breathes out, his blown out pupils meeting yours.

“Just for you,” you say with a smirk, one that turns into an open mouth moan when he finally plunges a finger into your waiting cunt. 

There’s no mercy as his fingers move inside of you just right, hitting that spot with a curled finger over and over. Your hands grip his shoulders, instinctively trying to push him away but he doesn’t relent. He just watches the way your face contorts as another thick finger joins in stretching you out for him. 

“So beautiful.” Steve doesn’t even realize he’s said it out loud, but he can’t think of another word to describe the way you look under him. “Doing so good for me, honey.”

His praises send you over the edge and you cum hard on his fingers. The way you squeeze his fingers mixed with the smell of your pheromones releasing has Steve’s cock twitching in anticipation. When you come down from your high, your arms instinctively wrap around his neck and pull him in for sloppy, appreciative kisses. 

“Mmm, gonna need you to fuck me now, big boy,” you say into his ear, tongue licking at his lobe in a way that makes his hair stand up on the back of his neck. Your soft hand slides down between the two of you to grab his cock and pump it a few times in your hand. “Do you have any condoms?”

Steve freezes above you. 

“Um, well no…” he stutters. “Me—uh, my wife— ex wife—,” he looks at you directly with his clarification, “she had her tubes tied so we, um, we never used them so I don’t have—”

You put a finger over Steve’s lips, hushing his babbling immediately. 

“It’s okay,” you say with a sympathetic look, “I understand. We can stop…or.”

“Or?” Steve asks.

“Or, if you don’t care…then I don’t care? Just pull out?”

Steve felt like he was going to bust in your hand as it worked his aching cock. Deep down he knew it was irresponsible. But the way you were making him feel was lowering his inhibitions. And when was the last time he’d ever been reckless? 

“O-okay,” he swallows dryly, “I’m okay with that. But, um, I do want to be transparent with you.” Your head tilts to the side waiting for his response. God, could you be any cuter? “I, um, I haven’t been with an omega in, like, 20 years. So, I just—just know I’m not sure how long I’m going to last, you know…”

“Your wife—”

“Ex wife—”

“Ex wife, she wasn’t an omega?”

Steve shakes his head. He’d never been one to care about second gender dynamics. Sure, there were elements to their alpha x beta relationship that didn’t fulfill him like an omega would, but he loved Becca all the same during their relationship.

You go quiet for a moment, and Steve is sure he’s completely ruined the moment between the two of you. He’s mentally preparing himself to take you back to your car, but you suddenly move beneath him in a way that flips him on his back. He watches as you straddle his lap, your dripping cunt hovering just above his cock where you still have your hand wrapped around it.

“You poor thing,” you say with faux perturbance, lowering down far enough that you can rub yourself against his length. “Gone all these years with no omega to make you feel good?” Steve nods dumbly, completely entranced by the dynamic shift between you. “Do you want me to fix that for you? Wanna fill me up with your alpha cock?”

“Yes—yes, please.” His voice comes out a pathetic, whiny plea as his glassy eyes stay laser focused on yours.

Without warning you sink down onto his cock, both of you moaning out at the sudden connection. Even with him stretching you out on his fingers and the amount of slick your body produced, your tight cunt still squeezes Steve like a vice as you take each inch of him like a champ. You move up and down, working yourself open on him and Steve can barely stand it, wanting to grab your hips and move you himself. But Steve breaths through it, nostrils flared,  until you’re seated completely against him, his cock buried to the hilt inside of you. 

“Hooooly shit,” he breathes out. Steve needs a second to keep himself from cumming too soon, but it’s a second that you don’t spare him as you begin to bounce on his cock. Leaning over him, your hands rest against his chest, giving him the perfect view of your tits as they bounce in his face. 

“Fuck, you’re so big,” you moan out, brows pinching as the head of his cock reaches deep inside of you. “Even for an alpha, you’re s-so fucking big.”

Steve finally lets his hands grip on your hips, but instead of moving you how he wants, he fights against you to still your movements. 

A pout forms on your lips as you look down at him, and Steve wants nothing more than to shove his cock in your mouth to get rid of it. But, you feel too good wrapped around him so he takes his thumb and pushes it past your lips instead. Immediately you begin to suck and mouth on it, slowly grinding your hips against him to get any bit of friction between you.

When he pulls his thumb from your mouth, it lands on your clit to rub slow circles into it. You whine at the stimulation, trying to buck your hips faster in order to chase your high. 

Loosening his grip, he lets you move against him again. Steve watches in awe at the way you come undone above him, picking up the pace on his thumb as you move with little rhyme or reason. He feels your body stiffen, jaw dropping with a silent scream as your cum all over his cock, your slick coating his balls and dripping down onto the bed sheets underneath you.

Steve is generous enough to give you a second to come down before he’s pulling you off of him and back onto the bed. He watches the way your chest rises and falls as you catch your breath, the far off look in your eyes fading away as you look up at him with a satisfied grin.

“Did so good, sweet girl,” Steve says between peppered kisses against your face, making you beam. His gentle hands maneuver your limp body until you're flat on your stomach. He rubs up and down your back until his grip lands on your ass, kneading at the flesh there and spreading you apart for him to admire.

“Such a pretty pussy,” Steve praises. Your body jumps when you feel his fingers run through you again, followed by an almost pained groan. Looking back over your shoulder, you see Steve’s fingers in his own mouth, eyes squeezed shut as he savors the way you taste. “Fucking amazing. Forgot how good omega pussy is.” 

You hum at his words, finding the energy to raise your hips to present yourself to him, wiggling them back and forth. “Why don’t you come get some? Straight from the source.” 

Steve’s eyes go wide with shock. “Really? That’s okay?”

“Of course it is,” you say with a chuckle. “Why would it not be?”

Steve wants to bring up how his ex would only let him go down on her when they had the time, which wasn’t often for two full time parents. But, he didn’t want to bring the mood down by bringing up his wife or how he felt like he might have been bad at it since she never wanted it.

“I just, uh, wanted to make sure. That’s all.”

“Okay,” you say, moving your hips playfully, “Less talking and more doing then.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve salutes before diving in tongue first. The taste of you is like divine nectar in his mouth. Something he could see himself getting addicted to if given the opportunity. 

Flattening the thick muscle, he pushes it between your folds and licks a long stripe from your clit to your hole, letting the tip catch on it teasingly. He feels your body shiver under him, sending a confidence boost through his veins that encourages him to keep going.

Another quicker swipe through, but this time he lets his tongue slip into you completely. His thumb makes its way back to your clit, working it in tandem with his tongue in a way that makes you dizzy. Then, they switch places, his lips wrapping around your bud to lick and suck while his fingers curl inside you, his nose right up against your slit.

Steve feels the way you squeeze around him, familiar enough now that he knows your third orgasm is quickly approaching. But the thought of not feeling you cum on his cock has him pulling away from you all together. He laughs when you let out a whine, only for it to turn into a moan when he pushes the head of his cock inside you. He watches the way it pops in, disappearing in your tight cunt as you suck him in.

He wants to take his time with you, but the way you push back against him has him laughing. “Okay, I’m sorry, sweet girl. No more—teasing.” He punctuates the last word with a snap of his hips, thrusting all the way inside of you. His heavy balls audibly slap against your clit. 

Steve manhandles your hips until they’re just where he likes them and begins to pound into you. Not too aggressive, but hard enough that his bed frame hits the wall with every thrust. Your vocalizations echo off the walls in competition, and he’s never been so thankful that his kids were staying with their mom for the weekend, because he doesn’t know what he would do if he had to tell you to stay quiet like he was used to.

“Fuck! Fuck! Steve! Oh my god, fuck me, Steve!”

Steve is sure he can taste blood from how hard he’s biting his bottom lip. His mind feels like it’s turning to mush again, pussy drunk from how right it feels to be inside you. Biology be damned, but he couldn’t deny it.

Slumping forward, Steve’s arms wrap around you and pin you to the mattress below him. His nose presses into the back of your neck, nostrils flaring again as your sweet scent fills them up. Drool spills from his mouth and onto your skin, and every fiber of his being is screaming at him to bite down onto that sensitive spot. He lets a canine drag against it, and he sees the goosebumps forming on your skin. 

“Oh, fuck!” 

Steve feels you cum on his cock, body shaking and eyes rolling back as you cry out. It’s all too much for Steve, bringing him to the edge where he’s about to cum himself. 

He goes to pull out, but struggles as your body pins his arms under you. “Shit, shit!” He panics, only managing to pull out about halfway, unable to stop himself from cumming inside of you. 

Steve knows that he should feel bad, and he probably will once he finally stops cumming. But, at the same time, he’s pretty sure he’s never cum so hard in his life. And before he knows it, he feels the blood rushing into the base of his cock where it begins to swell. He pulls out of you just enough that his knot sits snugly against your hole, practically begging to be inside of you.

“Holy shit, did you knot?” You pant against his bed sheets, turning your body to look back at him.

“Y-yeah,” He pushes himself off of you, sitting back on his knees. He looks at the way his knot is pressed against your entrance, feeling only a slight resistance when he rocks forward a bit.

“I’m surprised you pulled it out,” you say, giving him a look that he isn’t sure how to read. Heat creeps all over his body as the guilt starts to set in.

“I was trying to pull all the way out, I promise. I’m so sorry. We can stop at the drugstore on the way back to your car and—”

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s okay.” 

He feels the way you push back into his knot, rocking back and forth on his still hard length while his cum subtly starts to leak out of you. 

“Yeah?” He asks again, eyes locked on his knot as you work yourself open on it. You’re so tight, but he can feel the resistance starting to give. Maybe if he just…

“Oh my god!” You squeal out. With one hard thrust, Steve was able to push his knot fully inside of you until it locks in place. Whether it be the natural connection between an alpha and an omega or, if your pussy was just that good, Steve can’t help but cum again, filling your already stuffed pussy up with more of his seed. 

“It’s…it’s..”

“What is it, Stevie baby,” you ask in a sugary sweet voice, mind clearly on cloud nine from the soft look on your face. 

“It’s just, it’s been so long…so long since I’ve felt like…”

“Awe, come’er,” you motion for him to lay with you, and Steve follows your command, taking you in a strong arm and maneuvering you both comfortably onto your sides. Underneath the covers, the two of you hold each other like you’ve been doing this for years rather than being a random Sunday afternoon hookup. The hairs of his mustache tickle the skin on your shoulder where he leaves kisses over and over again.

The two of you are quiet as you lay there in his bed. Steve’s mind races as the post nut clarity kicks in. Guilt plagues his brain first, but not in the way he thought it would. He thought he would feel guilty about sleeping with someone he didn’t vow his life to almost 20 years ago, but that’s not the case. Instead he feels guilty wishing he’d not wasted all those years with someone who couldn’t make him feel like this. All those years of putting her needs first…

“Are those your daughters?”

Steve’s head pops up to look over yours. Following your gaze, he sees the picture in question—well, he can’t see it clearly, his glasses being lost in the shuffle to get here. But, he knows what picture you’re talking about. It’s a picture of him and his two daughters, Hailey and Kristina, at their soccer tournament when they were 9 and 7 respectively. Their team had won 2nd place, but the both of them didn’t care because their dad had shown up to watch them play. It’s one of his favorite pictures of the three of them.

“Yeah, those are my girls,” Steve says with pride.

“They’re cute.” You look back at him with a smile, “They definitely get their looks from you.”

Steve feels the heat on his cheeks and ducks his head. “Thank you. Do, uh, do you have any kids?”

“Nope,” you say with a shake of your head. “Well, not yet at least.”

“Again, I am so, so sorry—” You bark out a laugh at his embarrassment and Steve tries to ignore the way you squeeze him.

“I’m just teasing, Steve.”

“Oh-okay,” he settles, daring to squeeze you a little tighter to him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” you say excitedly, taking his hand in yours and rubbing circles into the back of his hand.

“Well, okay actually it’s, like, a series of questions. But, I guess the first one is…why me?”

“Why you? Like, why did I sleep with you?”

“Yeah…”

“Um, partly because you’re, like, really, really hot.”

Steve laughs at that, “Should’ve seen me when I was your age.”

“I’m sure you were super hot then, too. But you look like one of those guys who gets better with age.”

“Thanks…”

“Anyway, I also slept with you because you’re always really nice when you and your friend come in. I thought maybe you were, but honestly I couldn’t tell if you were flirting with me or not. I also wasn’t sure if you and her were dating and I didn’t want to embarrass myself so I never said anything. But when you pheromone bombed me earlier…I had to take my break because I thought I was going to go into heat.

“Jesus, I’m sorry about that, too,” Steve internally scolds himself for forgetting about that. “Forty two years old and I can’t even contain myself. Acting like I’m a newly presenting alpha again.”

“It’s okay…honestly it was kinda hot. That’s why when I saw you leaving, I thought ‘Fuck it, might as well shoot my shot.’ Glad I did.”

Steve is trying his damnedest to stay collected, he really is. But the more you talk about wanting to pursue him, the more he feels like he needs to get away from you before he falls for you. He knows it’s just the pheromones and the fact that he hasn’t felt wanted since Becca left him, but damn does it feel good to have someone want him.

He feels you snuggle back against him. You look over your shoulder at him with a sly expression. 

“Ready for round two already?” You say with a teasing lit. His eyes go wide.

“What?” He asks with a nervous chuckle.

“I’m just kidding,” you say, sticking your tongue out at him.  “Just felt like you got harder when I was talking about how I wanted you.”

Steve sucks in a breath. “I mean, if I can get this knot to go down enough…” It’s been a long while since Steve’s been able to go for a second round. But, he’s pretty sure he’d do anything you asked him right now.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind this for a little bit longer.”

The two of you ended up fucking for a good majority of the afternoon. At some point Steve fell asleep inside you, leaving you to scroll through his barely touched instagram until his knot went down again. He warned you that pictures of his wife were still on there since he didn’t know how to delete them. But when you told him you didn’t care about his past he ended up fucking you again, which is how you ended up in the position you’re in now.

When Steve rouses from his nap, he’s sad to find you not in bed with him. It felt good having someone to share his bed with again. A king size mattress is too big for only one person to occupy Steve has thought many nights now.

Steve puts on a pair of gray sweats and a tee shirt and searches the house for you. He gets a little nervous when he doesn’t find you anywhere. With a slight panic, he runs back to his room and checks his clothes from earlier. When everything was still in his pockets he grabbed his phone to see if you’d texted him that you were leaving. That was until he remembered that he never asked for your number…

Plopping down on the edge of the bed, he grabs his phone and taps the screen. The picture of Hailey and Kristina opening gifts at Robin’s house over Christmas break comes up, making him smile. But when he looks at the bottom of the screen, he sees the little notification bubble and scrolls up. 

His eyes widen when he sees your name attached to a text message. He opens the message quickly, squinting his eyes to see the screen without his glasses on. 

wanted a smoke so I’m sitting in your car hope that’s okay ♥️

Steve is up instantly, grabbing his coat and house slippers before pushing out the front door. He saw you in his passenger seat, bundled up in your coat with a cigarette still lit between your fingers. You were on the phone with someone, distracted as you looked out the front window. He could hear you speaking with someone through the cracked window.

“Yeah, the older guy. The divorced one…Girl, oh my goooooood…I will when I see you later. He’s so hot though…I don’t know. I kinda hope so. Like I’m sure my parents would be so pissed if I started dating a guy in his 40s…I don’t know. But girl we went at it for hooouuuursss, so I hope so.”

Steve was sure his face was the same shade of red as a tomato. He could hardly believe a girl was sitting in his car talking about how much she liked him to presumably one of her friends. And you were talking about dating?

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

The words come out on their own. Your head snaps to look at him, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. You mutter a quick good bye to your friend and open the car door.

“S-sorry, I was talking to my friend. What did you say?”

Steve debated on back tracking. There’s no way you could be serious about liking him, so why embarrass himself, or even scare you off by taking things further. You were right, you were old enough that your parents wouldn’t approve even if you both wanted it. As a father of two girls, he can’t help but think about how he would feel if one of them brought home someone at least 15 years older than them…

“Steve?” The way you looked at him had him folding in an instant.

“I asked if you wanted to go on a date with me.”

A smile played at the ends of your mouth. “Really?” You ask coyly. “This isn’t just some little fantasy thing for you? Older man hooking up with a younger girl to make himself feel better?” Steve shook his head.

“God, no. Those aren’t my intentions at all.” Steve’s hand reaches out for yours, which you gladly take, swinging them between the two of you. Steve clears his throat before looking you in the eye as he speaks.

“I’m not the type of guy that does…” He gestures vaguely towards his house. “Does the hook up thing. At least I haven’t been in a good while.”

“I knew you were a player when you were younger,” you say with a cheeky smile.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He laughs.

“I saw a picture that your friend Robin tagged you in on her instagram of the two of you back in the day and…” You gave him a look that made him duck his head. 

“I guess you could say that I was a bit more debaucherous back in my early twenties. But, I think the longevity of my marriage should stand as testament that I am capable of being a loyal, faithful partner to the right person.”

“And you want to see if I could be a candidate for that “right person” position?”

“Mmm, that sounds like you’d need to convince me.” He pulls you into him, looking down at you as you’re pressed against him. “But I’m pretty sure you’ve already got me hooked on you. Just need to prove to you that this old man is worth keeping around.”

The way your smile crinkles your eyes as you look up at him has Steve’s heart fluttering. And when you reach up to kiss him, that fluttering swells into a blooming warmth that runs through his veins the second your lips touch.

“Well, when and where does this “old man,” you echo his words with finger quotes, “want to have this date, hmm?”

The two of you iron out the details over a smoke in Steve’s warm car, and continue to talk well past the setting of the sun. Eventually, Steve takes you back to your car, where the two of you make out parked next to it until you’re pretty sure you hear your closing coworkers coming out the back door from the end of shift.

Steve makes you promise to text him when you get home to make sure you got there safe. You throw a casual “sure thing, dad” at him, and as he watched you get in your car he has to question himself as to why he liked you calling him that…

thank you for reading.

[strangermarvelss]

all of the girls you loved before- e.m

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: the one where eddie runs into his first love, leaving you to question your relationship in the aftermath. loosely based on the taylor swift song with the same title.

Warnings: angst, crying, jealousy, insecurity, eddie being rude unintentionally, cursing, pda (gross), eddie and reader are a few years out of high school, fluff, happy ending

Word Count: 4.8k

Request?: No

A/N: hello again everyone, its been a minute! since i’ve been gone, i’ve entered my swiftie era (not like crazy obsessed but def a fan of the music) and this gem of a song dropped and plucked some inspiration from me, so here is a new one shot for you all! enjoy! -sava

The haze within the hot open room of the Hideout was starting to dissipate, the crowd exiting the venue one by one as the band you’ve been cheering on from your spot at the bar begins clearing the stage of their equipment. The ringing in your ears has yet to go away, getting so lost in the metal music that you didn’t care if it would bite you in the ass at work tomorrow, you’d find a way to take customers orders at the diner, even if they had to scream in order for you to understand. 

You found yourself sitting at the same spot at the Hideout every Tuesday night to cheer your boyfriend and his band members on. Within the years since graduating high school, the town you called home started coming around to the type of music your boyfriend played, despite ridiculing him for years prior to their own revelations. With the new popularity, Tuesday nights at the Hideout have gone from 5 drunks sitting in the back to almost a packed house every week, begging for encores and autographs at the end of each show. It made you happy seeing your boyfriend celebrated in such a way, having been there for him in his lowest points when the tables were turned. Now you bask in his glory like never before, cheering him on alongside the rest of the town.

Paying your tab, you begin walking towards the back stage area when you see a tall lanky man with long luscious curls make his way over to you, his smile wide as his signature dimples poked into the sides of his cheeks. He extends his arms wide, not caring if he gets in anyones way as he greets you. Taking off in a run, you launch yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he catches you, hands making contact with your ass in a not-so-subtle way. You pull away and look at him momentarily before pressing your lips to his.

You take in his scent as your mouths move together as one, the sweaty smell that was no match for masking with his cheap cologne filling your nostrils, but you didn’t mind one bit. You part away from his lips, looking at the deep chocolate irises that you love seeing on a daily basis before running a hand through his sweaty mop of curls. He sets you down and plays with his bangs, moving them to the side as they desperately try to cling to his damp forehead.

“You guys killed it tonight,” you tell him, pulling him in for another hug. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side and twisting his upper body and leaning down to press a kiss to your hair before flashing a closed mouth smile at you.

“Couldn’t have done it without my number one fan,” he says, cupping your cheek with his large calloused hand and placing yet another kiss to your body, this time directed at your forehead.

“So I was thinking that maybe tonight we go back to my apartment and watch some movies? I know we usually go bother my coworkers at the diner after your show but I kind of just want some you and me time,” you tell him with a smile.

“That sounds even better than going to the diner. I bet you’ve already picked out a selection of movies.” “You know me so well. I rented Halloween, Nightmare on Elm St-“

“Eddie? Eddie Munson?” a feminine voice calls out from behind you. You and Eddie turn around, watching a slim figure approach you with a bashful look plastered on her face. As she got closer, you noticed she was wearing a short black leather skirt and a bright pink top, barely leaving anything to the imagination with the amount of cleavage she was showing. Her hair was long and straight, looking silky to the touch as her skin glowed under the colorful stage lights that were still on. Who the hell is this, and how did she know Eddie?

Eddie squints his eyes as she approaches the two of you, his face relaxing and the smile growing wider than you’ve ever seen it when he finally makes out her features. You won’t deny the twinge you feel in your chest as you watch him drop your hand and give the mysterious woman a big embrace, bigger than the one he gave you moments ago.

“Holy shit! How are you? I haven’t seen you in forever,” Eddie exclaims, breaking away and tucking his hands under his armpits.

“M’good! Just finished up college not too long ago so I came back to Hawkins while I search for something a little more permanent,” she tells him, her timid demeanor going out the window as you watch the two grow comfortable with one another. “I see things at the Hideout have changed since we went to high school not too long ago.”

“Yeah, they sure have,” Eddie chuckles, kicking one of his feet out as he looks down. “Looks like the people in this shit town have finally come around when it comes to listening to good music.”

As you watch the interactions from person to person unfold in front of you, you feel the familiar tickle in your nose begin, hoping and praying that you won’t be noticeable if you aren’t able to get rid of the impending sneeze.

“Achoo!” You exclaim, bending down and hiding your nose in the crook of your elbow, silently yelling at yourself when you watch both pairs of eyes land on you.

“Bless you,” the mystery woman says with a smile. You nod, taking a step forward to try and join in on the conversation.

“Thank you,” you tell her, extending your hand. “I’m Y/N by the way, Eddie’s girlfriend.”

You watch Eddie nod as she takes your hand, shaking it firmly. “I’m Heather.”

Suddenly you feel your brain catching up with the rest of the world, clicking into place once the name leaves her mouth. This was the Heather you’d heard so much about from Eddie’s friends. The same Heather that just so happened to be his first love, capturing his heart in ways you wish you could’ve done yourself. If only you’d moved to Hawkins earlier in your high school career compared to your senior year, a.k.a Eddie’s second attempt at being a senior. 

The members of the Hellfire Club gave you all the details that you needed to know about Heather: that she was Eddie’s first everything. First date, first love, first time, and eventually, his first heartbreak. The two were smitten with one another when no one else wanted to look Eddie’s way, with all the judgy classmates questioning why they were together in the first place. They didn’t see Eddie for who he truly was, they only ever judged him based on his outer appearance. The same goes for Heather: everyone always questioned why someone as hot as her would settle for someone like Eddie, which always made you upset to hear.

“It’s really nice to meet you Heather. I’ve heard a lot about you,” you tell her, trying your best to sound as sincere as possible. Eddie shoots you a look, silently telling you to stop, which makes your heart drop a bit. Adverting your eyes from him, you look back at Heather, who didn’t miss the interaction. 

“All good things I hope,” she jokes.

“Are you kidding? Of course all good things. I can only hope you extended the same courtesy for me, if you did tell your college friends about me,” he says, rushing the last part out. Was he getting nervous?

“I can assure you that I did. Even after the way things ended…” she says, looking down to the ground as her sentence trails off. You can sense the tension in the air, feeling as if you’re causing the vibe of the conversation to shift a bit. Masking your feelings with a smile, you turn to them and excuse yourself, lying about needing to use the restroom before heading out for the night. Holding the curtain to the side, you enter the backstage area and round a counter towards an empty hallway you know nobody ever comes down after the shows, as you and Eddie have had your share of moments in this very spot, both PG and R rated moments.

As the secluded feeling sinks in, you feel the confidence and happiness that filled your body just moments ago begin to evaporate, vanishing into thin air as you replay the last few minutes in your head. His big smile when he saw her, the big and warm embrace, the look he gave you when you nudged your way into the conversation. It made you want to shrink into yourself. Jealousy was never something you were known for having, usually being more focused on the moment at hand and knowing the security you had with the relationships you had with the people around you.

But the history between Eddie and Heather changed that.

When you first heard about Heather, you didn’t pay much attention to it because you knew that was his past. He told you numerous times that he loves you and loves being with you, and it made you confident in the strength of your relationship. But knowing how strong those feelings he had for Heather and seeing her interact with him in real time, it changed things. He was a different man from the one he was in high school, having graduated and making a name for himself with the music he loves performing. And now that Heather is back in Hawkins for a while, it makes you wonder what could happen between the two of them. 

Would they be able to reconcile? It didn’t look like there were any harsh feelings anymore, so maybe making up was still an option for them. What if Eddie wanted to revisit his past and be with the girl he loved before you came into his life? Was the love he had for her stronger than the love he has for you?

You could feel yourself being to spiral, your arms wrapping around your body and hugging on tight. Your breathing was starting to become jagged and unsteady, trying your best to take deep breaths slowly to get yourself to calm down. Thinking the worst was always such an easy solution for you, because preparing for the worst and not being shocked by the disappointment that lies ahead was better than being blind to the impending doom.

Once you feel yourself becoming calmer, you exit the hallway and walk towards the curtain once again, hesitating and stopping in your tracks. Peeking your head out, you can see the two of them still talking, Eddie throwing his head back in laughter as the two share a funny moment with one another, making your heartache grow. Retreating back behind the curtain, you turn and see Gareth walking your way, a smug look on his face before contorting into a welcoming smile.

“Hey Y/N! Glad to see you made it out tonight, even though I know you’re in the audience every Tuesday,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. You give him a quick hug, pulling away and failing to mask the hurt as you see his demeanor change. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, everything is fine…it’s just, Heather is here tonight. She came up to Eddie and I and started talking with him and catching up-“

“Wait, Heather Heather?” Gareth asks before poking his head out of the curtain. “Holy shit! I had no idea she was back in town. Still looks as hot as ever.”

Pretending to ignore that, you let out a sigh and tap him on the shoulder. Gareth turns to you, lifting a brow.

“Can you make out what her and Eddie are talking about? I think I sort of killed their vibe earlier and now it looks like things are picking up now that I’m not there.”

“Yeah, hang on one second,” he tells you before disappearing behind the curtain. As much as you appreciate Gareth helping, you were more scared to know how the conversation is going. With all the possibilities that were swirling around in your head, it was just getting fogged up with negativity that you were not expecting this evening and you hated going to such a low place.

A moment later, Gareth pops back from the other side of the curtain with a neutral expression, which worries you more than it should. You raise your eyebrows at him, bracing yourself for whatever news that he was about to deliver.

“So I used the gig as an excuse to talk with them and told Eddie that we were almost done loading the equipment up, which is true, and he said he’d be back here in a minute. But as I was walking away, I heard Heather mention how they should catch up another time over coffee and when I looked back, she was writing her number down on a napkin for him,” he explains.

Somehow the news hurts you more than you imagined it would. With their plans on the horizon sometime soon, it made the insecurities rise once again. You knew how special someone’s first love could be because Eddie was that for you. Before moving to Hawkins, you had your fair share of dating but none that meant much to you compared to the feelings your harbor for Eddie. Knowing that he already experienced that with someone else didn’t bother you until that person had to show up right there in front of you. A majority of these worries and doubts reside in your head, you’re aware of that, but it almost feels as if there is going to be a choice he is going to make, and it isn’t looking good for your side.

You can feel the tears beginning to well in your eyes, unable to hide the frown that resides on your lips as you process what Gareth told you. Looking at him, you flash him a sad smile before wiping away at your bottom lash line, a half-baked attempt to get rid of the tears. He rests a hand on your shoulder, ducking his head down to try and make eye contact with you. 

“Hey, don’t get sad, okay? Heather is just Eddie’s past, but you’re his present and his future. You don’t have anything to worry about,” he tries to reassure you.

“Yeah, you might be right,” you tell him before meeting his gaze and making eye contact. “But you didn’t see the way he looked at her. The way he smiled at her, the way he held her. On top of that, the way he looked at me when I talked to her. I’m worried that I actually do have something to worry about,” you explain.

Now it was Gareth’s turn to frown, breaking the eye contact and staring at the floor below. He should know better than anyone how Eddie felt about Heather all those years ago and it doesn’t just go away overnight. 

“I think I should go. I’m going to sneak around the other way…will-will you tell Eddie I wasn’t feeling good or something? If you can think of a good excuse, just use it, because my brain is fogged up right now and I can’t think of any,” you ask. Gareth nods, sending a sad smile your way before you disappear behind more curtains as you make your way around the stage to exit through the front doors unnoticed.

—————————————————————————————————————

It’s been three days since you’ve last seen Eddie.

Clocking out of your shift at the diner, you sigh as you realize its your usual date night with Eddie, yet haven’t heard a word from him since the awkward encounter with his ex at the Hideout. To say the silence has hurt you would be an understatement, as you wait by the phone any chance you’re home hoping he will call. He always makes it a point to call you at the end of each day when he knows you both are already off work, catching up on each others days and talking for hours before falling asleep.

Now you’re going home alone for the fourth night in a row, wasting away as you prepare yourself for when Eddie does eventually call you to break things off, telling you he wants to try things with Heather again while she is in town and rekindle the blissful and naive love they once held in their hearts for one another.

Tossing your jacket on the back of one of the chairs at your kitchen table, you let out a sigh as you begin making your way to your bedroom and undressing your uniform. Quickly, you change into a comfortable band t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts, tossing your dirty uniform in your laundry basket before going back to the kitchen. Opening your fridge, you spot the bottle of wine you have been eyeing every day after work this week. The delicious red teasing you and wanting you to indulge in the sweet liquid to cope with the impending end of your relationship.

“Fuck it,” you mutter to yourself, before grasping the bottle and twisting the cap open. Opening the cabinet above, you grab the first wine glass you see and take it out, pouring the wine in until it gets close the the rim. You take hold of the glass and make your way over to your couch, bringing the glass to your lips and letting the wine travel down your throat with ease. 

Before you’re able to bask in the taste, you hear your doorbell ring throughout your apartment. With a puzzled expression, you set the glass of wine down on your coffee table and make your way back to the front door, sliding the peep hold cover to the side to get a look at just who could be outside. Rolling your eyes, you take a deep breath before opening the door, standing face to face with the man who owns your heart. At least, for the next few minutes.

“Hey sweetheart,” he says with a smile.

“What are you doing here?” You ask straight out of the gate. 

“Good to see you too,” he says, raising his eyebrows and looking down at the pizza box resting in his hands for a moment. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted to do for date night tonight, so I just took it as an opportunity to plan an evening of pizza, movies, and indulging in the new weed I got from Rick yesterday.”

“I just thought we weren’t going to do date night this week since I hadn’t heard from you,” you say.

“Sorry sweetheart, that is my bad.” He tells you as he makes his way inside your apartment. He sets the pizza on the kitchen table and opens the fridge and pulls a beer out. “I’ve been extremely busy this week with work, band practice, and…uh, well…”

“Heather?” You question, closing the door and resting your back against it as you bring your arms to cross in front of your chest. He stills for a moment, frozen in place as silence falls over the apartment unit. Turning to you, he raises his eyebrows while biting his lip, his physical look of guilt showing front and center. Trying your best to remain stoic, you quirk a brow at him, keeping your position at the door as you wait for an explanation. 

“How, uh…how’d you know about that?” He finally asks after several minutes of silence.

“Gareth told me before I left on Tuesday. Said he overheard her giving you her number,” you answer plainly.

Another beat of silence falls throughout the room. Eddie’s attention is on the floor below him, kicking his feet as he digs his hands into the pockets of his black jeans and forgetting about the beer he was excited about enjoying. You find your eyes diverting to the ground as well, finding it hard to look over at your favorite metalhead. Mentally preparing yourself for the ache to grow, you finally let out a deep sigh, your hand coming up to rub at your forehead before you work up the courage to look at him again.

“Look, if you came all this way to let me down gently with pizza and weed, you can just save yourself the trouble. I’ve already spent the past few days preparing for this, so lets just call it what it is and go on about our lives, okay?” You muster out, feeling your throat close up and voice waver towards the end. You shut your mouth, turning your head as you feel your bottom lip begin to quiver. Opening the door, you step to the side and remain silent, not trusting yourself to speak anymore. You can’t breakdown in front of him, not when he’s choosing another girl over you.

You hear his heavy footsteps grow closer to you, stopping right before your figure. Your eyes are planted to the floor, seeing his stark white Reeboks enter your vision before leaving once again. Suddenly, you feel his hand lay on top of the one holding the handle to the front door, guiding it to a close and stepping to the side.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” he reveals.

You whip your neck in the direction he moved to, seeing the sad expression on his face as his big brown cow eyes look into yours. Part of you was hesitant to question him about it, not wanting his mind to change in a matter of seconds and leave you in a puddle of sadness afterall. But the more logical part of your brain wanted answers. Why did he not bother calling you for days but thought it was okay to hang out with his ex? Why didn’t he confess earlier about seeing her around? Why was he acting so strange at the Hideout, and why didn’t he want you talking to her?

“What?”

“I said I’m not breaking up with you, sweetheart. Why was that even a thought that popped into your head?” He asks, his voice level and sweet. He takes a step closer to you, filling the small gap that had separated you moments ago before slowly extending an arm out to you, cupping your cheek in his hand and rubbing the pad of his thumb across the soft skin.

“I don’t know…” you finally answer, the lack of confidence in your voice giving you away as your sentence trails off.

“C’mon, I know you had to think that somehow. I won’t be mad or anything, I promise. Just want my sweet girl to talk to me.” You take the beat of silence to think about to how explain it to him without coming across as a jealous and needy girlfriend. You can do this, you think to yourself.

“It’s just-I know how you felt during that relationship and how deep the feelings were thanks to Gareth and Jeff, a-and the way you were talking to her and looking at her at the Hideout on Tuesday made it look like no time had passed and that the feelings were still there. I mean, she gave you her number Eds! A-and you just said you hung out with her!” You exclaim, breaking out of his grasp and retreating towards the living room. You run a hand down your face, sighing as you try to level your heavy breathing. 

“Okay, when you put it like that…yeah it sounds bad,” you hear him say from the kitchen. You sit on the couch, taking a large sip of the wine you abandoned earlier. Eddie turns around and stalks over to you, sitting on the chair opposite of you, not wanting to get too close again after the failed attempt. “But baby, I promise nothing happened with Heather and I, okay? We went over to Rick’s last night after grabbing coffee and smoked. Nothing more.”

“I just wish you told me about it,” you let out, feeling deflated from the way you were reacting.

“I know baby, and I’m sorry I didn’t. Work had been busy and when I was going to call you after I woke up yesterday, Heather called and asked to hang out at the coffee shop. I should’ve used the payphone outside the place or hell, called you before I left my place. If I could go back and do so I would.”

You flash him a half-hearted smile, looking back towards your wine glass before picking it up once again. Bringing it to your lips, you take another big sip, beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol move throughout your limbs and send a tingling feeling in them. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Eddie slide over onto the couch, still leaving room between the two of you as he leans his arms on his knees, hanging his head down a bit and letting his long mane of curls move forward with him.

“You want to know what we talked about yesterday? Over coffee?” He asks, quirking a brow your way as he shifts a bit from his position.

“Hmm?”

“We caught up, I asked her about college, she told me all kinds of stories. Even told me the story of how she met her fiancé, who moved in with her when she came back to Hawkins. They’re getting married in November, a few weeks before Thanksgiving which I thought was nice. Then I talked to her about you, and how we’ve been dating since the winter of ’84 and been inseparable since then. I must’ve been smiling really hard or something because she pointed out how happy I looked when I talk about you, which is true,” he chuckles out, a silly grin creeping onto his features.

Now it was your turn to smile, unable to hide the warm and fuzzy feeling that made its way into your chest at hearing the words. You set the wine glass back down, shifting on the couch so you were facing his direction, legs crossed as you leaned over to take his hand in yours. “Really?”

“Oh of course baby. Look, what I had with Heather all those years ago was great, and I appreciate the time I had with her then. But loving her taught me how to be better and show the person I was really meant for all the more love and affection that they deserve. You,” he boops your nose, making a giggle escape past your lips. “-you are the one I love now and will love until I take my last breath okay? All the shit I’ve been through was worth it because it brought you to me when you moved here, and I am so fucking happy about that. Wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

You can’t help but feel the burning sensation behind your eyes at Eddie’s sweet words. Sure, you still felt like a bit of a fool for acting like a jealous girlfriend, but hearing Eddie shut down all your worries and reassure you about his feelings for you in the nicest way you could’ve imagined warmed your heart. You move your hand to the back of his neck, pulling him towards you and closing the distance between you as your lips meet his. His hand instinctively goes to your hip, holding you closer as his mouth moves against yours in fever.

Eventually pulling away, you lean your forehead against his, giggling to yourself as you feel his bangs tickle the sensitive skin of your cheeks. You look at his big brown eyes, seeing the soft look he was giving you and melting all over again.

“Sorry for acting like a jealous girlfriend babe. Not the prettiest look for me if I’m being honest,” you joke.

“Hey, if the roles were reversed, I would totally act the way you did, so I get it. But now you know that you don’t ever have to worry about anyone else, because like I said, you’re it for me baby. I love you.”

“I love you more,” you say, pressing your lips to his cheek. He shoots you a grin, breaking contact with your forehead and rubbing slow circles into the fabric of your leggings. 

“How about I warm up that pizza I brought over and we pop in one of those movies I rented? You probably need some food after all that wine you drank,” he says, making you laugh. Nodding, you agree.

“That sounds like the best idea you’ve had.”

[ghostbustting]

Ok so,firstly hiii! I love your writing style sm!

Would you ever consider doing a Cliff or Jason one shot where the reader is super self conscious about her being “plus-size” and “not being a typical rockstar girlfriend” and them comforting her and it leads to some really sweet love making 😭

Cliff is my number one man and I hardly see any fics for him fr

CLIFFCLIFFCLIFF !! (yes i'm back. yes i'm disappearing again.)

♯ ; 𝑴𝒀 𝑮𝑰𝑹𝑳 ༘⋆

Cliff Burton x Plus size!Reader

Contains Smut.

With my own fingers fiddling with the hem of my uncomfortably fitting dress, my eyes wander around the diner booth we were all sitting at. By we, I was referring to me, my boyfriend Cliff, his three bandmates, and their awfully drop dead gorgeous girlfriends.

It was a relaxing Saturday night, Cliff had brought me with him to go have dinner with his bandmates and their girlfriends at some local diner.

However, the rest of the dinner night, I felt like I do not belong here, like I could never fit in well between these rockstars and their girlfriends. No matter how reassuring and comforting having Cliff's presence close next to me, it didn't make me oblivious to how much of a contrast the difference between me and his bandmates' girlfriends is.

They were perfectly good looking to say the least. Thin figures, curves accentuated perfectly in their tight dress they probably didn't have to overthink much about, no thunder thighs filling up their seats, smiles so wide without their cheeks looking like they're swollen.

On the other hand, I stood out... not in a very pleasing way. It's more like as if I was a sore thumb. My eyes could never stand the numbers that showed up on the weight scales whenever I stood on it. The beautiful small dresses I saw down the streets would never fit the shape of my body.

Cliff made it his task to make me feel loved, and I knew he really do love me. But it doesn't change the fact that I'm not what people expected, doesn't change the fact that I'm not the ideal rockstar's girlfriend.

So here I sat next to him, head hung low, the food I had ordered barely touched, my ears not even picking up on the conversation around me, eyes focused on getting the end of my dress to cover more of my insecure legs.

Even with my mind overwhelmed with that irritating sense of insecurity, the concerned gaze on me that came from Cliff’s eyes were something that I could never ignored, something so familiar that it would always hit me right away whenever I receive it, something I could recognize easily every single time.

It didn’t took long before I feel his warm hands take ahold of my cold ones, the pads of his thumbs running over my knuckles as I hear his beautiful voice whisper softly and gently into my ear, “Are you alright..? You feel sick..?” He asked, the worry accentuated enough in his voice.

However, I try to cover it up, “I’m alright..” I whisper back while shaking my head with a soft smile— a smile so forced and fake that obviously someone that knew me so well and so detailed like Clifford Lee Burton wouldn’t be fooled by.

”You’re not,” Cliff spoke, with an attempt to drown all the insecurity in me with his soft gaze, “I know my happy girlfriend when I see her and this is not her.”

A sigh leave my lips and my eyes look up at him, meeting his own in an instant. He could see the weak and soft gaze of my eyes, the way my eyebrows are slightly furrowed as if I was thinking about something. He can read me like a damn opened book and I can't decide whether I hate or love him for it.

My thoughts drifted away when I hear the man spoke again, this time towards his friends, patting Kirk's back, who was sitting on the chair beside him. "Sorry, it's getting late. We have.. other plans." He say.

That was in fact, not true. I was not aware of any other plans we have scheduled after this dinner.

Hence, a look of genuine confusion was etched onto my face as he took ahold of my hand and pull me up from my seat, giving me no time to say goodbyes or grab one last french fries when he lead me out of the diner with no words of explanation.

We found ourselves driving back to his place in a weird yet comforting silence. One of Cliff’s hands was holding onto mine while the other was fixated on the steering wheel. I can feel his thumb running over my knuckles every now and then, a gesture of comfort I’m used to receive from him.

My eyes drift from our hands to the window, watching as cars drove pass us, watching the motorcycles, watching as teenagers party, craving the body those gorgeous girls possess. My eyes would still run over their perfect figure if it wasn't for Cliff's voice that snapped me out of my trance.

"What's with you tonight?"

He asked. Usually, words like that would be taken as somewhat a complain. But with Cliff, it was clear by his voice that he was asking me out of concern. He wasn't wrong about knowing a happy me and a not happy me, it was quite easy. I would've been smiling to my eyes when I'm happy, words spilling out of my lips endlessly, unlike the state I was in earlier.

A sigh left my lips as I slowly turn my attention back to Cliff, the lights of Los Angeles and the red traffic light combined with the beautiful moonlight illuminates his face, his eyes shining more than how they already were.

"I.."

"Honest. Please. I hate not seeing your smile."

A squeeze of his hand was delivered to mine, making my heart flutter just the slightest bit. There was no way in hell I'm able to decline his plead for honesty.

Slowly, I begin to speak again, a hint of uncertainty was able to be heard in the words that left my lips in a quiet question. "..Do you ever regret dating me?" I ask, my voice soft, eyes avoiding his own as I feel that same exact concerned gaze over my face the moment his head instantly snapped my way.

I could feel his gaze on me for a few minutes until the light turned green, taking his focus again as he continue driving before asking me, "Wha— why would I regret dating you? Don't be silly." He chuckled softly, taking my hand up to his lips to kiss my knuckles.

The gesture was sweet, bringing a soft smile on my face. However, It didn't take too long before my smile faded away yet again slowly as my previous thoughts of insecurity builds back up in my mind. It was like a parasite, unable to be avoided.

”It’s just..” I let out a sigh, “James, Kirk, Lars...— They have these drop dead gorgeous girls as their girls. They’re beautiful, they’re in good shape, they’re— they’re the perfect rockstar girlfriend.”

Only when I feel the car stop and park did I realize we have arrived in front of his house, away from the chaos of the traffic, the door that leads to the inside of the house seems so inviting as my body yearns to just lay on his bed. Meanwhile, the silence between us felt somehow loud, if that even makes sense. And again, his eyes gazes over me.

Cliff let out a small chuckle, “So that’s the problem? You think I’d regret dating you because of this?—” He reach out and pinch the chubby cheek of mine, pulling on it slightly. My eyes slowly gaze up into his own, revealing my glassy eyes to him. A sigh leave his lips as he cup one of my cheeks. “You think I care about whether you’re as skinny as a branch or as fluffy as a pillow?”

I let out a small strangled chuckle at his words, trying to turn my head away, to which he prevent by cupping both of my cheeks now. “I don’t want a rockstar girlfriend. I just want my girlfriend. I just want you. I want you for your heart, for your smile, for your love.” Cliff spoke so sincerely it was impossible to not believe him, especially with how deep his eyes was gazing into mine.

The smile he made at my speechless state melts my heart, listening as he say, “Come on.” Shortly after, I watch him exit the car and jog around the front only to open the door on my side of the car, the sweet smile making a stay on his face as he reach for my hand and help me out, his other hand shutting the door behind me the moment my shoes lands on the ground.

Each and every move of his only made me love him even more.

My body stayed close to him, almost as if we were attatched like magnets, all the way as he leads me into his house and into his bedroom, his hand holding mine so firmly yet gently at the same time, as if he was afraid I’d slip away, as if he was afraid the insecurity will consume me and fade me away from his life. I always loved the way he touched me, always able to make me feel loved, even the moment I lost hope in loving myself, he always made me love myself with his own love.

Slowly, I sit down on the soft matress of his bed, a spot we often find ourself laying in after a tiring day, just wrapping each other in the other’s arms, where our problems never exist, only our bloomin love.

I feel the mattres beside me sink due to Cliff’s weight as he join me, sitting on the bed as well with his hand in mine still, the pad of his thumb running over my knuckles again and again softly, a motion I’ve found rather comforting. I can feel his lips pressing soft kisses all over my cheek, yet my head was hung low, eyes on my lap.

Yet the moment he notices, he held my chin in his free hand, slowly tilting my head towards him. “Look at me.” He smile softly, making me look at him. “I want you to let your mind rest, okay? Let go of your thoughts..” His voice was soft, I couldn’t help but give in and follow the instruction he gave me, letting my thoughts drift away, letting my focus to be for him and him only.

”My girl..” He breathed out, slowly leaning in till our lips eventually meet in a soft and gentle kiss, his palm coming to rest against my cheek, the other that was previousky holding my hand slowly trails to hold my waist instead, gently pushing me down to lay on my back, my head landing smoothly on his pillow.

I sigh against his lips and watch as he lay himself down next to me, mumbling, "Cliff.." The way his hands touch me all over made me felt important, as if I was the center of the earth. To him, I probably was. After all, he never failed to make me feel that way.

Within seconds, I feel my shirt slowly being slipped over my head, my hands coming to cover my body. Despite how many times we've done this, being bare and showing the insecurity I own beneath the fabric always rewinds. Yet, Cliff only chuckled and moved my hands away, his lips pressing a short peck on my stomach.

"Beautiful." In an instant, the tenses in my body relaxes as I hear his voice, a comforting and loving lullaby.

I feel his lips press and trail kisses all the way from my stomach down to the them of my panties, his fingers slowly hooking into the waistband and sliding it down, his eyes gazing up to inspect the way I was bitting my lip from his action alone.

The moment that panties of mine was discarded, Cliff's lips were quick to attach onto my cunt— desperate, yet gentle.

A moan manage to escape my lips, a soft call of his name, "Cliff.." His name seems to be the only thing available in my dictionary at the moment, finding it difficult to let out anything from the back of my throat other than a moan, curses, and his name.

Cliff's warm tongue slides in and out of me, the very tip of his nose nudging my clit every now and then as he eat me out, ignoring the way I was squirming above him, my hand trailing down to run through his long hair. "Fuck.." I whined, my hips bucking up to try and grind against his face.

His tongue was lapping up and down my folds like a dog, a hungry dog. He makes me feel wanted. And I can't help but want him as well.

Not long, he pull back from my pussy with his lips glistening with my slick, his fingers replacing what was once his tongue, two of them running up and down my folds before sliding through them, earning a gasp from me. I feel his lips against my thigh, yet I was too caught up on the feeling of his fingers.

"Can you feel it?"

My eyes struggles to meet his as I utter out a, "What— Feel what..?" Through my moans.

"Just how much I love you."

Right as the words leave his lips, I finshed right around his fingers, clenching the digits as I did so with a loud and uncontrollable moan, my back arching like a cat you'd see down the streets.

I hear a small chuckle and a gentle, "Good girl. My girl." Before I see him stand up, his hands going to his belt as he unbuckles it, swiftly throwing it away and slipping his jeans and boxers both at once, not even wasting his time for even just a second.

Seconds later, before I knew it, he was back on top of me, his body towering over mine as he lean down to press a kiss on my cheek, "My tonight, my tomorrow, my tomorrow night, my every night, and my every day are yours okay? I can't live through this without your sweet soul." He spoke with so much genuineness in his voice.

My thoughts evaporates into thin air as he slowly slides his cock through my folds, pulling out soft noises of pleasure from both of us as one of his hands came to rest on the pillow beside my head while the other holds my own hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it before he starts thrusting in and out of me, very gently.

Unlike the rather passionate love making we have done before, he was being extremely gentle this time, passionate still— yet mostly gentle and full of care as his eyes never broke the contact they had with my own eyes, a window that connects our souls.

I feel the tip of his cock hitting every special spots in me without even having to do it hard and fast. He knew me. The real me that lay upon all these insecurity. He knew me all too well. Yet he didn't even have to try. It was like nature have his own way with connecting us.

"I love you too.." I blurted out, a soft moan pulled out of the back of my throat as I slowly close my eyes.

Yet I feel his lips again, this time on my closed eyelids. "Don't close your eyes. I want you to look into my eyes and look deeply. So deep to the point you can see how much love I have." He spoke. Within seconds, my eyes were opened again and stared into his eyes again.

And just as he says, there was a certain look he had on.

A look of love.

So sweet. So deep. So tender.

His hips continue to move against mine, soft grunts slipping through his lips as my walls hug his cock just right. "Fuck.. My girl.." After he mumble this, his arms slowly wrap around my torso, his bodg pressed flushed against mine while his thrusts now becomes more deep, still in the gentle pace he was in earlier.

"Cliff..." I breathed out, my own arms around his body. Each time his cock thrusts into me, a moan would be pulled out of me while a grunt would be pull out of his, both of us becoming closer each seconds we spend in this bed.

"Come with me, sweetheart?.."

"Only with you.. Only with you.."

Not long, I feel an all too familiar knot in my stomach as he continue to hit every weak spot of mine. The way his lips were attached onto my neck and sucking marks wasn't helping with the feeling either. He could be so soft, yet I'll still be the most pleased girl in the earth. His girl.

Before I knew it, my high came crashing down around his cock, letting out a loud moan as his own seeds fill me up, his voice mumbled against my neck as he stayed close to me after our finish. I breathe in and out, all the troubles I had stomped away by a single love making.

But I knew it wasn't the love making

It was him.

He was clinging onto me like a koala, his head in my neck and his arms wrapped around me still yet so tightly, hands stroking my body in an affectionate way. He loves me. It was becoming clearer and clearer each day I spend here with him. He wants me for me. I was too blind to see the way it's all too obvious from his care, from his words, from his eyes.

And I love him too.

My boy.

[glimmeringwinchester]

𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗘

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — grace winchester never had the chance to know her mother, but twenty years later, she finds herself in her childhood home facing something evil that apparently isn't alone

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) — canon typical violence, panic attacks, injury, brief description of blood, ptsd, anxiety, protective dean and sam, oc au

series: love was the law

Grace Winchester sits across from her brother at a small table beside a large window that overlooks the parking lot. Her laptop is open, pulled up onto a recent newspaper article from somewhere in Texas. She and Dean have been here for almost an hour, scouring every website they could think of to find a case to work, both of them itching to get up and moving again. They’ve never known how to be still, how to just take life as it comes instead of searching for danger, and they certainly have no interest in learning how to do that now. 

“All right. I’ve been cruising some websites. Think I found a candidate for our next gig.” Dean takes a sip of his coffee, already dressed for the day ahead of them, meanwhile Sam’s still tucked into one of the beds. Grace cranes her head to see him, smiling softly when she realizes that he must’ve just woken up, a soft flush against his cheeks insinuating that not long ago he’d been practically dead to the world tangled up in thick blankets. She’s glad that he’s seemingly able to rest without nightmares of Jessica plaguing his subconscious, but something tells her his sleep wasn’t all that terrific even without the visual of his girlfriend's burning body.  “A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali. Its crew vanished.” 

“I’ve got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.” Grace hummed, looking over at Dean once she knew he didn’t have anymore more to add about the potential case in California. 

“Hey!” Dean called out, startling Grace who had looked away for only a second to dive back into the article she had pulled open, searching for the single line in the middle that was what led her to believe it was their kind of case to begin with. Her wide eyes found Dean’s, assuming she was the one he was raising his voice at, but she very quickly realized he was talking to Sam, who sat upright in the bed sketching frantically on a notepad. “Are we boring you with this hunting-evil stuff?” 

“No, I’m listening. Keep going.” Sam shook his head, glancing away from the notepad for only a second to prove that he was listening to Grace and Dean. The youngest Winchester rolled her eyes, reaching for her mug of hot chocolate that Dean had somehow lifted from the diner. She didn’t want to question why he’d chose to bring back two mugs instead of the take-away cups that made their lives easier, but she was more than willing to pretend like she was in some lavish hotel as she held the porcelain mug to her lips and obnoxiously slurped up what remained of her melted whipped cream.

Dean rolled his eyes at her, but he couldn’t help but shake his head laughing when she pulled the mug away and was left with a mustache of cream on her upper lip. She wiggled her eyebrows at him jestingly before she licked it away, focusing her attention back on the article in front of her. 

“And here a Sacramento man shot himself in the head..three times…” Dean held up three fingers, waving them around as if hoping to catch Sam’s attention, but his efforts were in vain. Their brother was fully engrossed in his own world, flipping through pages of the notepad despite it seeming that he was drawing the same thing over and over again. Grace frowned in contemplation, wondering what had him so tightly wound, but Dean was less concerned for Sam’s wellbeing and more aggravated that everything he was saying was going in one ear and out of the other. “Any of these things blowing up your skirt, pal?” 

Grace rolled her eyes, and if she hadn’t been sitting criss-cross applesauce on the chair, she would’ve jutted her leg out to kick his shin. She expected Sam to have a sharp response, but he remained silent, proving that he wasn’t really listening to them at all. Grace deflated, wondering what was so important that he was entirely neglecting the main focus of their entire lives, but then his eyebrows furrowed, and he grabbed a page of the notebook he’d already flipped away from, bringing it back down into view. 

“Wait, I’ve seen this.” Sam commented, his eyes narrowing in scrutiny as he tried to analyze the sketch he’d drawn still half-asleep. Grace craned her head questioningly, taking another sip of her hot chocolate despite how warm it made her feel. She shrugged her sweatshirt off, being left in only a yellow tank top that brought out the yellow in her green eyes. 

“Seen what?” Dean questioned, taking the bait that Sam dangled in front of their faces even if that wasn’t the intended purpose of his muttering. 

Sam didn’t answer him, nor did he even glance in Dean’s direction. The eldest and youngest Winchester locked eyes, both frowning in concern as they watched Sam stand from the bed and approach their bags on the other side of the room. “What are you doing, Sammy?” She questioned softly, closing her laptop to instead focus solely on her brother who was acting more than a little strange. 

He pulled John’s journal out of Dean’s duffle bag without a word, leaving both Dean and Grace in the dark as he flipped through pages until he found an old photograph tucked behind disheveled notes and coordinates. Grace knew the picture well. It was one of the only ones that had been salvaged in the fire – or at least one of the only ones she’d ever seen – and it was something that felt so foreign to look at knowing what she did now. She was being held up in John’s arms, a gummy smile on her lips as she looked straight ahead at the camera. Sam was in John’s other arm, and Mary held Dean close to them, all five of them looking like any typical and normal family outside of the house that Grace had never really known as their own. She frowned in confusion, not seeing why that picture was so important to Sam at this moment, but she didn’t outright question it, content to let him put pieces on the table at his own pace. 

“Dean, I know where we have to go next.” Sam looked up, his eyes searching Dean’s face with intent. Grace frowned, wondering what had him so rattled that he seemed to be reeling at the connection. She put her hot chocolate down, becoming uneasy as the energy in the room shifted to something heavier than it had been in a while. 

Dean inclined his head, nodding for Sam to continue. “Where?”

“Back home. Back to Kansas.” Grace’s frown deepened at that, her eyes flickering to Dean to gauge his individual reaction. She was unsurprised to find that he’d recoiled in the same surprised manor, his eyebrows raised in silent question.  

“Okay, random. Where’d that come from?” He threw back at Sam, who seemed to fumble over his thoughts trying to find a way to explain what had led him to this conclusion. 

Grace watched Sam step closer, his eyes flickering to her for only a second before he turned to address Dean entirely. Grace was no help in the matter, no matter how much easier it was to convince her than it was to convince Dean. “All right, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died? 

“Yeah.” Dean grabbed the picture from his outstretched hands, studying it carefully despite having almost every aspect of the print memorized. Grace leaned back in her chair, fingering pulling through her knotted locks that trapped heat at the back of her neck. 

“And it didn’t burn down completely. They rebuilt it, right?” Sam asked, voice thick with contemplation that Dean and Grace still didn’t know anything about. He was making no sense, but they’d been abused by weirder conversations. 

“I guess so, yeah. What the hell are you talking about?” Kansas was always a sensitive topic for Dean, not that he would ever admit that, but his siblings had learned to sparingly bring up Mary and the house he’d spent the first six years of his life within after one to many explosive conversations. They all had a hard time discussing the events that had led up to where they currently found themselves in life, but it was different for Dean because he could remember what it was like to only worry about monsters in a hypothetical sense. He remembers what it was like to come home from school, have an afternoon snack at the table and work on homework. He remembers what life was supposed to be for them and even if he doesn’t mind the hunter life, there’s still a little boy inside of him that yearns for what he hadn’t even had a chance to appreciate having at all. 

“Okay look, this is gonna sound crazy but the people who live in our old house, I think they might be in danger.” Sam sank into the chair next to Grace at the table, his eyes flickering to hers as he silently pleaded with her to blindly trust him on this. It never took much for Grace to do that, to put all of her trust into her brothers, but she still found herself frowning in concern as she glanced at Dean. 

“Why would you think that?” She asked hesitantly, soft eyes glancing back at her brother when it became evident that Dean wasn’t going to be the one to speak up and dig further. His eyes were glued to the picture, like he was trying to memorize every detail of Mary’s face. Grace’s heart thumped in her chest, wishing desperately that she could remember her mother in even the smallest capacity. She couldn’t. She’d never been able to. 

“Um– Just, uh– Look, just– you got to trust me on this, okay?” Sam was frantic, scrambling for anything that would turn Dean in his favor, but he didn’t say anything else, anything more. He had given them crumbs and expected them to make an entire dessert. Grace could only frown deeper, rubbing at her head as the good mood she’d woken up in began to ebb away. 

Sam stood from the table, moving toward the bags they had stacked up on top of a dresser in the far corner. Grace and Dean shared a concerned glance before the latter was rising from his spot at the table, the picture still in his grip as he addressed Sam. “Okay woah, woah, woah. Trust you?” 

“Yeah.” Sam nodded, breathless. Whatever had led him down this path had clearly shaken him, and he moved with an anxiousness that Grace hadn’t seen since he’d packed his bags for Stanford nearly three years ago. She’d been only seventeen years old, not quite prepared to lose one of her brothers, and despite how much she’d grown into herself since then, she feels that same unavoidable unease creeping up her spine as she watches Sam pack. 

“Come on man, that’s weak. You got to give me a little bit more than that.” Dean argued, standing between Sam and the door almost instinctively. He’d let him walk out the first time, there was no way in hell it was happening again when there was even less to go off of now then there was when he’d decided to follow his dream of being a lawyer. At the very least, that was practical. This was just insane. 

“I can’t really explain it is all.” Sam fired back, glancing up from his duffle bag for a second before his gaze snapped back down to what he was doing and he continued shoving clothes and weapons inside. 

Grace didn’t move from the table near the windows, but her soft voice cut through the room sharply. She’d never been the type to ask first shoot later, not when it was her brothers calling the shots at least, but something about Sam’s sudden interest in Kansas had her uneasy; like there was something far bigger going on just beneath her nose.“Sammy, you’ve gotta give us at least something to go off of.”

“Well, tough. I’m not going anywhere until you do.” Dean came back at him, both of them ignoring Grace who’d been trying to take a more level-headed approach. She rolled her eyes, wondering if they’d ever be able to settle a disagreement without raising their voices. 

For once, Sam wasn’t quick to jump on Dean, sighing beneath his breath as he strained out his posture and faced the both of them fully. “I have these nightmares.” Fell off of his lips, but there was more still forming on his tongue that Grace expected to be the main reason for his sudden interest in revisiting Lawrence. 

“I’ve noticed.” Dean nodded, though his exasperation was poorly hidden beneath his clipped tone and exaggerated hand movements. He’d been exceptionally bad at heart-to-heart moments lately, but the rekindling of old wounds had only given him a sharper edge. Grace didn’t bristle so easily, keeping ehr gaze unassuming and soft and she nodded for Sam to continue, taking a sip of her hot chocolate despite the fact that it was cooling down to a gross temperatur and she didn’t really want any more of it at all. Still she took a sip, feeling like she needed something to be doing with her hands as she waited for Sam to drop whatever bomb he’d been hiding on them. 

“And sometimes they come true.” That was not at all what either Grace or Dean expected to hear, and the book-end Winchesters had near identical reactions as they flinched away from the spoken truth, their dark eyebrows raising in confusion amidst other conflicting emotions that swirled at the forefront of their minds. 

“Come again?” Dean questioned, hoping that he’d heard Sam wrong, or at the very least had interpreted what he’d said wrong, but deep down he knew that wasn’t the case, knew he’d heard Sam correctly. 

Sam sighed, his eyes locking on Grace’s before he built up the courage to look back at Dean. Somehow, their sister was their safe person, and no matter the conflict, they looked to her for support not having to question if she’d give it. Grace managed a weak smile, nodding softly for Sam to continue. “Look, I dreamt about Jessica’s death for days before it happened.”

“Some people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” Dean shook his head, desperately wanting to convince Sam that what he thought to be true was just odd timing. Grace wasn’t so sure that he wanted to convince Sam of that for his benefit, or for his own personal sake. Dean had a good grip on his external emotions, but she was sure that this was freaking him out because it was freaking her out; not that it took much to rattle her. She’d always been the jumpiest of the three. 

Sam shook his head, his voice wavering the more he spoke about these nightmares and their direct correlation to events in his life. He looked so far from the strong, confident man that Grace had come to know since running away to Stanford. They’d both found themselves there, had created lives that had nothing to do with monsters and hunting, but the more time they spent away from the normalcy of campus life, the more they were losing themselves to the shadows of who they’d always been before that. She didn’t like it, but there was only so much they could do to change the inevitable. “No. I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. Now I’m dreaming about that tree, our house, and some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started. This has to mean something.” 

“I don’t know.” Dean admitted weakly, sinking into the bed as he looked down at the picture in his hands again, trying hard to wrap his head around what Sam had just laid out in the open. Sure, they’d been the one to push him to open up, but neither one of them could have anticipated this being what had him so rattled and set on returning back to Kansas. 

Grace locked eyes with Sam for a second, still sat beside the window despite every nerve in her body telling her to run as far away from all of this as she could. “Even if you have these dreams, Jessica’s death isn’t on you, Sammy. It’s not your fault.” She offered weakly, and for a minute Sam’s eyes flickered with something softer, but then they hardened again and he returned his gaze to Dean. 

“What do you mean you don’t know, Dean? This woman might be in danger. I mean, this might even be the thing that killed Mom and Jessica.” His voice raised, still trembling, still vulnerable, but there was a weight beneath his words that only drove his desperation further into the thick air of the motel room. 

Dean grumbled at his younger brother's persistence, standing from where he was perched on the bed to instead pace the carpeted floors. “All right, slow down, would you?” Dean didn’t beg, but he was pretty damn close to sounding like he was as he tried to get his thoughts and the facts in order. They knew monsters existed, they’d known that for decades. They had friends and connections that were psychics, so what was to say that Sam didn’t fall into that same mysterious category. There was little to deny the possibility, but accepting the truth felt heavy, like it would change the basis of everything they’d ever known and fought for. “I mean, first you’re telling me that you’ve got The Shining…and then you tell me that I've got to go back home, especially when…” Grace looks down at her hands, squeezing her fingers into tight fists when they begin to tremble without her consent. Her chest is tightening, she’s aware of it, but she needs to keep herself together. Sam looks to be on the verge of tears, and Dean isn’t faring much better. She can’t be the one to break down, not when they need somebody to be strong, but she can’t say that this isn’t a lot for her too. Seh remembers the years when all she’d ever wanted was to know about Mary. She’d ask John about her every little detail, even when those questions got her locked in motel closets and kicked out of diners; made to wait on the curb outside until the boys were finished eating. Going to Kansas had been something she’d wanted desperately at one point in her life, but now she’s not so sure she can face what should’ve been her life. It’s not fair that she has to. 

“When what?” Sam pleads with Dean, his voice soft and breathy. His eyes are wide, desperate and vulnerable as he lays everything he has left within him out on the table for his siblings to scrutinize and unpack at their own will. 

“When I swore to myself that I would never go back there.” Dean’s voice wavers, and Grace can see the tears pooling in his eyes as he turns his back to Sam, facing the windows before his chin sinks to his chest and he draws in a shaky breath. 

“Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.” Sam pleads, his eyes flickering to Grace, but he doesn’t need to look at her to know that she’s with him wherever life leads. She’d follow her brothers to the ends of the earth, because they were the only people that had ever been there for her through the thick and thin of life and its hardships. 

Dean takes a second, but eventually his head nods just slightly, and he peers over his shoulder to find Sam’s eyes. His jaw is clenched, his eyebrows are furrowed, but there's determination in his features that both of his siblings can read. “I know we do.” He says, and that’s all it takes for Grace to stand from the table in the corner of the room, knowing that within the hour they’d be off and on the road toward a place she hadn’t been since she was six months old. 

-

The car is quiet, filled with adrenaline and grief. Dean’s mood hangs heavy, and Sam’s isn’t much better. They’d said little about where they were headed since bags had been packed and the keys had been pressed into the ignition, but as they pass another sign on the side of the roads where overgrown crops and bushes thrive with the turn of Springtime weather, the atmosphere shifts to something different; something that Grace can’t quite interpret. She feels a small smile tug at her lips as she reads the words ‘Welcome to Lawrence’ , unable to deny that there's a small part of her that feels healed just being in this town. Her mother had lived here. Mary Winchester had lived within these town lines, and that meant something to the youngest Winchester even if it was just another fact to her older brothers. 

“This isn’t what I expected.” Grace hums quietly, unable to take the silence any longer. She knows this is hard for both Sam and Dean, it’s hard for her, but there’s something inside of her that feels like it's been reawakened now that she’s physically seeing the streets that her mother had walked on a daily basis. Had Mary envisioned walking her down these same streets? Had she thought that at one point, she’d sign Grace up for dance class at the ballet studio they passed right beside a small pharmacy? There were endless possibilities that would never have answers, but Grace still held onto the hope of inquiring anyways. It was all she had, and so it had to mean something. 

“What did you expect?” Sam asks with a light laugh, craning his head to look into the backseat and see her fully. Her body is pressed up against the driver's side door, her eyes wide and breathtakingly bright as she takes in all of the different houses and shops along the roads. For the first time in hours, his lips curve into a soft smile, and what awaits doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. 

“I don’t know… cows, maybe? I’d always thought that there was a farm.” She hummed thoughtfully, only just realizing how stereotypically normal Lawrence, Kansas is. Grace had always thought that there would be something unordinary in the town, something that set it apart from every other midwest suburb. She didn’t know why, she’d never know what, but that assumption had made it easier to swallow the trajectory of her childhood and adolescence when she was able to grab onto it. Now, after figuring out that the only abnormal thing had been them, her family, well, her heart fell further down into her belly, something twisting up within her that she couldn’t place, but it didn’t fully dim the sparkle that twinkled beneath her green eyes. 

“Sorry to disappoint, Gracie.” Sam laughed, reaching into the backseat to pat her knee affectionately. Even if her eyes were bright with wonder, he could still recognize the traces of pain and grief etched across her expression; he could still see how hard this was for her beneath the mask of enjoyment she’d crafted near perfectly. 

As Dean slowed the car until it came to a near complete stop in front of a two-story house that was painted a welcoming shade of baby blue, her eyes narrowed with scrutiny. There was no mistaking it as their own. The tree in the front yard, though it had aged and changed with passing time, remained almost entirely the same as it had appeared in the picture John kept in the first few pages of his journal. The surrounding area had changed since 1985 when the picture had been snapped, but it wasn’t hard to establish that this is the place they were meant to be in. She was antsy to step out of the car, to firmly plant her feet on the ground where her mother had walked. She’d spent twenty years desperately longing for a maternal figure, and while there wasn’t a way to bring Mary back, this was still the closest that Grace had ever gotten to knowing who she had been at all. 

“You gonna be alright, man?” Sam braved the question that Grace didn’t have the courage to say as Dean pulled the keys out of the ignition, his eyes focused on the house he’d spent the first six years of his life in. This was hard for Grace because she’d never gotten the chance to actually know this house or her mother, but Dean fell on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. She couldn’t imagine being him in this moment. 

A beat of silence elapsed as Dean kept his eyes on the house, a million memories playing in his head, but eventually he trailed his gaze to Sam, a soft, nearly inaudible sound, falling off of his lips. “Let me get back to you on that.” He requested, and both of his younger siblings nodded curtly. They could do that, they could give him the time to figure out how he was feeling before talking about it. 

Grace waited for Dean to step out of the car first, but when it became obvious that he wasn’t going to be the one to make a move, Sam opened his door, nodding for Grace to follow him even if Dean remained in the car. He didn’t. The second Grace had her feet on the ground, he was stepping out onto the road, breathing in through his nose before he exhaled through his mouth attempting to sike himself up for whatever faced them. 

Grace shuffled toward her eldest brother somewhat desperately, wrapping an arm around his waist as she stole an awkward hug. Her soft green eyes flickered up to meet his after a moment of contemplation, and even though his lips were set into a thin expression of neutrality, he didn’t pull away from the embrace. Sam was steps ahead of them both, hardly even aware that they’d stopped at all, but Grace didn’t mind the separation between them, desperately needing this quiet minute with Dean to have any chance at finding the strength she needed to get through this, even if it didn’t turn out to be their kind of gig. His arm fell around her shoulders, pulling her tighter into his side when he finally pulled himself out of the trance-like state he’d been in before. 

“You gonna be okay, sweetheart?” He asked quietly, keeping his hushed voice away from Sam who still hadn’t realized he walked alone toward the front door. 

Grace nodded, her head resting on Dean’s shoulder as she craned her neck to meet his worried eyes. She forced a slight smile, downplaying the torrential downpour of emotions that were muddying her clarity. Regardless, she gave him an answer. “This is what I’ve always wanted, isn’t it?” 

Dean sighed when Grace pulled away from his touch before he could tell her that she didn’t have to be strong just because she’d always wanted to come back here. He followed after her silently, joining Sam on the front porch, though he stuck close to Grace’s side, able to see through her near-perfectly curated mask of indifference. He promised himself that for her sake, he could see this case out. 

The door creaked open seconds later, and all three Winchesters stared at the woman in front of them for a second too long for it to be a normal exchange before Dean was slipping into his chosen role; not that they’d discussed what alibi they’d be giving this woman to keep their tracks clean. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal–” He began, but was quickly interrupted by Grace, who couldn’t lie in the face of honest truth. There was truth here, and fragile honesty, and she didn’t want to be some variant of herself that was fake and sleazy. Mary wouldn’t want that for her, for any of them, even if she’d never really known the woman, somehow Grace was sure of that fact. 

“I’m Grace Winchester, and these are my brothers Sam and Dean. We used to live here. Or, they did. I was a baby. But, I mean, I guess I lived here too. Um,” Grace fumbled over her words nervously, pulling at her knuckles as she tried to keep her eyes from peering behind the woman and inside of the house. Did it look the same? Had they kept the same layout? The same wallpapers and tile? She wouldn’t know, but the questions still came to her anyway. “We were just driving by, and we were wondering if we could see the old place.” 

Grace couldn’t stand to look at her brothers, so she kept her eyes on the woman in front of her, who smiled fondly at her rambling with a tilted head. This woman was a mother, Grace knew that the second she’d started rambling and all she’d received was a fond smile of encouragement. “That is so funny.” The woman noted, opening the door wider, giving all three of the siblings a deeper glance inside the house. “I think I found some of your things the other night. A stuffed bear and some photos. You said your name was Grace, right?” 

“Yes ma’am.” Grace nodded, her eyes tearful as she tried to keep herself together, but the longer she spent outside of the house that had been the only physical home she’d ever known, the harder it got to keep her emotions underwraps. Even if this turned out to be one of their gigs, it wasn’t just any other hunt. She couldn’t lie to herself and say that it was. 

“Come on in.” The woman smiled after a brief pause, and the invitation was all that Sam needed. He stepped over the threshold without hesitation, but Grace and Dean lingered outside. After nearly twenty years, they were back home, back at the place that had simultaneously started their lives and derailed them. 

Grace flinched when Dean laid a firm hand between her shoulder blades, but stepped over the threshold with a shaky breath. Dean closed the door behind them, his eyes sweeping across every piece of decor he could find, searching for something that Grace didn’t know about. Evidently, he came up empty, because as quickly as hope had filled his eyes, it vanished. They followed the woman into the kitchen where a little boy was kept occupied in a playpen, but he didn’t seem all that interested in the toys scattered around his feet, instead, he held onto the wooden bars, bouncing on his toes and demanding juice.

“That’s Richie. He’s kind of a juice junkie but, hey, at least he won’t get scurvy.” The woman laughed as she unlocked the refrigerator and reached for a sippy cup of what Grace could only assume was apple juice. She smiled fondly as the blonde crossed the floor and held out the cup for her son, ruffling his chestnut brown hair before she turned her attention back on the siblings. 

A young girl, no older than ten-years-old, sat at the counter filling out a sheet of homework. She wore a collared shirt beneath a sweater, her hair brushed and pulled neatly into a half-up half-down style. Grace wondered if her mother had done that. If she’d taken the time out of her morning to dress her kids in expensive clothes and style their hair to perfection. John had never done that for her. The earliest memory she has of having her hair brushed was by Dean’s hands, and he’d been less than gentle as he tugged out the knots and kept her still between his knees, stressed beyond belief as she wailed and squirmed away from the pain. Their lives had never been fair, but Grace was beyond glad that at least Sari’s seemed to be. “Sari, this is Sam, Dean, and Grace. They used to live here.”  

“Hi, Sari.” Grace greeted the girl softly, her smile warm and inviting like it always was when she didn’t have a role to slip into. It was weird, being on a case but having no cover story, though she wouldn’t say she minded the freedom to just be herself. 

“So, you just moved in?” Dean questioned, his eyes sweeping across the kitchen before they found the woman. Grace wasn’t sure if she’d even told them her name yet, but she couldn’t find the strength to ask as emotions piled up in her throat. 

“Uh, yeah, from Wichita.” 

“You got family here?” The question was innocent enough, but the woman still bristled as it fell into the air and smothered her beneath its weight. 

“No, I just, uh… um, needed a fresh start. That’s all.” She explains through thick emotions that she's obviously trying to keep away from her children. When Sari looks up, she forces a smile, breaking off into a different approach to explain how they found themselves in Lawrence. “So new town, now job – I mean, as soon as I find one– new house.” 

“So, how are you liking it so far?” Sam asks quietly when she turns to the sink, and her head snaps back to glance at them as she finds an answer to the question on her tongue. 

“Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home – I mean, I’m sure you have lots of happy memories here – but this place has its issues.” Grace bristles at the mention of happy memories. She’s honestly not sure that she has any at all – in this house or anywhere else that she’s lived –, and the realization that even some of the ‘best’ moments of her life were still twinged with worry and pain has her glancing down at her feet, tears pricking her eyes. 

“What do you mean?” Sam questions again, his eyebrows furrowed as he runs through a mental list of any abnormalities he can think of that relate to their unique specialty. Grace doesn’t even bother trying to play the role of a hunter in this moment, taking the time to just be a twenty-year-old kid with no real connection to anything real in life outside of her brothers. 

“Well, it’s just getting old, like, the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.” She can feel Dean stiffen at her side, and instinctively her hand reaches for his. She wants to berate herself for being so quick to an emotional response, but for once she just lets herself be, not having the energy to wage a war against her instincts when her heart is hammering in her chest to the point where she’s almost certain the insides of her ribs will bare bruises in the aftermath of this encounter. 

“Well that’s too bad. What else?” Dean, ever the stoic individual allergic to showing vulnerable emotions in the presence of others, lets her hold onto him, and softly he squeezes her hand between his fingers, reminding her that despite what they face and what stains their pasts, he’s here with her in this current moment. 

“Um… sink’s backed up. There’s rats in the basement.” She prattles on, but when Dean’s lips purse, she looks away bashfully; almost apologetically. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.” 

“No.” Dean’s quick to brush off her apology, smiling brightly despite the pain that clutches his heart in an iron grip and refuses to loosen. “Have you seen the rats or just heard the scratching?” 

There’s a flicker of contemplation on her face before it clears, and she inclines her head just slightly to the left as she trails her gaze up to meet Dean’s eyes.“Just the scratching, actually.”

Dean’s eyes flicker to the floor in a moment of realization – both that there was something here, and Sam was right to be frantic about the sudden happenings in his subconscious – but before her can question anything further, Sari was craning to face her mother somewhat bashfully. “Mom?” Her voice was incredibly thin, and Grace didn’t miss the way her shoulders sank beneath the weight of something.

The woman – who Grace has still not retained the name of – approaches her daughter quickly, abandoning the dish rag on the edge of the countertop to address her eldest child. She bends down to meet Sari’s level, and immediately the little girl's voice slips out timidly,“Ask them if it was here when they lived here.” 

For a moment, the mother looked panicked, but there was evident concern etched across her brow as she knew immediately what her daughter was so worried about. Before she had the chance to reassure Sari, or at least try to get the Winceshers to silently pick up on the need for reassurance, Sam was inclining his head encouragingly. “What thing, Sari?” He coached.

“The thing in my closet.” Sari’s eyes flicker downward almost immediately, and she doesn’t look up until her mother crouches beside her again, shaking her head in unabashed concern; somethin John Winchester had never shown his children. Grace’s heart clenches with longing as she watches the encounter unfold. Even if John hadn’t been the way he was when she was growing up, she doesn’t think she ever would’ve had this. Dean and Sam; Grace thinks that they would’ve, at least in some manly ‘bro-code’ way. She doesn’t harp on what she’ll never know for long, because Sari’s defiance against the reassurance Sam tried to give was all too familiar. “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom, and it was on fire.” Sari defends, and the hairs on the back of Grace’s neck rise. 

With the confirmation that something was definitely happening inside of the house, the Winchesters quickly excused themselves. Grace stepped out of the house ahead of her brothers, letting out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t even realized was blooming within her chest until she was no longer surrounded by what might’ve been relics of her past, but also could’ve been new things. 

“You hear that? A figure on fire!” Sam exclaims as he stomped down the stairs with passionate intent, his head craned in Dean’s direction as Grace remained steps ahead of them, needing to be in the car and surrounded by comfortable familiarity for at least a handful of minutes. 

“And Jenny was the woman in your dreams?” Dean double-checks, wanting to be sure that this hadn’t all been some odd one-off coincidence, not that he could really argue that case anymore, but desperately he tried to find grounds to believe it, not wanting to admit that their lives and their already askew definition of normal was becoming even more abnormal and eerie by the hour. 

“Yeah, and you hear what she was talking about – scratching, flickering light? Both signs of a malevolent spirit.” Sam doubled-down, and Grace could only sigh, continuing to listen to her brothers back and forth without contributing anything herself. 

“I’m just freaked out your weirdo visions are coming true.” Dean snapped, his jaw set tight as he picked up his pace, rushing toward the Impala with a desperate urge to just get the hell out of dodge and let what was apparently prophesied to happen, happen. He hated that he thought that at all, always the first one to defend the line of work they found themselves tangled into, but even he was beginning to feel indifferent about the case that brought them right back to where the worst night of their lives had occurred. 

Sam wasn’t as rattled as his siblings, and with fiery passion, he scoffed. “Forget about that – the thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?” 

“I don’t know!” Dean raised his voice, clearly frazzled from how many times Mary’s death had been dragged into conversation, but Sam still didn’t relent, if anything, his voice got more strained than it had been as he held his hands out at his sides. 

“I mean, has it come back or has it been there the whole time?”

“Or maybe it's something else entirely Sam. We don’t know yet!” Dean argued, for once coming across as the logical one of the two as Sam was fueled by raw emotion and terror, just not the same bone shattering emotion that his siblings felt. He was worried, panicked, sure, but Grace and Dean were terrified, and submerged in grief that had spanned across twenty years. 

“Those people are in danger Dean, we have to get them out of that house.” Sam threw back at his brother.

“And we will.” Dean assured, hoping that would be enough to sway Sam from doing anything irrational before they had all of the facts in line and a game plan, but all it did was spur him on more.

“No, I mean now.” The middle Winchester demanded, and had they still been inside the house, Grace knows his voice would’ve bounced off the walls with how loud it was. She couldn’t help but flinch away from the conflict, shrinking into herself as she watched her brothers squabble like children. 

“And how are you gonna do that? You got a story she’s gonna believe?” Dean threw his hands out in exasperation, his voice rising to match Sam’s. 

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Sam snapped, but there was evident worry shining through that hadn’t been so obvious before. He hadn’t done everything he could’ve to save Jessica, but now he had a chance to not let this woman die in the same way. Grace could sympathize with the grief and responsibility Sam undeniably felt, but acting rash and being quick to emotion was only going to get them all killed. Sam knew that once, he lived by that motto, but every day that passes in the wake of Jessica’s murder only drives him farther and farther away from the beaten path they’ve walked for years. 

“We wait, Sam! You know this!” Grace snapped, pushing herself off of the car door to stand between her brothers, aware of how her hands tremble and her voice wavers with emotions she has no control over. “Get your head out of your ass and think about those kids – that woman. You want to make up for how you handled Jessica, I get that, Dean gets that, but going in now is a sure fire way to get all of us killed, or worse, outed. So, would you please get in the fucking car already and stop acting like a toddler with no sense of impulse control?” She didn’t wait to see his reaction, she didn’t need to look at him to know that tears glimmered in his sad light eyes and his mouth hung open in startled shock. 

She slipped into the backseat without another word, pulling the door closed with unnecessary force. Dean shook his head, but in a moment of vulnerability, he pointed his words at Sam carefully. “I can’t have the both of you breaking down on this, man, and I can’t – we can’t – ask her to pretend like being here isn’t killing her. So for the love of god, start thinking about more people than just yourself, would you?” 

Sam nodded after a minute, looking past the reflection on the windows to see Grace. She has her nails between her lips, teeth gnawing away at scabbed over skin as she draws in deep breaths that don’t look to be having the desired effect as her shoulders remain tense and her back rigid. He hadn’t really seen her before, he’d been too far into his own head and worries, but he does now, and his heart hammers with guilt when he realizes that being here is the reason she’s so on edge. She’d wanted this moment for decades; had spent years grilling John about Mary and the first six months of her life only to be met with silence or explosive rage. She was finally here, finally getting to see what should’ve been her life – their lives –, and it was muddled by the very demon that had taken it all away from her. His heart hurt for Jessica, for himself, but it hurt even more for his little sister that only ever tried to find the good in the shitty cards life dealt her. 

-

“We just got to chill out, that’s all.” Dean said as he leaned against the trunk of the car, both him and Sam waiting by the pump as Grace ran inside to grab a handful of snacks to tide them over until they had a chance to grab a real bite to eat. She hadn’t said much since they’d pulled away from Jenny’s house, but she didn’t need to say anything at all for her brothers to know she was drowning. “If this was any other kind of job, what would we do?” 

Sam sighed, dropping his hands to the hood of the car as he looked around, racking his brain for the procedure they’d perfected and followed over years of trial and error. “We’d try to figure out what we were dealing with. We’d dig into the history of the house.” 

“Exactly, except this time we already know what happened.” Dean nodded, but Sam wasn’t too sure that he was right about that. 

“Yeah, but how much do we know? How much do you actually remember?” Sam sat on the trunk of the car, finally out of his head enough to address the bigger questions that he had. 

Dean sighed, “About that night, you mean?”

“Yeah.” Sam’s encouragement was blunt, but he knew better than to try and press Dean any harder than that. 

“Not much.” The eldest Winchester admitted after a moment of contemplation, “I remember that you had wet the bed so Mom put you down in Gracie’s room. I remember waking up to Mom screaming. I remember the fire… the heat. Then I carried you out the front door.” It wasn’t all that Dean remembered, but the more specific visuals didn’t need to be spoken. They weren’t important, but they flashed before Dean’s eyes anyways as he let himself remember the first night he’d ever tried to block out of his memory. 

Sam’s head inclines to the side, and he turns his gaze to settle on Dean’s. “You did?” 

“Yeah, well, you never knew that?” Dean frowned, but continued anyway. He’d spent decades holding onto these troubled memories, but being back where it had all happened, he just didn’t see the point in keeping them so close to his heart anymore. “Dad gave you to me. Told me to get outside as quickly as I could. Gracie was in their room… I think… I think Dad tried to get Mom first, but when he couldn’t, he went and got Gracie and met us outside. He got out there just before the explosion.”

“No.” Sam didn’t know what to make of that information. He’d never thought much about how he’d gotten out of the house, but now that he knew it was Dean, well something changed inside of him that he couldn’t quite place. 

“Well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do – Mom was… was on the ceiling, and whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.” 

Sam frowned, craning his head to glance at Dean before his eyes wandered to the scenery around them. “And he never had a theory about what did it?”

Dean shook his head, turning to sit beside Sam on the trunk.“If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times. God knows Gracie asked him enough times.” 

Sam didn’t want to accept that as the truth, but it was all that they had to go off of, and so he found himself taking the information for what it was worth anyways. “Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s going on now, we have to figure out what happened back then, and see if it’s the same thing.” 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, his eyes squinted as the sun shone brightly overhead. “Talk to Dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.” 

“Does this feel like just another job to you?” Sam asked, his voice solemn and quiet as he peered out at the road ahead of him. 

Dean swallowed thickly, his eyes watering as his adams apple bobbed. He didn’t answer the question, couldn’t bring himself to, and quickly he excused himself, not wanting to cry in front of Sam, and desperately not wanting Grace to choose this very moment to come back outside. “I’ll be right back. I got to go to the bathroom.” He excused, even though he knew Sam could see through the weak excuse. 

Minutes later, Grace came out of the gas station holding three bags of chips and a milkshake. The straw was pink, and on any other day she would’ve beamed at the small detail, but her eyes barely held onto their light as she sank into the trunk beside Sam, offering him the bag of doritos she’d snagged with him in mind. “I’m sorry.” She admitted quietly, glancing up to meet his eyes with nothing but sadness and regret clouding her green gaze. “I know this is a lot for both of you, not just me. I know I’ll never be able to understand how you feel about Jessica’s death. I just, I couldn’t listen to you fighting anymore. Not when– not when–” 

“Hey, hey.” Sam shook his head, cutting Grace’s tearful rambling off by throwing an arm over her shoulder, pulling her warm body into his embrace with gentle protectiveness. “I know, Gracie. It’s okay.” He pressed a kiss into the crown of her head, his eyes fluttering closed as for a minute, he let himself slip away into stillness. “Dean and I, we’re gonna canvas the area. Talk to anyone Dad might’ve had a connection to; anyone who might know more about what happened to Mom. If it’s too much, you don’t have to come. Believe me, Dean and I understand.” 

Grace shook her head, holding tighter to her milkshake that was hardly doing its job of bringing her comfort. “No. No, I need– I need to know. I want to know. You and Dean, you had Dad. Maybe he was an asshole, maybe you didn’t always see eye to eye, but he was still a guy, and in his own fucked up way he showed you he cared. I remember when he’d come back from a hunt with new hot wheels for you; when he was so fucking proud that Dean caught a bass on that fishing trip we took when he went to visit Bobby that one time. I just, Sammy, I want Mom. I’ve always just wanted a Mom. I want to know everything about her, and if this is all I’ll ever get, I have to be there to hear it myself. I just… I h-have to.” Tears fell down her cheeks, hot and salty as they pooled around the straw pinched between her teeth. 

“Okay.” Sam sighed softly, pressing another kiss into Grace’s head. “Okay. But I mean it, G. If this gets too much, if it’s not what you want to hear, or it’s too hard– Dad’s not here. You don’t have to push yourself to do this with us. Promise me… promise me that you’ll step away if you can’t do it.” 

“You know I can’t promise that.” Grace shook her head, not only because this was everything she’d ever wanted as a little girl desperately craving a maternal figure, but also because John Winchester would have a shit fit if he knew she was slacking; letting her brothers finish a hunt alone. He might not be here to see her fail, but it’s too close to home for anything she does to feel right. 

“I know.” Sam sighed, but his gaze snaps to Dean when he starts to approach the Impala, his hands in his pockets as he looks his eyes down. “She’s all ready to go.” Sam was talking about the car, about how the tank was finally filled and they could hit the road, but he was also talking about Grace. 

Dean looked his sister over, and when he didn’t find signs of unruly distress, he nodded, but not before Grace extended her arm and waved around the mint chocolate chip milkshake. “They had one of those f’real machines.” She hums quietly, silently offering him a sip. Not because she wants to share, no she’d always been territorial over her milkshakes and the boys had learned that the hard way over the years, but rather because she figured Dean could use a little pick me up, even if her offer was weak and he didn’t like milkshakes nearly as much as she did. 

The eldest Winchester managed a soft smirk, and he reached out to take the cup. He took a sip that was far too big for Grace’s liking, and the youngest Winchester pouted in disbelief. “Hey! Don’t drink it all!” She whined, reaching for the cup back before jutting her foot out to assault Dean’s shin. “Asshole.” She grumbled. 

“Get in the car, princess.” Dean knows how much his sister hates that nickname, and although Grace rolls her eyes in annoyance, she doesn’t fight it as aggressively as she would've done any other day. This isn’t any other day, and it’s definitely not any other case, and for the first time in a while she really does appreciate her brother's tendencies to annoy the living shit out of her. 

-

It was the next morning, and the Winchester siblings had an early start to the day despite none of them getting much sleep. Grace stuck close to Dean and Sam as they wandered through a mechanic garage, their eyes taking in every detail with the knowledge that once, John had not only worked here, but owned it. It feels so far-fetched to Grace. She can’t imagine a life where her father did anything but torment sorry sons of bitches (i.e., her) and hunt monsters, but apparently he’d had himself a quaint little life before everything got derailed. 

“So, you and John Winchester. You used to own this garage together?” Dean questioned, his leather jacket slung around his shoulders despite the comfortable temperature outside. Grace was in a pair of leggings and a Stanford t-shirt, one of many that she’d stolen from not only Sam, but from Jessica. She knows the one she wears currently is the womans, and it brings her just the slightest ounce of peace as she strives to keep her memory alive. 

“Yeah, we used to. A long time ago. Matter of fact, must be 20 years since John disappeared. If I’m remembering correct, his littlest one should be about your age.” The man muttered, looking at Grace, who for the time being, was playing the role of cop in training. She tried not to bristle at the mention of herself, but her fingers twitched with emotion that lucky didn’t draw eyes. “So, why are the cops interested all of a sudden?” 

“Oh, we’re reopening some of our unsolved cases, and the Winchester disappearance is one of them.” Dean nodded, looking to Sam before he trailed his eyes back to his fathers old business partner. 

“Uh-huh. Well, what do you want to know about John?” The mechanic questioned, and Grace was suddenly aware of who truly off her game she was. She knows the man introduced himself, knows that Sam and Dean both had told her who he is and what his connection to their father was, but she cannot find his name in her memory anywhere. 

“Whatever you remember. Whatever sticks out in your mind.” Dean opened the conversation up to miniscule details and major ones, knowing that they’d be able to do a lot with any information at all. 

“Well… he was a stubborn bastard. I remember that. And, uh, oh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know? It was that whole marine thing.” The mechanic had no idea who the three individuals in front of him really were, but somehow it wasn’t surprising for Grace to hear from an unbiased opinion that her father was a rough character and a hard man. “But, uh. Well, he sure loved Mary, and he doted on those kids.” Grace couldn’t picture a time where John had felt anything but resentment and hatred for her, but evidently there had been a small window of love because the man had no reason to be lying to them. What had changed? Sure, losing Mary had changed him, but there were still moments in the early years when he didn’t treat the boys any differently than he always had. So, it must’ve been her. There must be something so horrible about her that even her father can’t stand her simple presence. 

“But that was before the fire.” Sam noted, almost certain that he was correct, but needing verbal confirmation to fully run with whatever theories he was trying to wave together. 

“That’s right.” The man nodded, his eyes falling to the concrete floors as memories flooded his mind. 

“He ever talk about that night?” Sam continued to press, but there was an unmistakable gentleness in his tone as he flickered his eyes to Grace momentarily. 

“No, not at first. I think he was in shock.” Grace could picture that being the case. Even when John had formed a thick skin around monsters and the plethora of things that went bump in the night, there had still been cases that rattled him to a short temper and violent anger. Grace had always thought that was one of the most ironic things about the way she was raised. John allowed himself to be rattled and affected by the cases he worked and the monsters he hunted, but the second it was her that couldn’t quite carry the load of trauma and terror, she was berated and beaten until she promised to never show weakness again. 

“Right, but eventually – what did he say about it?” 

“Oh, he wasn’t thinking straight. He said, uh– he said something caused that fire and killed Mary.” The man nodded as he remembered events that happened almost twenty years ago. 

“He ever said what did it?” It was Dean’s turn to press for more, and so Grace shifted her weight, squaring her stance as she raised her chin to look at the man who had known her father before everything went downhill. 

“Nothing did it. It was an accident.” The man bristled, “An electrical short in the ceiling or walls or something. I begged him to get some help, but…” 

“But what?” Grace found herself being the one to ask, her eyes sharp and interested even though all she really wanted to do was shrink into herself and step as far away from this conversation as she could get. She wanted to know about Mary, about her mother, not listen to people try and sympathize with her lifelong abuser. 

“Oh, it just got worse and worse.” The man noted, but when Dean pressed for more, he relented easily. “Oh, he started reading these strange old books. He started going to see this palm reader in town.” 

Grace perked up at the mention of someone new for them to tail, her eyes narrowing as she inclined her head and looked up at Dean. “Palm reader? Do you have a name, sir?” 

“No.” The man chuckled, shaking his head like not having a name wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe it wasn’t to him, but Grace felt her shoulders sink in defeat. It wouldn’t be impossible to locate which one her father had visited, they’d found more with less, but still it felt like just another roadblock keeping her from the truth. 

They didn’t stick around for much longer, and when they did finally clamber into the Impala, Sam insisted that they find a phone booth and book to search for more answers about this supposed palm reader. Grace had no objections to her brother's suggestion, nodding her head quietly as she sank into the backseat and pulled her knees to her chest. Once upon a time, Dean had been adamant about a ‘no shoes on my seats’ rule, but that had lasted merely a week before he gave up and let Grace do whatever she damn well pleased. Even if the young woman didn’t realize it, she always got what she wanted when her brothers were around. 

That’s how they found themselves in a near abandoned parking lot. Sam had his nose in a phone book, and Dean and Grace leaned against the Impala, happy to take a step back for a minute to get their composure in order. “So, there are a few psychics and palm readers in town. There’s uh, there’s someone named El Divino. There’s the mysterious Mr. Fortinsky. Uh, Missouri Moseley–” Grace stood up straighter at the third name that rolled off of Sam’s lips. 

“Wait! Missouri Moseley?” She backtracked, her eyes wide as she stepped forward to read the name over Sam’s shoulder. 

“What?” Sam craned his head to look at his little sister, moving the book just slightly so that she could see the entire page, not sure what information she was after or what puzzle she was putting together in her head. 

“She’s a psychic.” The young woman breathed out in realization, immediately pulling away from Sam and stalking toward the trunk of the car, leaving her brothers to stand alone in their confusion as she unintentionally kept them in the dark. She pulled the trunk open, her movements frantic as she ripped through their duffles until she found John’s journal. “In Dad’s journal… come here, look at this!” 

She slammed the trunk closed, flipping open the worn leather cover as her eyes scanned the words scribbled in black ink. “The first page, the first sentence. I’ve always thought it was weird. Read it.” 

She pushed the book into Dean’s hands, and Sam came to stand beside their brother, his eyes scanning the page before he began to read aloud. “I went to Missouri…and I learned the truth.” 

“I always thought he meant the state.” Dean mumbled beneath his breath, but Grace had never been so blind to the intricate quirks of John’s work. The way he wrote state names and people names was different, if only just slightly. The way he’d dotted the ‘i’ like he’d been trying to signify something without outright saying it had always stumped her. Her fathers handwriting was terrible and messy, but something about Missouri had always seemed so formal and correct to her. She didn’t say anything else, just snatched the journal back and crawled into the backseat, silently telling the boys to get a move on before she melted down from anxious anticipation. 

-

The Winchester siblings sat in the foyer of Missorui Mosley’s home and practice, waiting for their turn with the psychic as they individually went over what they knew about the case. It wasn’t even a full five minutes later when they heard a woman’s voice draw near, and seconds later a black woman who Grace assumed to be the woman they were seeking a conversation with led a middle-aged man out toward the door. “All right, then. Don’t you worry about a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.” She smiles encouragingly, showing the client out, but the second she closes the door behind him her expression drops into one of pity, “Whew! Poor bastard – his woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.” 

Grace’s lips quirk upward in tired amusement, her eyes trailing after Missouri as she steps back toward where she’d come from. “Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean questioned, a smirk splaying across his lips although Grace thinks that has more to do with the mental image rather than the actual deception at hand. 

“People don't come here for the truth. They come for good news.” The woman corrects Dean’s expectations for her service, and when it becomes clear that Grace is waiting for her brothers to make a move and neither of the Winchester men are eager to comply with the time crunch they’ve been presented with, Missouri looks back over her shoulder in exasperation. “Well? Sam and Dean, come on already. I ain’t got all day. Your sisters waiting for you.” 

Despite the emotional exhaustion that weighed Grace down, she couldn’t help but find herself smiling as she stood from the cushioned bench and followed after Missouri, looking back at her brothers with amusement as they begrudgingly followed after her, evidently not so pleased with the favoritism their sister was already being shown by the psychic. 

“Well, let me look at you.” Missouri demanded once all three Winchesters had ducked beneath her doorframe decorated in beads. Grace’s cheeks flushed bashfully as she felt the woman's eyes rake over her frame, subconsciously rubbing at the spot on her bicep where a bruise always lingered whenever John was around to drag her around like a puppet. If Missouri noticed the movement, which Grace knew that she did, she didn’t comment on it. “Oh, you boys grew up handsome. And you were one goofy looking kid, too.” She pointed to Dean specifically, and Sam’s lips quirked into a smirk as he glanced at their older brother. “And you, Miss Grace, you look just like your mother. If I didn’t know any better I’d say I was looking at her carbon copy.” 

Grace’s heart thumped heavily in her chest at the complement, her cheeks flushing pink as she glanced down at her shoes bashfully. In all of her life, she doesn’t think anyones ever compared her to Mary; not John, not her brothers. She knows Missouri’s being more kind than she is truthful – Mary had blonde hair, Grace has brown. Mary had thinner lips, Grace hates how full hers are – but it still warmed her heart and hurt her feelings nonetheless. Would Mary be proud that they looked alike? Would she float around in all of her social circles beaming about how her baby girl has the same high cheekbones and kind eyes as her? Desperately Grace hopes that would’ve been her reality. She knows that had she looked more like John, he would’ve drawn no attention to it. 

Missouri grabs onto Sam’s head, and her gaze saddens as she looks at him carefully. “Sam. Oh, honey. I’m sorry about your girlfriend, and your father…he’s missing?” All three siblings inclined their heads at the women's knowledge of their situation. Grace hadn’t doubted her abilities for a second, not when she knew John Winchester only sought out the best of the best, but it was still eerie for a supposed stranger to simply know and be aware of their hardships. 

“How’d you know all that?” Apparently Sam couldn’t blindly trust as easily as Grace, because even with the premonitions and nightmares that plagued his subconscious, he still found himself questioning Missouri’s abilities. 

“Well, you were just thinking it, just now.” Missouri fired back at him. 

Dean bristled at the mention of their father, and his eyes betrayed his composure as they bled worry and concern. “Well, where is he? Is he okay?” 

“I don’t know.” Grace knew that Dean wasn’t going to take that answer well, but before she could speak and control the nature of the conversation, Dean was narrowing his eyes, disbelief clouding his gaze. 

“Don’t know?” He questioned, shaking his head as he glanced at Sam and Grace. “You’re supposed to be a psychic, right?”

Missouri recoiled at his tone, her eyebrows furrowing. “Boy, you see me sawing some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air. Sit. Please!” She demanded, her gaze snapping to Sam who was smirking in amusement as Dean got – rightfully – torn into. 

Grace didn’t have to be told twice, shuffling forward until she could wedge her body into the corner of the couch closest to the windows. Sam fell into the cushions beside her, his thigh brushing against hers as he adjusted his position to rest his elbows on his knees. Grace rolled her eyes, batting him away from her until a sliver of space separated their skin. She’d never understand her brother's inability to sit considerably. She was always benign squished onto someone or something. 

“Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m gonna whack you with a spoon.” Missouri interjected before Dean could even get comfortable on the couch, his weight still sinking into the well-loved cushions as her warning fell into the air. 

“I didn’t do anything.” Dean defended, his head inclined to the side as he glanced at the psychic with wide eyes and a slack jaw. 

“Well, you were thinking about it.” She clapped back at him, and once again Sam found himself laughing in amusement. Grace wasn’t so easily distracted from the case at hand, growing antsy to find any kind of answer for what they were dealing with or what Mary had been subjected to. 

Sam shifted on the couch when a beat of silence elapsed, leaning forward just slightly to address Missouri. “Okay, so. Our dad. When did you first meet him?” 

“He came for a reading a few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say I drew back the curtains for him.” Missouri explained, and conflicting emotions bombarded Grace’s heart as she looked across at the woman. She had better things to put her energy into, but still she couldn’t help but linger on the newfound knowledge that in part, this was the woman she had to blame for her life becoming what it was. It wasn’t Missouri’s fault, she couldn’t have predicted what John would do with that information once he had it, but without her helping hand, there might have been a chance at normalcy for the youngest Winchester. 

“What about the fire?” Dean questioned, evidently not phased by the deeper connections that his sister was making, but then again, he didn’t have any hard feelings about the life they lived. He’d never known anything else, and at this point, he didn’t see any way out, so there wasn’t much for him to harp on or shed tears over. “Do you know about what killed our mom?” 

“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hoping I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing.” Missouri explained, but she trailed off, evidently emotional as her voice softened and ehr tone wavered just slightly. 

Sam leaned closer, eager to know what else the woman knew about Mary and that fateful night. “I don’t…” She faltered, shaking her head. 

“What was it?” Sam pressed for more, able to see that there was something Missouri was holding back from them. 

“I don’t know.” She exhaled sharply, her head shaking as she recalled the things she’d sensed all those years ago. “But it was evil.” She rose from the couch, moving her body to keep the memory from consuming her entirely. Grace knew that coping strategy well, but it wasn’t doing her a lot of good now that they’d been spending so much time trapped within the Impala. 

Eventually, Missouri collected herself, turning back to the Winchesters with concern in his dark eyes. “So, you think somethings back in that house?” 

“Definitely.” Sam nodded, speaking for both of his siblings who were more than content to let him take the lead on this. 

“I don’t understand.” Missouri mumbled, sinking back into the chair she’d been sitting at before, her eyes trailing across all three siblings. 

“What?” Sam asked, his eyebrows pinching together in confusion. 

“I haven’t been back inside, but I’ve been keeping an eye on the place, and it’s been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it acting up now?” She asked the same question that Grace had. 

“I don’t know. But Dad going missing and Jessica dying and now this house – all happening at once – it just feels like something's starting.” Sam explained thoughtfully. Grace felt goosebumps rise on her arms as she considered that very real possibility. She was raised to face danger in the face, but she wanted absolutely nothing to do with whatever supernatural storm was undoubtedly coming their way. 

“That’s a comforting thought.” Dean hummed humorlessly. 

-

After telling Missouri more about what they thought was happening in Jenny’s home, the psychic insisted on sniffing out the supposed energy herself, which is how all three Winchesters ended up back at their old house standing on the porch with her at their side. Grace stood slightly behind her brothers, her eyes taking in every minor detail of the front door as they waited for Jenny to greet them. Missouri glances at her, but Grace pretends not to notice, keeping her eyes on the house. 

Eventually, the door is pulled open and Jenny comes into view with Richie on her hip, looking slightly panicked if her grip on the toddler's overalls was any indication. “Sam, Dean, Grace, what are you doing here?” Her eyes trail across every Winchester on her doorstep curiously, although they linger on Grace for a second longer than they’d lingered on her brothers. 

“Hey, Jenny.” Sam greets hesitantly, his eyes on Richie before they shift toward the woman just slightly behind him. “Um, this is our friend Missouri.”

“If it’s not too much trouble we were hoping to show her the house, for old times sake.” Dean cut in, pulling out one of his signature charming smiles as he looked at the single mother in front of him. 

“No, you know, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of busy.” Jenny’s eyes flicker nervously, and instinctively she steps back into the house, preparing to leave the Winchesters out on the doorstep. Grace doesn’t miss the uncertainty that’s laced within the woman’s eyes, or the way that she holds onto Richie just a little bit tighter as she steps back. 

Dean evidently doesn’t pick up on the same telling traits as Grace, because he takes a step forward, his tone becoming harsh and intent. “Listen, Jenny, it’s important – ow!” He whines, holding the back of his head as he turns his gaze to Missouri, wondering why she’d just slapped the back of his head with no warning. 

“Give the poor girl a break. Can’t you see she’s upset?” Missouri scoffed, looking at Dean with furrowed eyebrows and a judgemental frown. “Forgive this boy. He means well. He’s just not the sharpest tool in the shed. But hear me out.” 

“About what?” Jenny frowned, but turned her body toward Missouri, giving the woman her full attention. 

“About this house.” 

Jenny frowned, but there was something beneath her eyes that told Grace she already knew where this conversation was heading. “What are you talking about?” She asked regardless, not ready to admit that all of the strange feelings she’d been having were related to the house itself. 

“I think you know what I’m talking about. You think there’s something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?” Missouri approached the conversation softly, but there's a firmness in her tone that has Jenny staring back at her in concern. Clearly Missouri had hit the nail on the head, but without knowing who the woman was or what she was capable of doing, it only further unsettled the mother of two. 

“Who are you?” Jenny questioned, emotion laced into her tone as her eyes flickered to Grace. 

The youngest Winchester stepped around her brothers to stand beside Missouri when it became evident that Jenny wanted to hear the words come from her. She doesn’t know why the woman likes her so much, but from the very first time they’d met Jenny hadn’t looked at her the same way she’d looked at the boys. “We’re people who can help you; help your kids. We can stop this thing, but I need you to trust me for that to happen. You don’t have to trust my brothers, or Missouri, but I need you to at least trust me. Can you do that?”

Jenny sighed, and for a moment Grace thought that she was going to turn around and close the door in her face, but then she inclined her head toward the entryway and stepped out of the way, nodding softly in acceptance of Grace’s terms and conditions. The youngest Winchester smiled gracefully, but that quirk in her lips slipped away as she stepped into the house, her eyes immediately wandering to the stairs. Her nursery was up there. The room that Mary had spent time decorating and perfecting for her was just right up those steps, and maybe it wasn't exactly the same anymore, but the young woman still itched to see it. 

“We’ll need to take a look upstairs. If that’s okay with you, Jenny.” Missouri explained softly, and Grace’s heart skipped a beat when she realized that whether she could handle seeing her old bedroom or not, that’s where they were going. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until they made it up the stairs and Missouri pushed the door open until all four of them could slip inside. 

“If there’s a dark energy here, this room should be the center of it.” Missouri commented, her eyes taking in the soft pink walls and white trimming. 

“Why?” Sam questioned, but Grace knew that he’d already figured out why this particular room was so important to Missouri. His eyes held crystal tears, but he refused to let them fall as he glanced around at everything he couldn’t remember. It was the room of a child undoubtedly, but he still couldn’t draw on the memories of it being a baby’s room, much less his sisters. 

“This used to be Grace’s nursery. This is where it all happened.” Missouri explained regardless of what the Winchesters already knew. 

“It looks the same.” Dean breathed beneath his breath, and Grace’s gaze snapped to him immediately. Her breath hitched, and immediately she drew her eyes to every miniscule detail. It was obvious that the room had been renovated, but she couldn’t help but think some of the paint was its original craftsmanship. A spot on the wall near the window was streaky, and very obviously not the work of a professional. Did Mary paint the room by herself? Had Dean and Sam helped her do it? The help of a toddler would explain why the coat was uneven, and it warmed her heart to think about a little five-year-old Dean helping paint what would be her room. 

She must’ve gotten lost in her head, because when she finally tuned into the conversations happening around her, Missouri had her full attention on Dean as she asked him about what item he held in his palm. “That an EMF?” 

“Yeah.” Dean nodded without even looking up at the woman, and Missouri scoffed, shaking her head. “Amateur.” She commented. 

The EMF detector buzzed to life, the lights flashing red, but Missouri wasn’t convinced that what she found was what the Winchester’s thought they were dealing with, her attention turning to the three siblings who stood in a nonuniform cluster. “I don’t know if you kids should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom.”

Grace’s gaze snapped to the woman, and Sam’s eyes grew wider. “Are you sure?” He questioned, not sure whether he was relieved to not be facing that demon head on, or disappointed that he was still far from getting justice for Jessica and Mary. “How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s something different.” The woman noted, walking to another corner of the room, her gaze set firmly on the closet. 

“What is it?” Dean questioned, confusion etched across his features. 

“Not it…them. There’s more than one spirit in this place.” For a moment, Grace’s heart fluttered in her chest. Was it Mary? After all of these years, was she in the same space that her mother took up? No, Mary wouldn’t become a vengeful spirit. She didn’t know much about the woman, but what she did know was that her mother was kind, and sweet, and gentle. She wouldn't terrorize a little girl and go after a family that was so similar to her own. “They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds, and sometimes wounds get infected.” 

“I don’t understand.” Sam shook his head, but Grace couldn’t even find the words to voice her confusion, or any words at all for that matter. Her eyes were still trailing across every inch of the room, mesmerised by its simple beauty and wondering what it must’ve looked like when it was filled with toys and clothes and a crib. When she was little, she’d always told John that she wished motel rooms came in different colors. He’d always scoffed and called her an idiot, but that had never deterred her from wanting a pink room to spend just one night in. She’d had a pink room. This was her pink room. Somewhere inside of her a piece of that broken little girl healed just slightly. 

“This place is a magnet for paranormal energy. It’s attracted a poltergeist – a nasty one – and it won’t rest until Jenny and her babies are dead.” Missouri explained, shaking her head as she reaped more of the spirits' intentions off of the walls. 

“You said there was more than one spirit.” Sam brought her attention back to that simple point, and Missouri nodded with assurance that she’d gotten that right. 

“There is.” She walked back toward the closet, “I just can’t quite make out the second one.” 

“D-Do you think it’s our Mom? Sari– Sari said she saw a woman burning in her closet. Is there a chance– could it be her?” Grace hated how she stumbled over her words, hated that she even voiced that question to begin with, but it was falling off of her lips before she could really think about what she was saying. 

Her heart broke when Missouri shook her head, her eyes soft and caring, but even that couldn’t soften the blow of losing hope yet another time. “I don’t think so. This energy… it’s different. I can’t quite put my finger on it.” 

“Well, one thing’s for damn sure – nobody’s dying in this house ever again. So, whatever is here, how do we stop it?” Dean stepped toward Missouri, standing in front of Grace who looked like she’d just been crushed from the very core of her soul. Her green eyes glittered with tears, her lips quivered with emotions she couldn’t suppress, and no matter how many times she tried to draw in a deep breath, her shoulders shook with sobs she was desperately trying to swallow. 

“I’ll be back.” The young woman whispered to nobody in particular, stepping out of the room before either of her brothers could decide to follow her out to the car. She needed a minute. She couldn’t be the strong, unafraid hunter her father expected her to be right now. She doesn’t think she’s been that girl since before she left in the middle of the night to join Sam at Stanford when she was nineteen.

The second she was out of the house, everything that she’d been trying to keep underwraps came tumbling out of her. She stumbled to the Impala, a hand over her mouth to catch the sobs that fell off of her tongue and drew attention to her presence in the quaint little town. Her chest ached, her throat burned, and when she finally reached the Impala, she threw a weak punch at the trunk, but that didn’t quell the agonizing pain anymore than sobbing like a child did. Her mind flashed white for a second, consumed by not only the stinging pain in her knuckles, but the emotional anguish that tore her up from the very core of her body. She had a million questions: How was this happening again? Why was this happening again? Was this something bigger than what she could see?, but there weren’t any answers for her to find, not right now at least. The simple truth was that sometimes, shit happens, but that felt weak and like only half of the truth as she reminded herself of all the terrible things that had accumulated over the course of her life. Why could she never catch a break? Anytime she tried to distance herself from the life her father had built without even consulting his children, something dragged her right back into the chaos of it all. Anytime she tried to accept the life of a hunter as her own, something terrible came for them; whether that be a tough case or her fathers very own fists. Nothing she did was right. She has no sense of herself. She thought she did for a while, thought she’d finally figured out what her life could be like if she just had the chance to work for it, but even the simple dream of normalcy felt like it didn’t fit her anymore. 

The woman, who was really only a twenty-year-old kid who’d never even really had a chance at life, finally manages to collect herself, and with trembling hands she brushes the tears from her cheeks and squares her shoulders. She might not be ready to face the music and go back into the house where her mother was murdered in her bedroom, but she doesn’t have a choice. She’s never had a choice. She doesn’t let the reality of her life keep her paralyzed in pain, if there’s one consistent thing about Grace Winchester, it’s that she doesn’t back down from a fight, and especially not one that her brothers are intertwined with. 

She’s about to walk inside, face her fears, when her brothers come out with Missouri on their heels. Jenny stands in the doorway, and when her eyes meet Grace’s, she smiles a soft smile that can only be described as something entirely maternal. It nearly chokes Grace up again, but she manages to keep her composure as she smiles back, hiding her fist behind her back as she’s acutely aware of the blood running down her fingers and dripping onto the concrete beneath her feet. 

“Where are we going now?” She asks when the boys are within earshot, and she tries to ignore how Dean’s eyes soften as they memorize the pain etched across her face. Her eyes are swollen and rimmed red, and she knows her cheeks are flush with emotion that she can’t even find a name for. She’s sad, scared, filled with grief, but there’s something else that plagues her too. Maybe it’s exhaustion, or maybe it’s something different; something that she’d never been able to understand when her father expressed it, but recognizes in herself now. She’s pissed. Pissed that yet another spirit is disrupting what’s left of their childhood home. Pissed that no matter how far they run, something always pulls them right back to the start of it all. Pissed that her mothers final resting place can’t even see peace. Whatever the feeling is, it fuels her rage, and she’s learned that rage can be a powerful and helpful tool in cases like this. 

“Back to Missouri’s.” Sam tells her softly, gently pulling her hand out from behind her back. He frowns when he notices split knuckles and sticky blood caked between her fingers. Grace is a lot of things, but she’s not violent or quick to anger. He can’t even begin to know how she’s feeling, but he guesses it's overwhelming enough to come away with split knuckles.

“Did you punch my car?” Dean questions, concern laced within his green eyes. Grace doesn’t know if it’s concern for her, or concern for Baby, but it's not hard to assume that he’s more worried about the state of his precious car than her nondominant hand. 

“She’s fine.” The youngest Winchester huffs, looking back at the Impala where the only indication that she’d even touched it at all is the smear of blood along the silver trim that dries down to something copper toned the longer it’s exposed to the fresh Spring air. “And it wasn’t even a punch. Dad would make me do it again just so that I did it right.” 

Dean shakes his head sadly, evidently not so concerned about the car in this moment. Grace averts her attention at the realization that it's her he’s concerned for, and she looks down at her shoes as she begins to feel like a child that everyone needs to keep an eye on. “I’m fine, Dean.” 

“Yeah, I know.” The eldest Winchester doesn’t believe her in the slightest, but she learned that response from him, so he doesn’t fight it. Instead, he just grabs her wrist, leading her over to the trunk where he has a first aid kit buried beneath their duffle bags. 

Sam leads Missouri back to her own car, evidently talking about what the next step should be. Grace thinks he just wants to give her another minute to collect herself without an audience, and she can’t say that she’s not thankful for his thoughtfulness as she flinches away from Dean’s soft touches to her wounded skin. “It's really the same?” She asks softly, looking up at him with so much untouched innocence in her eyes that his own heart stutters in his chest. 

“Yeah, Gracie.” He sighs, taking an antiseptic wipe and bringing it over her knuckles, trying not to react to the way she takes in a sharp breath of air when the sting registers in her head. He wipes the blood from her fingers before he tosses the wipe into the trunk to be dealt with at a later date, reaching for bandages that he knows she’ll rip off in only a matter of hours, but still puts the effort into finding regardless. “Dad wanted to hire painters, but Mom wanted to do it herself. When he was at work one day, she took Sammy and I out to the store to get the paint. She had it all figured out; she always did. I remember… I remember painting with her when Sam was taking a nap. You would’ve loved her, Gracie. She was… you are… God, you’re just like her. From what I remember anyways. She never backed down from a fight, never let anything stop her. She and Dad would go at it, and then she’d just start laughing because she couldn’t take him seriously when his face got all red. She was– she was the only person that could make him laugh in the middle of a fight. But, um, yeah, the paint is the same.” 

“I always wanted a pink room. When I was little, when we first started going to different motels, and Dad started working longer cases. I always told him that I wanted to stay in a pink room, and he always got so pissed off and told me to shut up and be grateful I got to sleep anywhere at all.” She hums, and Dean remembers that vividly. He’d always laughed and ruffled her hair, always tried his best to distract her from the fact that none of the walls were ever pink. He doesn’t say anything though, he doesn’t know what to say. Nothing will make those memories go away, and nothing will give her what she never had. Grace doesn’t bristle at his chosen silence, instead, she lets it fall over her until something else crosses her mind. “Dean?” She hums as she looks down at the bandages he’s wrapping around her knuckles. 

“Yeah, Gracie?” He sighs his attentiveness, letting his eyes flicker to hers for only a moment before he’s looking back down at her hand, pinching her fingertips and ensuring that nothing is broken or sprained. 

“Do you think I look like her? Missouri said I do but…” She trails off, biting at her lip as she waits for her older brother to find the right words to answer her question. 

“When you were little, you looked just like her.” He said eventually, and Grace’s heart dropped at the implication that she didn’t look like Mary anymore. That life had aged her beyond the point of recognizable similarities. “You have her smile, her laugh. That’s how I can tell when you're bullshitting me. You don’t laugh like her when you’re just putting on this act that everything’s fine.” 

“Oh.” Grace mumbles, tears pricking her eyes as she glances down at her feet. “I wish I got to know her.”

“Me too, Gracie. Me too.” Dean sighs, pulling her into his chest for a second. He kisses the top of her head before he pulls away and closes the trunk. “Get in the car. We have work to do.” 

-

Grace and Dean are at the dining room table at Missouri’s. Sam is leaning against a chair, not much help to them, but neither sibling calls him out for simply wandering around aimlessly. Dean doesn’t have the energy to fight, and Grace is just thankful that she has something to keep herself busy with. 

“So, what is all this stuff anyway?” Dean questioned as he filled another black cloth. Grace had already filled seven, steps ahead of her older brother who had never been good at following directions. The first three he made weren’t right in the slightest, and Missouri hadn’t been afraid to make him start over while mentioning that Grace was better at this than he was. It wasn’t often the youngest Winchester was singled out for something positive, and so she’d found herself grinning bashfully before sticking her tongue out at Dean. 

“Angelica root, van van oil, crossroad dirt, a few other odds and ends.” Missouri highlighted, nodding toward the individual bowls of herbs on the table before she diverted her attention again. 

“What are we supposed to do with it?” Dean bumped Grace’s arms, nodding toward one of the farthest bowls. She honestly couldn’t decipher what was what, but that didn’t really matter when it was all going in anyways. She moved it between them, reaching for another pinch of it and spreading it inside of her unwound black cloth. 

“We’re gonna put them inside the walls in the North, South, East, West corners on each floor of the house.” Missouri explained as she grabbed a seat at the table on the opposite side from where the Winchesters sat. 

“Punching holes in the drywall – Jenny’s gonna love that.” The sarcasm dripped from Dean’s lips like honey, and Grace rolled her eyes at his takeaway. She’d get over a few holes in the wall if it meant she and her children got to keep their lives. 

“She’ll live.” Missouri pursed her lips, looking directly at Dean who very quickly diverted his attention to the task at hand. 

“And this will destroy the spirits?” Sam questioned, still leaning his weight against the back of the chair, offering his siblings no help. Grace huffed at the bandages around her hand, the bulky padding was making it hard for her to tie off the bags, and so she began to pull it off without much care for how easily wounds could become infected. Both of her brothers rolled their eyes as she peeled the bandages away and discarded them on the table in a heap, but neither commented, knowing they would’ve done the same thing a hell of a lot sooner. 

“It should.” Missouri nods. Grace is about to tie off her eight bundle when Dean taps her bicep, sprinkling a pinch of something into the palm of her hand. He raises his own fingers to his lips, tasting whatever herb he’d dipped his fingers into, and immediately pulls away when he realizes that it tastes horrible. Grace can only roll her eyes at his idiocy, dusting her hand off on her pants as she goes back to the task at hand. “It should purify the house completely. We’ll each take a floor, but we work fast. Once the spirits realize what we’re up to, things are gonna get bad.” 

“Were they ever good?” Grace chuckles dryly, shaking her head as she ties off her final bundle. She huffs when she realizes that Dean still has two left, and he’s not moving any faster despite the finish line being in sight. She nudges his arm out of the way, pulling both black rags closer to her body, and by the time she finishes them, he’s only just finished the one he’d already been working on. 

-

Nighttime falls over Lawrence like a thick blanket, and Grace has taken it upon herself to see Jenny and her kids out of the house for a couple of hours while they do what they need. The single mother of two still only had blind faith in her, and that’s not something the youngest Winchester takes lightly as she softly caresses Richie’s back. She has one hand in Sari’s, guiding her down the steps, but Richie seemed insistent that she paid him the same amount of attention too. 

“Careful.” She warns the little girl who holds onto her tightly, her tone soft and incredibly maternal as she ensures that the little girl doesn’t slip beneath the cover of darkness that blurs the stairs together. 

“You’ve asked me to trust you, and I do, but– I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving all of you alone in the house.” Jenny stumbles over her words, stopping to stand at the bottom of the stairs as Grace fixes the jacket around Sari’s shoulders. She zips it up, hoping that the thin layer is enough to keep the little girl warm. 

“Jenny,” Grace puts a comforting hand on the top of Sari’s head, wanting to keep the little girl calm though she undoubtedly has picked up on the tension that strains her mothers shoulders and had filled her house when they’d first arrived minutes ago. “I lost my mother to something evil in this house, and it still haunts me to this day. Let me make sure that your kids don’t lose you too, okay? This is my job. It’s the only thing I’m good at. Take the kids to see a movie or something, and it’ll all be over by the time you get back. Okay? Can you do that for me?” 

Jenny stalls for a minute, but eventually she nods, shifting Richie’s diaper bag higher on her shoulder as it begins to slip off. “Okay.” She relents. 

Grace gives Sari’s head once last caress, and she brushes her fingers against Richie’s cheek before she nods, turning to walk up the stairs and back into the house once she’s certain that the family of three had gotten into their car okay. 

She sighs softly, desperately hoping that she can keep her word on this. She walks into the kitchen where Dean is already searching for a weak spot in the drywall. She doesn’t linger, knowing that time is running out and if she waits any longer, her job is going to get a whole lot harder. She knows where she has to go, and there’s something bittersweet about the fact that she’s the one that'll be putting the bundles into the walls of her childhood bedroom. She might not have been able to help when bad things were happening the first time around, but there’s something liberating in the knowledge that she’ll be able to end it all now. 

She climbs the stairs two at a time, looking into the master bedroom where Sam is supposed to be depositing one of the bundles. He looks over his shoulder when the hardwood creaks beneath her weight, and he nods encouragingly before his eyes go back to the wall. Grace takes a deep breath, continuing down the hallway until she reaches the bedroom that was once a nursery. She lingers in the doorway for a minute before she’s pushing through the fear that grips her and walking into the closet. She shoves one of Sari’s rainbow dresses out of the way and gets to work at finding a weak spot in the drywall. For a minute, everything is fine, but then a hammer is hurtling her way and the only indication of its presence is the sound of the air around her whipping around. She turns just in time for the back of the hammer to break through the skin of her shoulder, penetrating her deep and painfully. She bellows out a loud cry of pain, sinking to the floor as she doesn’t know whether to rip the tool out of her shoulder or desperately cradle the area around it. For a minute, she remembers that she’s wearing Jessica’s shirt, and the pain only amplifies when she realizes that it's ruined; blood soaked and torn beneath her hands. The only things that gets her moving again is the stubbornness to not let it be in vein, and with all the effort that she can muster up, she breaks through the drywall and shoves the bag in just as the closet doors slam shut and something slides across the floor. 

Panic grips at the young woman instantly. Memories of crappy motel room closets flash before her eyes. She hates this. Hates confined spaces. Hates being trapped. She pounds at the doors with little energy, suddenly aware of all the blood she’s losing as it drips down her chest and to her belly, leaving a crimson trail on the front of the shirt as if the circular ring around her shoulder isn’t enough. Her head feels heavy as she panics, her breathing coming out short and labored as she cries out weakly. “Let me out! Please! Please let me out!” She cries, but it's futile, because if these spirits have gotten to her, they’ve definitely gotten to Missouri and her brothers. She can’t breathe, her throat feels like it's closing in and every minuscule twitch of her muscles has her shoulder aching in brutal protest. 

It’s been years since she’s seen the inside of a closet like this, years since she’s been close enough to John Winchester to even be tormented with the thought of being locked away, but no matter how much she’s healed since the last time she found herself thrown into a motel closet and locked in there for hours, it all comes rushing back to her now that she’s faced with the same fate once again. 

Grace sinks to the floor, curling herself up as much as she could manage with the literal hammer sticking out from her shoulder. She knows that you never pull something like this out, especially not by yourself, but she’s panicking as she puts her head on her knees and tries to ignore the agonizing ache and inability to breathe. She doesn’t know when she started sobbing, but she’s acutely aware of how her shoulders tremble and it only further aggravates the open wound on her body. She doesn’t hear the footsteps getting closer, or even notice the closet doors opening until Sam and Dean are both kneeling in front of her, concern filling their eyes as they take in the sight of her sobbing into her knees and rocking back and forth. Her knuckles are white from how tightly she’s holding into the fabric of her pants. When Dean’s hands frame both sides of her cheeks, guiding her face up to meet their soft and concerned eyes, she flinches back, and only then does Sam notice the hammer lodged deep within his baby sister's shoulder. 

“Fuck, Gracie.” He cusses lowly, scrambling closer to assess the physical damage while Dean tries to coax her through the emotional. He’s cradling her to his chest, reminding her to breathe with him, desperately trying to bring her back down to reality as she claws at her throat and weeps. “Hey, I need to get it out, okay? It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, but you’re gonna be fine. I need you to answer me, Gracie. You’ve lost a lot of blood, I need to hear your voice.” If it was any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have been so persistent to gain her attention, but he needs to make sure that she’s okay enough for him to do this. He reaches for one of the shirts hanging in Sari’s closet while he watches her, ripping it in half like it’s the easiest thing in the world, preparing to use it as a tourniquet of sorts until they can get her back to the motel to patch her up for real. 

“Gracie girl, I need to hear you.” Dean mumbles softly, his fingers tapping at the side of her face when her eyes flutter closed. “Come on, sweetheart. Tell Sammy you’re okay.” 

“G-Get it out.” Grace pleads with as much strength as she can muster, finally feeling like she can breathe again as the panic attack slips away into something of the past. “Please Sammy, it hurts.” 

“Okay, okay. I’m gonna count to three, okay? And you’re gonna squeeze Dean’s hand as hard as you want.” Sam grips the hammer tightly, nodding at Dean that he’s ready whenever he is. He doesn't’ consult Grace, it doesn’t matter whether she’s ready or not, because he knows it's going to hurt like a bitch with or without the mental preparation. “One,” He doesn’t even get to two before he’s ripping the hammer out of her shoulder and tying the tourniquet around her. The young woman bellows in pain, her head thrown back on Dean’s shoulder while she squeezes his hand tightly. “I need you to move your arm. We need to make sure it didn’t tear a muscle.” He coaches roughly, knowing that if he was any softer with Grace she wouldn't actually register what he was saying. 

Grace does as asked, wincing and whimpering through the entire ordeal, but eventually Sam’s content, and tells her she can put her arm down. She slumps against Dean’s chest, sobbing into him as she grips at his flannel tightly. Neither of her brothers have to ask to know that she’s not crying because of the pain, but because she’d been trapped in a closet with no escape, and this time she hadn’t even done something to deserve the punishment; not that any of the times John threw her in the closet was deserved, but point still stands that this was the last thing she’d expected to be subjected to today. 

“Where’s Missouri?” Grace asked eventually, pulling herself away from Dean when she felt capable to move on and forward. She wiped at her cheeks with the hand that wasn’t connected to an injured shoulder, clearing away the tears that had fallen. 

“Downstairs.” Dean informs, clambering to his feet when he realizes that Grace wasn’t willing to take another minute to collect herself. He offers her his hand and pulls her up to her feet when she grabs it. She rolls out her shoulder, groaning in pain, but she doesn’t let it slow her down. Believe it or not, she thinks she’s finished a hunt with worse injuries not inflicted upon her by monsters and spirits. 

Grace grimaces when she sees the state of the kitchen, knowing there was no way that Jenny wouldn’t notice the damage to her kitchen table. The walls were one thing, but adding damage elsewhere was breaching unforgiving territory. She stalks over to one of the kitchen chairs, taking a seat as she feels woozy for a second. It hadn’t occurred to her how much blood she’d lost until she glanced down and found a trail of blood leading down to her fingers and even more staining the front of the shirt. Again she feels herself getting worked up, running the tip of her finger along the stark white lettering that still says Stanford, though now the letters are noticeably discolored. 

“This was Jessica’s shirt.” She frowns more to herself than anyone else but Sam hears her as he approaches with a glass of apple juice, and sadly his lips quiver into a comforting smile. “Thanks.” She mutters tiredly, reaching out for the juice that she knows will replenish her blood. Learning that little hack had saved them from too many trips to the emergency room, but it wasn’t an immediate cure, and so even after she’d chugged the contents and shoved the glass into Sam’s waiting hands, she still found it hard to keep her head up and her vision clear. 

“Are you sure this is over?” Sam questions after he’d placed the glass in the sink, coming back toward Grace with a bottle of water that he’d already cracked open. She sips it slowly, savoring the cold feeling washing across her tongue and throat. 

Missouri nodded, “I’m sure.” 

“It better be over.” Grace slurs from the kitchen chair, her head lulling to the side as her eyes become heavy. She fights to keep herself awake, taking another sip of the water and setting her eyes firmly on Sam. 

“Why? Why do you ask?” Missouri turned to face Sam, concern flooding her features. 

“No, never mind.” Sam sighs, shaking his head. “It’s nothing, I guess.” 

Missouri didn’t have a chance to press Sam any further because the lights in the hallway were flickering to life the second he’d finished speaking, and soon Jenny’s voice trailed in from the front door. “Hello? We're home.” She announced, coming into the kitchen with Sari’s hand holding hers and Richie on her hip. Grace grimaced as she looked around, taking in the absolute destruction sight that had been made out of her kitchen. “What– What happened?”

“Hi. Sorry, um, we’ll pay for all of this.” Sam insisted out of instinct, despite the fact that they did not possess the funds to pay for everything they had damaged or entirely ruined. Their credit cards may be endless with the scams that John and Dean run, but their limits were well… limited. 

“Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess.” Missouri better amended the situation, and if Grace weren’t so lightheaded she would’ve laughed about how for once in his life he wasn’t being shown favoritism. “Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop. And don’t cuss at me.” 

Dean did as asked – or demanded – and cleaned up the kitchen to the best of his abilities while Sam made sure Grace didn’t pass out. By the time Dean was helping Missouri hobble down the stairs, she felt better if only the slightest amount, but she knew that a long night of sleep would be the best remedy she could find. She was looking forward to passing out in the backseat of the Impala, already longing to feel the chilled leather beneath her skin. 

She said goodbye to Missouri quickly, rushing toward the Impala once there was nothing else in her way. Grace Winchester was asleep before her brothers even got in the car. 

-

“Dean!” Grace woke up with a jolt, groaning in pain when the tension of her muscles aggravated the wound on her arm that had yet to be correctly patched up. She looked around frantically before she realized that her brothers were clambering out of the car and rushing toward the house. She didn’t think twice about following after them, sheer adrenaline fueling her body as she somehow managed to catch up with them just as Sam passed through the threshold of the house. 

“I’ll get Sari! You get Richie!” Sam yelled over the thumping of his heart, looking back at Grace who only nodded at the order. Her own heart was racing, but she pushed through the pain, taking the steps three at a time as she raced toward the little boys room. 

She found the toddler standing up in his crib, sobbing with his arms reaching out in her direction, evidently reaching for his mother if his babbled cries of ‘Mama’ were any indication of who he wanted most. Grace’s heart sank in her chest, but she pushed through the feeling, reaching out to pick the little boy up and cradle him close to her chest. 

“Shh, you’re okay, sweet boy. Everything’s okay. Nobody’s gonna hurt a hair on your little head, I promise.” She soothed the toddler to the best of her abilities, nearly crashing into Sam as he came flying out of Sari’s room. The little girl was in no better shape than her brother, but before Grace could call for her, try to be a person of clarity in the chaos, something was wrapping around her waist. “Sam! Richie! Get Richie!” She screamed as she was pulled backward, her arms letting go of the toddler with blind hope that her brother could move quick enough to catch him before he fell completely. 

Her head must’ve hit the wall as she was dragged backwards, because the next thing she knew was that she was pinned against the cupboards in the kitchen by an invisible force and Sam was right beside her in the same predicament. Before she could do anything, she was flung against the opposite wall, her body crashing to the ground before that same force lifted her up again and flung her over to where Sam was pinned. 

“Gracie! Sam!” She can hear Dean yelling, but at this point, she has no idea where the sound is coming from. Her head is throbbing, her shoulder is killing her, and every other inch of her body aches from being slammed against walls and the floor. 

She whimpers in pain when a figure walks into the room, and just like Sari had mentioned on their first day in town, it was on fire. Her eyes widened, Missouri’s doubts about her mothers spirit being in the house coming back to her. “Gracie! Sam!” Dean’s voice is getting closer, and then he’s right in front of her and Sam with his shotgun raised. Grace’s eyes widen in panic, but no words come as she stares ahead at the figure she’s entirely certain is Mary Winchester. 

“No, don’t! Don’t!” Sam, however, is able to find his voice, and he calls out to Dean frantically. 

“Why?!” Their older brother calls, evidently not connecting the pieces that Grace and Sam can see plain as day. A tear falls down Grace’s face as she squints her eyes, trying to see through the constantly burning flames. 

“Because I know who it is. I can see her now.” The flames around the figure burn brightly until they don’t burn at all, and perfectly clear can all three siblings see the spirit clearly. 

“M-Mommy?” Grace cries softly, and Dean’s hand quivers as he slowly lowers the gun, staring straight at the woman he’d made peace with never being able to see again in this lifetime. 

“Mom.” It’s not a question. He knows that this is Mary, and his heart stutters in his chest as she walks toward him with a soft smile. 

“Dean.” She hums simply, taking in all of his features. She doesn’t linger long, she doesn’t have the time to linger at all, but she can’t pass up the fleeting seconds she has to truly take in the sight of her children. “Gracie, my girl. My sweet sweet girl. Oh, my baby.” She reaches out, like she wants to caress Grace’s face and feel her skin one last time, but she pulls away before she makes contact, looking to Sam whose lips quiver as he memorizes Mary. “Sam.” She hums, “I’m sorry.” 

“F-For what?” Sam stutters, and Grace’s eyes plead with Mary to stay with them, come back to them, but the woman avoids her gaze and instead of answering, turns on her heels and walks toward the center of the room. 

“You, get out of my house. And let go of my kids.” Grace shakes her head, knowing where this is headed, but her protests are futile. Mary is engulfed by a bright flame again, but this time, the flames evaporate into the ceiling.

“Mom! Mommy!” She cries out, fighting against the invisible restraints until she falls to the floor, the force of the spirit no longer around to keep her pinned to the cabinet. She clambers to her feet, rushing to Dean. She digs her face into his chest, sobbing without constraint for the umpteenth time since driving over Kansas state lines. His hand comes to hold the back of her head while the other holds the center of her back. Her fingers curl into his jacket, holding tightly to it as she weeps. After twenty years, she can finally say she met her mother. But, she can also say she watched her mother die after she’d already been gone. Somehow, Grace thinks this hurts worse than not remembering Mary at all. 

“Now it's over.”

-

The very next morning, the Winchesters are getting ready to head out. Dean and Grace stand on the front lawn of their childhood home, finally getting a hold of those items Jenny mentioned finding when they’d first introduced themselves. Dean holds onto a stack of pictures that none of them had ever seen, but Grace holds onto a small teddy bear. Her name is embroidered on the bottom of the right foot in the sweetest pink thread, and her heart stutters as she realizes that Mary had been the one to personalize this bear for her. She hasn’t taken her eyes off of it since Jenny had come out of the house holding him by his belly, and she doesn’t think it’ll ever leave her possession. The only other thing she had from those first six months of her life was the blanket she’d been wrapped up in when John carried her out of the house. Twenty years later, it still lives in her duffle bag, though it has acquired a couple of blood stains and rips since its prime. 

“Thanks for these.” Dean looks up at Jenny once he’d gone through all of the pictures, his smile and tone sincere as he curls his fingers around the stack possessively. 

“Don’t thank me. They’re yours.” Jenny shakes her head, smiling fondly back at Dean and Grace. “Thank you.”

“I told you I wasn’t going to let anymore kids lose their mom in that house. I meant it.” Grace forced a smile, still not feeling entirely herself or even close to functioning, but that had never stopped her from completing a hunt before. She had to see this through, and the finish line was finally in sight. 

“Take care of yourselves.” Jenny patted Dean on the shoulder, giving Grace one last maternal smile before she was walking back toward the house where Sari and Richie were inside eating breakfast at the table – that still sported holes from various utensils being plunged into it. 

Grace held onto the handle of the Impala as she watched Sam get closer, having said his final goodbyes to Missouri. She doesn’t want to talk about everything that happened, and neither do the boys. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever be ready to talk about what happened here. 

“Don’t you kids be strangers!” Missouri calls from the front yard, and Grace’s lips wrinkle into a weak smile. 

“We won’t.” Dean assures before they’re slipping into the Impala. She has a tight grip on her teddy bear, holding it close to her chest as she slumps against the side of the car, her eyes closing out of instinct. It’s not five minutes later that she’s sound asleep, hoping to god the next hunt doesn’t tear her apart completely.

[mermaidgirl30]

Wip Wednesday!

Thank you for the tag @joelmillerisapunk @vivian-pascal 🩵 I got a few one shots I’m working on and Dark Shades of Innocence Lost 😊

1. Marcus Acacius one shot. A continuation of Guiding Light!

“No?” Emperor Caracalla smirks as a faint chuckle leaves his lips, the purple toga glistening in the sunlight as his shadow drips over your fear-struck face. “The General thinks he can say no to me?” He points out to the crowd, and every single one of them laughs as if it’s the most hilarious joke they’ve ever heard.

The blood drains from his face, and he knows he’s royally fucked. There’s no way out of this; he either wins or he loses two lives today. His and the love of his life.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, General. You should’ve known I’d find out sooner or later what you loved the most. So if you want your little whore back then put on a damn show for us,” the Emperor says with gritted teeth.

His spine tingles, his blood feels like it’s actually boiling himself alive from the inside out, and he’s so fucking furious that he feels as if he could take out an entire hoard of men. His jaw ticks, and the scowl he wears stretches a mile wide as he narrows his eyes at the two Emperors that stole his freedom and his woman.

2. Ch 5 of Dark Shades of Innocence Lost

“Well, what do we have here? Joel Miller bringing a girl to the diner? My, thought I’d never see the day,” she laughs as she sets two waters down on the table.

Joel’s face reddens as he rakes a hand slowly down his greying scruff. “Guess I jus’ had to find the right one first,” he smiles, flicking his eyes over you as your breath catches in your throat.

He’s never brought a girl to his favorite restaurant before? You were… the first one? Oh.

3. Roommate Joel Miller one shot! Releasing this tomorrow!

“Ohhh, fuck,” you whine as you hit that spot, right where it feels like you’re about to shed your orgasm at any second. So you speed up your motions, pressing down harder as you moan his name again, letting it fall off your lips like he’s here with you now, like he’s taking you exactly how you like it.

You’re breathing so hard and focusing on your ragged breaths and the sounds of the whirring vibrator that you don’t even hear the door being jarred open or see the brooding man that stands against your bedroom door. You don’t notice until you hear that thick, undeniable voice that only belongs to one man. That man being Joel fucking Miller.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart. Moanin’ my name and I ain’t even touchin’ you? Must want it bad,” he chuckles, a large smirk pressed on his mouth as he leans with crossed arms against your painted door frame.

No pressure tags 🩷 @ozarkthedog @studioghibelli @janaispunk @mountainsandmayhem @evolnoomym

@yxtkiwiyxt @joelsgreys @chronically-ghosted @sawymredfox @milla-frenchy

@aurorawritestoescape @alltheirdamn @lotusbxtch @burntheedges @undercoverpena

[jessmatt-luvbot]

outside the diner.

summary: matt and jess are two idiots who don’t realize their feelings are mutual. #tw none

• cross posted on ao3!!

matt has never been the type to get so infatuated to the point of jealousy with a girl, but here he was at a group hangout; mike was flirting with jess and matt was fuming.

sure, mike flirts with most girls because to the others he’s a bit of a man whore.

“matt, bro, you good?” chris asked sincerely, “i asked if you could pass the syrup like twenty times now.”

matt knew chris was over exaggerating, but he nodded and let out a quick “sorry.”

he looked back over at jess and mike; his hand was now on her thigh. matt gripped his silverware so tight but loosened his grip when he made eye contact with jess.

mike whispered something in jess’ ear and that was the final straw. matt needed a break.

“i’m getting some fresh air!” he shot up, confusing his friends.

“matt.. are you okay bud?” mike asked, now standing one hand holding his shoulder.

matt glanced and jess briefly, but she noticed.

“i’ll be his bodyguard!” jess chimes in, “i’m sure i could be a good one.” jess smirks.

“no, jess you can stay and eat your waffles! i don’t want them getting soggy, you already put syrup on them.” matt protested.

“i’m sure we could survive a night of hell together if we needed to! these waffles aren’t going anywhere!” jess smiles getting out of the booth.

“plus, i could go for some fresh air too.” jess says genuinely.

ashley, sam and chris understand, emily and mike are confused, meanwhile josh mouths “bonezone” to matt as the duo leaves to step into the cool fall breeze.

they stood silently, before jess took matts hand in hers and compared the size difference. matt laughed until he remembered she was just being friendly to break the silence.

“i like-“

“do you like-“

“you first.. sorry.” matt says bashfully.

“i like you matt, i was just waiting for you to make a move but i think mike is getting too comfortable and emily is obviously going for you!” jess continued, “your such a dumb oaf!” she said smiling.

“em is not going for me, plus you looked really into mike so.. plus i am not an oaf!” matt said, slowly getting happier as he went on.

“she obviously is, ‘oh matt i LOVE your haircut’, ‘oh matt you look SO hot in those swim shorts!’” jess mocked, laughing.

“hey that last one never happened!” matt smiled wide.

“it was her eyes! why do you think i was so off that day?” jess rolled her eyes.

matt blushed.

was he really a dumb oaf?

he felt eyes on them.

he looked to his left to see the shit eating grins of his friends, except mike and em of course. they looked more impatient.

“they’re watching.” matt said chuckling.

“i might’ve told ashley about my crush on you so it’d spread like wildfire through the friend group..” jess fiddled with her hands, “i was gonna tell hannah to go for mike now, but she’s up at the lodge with beth to set up for the weekend.”

“do mike and emily know?” matt asked.

“mike does, he’s been trying to help me make you jealous! god you are really stupid matt!” jess pushed him lightly.

“am i stupid for this?” matt said before pulling jess into a kiss.

when they broke apart it was short lived, because jess immediately went back for more.

the duo heard their friends cheering loudly from inside the diner.

[incorrect-kidge-quotes]

Not a parent hc post like I said I would do, but here is a one-shot I couldn't get out of my mind of Keith being a badass husband to Pidge in a traumatic time of need.

Semi-inspired by that one scene of Superman & Lois where Clark confronts Emitt in the diner.

TW: Violence, attempted assault

‐------------------------------------

"Hey Katie, you home from the lab yet?" Keith called out as he entered the front door. "Sorry I'm a little late, I decided to stop by Olkari before reentering the system, some of the human colonists took these grape looking things and made some wine, thought it might be nice for us to- oh, hey Matt. Sorry, didn't know you were here. Katie around?" He asked, looking around the entryway.

"Yeah, she's in the other room. But she asked me to come in here before you saw her and panicked."

"Panicked? Why would I panic? What happened?!" Keith asked before trying to walk past Matt.

Matt put his hand out to slow his brother-in-law down "She's okay, for the most part. She had a run-in with some people, we think it was an attempted mugging. We've already got authorities looking into it."

Keith's eyes went wide as he pushed past Matt and into the living room where he saw Pidge on the couch, Romelle comforting her as Sam and Colleen sat next to them.

"Keith, I-" Pidge went to stand up before Romelle eased her back down as Keith interrupted her.

"What happened, are you okay?!" Keith's mouth moved faster than his brain, it took a moment before his eyes registered her appearance.

Swollen cheek, the very corner of her mouth had a busted lip, her wrist red and he noticed she was holding her side with her other hand.

"What happened?!" He demanded again.

---------------------------------------

"Last call, sis, sure you don't want me and Romelle to give you a ride home?" Matt asked as the two left their lab and Romelle greeted the two.

"Nah, I'm good. Keith's coming back home tonight after a few weeks away from home. Going to go shopping to buy somethings for our 'reunion'." She chuckled

"La-la-la, not listening!" Matt over exaggerated his yelling as he covered his ears.

Romelle chuckled as she took his arm into her own, and they walked back to their vehicle "Well, you two have a lovely evening. We should all get together for dinner after he's settled back in, I'm sure your parents would appreciate it."

"Definitely! See y'all later, and don't forget the blueprints again!" She laughed as her brother got into the car and they sped off.

It didn't take long for her to walk from the Garrison to the town, the once easily shopping strip now fully repaired from the ruins of the war. She bought the two food for dinner, and a went by to get a new lingerie set to treat him.

As she walked out of the store she noticed a few men tailing her. 'Nothing too strange,' she thought, this is the most direct way to the residential district. But still, she always kept them in her peripheral vision, which she thanked herself for.

"Excuse me, missy, you lost? Need some help?" One of the men called out, go which she ignored. "Hey," he said as he ran up and grabbed her wrist a little *too* tight for her liking "I asked you a question, a pretty single girl like you doesn't need to be all alone."

Pidge raised her hand and flipped the man off, showing off her ring, the metal being a blend of luxite gifted by the Blades and solid gold. The gem was a fairly sizeable emerald as the centerpiece, with the sides being embezelled with rubies . "Not single. Don't need help. Thank you, but I'll be leaving now."

The man tightened the grip he had on her wrist, and though she's felt much worse, the pain was still surprising. "No need to be rude. Let us see that ring again."

"What have we got here?" The other man asked as he looked into the bag and pulled out her planned evening attire. "Look, the ring isn't all, she's got something else for us."

Pidge reached into her lab coat behind her back and summoned her newly created bayard, it may not be upto the standard of the original created by Alfor, but it's good enough.

She quickly jabbed it into the side of the man holding her wrist and electrocuted him before slashing at the other assailant and cutting his chest through his shirt.

The men cursed as the first man backhanded her across the face and the other managed to unfortunately get a hit into her gut.

Pidge dropped to the ground as she desperately gasped for air, it's been too long since her days of battle. She internally cursed herself out for being slow, these two should not have gotten the drop on her. She grit her teeth as she looked up at the assailants

"You good?" The first man asked as he kicked the bayard out of her hand.

The second dabbed his hand across his chest to wipe the blood away "Yeah, come one she's more trouble than she's worth."

"No, not yet." The first said as he kicked her in the side, as she curled up in pain he took the ring off her finger and picked the bayard up off the ground. "These shoukd fetch some good money, now we can go."

"Oh... oh shit, dude look at her coat. She's Garrison! What the fuck did you get us into?!" The second said in a panic as he ran off.

"Calm down, we'll be long gone. Come on, let's go that Sal's place before ditching town." He said as he followed after.

Pidge managed to sprawl herself out from the pain and she reached into her pocket for her phone.

"Matt..." she sobbed. "I need you to come get me..."

---------------------------------------

"Oh god..." he said as he dropped to the ground and laid his head to her lap, tears edging at the corners of his eyes. "God, Katie I'm so sorry. If I was home sooner, I could have picked you up-"

"No, don't worry about it. It hurt at the beginning, but honestly it looks worse than it is." Pidge told him as she ran her fingers through his hair.

Within seconds, Keith's regret turned into anger as he quickly rose to his feet. "You said they mentioned Sal's?"

"Keith, no-" she begged as she stood up before grabbing her ribs in pain.

Keith looked back at his wife, and he grit his teeth in anger. He began marching out of the room before Matt tried to stop him. "Hey, slow down. I'm pissed to, she's my baby sister, but like I said, we already have authorities looking into it."

"Matt, you can either move. Or I'll make you move." Keith threatened in a deadly even tone.

Matt knew he was serious, and he knew realistically he couldn't stop him if he tried. So he relegated himself to the side.

"Keith! This isn't a time for the leader of Voltron to be a hero again!" Pidge called out.

"The leader of Voltron isn't going." Keith said as he ripped her labcoat of the coat hangar and slammed the door behind him. Everyone inside heard his hoverbike rev up as he sped off.

"Come on, help me follow after him. He's not in his right mind." Pidge said as she slowly walked out.

"I'm not so sure we should, I say let the boy handle it." Sam said.

"Dad, if he goes there, he's going to kill them. He's too emotional when it comes to his loved ones. Now dammit, someone take me after him!"

---------------------------------------

It didn't take long for Keith to reach the center of town at the speed he was going, and it took even less after that to reach Sal's. He landed his hoverbike and threw his helmet to the ground.

"Hey, Kogane!" James Gfiffin called out as he, Nadia, Ryan, and Ina approached. "Long time no see, we were just grabbing dinner-" Griffin cut himself ff as he saw Keith's expression. "Everything all good?"

"Nope," Keith said flatly as he marched into the building.

The four all exchanged worried looks as they followed in after him.

Keith looked around the area before he saw two men sitting at the bar, one looking stressed and the other excitedly waving the bayard into the air. Keith took a step before he felt a tug on his wrist.

"Keith-" Pidge started as Matt, Romelle, and the others stood around her.

"That them?" He asked, cutting her off.

Pidge nodded as Keith pulled his hand away and approached. The second man caught him out of the corner of his eye, and his face turned to panic just as Keith threw the balled up labcoat at the first man.

"Hey! Did you do that to my wife?!"

The man turned his seat around to face Keith and smirked. He downed his drink and stood up in front of him. Physically speaking, he was bigger than Keith and at least *looked* stronger.

"Yeah, and the both of you are lucky that's all I did. If it went further, she wouldn’t be wanting you as a husband anymore after me."

Pidge shuddered in her place as Romelle and Nadia comforted her, Matt finally had enough and took a step before James grabbed him by the arm and shook his head.

"Give me back the ring and weapon, and I just may let you live."

The man laughed before throwing a punch. Keith caught it in his hand, surprising the thug. Keith then open-handed slapped him across the face, forcing the man to reel back in surprise and spit the blood out of his mouth. "Stronger than you look..." the thug lunged, and Keith weaved out of the way, landing a few punches into his back and pushing him face-first into the bar he was previously sitting at.

Keith then rushed over, grabbing the man by his hair and slowly forcing his face into the hardwood counter. The man struggled and was unable to lift his head up.

"Y-you're too strong! You ain't human! Come on, man, help me! Get him!" The man begged his friend who was still paralyzed in fear in his seat, and the glare from Keith only made him more committed to stay as perfectly still as possible.

"Katie!" Keith shouted as he yanked the man's head up and slamming it back into the counter.

"Y-yeah?"

"Which hand did he slap you with?" He asked.

"W-wha-"

"Which hand?!"

"His left."

Keith grunted in acknowledgment as he took out one of his Blades-issued knives and slammed it through the man's left hand, pinning it in place.

The man screamed in pain as he kept trying and failing to escape.

"Which foot did he kick you with?"

"His right..."

Keith then took his remaining knife and stabbed it through the man's kneecap, being sure to twist it for good measure.

"Now, I'm going to let you live. But I want you to know one thing."

"Anything man, anything!"

"Not only do I have the entire Galaxy Garrison at my disposal, but I have more resources than you can imagine. If you ever come near my wide again. I'll kill you. If you ever hit another woman again. I'll kill you. If you even think about another despicable crime? I'll kill you. They will never find your body, their will be no record of your miserable existence. Understand?"

The man was crying in pain as he nodded his head. "Yeah, yeah man. Understood. You'll never hear of me again. I won't ever do this shit again! I promise, man, I promise!"

Keith grunted as he twisted the knife in the man's hand to cause even more damage. He then pulled the man up by his hair and punched him in the face, knocking him out and to the ground in one motion.

"You..." he started as he turned to face the second man. "Don't think you're getting off easy either."

The second man raised his hands in a panic as he tried backing away and fell to the ground.

"Keith, that's enough, you proved your point!" Pidge shouted at the top of her lungs.

Her shout finally shook him out of his bloodlust. "Get your friend out of here, I don't ever want to see you two again."

"U-understood!" The man said as he crawled over to his friend and began to drag him away.

"Come on, let's go home..."

---------------------------------------

Hours later back at their house, and after everyone else left, Keith sat unmoving on the porch as if he were waiting for someone else to show up and harm his wife.

"You coming in? It's time for bed."

"Go ahead, I'll be up later."

Pidge sighed and shook her head. "Let me rephrase that, come inside and lay down with me in our bed. This is the first night in weeks I get to share a bed with my husband, and I'm not spending it sleeping alone."

Keith looked around one last time before coming inside and locking the doors behind him and carefully testing all windows before going to their bedroom.

As they crawled into bed, Keith wrapped himself around her and pulled her in as close as he could.

"I'm sorry about today..." he whispered.

Pidge moved one of his hands from her waist and kissed it before resting on her cheek. "Like I said, it's not your fault."

"It's- It's not just that... I couldn't control myself when I went after him. I didn't listen to you... I'm so, so sorry, Katie..."

Pidge turned to face him before giving him a kiss. "While I do think you may have took it to far, you did it for me. You did it so those assholes will never do to anyone else what they did to me. I will never hold today against you."

"I don't deserve you, I don't know how I got so lucky to be with you." He smiled softly before kissing her forehead.

"I think I'm the one who should be saying that to you. I love you, Keith Kogane."

"I love you to Katie, more than I'll ever be able to say.

[imagine--if]

I have been wondering who Riddler’s girl partner was, being who told the police that she had seen them go into the café. His plan necessitated his capture at that point, and I highly doubt he would have left things up to chance — no, she will be important.

A/N: That's such a relevant point and I can totally work with it 💚This was so fun to write haha it's getting me back into doing stuff for The Batman againnnn 😁 enjoy reading!! And let me know if you like the new imagine blog post layout thingy (I do 😏)

Wordcount: 716

"Lieutenant, we got a witness here, says she saw someone coming down the fire escape right after the shot. She said he went into the corner diner. The guy's sitting by himself at the counter, right now."

You blink up in faux worry at the policeman, who nods at you with a stern but thankful look.

"Thank you, miss. You should go home, where it's safe."

You nod, backing away from him, as he rushes off to get the rest of his team. Police cars start pulling up outside the diner you've come to time and time again, never a hotspot for trouble and the flashes of angry red and blue reflecting in its long windows now. GCPD stream out of their cars, guns held firm in their hands, as they shuffle around the building and hesitate at the entrance. In the midst of the chaos, a shadowed, jet-black dramatic figure appears, cold eyes boring through the glass of the diner and to the quiet man in the warm navy coat, sitting peacefully indoors.

The peace is sliced through as Martinez kicks open the door, his gun entering the place before he steps in, voice loud and demanding.

"Police! Hands up!"

But the man takes his time, his gentle grip flicking and working expertly on a symbol in his drink, calmly, patiently. You smile softly in the darkness of the opposite street, looking past the heads of police and cars to watch the familiar figure work his magic so naturally. It could only ever be natural to Edward Nashton, and it was something you were so used to, but still so amazed to seeing every day, for a time that seemed like so long, but must only be a few months. You could make out his face even though you couldn't see it properly; a small, nervous smile quirking up his lips ever so slightly, his round face boyish and youthful as it turned to take in the sight of uniformed apprehenders, glaring at him as if he was the pig, an unfeeling psychopath with no story good enough to make up for what he did.

But you knew.

He blinked up at them in a mirror-like way to how you stared up at that policeman, curious and innocent, with that glimmer of something more, darker and dangerous and oh-so-clever, in those murky green hues.

And though you couldn't hear what they were saying, you whispered it anyway, gazing at the sight with a shiver of adrenaline and love and nerves and a barrel of other emotions you couldn't stop to identify.

"He just ordered a slice of pumpkin pie."

Martinez lunges forward in the diner, slamming down The Riddler with a hateful force, two other men rushing to help, rifling through his pockets, yanking out the IDs and demanding an explanation that was left unanswered. And as they worked, guns raised and eyes glaring daggers, Edward's own stare flicked suddenly from the scene to you, barely visible in the drowsy streetlight at the end of the road you lingered at.

Even from there, you could read those eyes, soft and sweet and obsessively adoring, no matter the situation, And he smiled, smiled wide and prettily, ogling for your admiration, your approval. For you to tell him that you're proud of him, that you're in this together, that you can still see him because he's not invisible now, and he never will be. That he matters, and he matters to you.

All this is said unspoken, in one loving, long glance, and then he's ripped off the counter, shoved to the cars, the crowd of police following suit, along with the infamous Batman, who catches his gaze and returns it with one of coolness and intense indifference.

You let out a breath you don't realise you've been holding as he's driven away, leaning back against e concrete wall behind you, and roll your eyes to yourself with a knowing smirk. Now would come the stream all set up and ready for them to find, and then to rake their brains over when The Riddler's 'pretty little mystery' was mentioned near the end, in the midst of the retribution, and his followers would flood the chat with crazed hearts and impatient comments, ready for the real change.

⭒❃.✮:▹𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ◃:✮.❃⭒ (message me know if you want to be removed. ghost blogs/dead accs have been removed.)

@misadventures0fdes @junebugp @simestandswithtaylorswift-blog @carley-carley-carley @lostbunn @dragovegogrimborn @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @edwardspumpkinpie @murderbimbo00 @sweetums0kitty @beel-mcburger @cml-san @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @bimboanime @phoenixgurl030 @dangerouslittlefairy @yoyoanaria @yaeyuuki @vinxlsketches @beenz-beenz @ghoulsgraveyard @birds-have-teeth @repostingmyfavs @r3ptiliaaa @for3v3rda1sy @glitterycheesecakegladiator @moonwritesblog @lilyevans1 @httpsunflowersleep @hxney-lemcn @callsigncrash @bokksieu @skateb0red @philiasoul@felicityofbakerstreet @deadlights-darling @ireadandream @tinyryder @kpopgirlbtssvt @truecobblepot @jessicainhell

[frenchieee]

say it again?

(Been sick as all get out the past few days so enjoy this Gray/Haze one-shot! No warnings, just fluff 🫶🏻. Hope you enjoy! Below the cut!)

PING!

Gray sighed, hitting play on the new voice memo from his manager, Evelynn.

“Gray, I need that practice footage from you by midnight. I know it’s not your cup of tea, but trust me: this will do wonders for you. Alright, you fabulous creature-don’t let me down.”

I have a fantastic job and I’m a very lucky man, Gray thought bitterly, rubbing his temples. Really, he had nothing to complain about-the band was doing well, he’d started a new novel, and he and Haze were together. Of course, he had neither the book or boyfriend at the moment, and there was this whole film the practice business.

Gray had never been the most comfortable on camera-sure, he was fine at a PR event where he could simply chime in with a few buzzwords, but this? He’d worked hard to keep practice a private space for the band, where no matter how famous they got, they could recapture that energy they had as diner employees messing around after close. Nobody should be part of that but them. Gray didn’t care if it was just a stunt.

PING!

If that was Evelynn again…Gray softly cursed as he fumbled for his phone. Haze’s contact photo filled the screen, drawing a smile from him.

It was a candid Gray had snapped while stargazing. Haze was looking at the sky, silvery moonlight illuminating his expression of pure wonder. He’d borrowed Gray’s jacket, and his shiny copper curls brushed the top of the collar. How did he look better in that jacket than Gray himself?

Wow, he was beautiful.

“Just answer it,” Joy-Ce teased, snapping Gray from his thoughts.

“Hey, Sunshine.”

“Moonlight! I’m stuck in traffic so I’ll be a bit.”

“I’m in no hurry for this practice, so take as long as you like,” Gray chuckled.

“The filming stuff? I get that,” Haze was quiet for a moment, “do you want to come over after? I picked up the book you were reading, and I need to talk to someone about it.”

“You started it?!” Gray nearly shouted with excitement.

“And now you aren’t thinking about the filming, are you?” There was a wide smile in Haze’s voice.

“You-“

“Oh, looks like we’re moving! See you!”

“I love you, drive safe.”

The practice room was filled with exaggerated retching.

“You two are disgusting,” Joy-Ce hissed, gesturing to T-Bam, “there is a child present.”

T-Bam merely flipped Joy-Ce off in response, not looking up from his laptop. Joy-Ce returned the gesture before continuing.

“You started it?! I love you! Drive safe!” Joy-Ce squeaked, batting his eyes and folding his hands under his chin. Gray grabbed an empty plastic bottle, chucking it at Joy-Ce.

“I do not sound like that!”

“Yes, you do,” T-Bam interjected. Joy-Ce made a ‘see?’ gesture towards Gray.

“Wait, back up,” Gray shook his head as realization hit him, “I said ‘I love you?’”

Joy-Ce erupted into a fit of laughter, and T-Bam finally glanced up from his screen.

“And somehow we’re the single ones, Joy-Ce,” he snorted.

Joy-Ce opened his mouth, but was cut off by a flurry of activity in the studio lobby. The doorbell jingled loudly, protesting as someone simply let the door slam behind them. Their footsteps were quick, portraits on the wall beginning to shudder as they got closer. The practice room doorknob jiggled, until finally the door flew open.

Haze stood in the hall, eyes clouded with a tinge of disbelief. He froze upon seeing Gray.

“I…did you…did I…say it again?”

“How did you get here so quickly-“

“Gray.”

“Sunshine.” Gray stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “I love you dearly.”

Haze seemed to visibly sigh with relief. “I thought that’s what I heard, but I just had to be sure.”

Gray took one of Haze’s quivering hands, voice impossibly soft as he continued.

“You told me I had pretty eyes, asked to kiss me, and got into an argument with your phone in the span of five drunken minutes,” the words poured from him as naturally as the first ‘I love you’ had. He was discussing his favorite topic, after all.

“I completely forgot how to form words in that moment, and you just keep doing that. Sometimes you’ll come into practice with paint streaked across your hands, and I know you’ve been working on something beautiful. You’ll tell me about it with that incredible smile of yours, and I forget how to speak all over again.”

“I do have paint on my hands a lot,” Haze chuckled.

“I could keep going, but Joy-Ce and T-Bam would probably kill us or each other if I kept them waiting that long, so I’ll try to contain myself,” Gray laughed, taking Haze’s other hand.

“When I met you, I finally understood how wonderful sunlight could be. How could I do anything but love you?”

Haze blinked rapidly, mouth agape. The hall was silent for a long moment, save for the buzzing of fluorescents.

Finally, he seemed to remember how to move, wrapping his arms around Gray. He buried his face in Gray’s shoulder, fingers curling against his back.

“Show-off,” Haze sniffled, making them both chuckle. “I don’t have a speech or anything, but I love you a whole lot, Moonlight.”

Gray somehow pulled Haze even closer. “You started a book for me, and I’m sure broke several traffic laws getting here. We are more than even.”

A CRASH leaked through the door, accompanied by a harmony of increasingly lively chatter. Gray and Haze gave each other a look, neither wanting to be the first to break the moment.

“Shall we?” Gray eyed the door.

“If we must,” Haze sighed, rolling his eyes playfully.

“FINALLY!” Joy-Ce hollered as the two re-entered the room. Haze dumped his bag in the corner, bowing with a flourish.

“Missed me?” He grinned.

“No, Gray was just pouting.”

“I was not!”

“Yes, he was,” T-Bam chimed in.

“Gray’s pouting aside,” Haze cut in, shooting Gray a sunshine smile, “are you all ready?”

Gray watched in awe as Haze flitted from him to Joy-Ce to T-Bam, leading them to different positions in the room and talking to them quietly. He couldn’t hear the exacts of each conversation, but by the time Haze took his spot, the room was full of cheer. He’d done it again-thankfully, Gray didn’t have to speak in that moment.

As if he could hear Gray’s thoughts, Haze eyed him in the mirror. His lips moved in a slow, deliberate pattern, phrase punctuated with a grin.

I love you.

Well, there was one thing Gray remembered how to say.

I love you too.

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "Still Here in Spirit"

This week's promo fic is just a bit of a missing moment/divergence from early season five. I was feeling a bit of angst at the end of 5x02 when Emma was left outside the diner watching the rest of her family together, and I think this was mostly born out of that feeling. I've always had a bit of a soft spot for this little one shot, and here's hoping you may enjoy it too....

Summary: Though Emma cannot be with him as he wonders just what wrong makes his love keep her distance, Killian and all her family and friends still keep the Savior close to their hearts...

Can also be read on AO3 or ff.net if that is your preference...

by: @snowbellewells

Chuckling good naturedly in spite of himself from where he leans casually against the staircase railing in Regina Mills' spacious foyer, Killian Jones watches the festive bustling and last minute preparations before the Hood-Mills-Charming families can head out on the streets of Storybrooke trick or treating. He had truly held no interest in the odd modern day custom of dressing up in unusual garb and wandering the streets begging others for sweets. Of the many strange and ridiculous-seeming practices he has been introduced to in this realm, this so-called "Halloween" seems to be one of the most ludicrous.

However, when Henry had looked at him hopefully, urging his mother's boyfriend to join them on this nighttime excursion, Killian found he could not deny the lad. There is a certain expression Swan's boy possesses – fervent, wide-eyed and engaging – that reminds him so much of Emma that day Storybrooke had been on the brink of destruction and she had looked straight into his soul and urged him to be a part of something, that he is hard-pressed to deny Henry anything, despite what his original inclinations might be. Though his weary soul had balked at laughing with light heart and playfully making merry when his love was out there somewhere, alone, cloaked in darkness and lost in her bitterness at wrongs the rest of them cannot remember committing, watching the group straightening each other's outfits, gathering Roland and little Neal's baskets for candy, and warmly trying to enjoy what they can of this moment of relative calm – even if one of their number is missing – makes him smile through the twinges of pain.

Reaching out affectionately to straighten Henry's green woolen cape and then the quiver slung over his shoulder, Killian feels the corners of his mouth pull up in a reluctant but sincere smile at the picture the boy paints in his get-up with his assorted motley band of outfitted family. There had been heated debate whether Henry should dress as knight like his Gramps or a pirate like his adopted stepfather until the boy had eventually settled the dispute by dressing like Robin as a bandit of the forest. His other surrogate parent had tried to appear casual about it, but the glimmer in his eyes as he loaned his old cape and quiver had given away how flattered he was, not to mention the Queen's grin of joyful satisfaction and the couple rogue tears she had brushed away. It warmed Killian's ancient pirate heart as well, even though he had lost out on having a miniature double for the night's festivities.

The boy gives him a nod of thanks, and pirate and young prince's eyes meet for a charged moment of bittersweet understanding, both knowing Emma should be there with them and yet not wanting to voice how much her absence hurts. Not wanting to speak sadness into an evening that is trying to enjoy the good moments.

Then, with a steadying hand on the lad's shoulder, Killian vows to follow him and make sure this "Outlaw of Storybrooke Forest" rapidly becoming a young man enjoys himself tonight. Emma would wish it, and someday – he swears to himself – he will tell her about tonight's hijinks, and her parents dressed as Bonnie and Clyde (whoever they might be) with Regina and Robin as Romeo and Juliet in tow. Little Roland looks a bit out of place in their group dressed as a "minion" – which Henry had explained was in some moving picture the little lad had just seen – and bouncing around the rest of them as if he simply cannot wait another moment from them to be off.

The night progresses beautifully, with laughter and smiles that Killian knows he will hold in his memory for years to come. Being drawn into and accepted as part of a family, and necessary for its happy celebrations, was a gift he had long since forgotten and never expected to be a part of again. Yet, he cannot help wishing Emma could be here with them, looking on proudly as Henry takes care to see that Roland doesn't get too far ahead and become lost, that his little uncle is given his fair share of their sugary haul, and constantly glancing back at the group of adults who love him as if making sure that they too are happy and content. His Swan would be so proud of the good heart and concern for others her son continues to show, despite moving into those sometimes troublesome teenage years. He wishes so fervently that she was there beside him, her small, strong hand slipped into his, her head laid gently on his shoulder, just barely leaning into his side as they walk, that his hand clenches into a tight fist at the absence. Those easy, safe, and comfortable times together seem so far removed now from the cold distance that the Darkness has formed between them.

Still, there are many good moments too: Granny and Ruby offering wolf-shaped cookies and hot chocolate to all those who come to their door, with Ruby smirking and shooting a playful wink to he, Snow and Charming from beneath the painted wolf face and ears she wears atop her dark curls and asking, "Well, what else would I be for Halloween?" with a playful giggle; Belle meeting every child at the door to the library all lit up with carved pumpkins in each window, eager to give them a handpicked book of their very own, and taking a moment to slip a gilt-edged paperback into his hand as well. "It's The Princess Bride," she whispers surreptitiously to him with a sympathetic smile. "Emma mentioned how much she liked it once, and when I re-read it, I knew that you would appreciate it too, Killian."

By the time the group reaches the mines where the dwarves and fairies are giving lighted tours of the caves and sending their guests off for home with hot apple cider to warm their hands and stomachs, Killian is truly feeling cheered – if only at the happiness of those around him and the comfort of being welcomed wholeheartedly into their midst. When he parts ways with Henry and the rest of Emma's loved ones at the loft, savoring the hug Henry gives him before bounding after Regina, Robin, and Roland to get back to their house and go through all his candy, and possibly holding on a bit too tightly to the lad for just a moment, he pauses in the street lights' glow, peering into the night and mulling his next course of action.

Eventually he turns back toward the Jolly Roger and the docks, walking slowly and trying to keep himself from whispering Emma's name into the quiet evening. He knows that bringing her to him when she is not herself will only bring him more pain; their last encounter in his private quarters had taught him that lesson all too well. However, as he boards his beloved ship, strides across the deck and comes to stand by the wheel, gazing up at the clear night's multitude of stars, he does leave her a small remembrance. "I know you're out there somewhere, Love," he whispers to the breeze. "I cannot hold you tonight as I desire, but you were never far from all of our minds. Enjoy your Halloween treat."

He slips below quickly, knowing that tangling wits and words with her now will only make things worse. Head bowed, he can only hope she will sense how much he misses her in the gesture and that she – the real Emma - will feel a moment of his care. The captain has entered his cabin, leaning against the closed door and praying desperately that she is not lost in torment somewhere with no one beside her, when on the deck above him, a swirl of magical smoke clears, and Emma appears by the ship's wheel, a tentative, tiny smile upon her lips. Picking up the still-hot cup of cider he has left for her there, she takes a sip and imagines that the warmth spreading through her at first swallow is from him being able to hold her close once more. For now, it is the only treat they can allow themselves… so she closes her eyes, thinks of him, and tries to let it be enough.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @lfh1226-linda @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @stahlop @sotangledupinit @justanother-unluckysoul @drowned-dreamer @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @blackwidownat2814 @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight

[darkcrowprincess]

Lunter: Been beat up and battered 'round

Been sent up, and I've been shot down

You're the best thing that I've ever found

Handle me with care

@mokstagger another lunter scene from my twilight au. Hope you don't mind.

*December 18, 1988*

'Been beat up and battered 'round

Been sent up, and I've been shot down

You're the best thing that I've ever found

Handle me with care'

The song was playing when they entered the diner. The old diner was the first place they could stop for rest. They had been running on vampire speed for miles and miles, and they needed a place they can stop with millions of different sents. Different sents ment it was harder for Kikimora to track them.

Plus even if human food wouldn't make them feel full without blood mixed in, that didn't mean they still couldn't enjoy the taste and still get the mental comfort that food brought. So Hunter followed the hostess to a booth, holding his companions trembling small hand protectively in his, moving her along with him.

Luzita Noceda was alarmingly quiet by his side. Head down to hide her new red eyes with her hood. She was drowning in an ovesize black hoodie. She is so tiny that it was hard to imagine anyone that small being able to kill anyone with Vampire abilities. Let alone be a vampire at all. But she is. She is a vampire. Belos had certainly seen to that, including Luzita's older sister and mother.

As they sat in their booth to wait for the waitress to come bring their food, all Hunter could do was stare at her. Worrying and protective. His mind flashes back to how he found her 48 hours ago. Surrounded by blood and human bodies. Everywhere the eye could see like broken dolls. Luzita in the middle of it all in a fetal postion crying in despair. Her tears mixing with the dark stains of blood on her lips. Belos having starved her of any possibility of animal blood for weeks, till she snapped out of hunger and desperation. Till she finally fed on humans. As a newborn vampire, the results are deadly. Belos had forced her to make her first kill. She didn't want to hurt anyone. Stubborn to a fault, she refused to feed on humans. Belos took that option away from her, locking her away in a room with frighten humans. In that room seeing how broken she was, her wails echoing. He couldn't stand to see her like this ever again. So he and Darius made a plan. He freed her. He saved her. And now he had to get her back to her family. Where Darius had hidden them.

"Why are you doing this?" Luzita whispers, her eyes are dull, as if she's not fully there. Yet they're blood red. Newborn blood red eyes. Hunter stares at her. Hearing her question echo in his head. He thinks about how to phrase his answer. With a low voice he knows she can hear, " Miss, I'm not a good person. I don't remember much from my human life during the 1860s, but what I do remember, looking back on it. I wasn't good than either. My uncle wanted me to join a war that wanted to continue slavery. I did it because I wanted to please him as I was rasied to, plain and simple."

Luzita's eyes go wide at this, "Your were a confederate soldier!" Luzita whispers horrified. Hunter accepts her rightfully given horror and nods. "Yes I was, and while I was fighting in that war I met a man named Darius Deamonne. He was a vampire who knew my birth father. He didn't like me fighting in that war for obvious reasons, and knew my father wouldn't have either. Especially if I was doing it for my Uncle Belos, who used the war as a cover to feed and turn people so they were forced to join his coven." Luzita flinches at this.

The waitress finally comes with their meals and drinks, leaving them quickly after. Hunter to have something to do with his hands stirs suger into his tea. He continues, not breaking eye content with her, "Unbeknownst to me both my father and my uncle were vampires from the 1600s. My father sick of feeding on innocent humans(especially after falling in love with one) leaves my uncles, and tries to feed on animals.

That way of life is hard and difficult, but he manages it, moslty for my birth mother's sake. Who is soon pregnant with me. For many years they-we were happy." At this, Hunter takes something out of his jacket pocket and hands it to Luzita. It's a old pocket watch. Noting how old it is, she opens it up with a delicate touch. Inside next to the ticking clocks is an very old photo. A man who looks like Hunter, a beautiful woman, and a young toddler Hunter smiling a gap tooth smile. The little family looks happy.

Luzita looks back up at Hunter, unsure of how to ask. Hunter tells her without a question needed, " As you can probably guess, my uncle killed them, took me and rasied me. Looking back on it now, I think my uncle was-is hopping I could be my fathers replacement. Especially considering I'm a half-human half-vampire." Luzita's eyes widen at this, but says nothing wanting Hunter to continue his story. "I know what it's like to be hurt by that man. I know the hurt he can cause to other people, I've seen it.

Yet like a coward I went back to him because I felt like, were else could I go honestly? If I left he would just hunt both me and Darius down and kill us. So I stayed. I hurt and killed people for him, became his good little vampie soldier, fed on humans, did many appalling things in his name. For century it was like that. Than something changed."

Luzita eyes become alive again, rapt with interest, "What changed?"

"You." Hunter says simple.

"Me?" Luzita says in disbelief.

"Yes you. I heard you when you first came to the estate. A human looking for her missing mother and sister, trusting someone like my uncle for help. Heard what my uncle did to you, what he made you do. What he's planning to use you for, and I just I couldn't let him do what he did to me to someone else."

Hunter gulps wetly, unfallen tears in his eyes, "Plus I didn't like the lecherous way he looks at you, I've seen that look before." The unvoiced implications of that sends a dark shiver through Luzita. Hunter avoids her eyes, going back to his tea, adding more suger. Mindlessly stirring. He speaks with a strong, protective voice.

"I just, I want to protect something from him for once. So I promise Miss Luzita Noceda, I'll keep you from his clutches. I'll reunite you with your family. I'll keep you safe, I swear it."

A small petite hand hand lays over Hunter's, he looks up into her face shocked by her touch. However he doesn't move away. Her hand feels nice on top of his. She gives him a soft look. Her tiny smile is the first he's ever seen of her. It's like a tiny light in darkness.

"You can call me Luz."

"What?" Hunter says dazzled by her smile.

"My name, I like being called Luz, if your going to protect me Mr Wittebane, that is what I'd like my protector to call me."

Hunter smiles and simply replies back, his old Gravesfield accent shinning through, "My apologies Miss Luz Noceda." He than kisses her hand, a Gravesfield gentleman through and through.

[timelordhonour]

A little part of my fanfiction that I am reworking.

As Regina, Robin, and little Roland entered Granny’s Diner, a ripple of quiet acknowledgment passed through the crowd. Regina's presence always carried weight, even if she wasn’t the Evil Queen anymore. Her eyes swept over the gathered townspeople—friends, allies, and some who still held reservations about her. She had fought hard for her redemption, and yet, the shadow of her past always seemed to follow her.

Robin found an empty booth near the back, guiding Roland over to it, lifting his son up into the seat. Regina trailed behind them, her posture strong, but a hint of weariness tugging at the corners of her eyes. Just before sitting down, she paused, glancing around the room.

And that’s when she felt it. A shift. Someone was watching her—a woman she didn’t recognise. Her face was pale, her body tense, and her wide eyes were locked onto Regina with unmistakable fear.

“It’s the Evil Queen,” the woman whispered urgently to Emma, her voice trembling. She looked terrified, as though any moment Regina might return to her old ways.

Emma, seated across from the woman with Hook, leaned in as she tried to soothe her. “It’s okay,” Emma said gently. “She’s different now. She’s not the same person anymore. I promise. You’ll see. Just … stay here, okay?” Emma gave her a soft smile before standing up and making her way toward Regina, intercepting her just as she was about to slide into the booth with Robin and Roland.

“Regina, there’s something you should know,” Emma began carefully. Regina raised an eyebrow, already sensing trouble. “I, uh… I brought someone back from the past. This woman,” Emma glanced briefly at the booth, “and she still thinks of you as… well...”

“Evil,” Regina finished for her, her lips pressing into a thin line. She folded her arms. “Of course she does.”

Emma shifted on her feet. “I told her it’s okay, but it’s a little delicate. I feel like if she met you, maybe… I don’t know, maybe seeing you now could help?”

Regina’s eyes flickered with understanding, though the old hurt lingered just beneath the surface. “I understand,” she said.

Emma gave a grateful nod and walked back to where Hook sat with the woman. “Come on,” Emma said, gesturing for her to follow. The woman hesitated, casting one last nervous glance toward Regina before rising slowly. Together, they made their way across the diner.

As they neared the booth, Robin, who had been absently looking down at Roland, glanced up—and his world stopped.

“Marian?” he breathed, his eyes widening in disbelief. He shot to his feet, his heart pounding. It couldn’t be. He had mourned her. He had buried her in his heart. Yet there she was, standing right in front of him, as if the years and the grief had all been a bad dream.

“Robin?” Marian whispered.

“I thought you were dead,” Robin said. He moved toward her, his arms enveloping her in a tight embrace. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“And I you,” Marian replied, her arms wrapping around him just as tightly. Tears spilled from her eyes as she held him close, feeling the warmth of his body against hers.

Roland slid out of the booth and approached them cautiously. “Mama?” he asked.

Marian knelt down to his level, tears streaming freely now. “Roland? Oh, my baby,” she whispered, pulling him into her arms. “My sweet boy!” She hugged him tightly, her hands gently stroking his hair as she kissed the top of his head. “Mama’s here. I’m here.”

For a moment, the diner seemed to disappear around them. Robin, Marian, and Roland were lost in their reunion, the world narrowing to just the three of them.

But not for everyone.

Regina stood frozen, her breath catching in her throat as she watched the scene before her. Robin, the man she had allowed herself to love—the man she had dared to hope for—was embracing the woman he thought he’d lost forever. The woman who had been his love first.

And where did that leave Regina? Alone. Again. She swallowed hard, the sharp sting of heartbreak settling in her chest.

She glared at Emma, anger rising in her like a wave. “You,” she hissed. “You did this?”

Emma stepped forward. “I just … I wanted to save her life,” she said quietly.

Regina’s eyes flashed with fury. “You’re just like your mother,” she snapped. “Always rushing in, always trying to be the saviour, never stopping to think about the consequences.”

“I didn’t know,” Emma said. “I didn’t know she was Robin’s—”

“Of course you didn’t!” Regina cut her off. “You never do.” She took a step forward, her eyes blazing with a fury she hadn’t felt in ages. “Well, you better hope to hell that you didn’t bring anything else back.”

Emma swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. This wasn’t what she wanted. She hadn’t meant to hurt Regina. She hadn’t meant for any of this. But the damage was done. She could see it in Regina’s eyes—pain, betrayal, and the weight of years spent trying to build something good, only for it to be torn away again.

Robin, still holding Marian close, finally noticed the tension in the air. He looked between Regina and Emma, confusion clouding his face. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Regina took a shaky breath, her eyes softening for just a moment as she met Robin’s gaze. But the sight of him with Marian—of him reunited with the woman he thought he’d lost—was too much to bear. She shook her head. “Nothing,” she whispered. “Nothing at all.”

[psych---ologically-deranged]

psych 2x15 Black & Tan, a crime of Fashion. I thought this was way later in the series, it was one of the earlier episodes I'd seen. SF, CH, KK, JRr, DH

I might be able to tell their voices apart this time

nope nvm it has been nearly two months.

kelly is using her husband's name now! <3 Good for her

*asked permission to not have the flashback* *denied* *extended part where shawn gives himself a mustache*

Something sexy & edgy & sleek

Gus not working on his birthday & the complications that ensue when a case pops up

DH: I enjoyed shooting this scene because it was right around the corner from my apartment (I love the "I'm Black, he's Tan" it's so good.)

JRr: Dule Hill's finest hour

"Cheeta" SF's bro knew the names of ALL the laker girls & that was the inspo for Gus knowing the Gooey Girl's name.

SF: How do you know if someone is bulimic? Me: ... Mom don't read this post. *listing off symptoms in my head* SF: The two fingers are chafed but it looks like she dipped them in acid or red paint.

My man was named after a german tennis player. & then he died.

"The names caused a stir in this episode with the network." "American duos had, like, five, but this has eighteen." "I sent them a document with 30 REAL supermodel names, all of which were multisyllabic & weird, & they were like 'yeaaaaaah....',"

Foot model XD ok Gus. & ankle & hand

It's Gus's birthday hence he's not working tonight. *counting down until midnight.*

Why does Shawn think his dad is asleep at 8pm? Wait nvm he fishes early in the morning.

*Chief opens the door* SS: I didn't see anything SF: & then for one moment it gets just a little weirder

Purple shirt

HS: Come on hawn you have an opinion on everything (Funny how it comes off as "I hate you" even while he's asking him for help)

*leave the gate open* *Gus calling himself cinderella*

Pancakes in a diner at 11 at niht? BG: Woah! Six five! Commenters burst out laughing bc Shawn isn't even doing anything

"Every promotional clip of this show should have this" *Gus & Shawn doing the arrow dance thing

The sneeze was so cute

JRr wrote "I'd rather shower with a bear"

"Look at my jaw!" KV: I've seen enough, you're hired.

YES PLEASE BRING THAT CHARACTER BACK! The show's over, nothing I can do now

Heck yeah amanda detner

a thousand dollars over budget & all in wardrobe

... "I got the window" Kelly left it in for once

Sigrand O'o, who he went to college with. Sorry, Gus would kill me if I said that. Let me fix it: with whom he went to college.

Gus is legit hella strong. I love him. *immediately tends to him* (gay) That pillow fight is JRr sticking to his guns; everybody tried to take it out but JRr du his heels in & got ONE shot.

So much debate on what the song for the slow-mo should have been. *winds down* Dad?

"Why was Henry out in an alley knowing where Shawn would be?" There was an earlier version where Henry heard they were going to a bar, but "I was a detective" was fine.

I MISSED THAT; GUS THROWING THE MODEL OUT OF THE WAY, AGAIN HE'S SO SO STRONG

SS: I'm proud of the fact that I've never been in therapy That's true, he didn't even call the crisis line, he made Gus do it. Related fact: his mom was a psychologist. He probably should be in therapy though.

JRr directed this scene! Good for him.

SF: It's taken Gus about 3 minutes to turn into an incipient horror

Heck yeah aotearoa, this kiwi stuff is so funny but so subtle.

Still shocked that they kept "don't be surprised if your pillow smells faintly of my butt" made it through the censor

Soo funny how the models wake up looking ready for the runway & Shawn is there looking like a normal guy (still a pretty actor tho ofc)

She's a vampire? Where did that come from?

*walking by saying horrible things to the head*

The fashion funeral was a great set piece. "You can't dance at a funeral, Shawn"

"Props to my dear friend amanda for letting herself look like this" *weird model fashion*

She died with her eyes WIDE open but it was cut

Gus with NO PANTS ON but still his SHOES

"That's a painting of Bruce Jenner as a fish''

Star filter & the three of them like *eyes emoji*

Ghandi as a fish

Dead, not dead, & this is how the show got around it.

The point of it, besides Gus's birthday, was to see if they could write a show where there was nobody to cuff in the end.

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | She Freak (Mabe, 1967)

I had a copy of this sitting around for quite a while (one of the perils of buying movies on sale faster than you watch them), and the Criterion Channel just added Tod Browning’s original Freaks as part of a series on Pre-Code Horror, so I did the sensible thing and turned them into a double feature of sorts. There are obvious superficial differences between the two, but the most drastic is one of framing. Browning’s film, in a gesture no doubt even more daring at the time, asks us to identify with the titular characters. He spends ample time with them, gets us to see them as people, has great love for them, and most movingly, generates a great bit of pathos from the love between the characters played by Daisy and Harry Earles.

She Freak is daring too, but in a different way, as it asks us to identify with the villain of the piece, the scheming waitress played by Claire Brennen. The movie introduces her as she’s stuck in a dead end job at a diner where she makes peanuts in tips and has to fend off the advances of her sleazy boss. We see what a soul crushing experience this is for her, so the arrival of a carnival presents a certain excitement. There is a lot of carnival footage in this movie, which on top of padding the runtime (there’s maybe half an hour of plot in this 83-minute movie) and offering documentarian interest, nicely evokes the wonder experienced by this character from the possibilities this new environment presents. (There’s a nice shot of her mouth agape on a Ferris wheel that gets this across elegantly.) The tight runtime of Browning’s movie gives its carnival environment an insular quality (the results are closer to The Unknown than his better known Dracula), but here the carnival feels expansive, wondrous.

So for a good chunk of the movie, we’re somewhat aligned to the villain, although it gets harder to do so once we learn of her disgust towards the freaks and her Machiavellian ambitions. It is kind of funny that she almost throws up after the freakshow, when all we see are a guy swallowing a sword and an older lady handling a snake. There is a little person, but he’s part of the show, he just works at the carnival, although she’s bigoted towards him too, based on a shot of a well-timed pencil snap. The character she eventually marries, the owner of the carnival, articulates a certain humanism towards those with disabilities (“I’m a man and you’re a man”), and one suspects he would have been better off marrying somebody else in the carnival. Maybe the stripper, she seemed like a nice person. Or the sword swallower or snake charmer. Given their talents, they’d probably be good in the bedroom. Hey-o! (Sorry.)

Her marriage to the kind-hearted carnival owner is contrasted with her less wholesome desires for a more malicious carnival performer, and the scenes she share with him have the charge of a roughie, dark shadowy cinematography and an almost experimental cut to nocturnal Ferris wheel footage. Because this uses Browning’s movie as inspiration but pads the runtime so heavily, the eventual climax wherein Brennen gets turned into a freak is stumbled into abruptly, but the sequence itself is quite arresting. (not a spoiler, the movie basically opens telling us this will happen. To be honest, I don’t think she looked that bad as a freak, at least from certain angles. And judging by the way she handles the snake, she’d probably be good in the bedroom. Hey-o! Sorry.) Byron Mabe and David F. Friedman had clearly been watching all those Hammer and Mario Bava movies coming over from across the Atlantic, and they pile on the coloured lighting aggressively, while getting nice and close to the ghoulish freak makeup in between reaction shots where Brennen trains her wide open blue eyes and the gawk of her Mary Woronov jawline right at the camera as she screams in terror. And the rest of the movie looks quite good too, as it has that bright, ���60s B-movie look, which gives the outdoor scenes a warm and sunny atmosphere and really makes Brennen’s purple outfits pop.