#not having anxiety attacks over drawing others ocs

[krenia]

June is an awful month for me this year I forgot how impatient I am now that I'm waiting for Sludge Life 2, steam summer sale and Art Fight all at the same time this is going to make me combust

[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.

[monodramatic-cannibal]

Yet another new utau oc ^^ Yusuke (+ a ref of his other form too)

More info under the cut. Will be adding to it when I think of more

More info on his design:

His height is 6’5 (not counting his ears). In his ‘snow leopard’ form there’s a doodle near the bottom right of it’s size compared to a 6ft person (to it’s shoulders it’s around 7’11)

Late 20s in terms of age (will edit if I choose an age), a little bit younger than most Sanses.

Pansexual, He/Him/They/Them

Is basically nearly always seen with the pillow. If he isn’t seen with it he is either holding onto someone he trusts or his tail

His tail can be any size, but he often has it long. 

Ability to turn into his ‘snow leopard’ form at will, for him this doesn’t take up much magic.

Can be drawn in other clothes, his clothing tends to be baggy techwear clothing, or just baggy stuff. Will often have star themed clothes, will also have a triangle accessory (In reference to Nix-Ceto, his best friend.)

Isn’t technically a Sans, but in his au he and his brother were referred to as ‘Sans’/’Papyrus’ respectively. 

In his skele form he has a ‘halo’ has it to match with Nix’s halo. He normally doesn’t have it in his ‘snow leopard’ form.

In his skele form he has paw feet, but wears specially designed shoes for his paws, mainly because he doesn’t want to get them dirty/wet.

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His magic:

Has a high magic reserves but never tends to use his magic, this means he has magic build up and times his magic may go out of control. When he does remember to he will often try to waste his magic doing dumb stuff with it. 

With his magic he can flip back and forth between his two forms, His main form (skele) and his ‘snow leopard’ form. Both forms have different ways of using the magic. And despite being a ‘snow leopard’ he mainly has ‘fire’ based magic.

Skele form: Is mainly support focused, can create barriers/shields in this form he can use his fire magic to create a barrier that harms anyone that touches it. He can boost the stats of allies, e.g. speed, hp, def, etc. Can do this to multiple stats of one person. Can summon a pen that he can draw in the air with, he can create objects that can appear/get created through what he draws. Can’t create living things or food/water. If he wants to make specific things he can read up a little bit of information about how something works, and he’s then able to create it and have it work e.g. a motorbike. Depending on how big the object is, is depending on how much it takes out of him (e.g. draining him in terms of magic) Has mastery over basic ‘skeleton’ magic. E.g. bones/blasters. But due to his high magic reserve he can output this magic a lot better/quicker than the average skeleton.

‘Snow leopard’ form: Uses a lot more fire, and his fire has a poison/burn effect in this form. Basically anyone who is hit by this fire feels a burning pain that may never go. Can surround his whole body in this flame to protect himself from attacks. Uses the flame to push things away e.g. like a wind attack but with added fire. His tail can extend/shrink in length, can use it like a whip to strike people from a distance, or can use it almost like how a snake would use its body. Can turn himself into a ball of flame to go in one direction very quickly. His flames can get so hot that any water near it evaporates instantly. When in this form his stats change to boss monster stats. 

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Used to have an au. For as long as he could remember it was always him and Papyrus. When he was a little kid having to look after a toddler/baby. He’d try to take any jobs he could (e.g. helping the villagers snow shovel, tidy, etc) as the villagers in snowdin looked after them, he had so much anxiety about being useful to the adults helping him, to repay their kindness. As he got older and could take part time jobs he jumped at the chance to take multiple and earn money to support both him and his brother, as a minor and it being a part time job he never earned that much so took multiple jobs to try to earn enough. He always tried to make time for his brother, always finding time to come home to read Papyrus a story and tuck him into bed. When he became an adult and Papyrus a teen he could quit a few of the jobs, since he was now full time and earning more money due to being an adult. But he still worked 2 jobs, he wanted enough money to provide for his brother, for his brother to have a good life. 

One day when tucking his brother into bed, his brother asked him to pick up a pillow that was across the room. Which when he went over to the pillow and picked it up, he was suddenly hit with the worst ‘gut’ feeling he has ever had in his life. He could tell his brother felt it too by his brother calling out his name. But when he stood up and turned around it’s like half the house had disappeared (like this, but only half), including the bed his brother had been laid in. He stood there in shock, before frantically looking for where his brother went. Looking out he could see the rubble of the house had been knocked halfway across Snowdin, and more buildings were getting ‘pushed’/destroyed, he ran as fast as he could to the other half of his house frantically digging through the rubble, shouting and screaming for his brother.

He could hear destruction around him, screaming and crying, but he didn’t care he needed to find his brother. He still had a hold of the pillow he had picked up, it now discarded at his side. He found dust, and his brothers scarf, leading to him having a breakdown, clutching both the scarf and the pillow. He could hear someone shouting in a commanding voice, but due to his state he couldn’t hear what was being said. 

He was snapped out of it when his shoulder was roughly grabbed by someone, when he turned to see, it was someone who looked quite similar too him. He basically got dragged over to a gateway, a portal. He yelled the whole time not wanting to leave the rubble where his brother had died. But the other him smacked him upside the head, telling him he can ‘grieve later, right now he needs to live, or to help him go gather more people to evacuate’. Realizing the people of Snowdin needed help as well he quickly began to help guide people to the portal, them going to other areas of the underground to do the same thing, till everyone who was left was now through the portal.

When they both got through the portal, he sat down still clutching the scarf and pillow, just staring at the floor, not really knowing what to think. He could hear others trying to comfort people that had come from his au, other versions of people that he knew talking to everyone. Hearing someone settle down next to him, he looked over to see the same guy that he had helped. The guy never said anything just watched on as people grieved. Leading to him doing the same. After a while tears started to silently fall, muttering things like ‘I could have saved him, I should have grabbed him when I got that feeling’. The guy next to him quietly listened to his muttering for a while before finally speaking. “You didn’t know that was going to happen. You want him to live, but think about it the other way, he’d want you to live if he was in your position right now… I can’t exactly tell you how you should live your life now, especially after something like that. But keep going, for his sake.”  

-----------

It took him a while to adjust to his new life, and ended up going by the new name Yusuke. He already had anxiety and such from when he lived in his au, but after the incident of his au, his worried and such doubled. He had found out the name of the other him that helped him that day was Nix-Ceto, though he just called him Nix. Nix would often stop by to check on him, which Yusuke appreciated since he was finding it really hard to make friends. He still kept a hold of the pillow and scarf, though he put the scarf in the pillow acting as extra stuffing for the pillow.

After a bit of struggling with life in the Omega Timeline, Nix offered to have Yusuke travel across aus with him, to help aus and such. Which he accepted, wanting to be close to Nix, seeing Nix as his only good friend. Due to their original time traveling together him and Nix became very close, he was able to see a side of Nix that basically no one would see. Which in turn he would try to show Nix more of himself and what he is really like.

After around 2 years of traveling together Yusuke finally decided he wanted to settle down back in the Omega Timeline. He desperately begged Nix to join him, not wanting to be alone really. But Nix decided to keep traveling, but promised that he’d try to stop by whenever he had time. 

Yusuke spent a lot of time learning a lot of creative skills such as 3d modeling and such, working remotely from his home in the Omega Timeline, this meant he rarely went out, so he found it really hard to make friends, he wanted to meet more people that were into the same things as him, so would often try to frequent places like café’s/etc with his laptop as he works. But could never meet anyone, because the people who were like him, were inside their houses refusing to leave, unlike him who was trying to make an effort to meet people in his own way. When Nix would stop by he loved it, Nix would often try to introduce him to other people, trying to help Yusuke make friends, and a few people he did manage to keep a friendship with, but for the most part his life is very quiet in the Omega Timeline. 

After a few more years passed, he got sick of feeling so lonely, especially with Nix going for longer periods of time. So Next time he saw Nix he asked to begin traveling with him again. Which leads him to current day when he is traveling with what group Nix is currently taking around.

-----------

Yusuke is a relatively chilled out guy who acts sleepy most of the time. He loves to joke around and just chill out and talk with people he gets along with. Despite being rather chill he’s also a crybaby, and can be easily upset, e.g. upset at any form of confrontation. He does try not to cry as much, often trying to hold it in. He feels bad when he makes people worry about him, and will often try to reassure people when he gets upset. He is still a very anxious individual, and can be easily spooked.

When he finds someone he can trust he will often be able to joke around with them, tries to find out people's boundaries when it comes to jokes, doesn’t want to accidentally cross a line. When he befriends someone he will adore them, and will often try to do things for them when he can. If he feels particularly close with someone he’d often hold onto them, only when he feels super okay with them/asks them if they’re okay with it. It takes him a long while to consider someone a close friend. He can be good friends with someone but not see them as a close friend. Depending on the person he’s friends with is depending on how quick he may also see them as a close friend. 

His pillow from his au that belonged to his brother is his comfort item, and panics when it's out of his sight. Gets nervous whenever anyone mentions the pillow, or whenever anyone touches it. When he doesn’t have his pillow in his hands he will often hold onto a close friend or his own tail. 

Is a fairly observant person, tends to notice things about people, places ,etc. Normally a quiet observer of things going on. Tends to step in and say something if he feels it’s something that needs to be mentioned. Will shake like a leaf if he has to confront someone about something. 

Hates being his fur being pet/brushed by someone he doesn’t know/isn’t close with. Will let very few people touch his fur, even less people can brush/take care of his fur. Will slap stuff (like a cat), normally stuff that's in front of him, can tell he's going to slap something when his ears suddenly go back. If someone he doesn’t know/isn’t close to touches him he will also slap right away with no warning, it will be out of panic. Has the agility of a cat/snow leopard, though he never really shows it off really. Will knead on fluffy things, or people he likes/is close too (if they’re okay with it, he will still ask them even if he knows they’re okay with it). Purrs really loudly, almost sounding like an engine he’s that loud.

When he’s in his other form, his ‘snow leopard’ form his personality changes slightly, to be more animalistic. Not fully animal, still with intelligence, but he won’t fully be himself. He’s more likely to run off of animal instinct in this form. Unlike him being passive in his main form, this form tends to be more violent, e.g. instead of getting upset about something he may get mad instead. 

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Relationships/ (Friendships/etc) with other characters/thoughts on other characters: (will only write about my own ocs here, or fandom characters. Won’t write about others ocs due to not wanting to mischaracterize them)

Nix-Ceto: Is very close with Nix. Nix is his best friend. He appreciates everything that Nix has done for him, and actively works to at least try to repay Nix’s kindness despite Nix always telling him he doesn’t have to do anything for him. Bases some of his looks off of Nix, e.g. the flame halo to match Nix’s shark halo, and triangles across his design to match with Nix’s triangle theming as well. One of the few people that Yusuke lets touch him/his fur. In term he’s one of the very few people Nix lets touch him as well. Will often joke around with Nix, but knows Nix doesn’t tend to joke around as much with other people there. Will also jokingly flirt with Nix, just because he finds it funny and Nix is fine with it. Will often just yap to Nix, he knows Nix is listening even if it doesn’t look like it. How he knows Nix listens to his yapping is because one time he talked a lot about anime to Nix and then next time he saw Nix, Nix gave him a hoodie based off of an anime he was talking about. 

Tanue: Is kinda scared of Tanue, knows Tanue mostly means well, and does sort of get along with Tanue when Tanue is more chilled out. But for the most part he only tires to interact with Tanue when Nix is there. Tanue’s fight-y/loud nature spooks him. But when they do get along Yusuke enjoys the conversations that they have, and Yusuke also enjoys the food that Tanue may make for the group every so often.

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

sorry this is so short, AGAIN, I’m STILL having trouble deciding where to cut these chapters off 😭 we’ll be out of the medbay in the next chapter i promise

part forty-five

❝ AWAKE AND ALIVE ❞

SUNDAY — SEPTEMBER 13 — 4:04PM

ASTEN DIDN'T WAKE UP UNTIL FOUR THE NEXT DAY. 

Bentley had been drifting in and out of consciousness for hours. Every now and then Alfred would run a test, or give him some more pain medicine, and every single time, Bruce was there just like he said he’d be. A few times, Dick was there with him. Once, Jason was. It was a blur up until somebody started screaming, at which point Bentley was suddenly very much awake.

He was disoriented and didn’t even have time to realize who was screaming until the screaming stopped, and a few people were grouped around Asten’s bed.

Bentley blinked and took hold of his surroundings again. Jason and Alfred were near Asten’s bed. Dick and Damian were in the other room, along with Barbara. Tim, Duke, Steph, and Cass weren’t there. 

Bruce was right next to Bentley, where he said he’d be. And… something warm was right next to Bentley.

He glanced down at himself and realized that he wasn’t the only one in the bed, but that, since they were both so small, Nico had curled up on the end of the mattress like some kind of cat and was sleeping there, completely unaware of the sound or movement around him. 

Suddenly, Asten wasn’t screaming anymore, but crying. Crying so pitifully and terribly that it reminded Bentley of the night his parents died. 

“It’s alright,” Bruce said, and instinctively, his hand came up to rest on the top of Bentley’s head, drawing his attention away from Asten.

He looked around again, his eyes landing on future Nico, who was standing strangely in a dim corner, watching Asten closely. With a glance around and a wink in Bentley’s direction, he zoomed across the room with a blip that made him disappear in a warp of light.

Bentley and Asten were both awake. Did that mean his job was done? That he was gone?

“How are you feeling?” Bruce questioned. Bentley took a second to focus on his body. His head was hurting pretty bad, and so was his whole abdomen where he’d been stabbed. His ankle was sort of throbbing as well. He was still kind of floaty and loopy, though, which meant some pain medicine was probably working.

He ended up shrugging. “Everything kinda hurts.”

Bruce’s hand began to move in his hair. “I’m sorry. You’re due for more pain meds in about an hour.”

Bentley said nothing, but glanced back over at Asten, who was being quietly consoled by Jason. He wasn’t just crying anymore — he was hyperventilating and shaking and looked a whole lot like Bentley thought he looked during an anxiety attack.

Bentley inhaled. “Will he be okay?”

Bruce’s hand continued to move through his hair and kind of really reminded him of Dick.

“Yes, bud. He’ll be okay,”

A few moments of silence passed where Bentley could only sort of make out what Jason was saying to Asten. He gave up halfway through listening because it was too quiet.

In the midst of the quiet, Dick came into the room with a bright (but at the same time dull?) look on his face and in his eyes. Bentley attempted to push himself so he was sitting up, and while it was still very painful, it was successful this time — Bruce situated the pillows behind him and whatever little pain meds were still working were doing a very good job for a kid who’d been impaled. 

Dick walked over, and in one swift movement, hugged Bentley as gently as he could.

“I love you so much, kiddo,” It sounded like his eyes were misty — Bentley didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he relaxed into the familiar embrace, bringing his arms up and around Dick’s shoulders in return. This sure does beat dying alone in a pile of debris.

“I love you, too.”

When Dick moved (which took a long time, but no one had expected any less.) Damian was standing behind him, near Bentley’s bed. 

Dick moved out of his way, and a moment of silence passed where no one did anything. Bentley was just happy to be there — happy everyone was there. Happy to be breathing.

Damian moved quickly toward Bentley, like he was ripping a bandaid off, making a decision before he could convince himself not to.

Damian hugged him.

Bentley was frozen and tense for a solid three seconds before he decided that might make Damian not want to do it again. Then he hugged him back. Had Damian ever actually… did Damian even hug people? Bentley wasn’t sure he’d ever even seen Damian hug someone.

“I am glad you are alright,” Damian said, stiffly removing himself from Bentley’s embrace. “I am in your debt.”

“No you’re not,” He replied, searching Damian’s face for any tinge of emotion. There might’ve been a layer of something clouding his eyes. Might’ve.

“You saved my life,” Damian replied simply, crossing his arms. “I can not take generosity like that for granted — I owe you.”

“I already have everything I need,” Bentley replied, and he saw Bruce smile in his peripheral.

Damian sighed. “One day, you will need me. Then we will be even.”

Bentley said nothing, but nodded in response. 

Just then, the other someone curled up on the medbay bed began to shift.

Bentley glanced down at Nico, who was laying next to his legs, just in time to see his blue eyes flutter open and bounce around. They landed on Bruce, on Damian, on the bed, the walls, on Dick, who was off to the side.

When they finally landed on Bentley, you’d have thought he was a parent coming home from deployment. Nico nearly fell off the bed at the speed that he moved, whamming into Bentley in a way that definitely would’ve hurt worse if he wasn’t hyped up on so many drugs.

“Whoa, Nico, easy,” Bruce started.

“I was so scared. I woke up when you were having surgery,” The blonde muttered, hiding his face away — probably because he was nearly in tears. “I was afraid you wouldn’t wake up.”

Bentley, although stunned, hugged him back. “It’s okay, I’m fine.”

Nico made a funny sound. “You need to learn what those words mean.”

Bentley said nothing, and after a minute, snickered. “I guess so. Are you feeling better?”

“A lot,” Nico replied, finally letting go of him. “Y’know, less pukey and sick and stuff.”

“That’s good,”

A moment of silence passed. Nico glanced over at Asten, so Bentley did, too. 

He was still crying, but not as badly as before, and Jason was standing next to the bed, facing away from Bentley, talking. 

In a flash and a blip, Nico crashed into Asten, too. 

Jason backed off, turning on his heel and letting his eyes rest on Bentley with a little fond look.

“Hey, kid. How are you feeling?” Jason questioned. He ruffled his hair for only a second, to which Bentley smiled.

“It still hurts,” He replied honestly. “But I’m okay.”

Jason smiled faintly. “I’m glad.”

Bentley smiled, and the room fell into quiet again.

He glanced over at Asten and Nico. Nico was still hugging the life out of him, and Asten was simply letting him. Bentley met his eyes over Nico’s shoulder. They shared a faint smile.

Everything would be okay.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @flyrobinflyy @skylathescholar @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun @xiaonothere @beatyoutothatusernameloser

[sockssketchingshack]

So uh. I never really did an intro soooo

I see a lot of people asking about commissions and I am here to tell you that I don't do them! They stress me out! Sorry but they're Scary. But I do drawing *requests*. Because I like drawing things without any form of pressure to draw them!

Now that's out of the way, hello there! My name is Socrates. But everyone calls me socks.

I am an adult! 18 years old, April 23 2006.

My pronouns are he/him!

I am both a trans man and bisexual!

Things you should know:

I have low to severe functioning autism. Meaning I need help from those outside of my own self. Basically help with my day to day life and for scary situations such as talking to strangers IRL. Or complex decisions such as bank details or that kinda thing. I need others to help me!

That doesn't mean I'm not smart though. I'm mostly slow. I call it rebooting. So if I ever take a while to respond it's probably because I'm thinking about what to say!

I have bipolar disorder. I deal mostly with mood swings one minute ranting about how cute my cat is the next minute crying over how cute my cat is.

I deal with a lot of doctors! Two or more appointments a week! So if I tell you multiple times over a short span of time I can't talk cause I'm going to the doctor's it's not an overused excuse! It's true!

I have severe anxiety. Meaning any communication at all stresses me out. But I still really wanna try to socialize!

I have memory issues.

So if you wanna talk I'm welcome to it. I'm just really, really, shy. And sometimes I'll panic and end conversations out of nowhere. So if you ever wanna talk all I ask is to be understanding and a lil patient.

And if you talk to me long enough I'll grow to trust you! Which means I'll feel more comfortable and calm when talking to you!

About my art:

I love art! But it's hard to do since I have some physical problems. But I do it anyway! I mainly draw things I like or request / challenges I receive. I like to draw my little persona alot because he's simple and easy to draw. I also have a lot of OC's! Ask me about them! I love them all and will be over the moon to share their stories outside of just the art I make of them!

About my text posts:

Text posts are semi common. It's mostly little ramblings or rants. Or just how I'm feeling. But again I mostly posts art.

If I ever interact with you or your posts:

It means I wanna talk to you but don't know how so I just try to show affection with hearts and sometimes if I'm brave enough a comment or reply. But I still really wanna learn to socialize with you!

Hobbies:

Art, cooking, baking, gardening, sewing, video games.

Lastly:

Ask me stuff! Talk to me if ya want! I am lonely. And I love you! And I'm proud of you! Take care of yourself! You deserve it! Bye! Love you!

Things I like (extra bit):

Get ready it's a long lists,

anime!

Any anime really even if I haven't seen it! I have watched a bit of or completed, Naruto, one piece, jujutsu keisen, Ouran host club, black clover, sword art online, attack on Titan, Yuri on ice, one punch man, my hero academia, assassination classroom, food wars, pokemon, the promised Neverland. And a bit more I'm probably forgetting.

Video games!

Any video game really! Even if I haven't played it! But I have played or watched others play: stardew valley, undertale, Minecraft, Roblox, terraria, cult of the lamb, overwatch 2, dead by daylight, Skyrim, halo, rocket League, cod black ops 2 zombies, moonlighter, hollow night, sky children of the light, don't starve together, subnautica, subnautica below zero, alot of different Pokemon games, five nights at Freddy's, astroneer, monster hunters, and one of my absolute all time favorites SLIME RANCHER!

other medias / things, TV shows, books, etc:

Percy Jackson, a bit of harry potter, marvel universe, DC universe, amazing digital circus, don't hug me I'm scared, Steven universe, avatar the last Airbender, we bear bears, and more I'm probably forgetting.

That's all bye.

[bluelolblue]

Oc Deep Dive: Romano

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Romano's fear... I did mention that he has a fear of losing his closest people. But also, he has lots of fears about himself, oh no, which one do I choose? There is fear of abandonment, unworthy of love, losing control... BUT I chose to explain his fear of vomiting (emetophobia). He's a firstborn son in this Italian mafia family of Belgian malinoises, and it was expected a lot from him (at least his father did). But he was always in his own little world and just well... those gruesome parts of being a part of a mafia disturbed him, and well, puking was something that traumatized him (also probably was punished for it by his father when he was little). However, he can handle blood, he has his skills with a gun and weapons in general, but... if someone pukes... he is fighting that anxiety and panic attacks back. And the fear of losing control over his own body, to be that vulnerable to break down in front of someone and he's supposed to be a part of a mafia family, which means not be weak, just adds a layer to this fear. So... he has emetophobia.

Do they have any pet peeves?

Oh boy... he hates when people lack manners. Especially if someone cuts him off RUDELY on his sentence. When someone is disorganized: see, this is connected with his fear of losing control- he feels like he needs to have everything organized and if someone is not that well organized, he gets irritated (I think he'd be willing to help to organize tho ^ ^). Oh, and not being taken seriously. He is often underestimated... but he proves it wrong, too, but still gets very annoyed if not taken seriously.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

A closet full of his suits, a box of jewelry that are mostly rings, and collection of watches.

What do they notice first in a person?

Body language, he is very good at observing people, even if he doesn't seem that way, he will know almost everything just by the way the person is holding themselves. And the way they're dressed (though, he doesn't judge... unless it's someone he hates).

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Emotionally: 6/10, he was hurt his whole life and he started to handle it well but still fights back not to break down. He is a sensitive soul, although he doesn't want to show it T_T. Physically: 7/10 He was also hurt physically through his life so it build his tolerance along his emotional one.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? (or freeze and fawn)

Romano... well, definitely mostly fawn mode. Like I said, he has a fear of rejection and abandonment, and that he was rejected as a failed heir by his father so... Romano wants to feel validation and if he can get it by pleasing others... even if it means to try and calm down the certain situation, no matter how much it actually hurt him. But I think as he heals with time he can get other responses too.

What animal represents them best?

Well, Romano is an anthropomorphic Belgian malinois so... a dog! ^ ^

How would a stranger likely describe them?

"A handsome looking gentleman, pure breed Belgian malinois, in expensive Italian style suits, but despite being a part of such an important family, he is very polite and and charming."

Do they have any hobbies?

Oh, he used to love writing and drawing as a kid but his father ruined it for him. HOWEVER he still really enjoys that. As time passes and he heals (with Luna's support ^ ^) he starts doing those hobbies again. He loves to get inspired by something, especially if it's something he can draw (like that pic I put), so he would draw it and write next to it :]

Thank you for tagging me @kavalyera I am tagging you again! No pressure tags: @thewhumpcaretaker @babayagaiscomingforya @tobytheeggo and anyone else who wants to share about their oc's!

[lazymonth]

The concept of Attack and other special skills of my Ocs when they enter Wondergøtten

[ Wondergøtten made by @danisha-tdh ]

A little bit talking about Truila Cybug power : While Turbo got the claws, Trulia got the whole arms reference from before she got to the Wondergøtten Trulia edit her own code mixing with Cybug code while she’s hiding in The racer Hero’s duty

▶ The frenzy mode is when Truila attacked enough enemies The frenzy mode will be charged and can use it to boot up physical power. Her appearance will change too by have some part of Cybug form showing up. She’s also more aggressive too ( btw Cassie doesn't have Frenzy mode )

I’m trying to be creative as possible about theirs power but the fact that both of them have a hard reference from Tubro / King candy sometimes it’s cannot be avoided that they’ll have a some similarity 😔

Bonus concept ↷

Quick drawing of a concept of... Anxiety mode? Not sure about the name much but it's a similar concept with Hysteria-Turbo.

When her HP gets very low Truila has a chance to turn into Anxiety mode like a self defense mechanism. Her body will be twisted and start to shift it into 6'5" Hybrid cybug form but look pretty much different from her cybug form she used to look like before got into Wondergøtten

This mode opens the way for cybug code to take over her body. This makes Turila even more aggressive than frenzy mode and becomes pretty dangerous ( I also have an idea that Cassie might have this Anxiety mode too, probably )

I'm not sure that this concept will be a thing for real or not cause it's very similar to Hysteria-Turbo. But It's a fun concept tho!

[medicated-for-public-safety]

So I finally made a One Piece OC that I actually got around to drawing, lol. Meet Jask of the Straw Hat Pirates! I've been trying to get used to drawing chubby and fat characters, and I'm pretty proud of how this one turned out...even if I got lazy and used the same pose for both pre and post time skip lmao.

Name: Coyote Jask Pirate Nickname: Bloody Jaws Jask Birthday: 7/7 Age: 18 (Pre Time skip), 20 (Post Time skip) Height: 157 cm Likes: Fried eel, stuffed animals, jewelry, biting Devil Fruit: Musha Musha no Mi (Chomp Chomp Fruit) The Musha Musha no Mi allows it’s user to ‘chomp’ things, both with their mouth and various parts of their body whenever they are brought together in a ‘biting’ motion. When Jask first joins the Straw hats, she can only ‘chomp’ with her mouth and her hands. After the two years training on an island of seemingly insurmountable obstacles keeping her from escaping said island, she is able to ‘chomp’ with her index finger and thumb for smaller targets, as well as her legs and arms and feet if she brings them together with the intent to ‘chomp’. As her powers get stronger over time and finally awaken, she begins to be able to form temporary mouths all over her body for more powerful ‘chomp’ attacks. Her ‘chomps’ can ‘bite’ through anything except seastone, which nullifies the power of the Devil Fruit. The other downsides to her powers are that she lost her original normal teeth that were replaced by sharp and almost shark-like teeth, as well as how she can taste whatever she ‘chomps’ and how her gums will begin to bleed when she overuses her powers. Haki: Observation Haki and Armament Haki

Personality: Jask is a fiery young woman who is fiercely loyal and almost always up for a laugh. She gets flustered whenever being called ‘cute’, ‘beautiful’, and ‘sweet’, and vehemently denies being so. She also won’t accept a number of romantically inclined pet names. She’s pretty subconscious about being overweight and doesn’t see many of her positive aspects outside of how well of a fighter she is. Jask enjoys making people laugh with her particular brand of blunt and sometimes inappropriate humor, especially if they are upset, and she puts others mental and emotional well-being before her own; especially her crew mates. She suffers from depression and CPTSD, but tries not to let that stop her from living her life.

History: Jask grew up with a loving mother and a narcissistic grandmother fighting over her. Her grandmother constantly tried to turn Jask against her mother, while Jask’s mother fought to keep custody of her daughter. The two often had screaming matches that left Jask curled up in a different room while covering her ears and having an anxiety attack. Jask’s mother often sent Jask and her little brother with her brother’s family at an early age, which left Jask vulnerable. She ended up being abused by her brother’s grandmother’s boyfriend at the tender age of five, resulting in her becoming even more shut in as she kept the secret and guilt of this from everyone but her grandmother. When her grandmother found out, however, she twisted the story around to have Jask’s stepfather wrongly arrested and forced her mother to move them to a different island to get away from the marines until the step-father’s name was cleared.

Jask gained some semblance of normalcy after that, and forgot about her woes as she returned to being a normal child and making friends.

However, when they moved back to her home island when she was eleven, she met her childhood abuser again and everything came back to her in a rush of adrenaline—including the fear.

Her childhood abuser took his time to worm his way back into the family before, one day, he cornered Jask while she was out gathering firewood alone. He’d been followed, however, and when Jask’s mother found the man embracing her clearly terrified child, she realized what he was doing and killed him right then and there. Unfortunately, due to this, Jask’s mother had to leave the island before the marines caught and executed her.

She tucked her children in one last time, kissed them each goodnight, and disappeared into the night with the final words: “I love you. Never forget that.”

While Jask’s mother disappeared, she left something behind for her daughter.

Jask awoke to a small chest on her bedside table. There was a weird looking fruit inside, as well as a note that simply read, “Eat this. When the time comes, find me in the Grand Line”. Jask wasn’t sure what to do with the fruit, and ended up keeping it for a few days, even hiding it from her little brother and step father. As it was one of the last things her mother gave her, it was precious.

But her mother had wanted her to eat it. The note said so.

So, seated in her room by herself, Jask bit into the mysterious fruit. It was bitter, and tasted nasty, but she pushed through and ate the entire fruit. Not sure what to do now, Jask cringed when she felt a pain in her mouth. The pain grew worse, causing her to cry out and blood spilled from her lips and her teeth began to fall out, one by one. By the time her brother ran into her room, Jask had a whole new set of sharp, pointed teeth.

It was Jask’s stepfather that had to explain to her that what she had eaten was known as a Devil Fruit. Jask’s mother had inherited the fruit from her father (Jask’s grandfather that she’d never had the chance to meet), and it was called the Mushi Mushi no Mi. She was now a Chomp Chomp person; not that he knew what that meant.

Jask couldn't figure it out either...at least until she accidentally ‘chomped’ a hole in her bedroom ceiling while playing with her new teeth one night.

From that point on, Jask tested her new powers in secret from the adults; especially her controlling grandmother that was trying to get custody of her once more.

Sometimes her little brother would help her train, and she helped him learn to fight as well as they grew older. Year by year, they gradually got stronger by themselves until a merchant vessel showed up in their town. The ship was looking for new crew members.

Jask, now eighteen and free to do as she pleased despite her grandmother vehemently telling her not to go, signed up for the crew in hopes that they would bring her to the Grand Line. She quickly became the bosun, or boatswain’s, apprentice.

Unfortunately, her new crew didn’t keep her for long.

They abandoned her on an island after she was imprisoned for accidentally using her devil fruit powers. Just when all hope seemed lost, a certain crew of miscreants appeared.

Fun facts: Jask doesn’t actually eat that much, and has trouble eating more than one meal a day. When left to her own devices, she usually only eats a sandwich or a noodle salad since they are easy to make. This has changed since joining the Straw Hats, as Sanji noticed this problem and has reminded Jask to eat more than once a day by making and bringing her snacks.

Jask is the Straw Hat crew’s bosun.

Jask’s reason for going out to sea is to find her mother.

Jask’s little brother joined the Marines for the same reason, not that she knows this as she hasn’t seen him since she left her home island.

Jask sleeps with and carries a purple bat stuffed animal with her at all times, keeping it safely tucked into a pack on her back. It’s her emotional support plush and his name is Echo. She’s had to patch a hole in his ear after a run-in with some marines post-time skip.

Jask likes jewelry a lot, mainly necklaces and rings, though she doesn’t wear much since she doesn’t want to risk losing or damaging valuable luxury items like that. Still, she wears one necklace and, after the time skip, a second necklace with a shark tooth and an anklet with a single bead on it.

Jask tends to bite people when she gets angry to the point that she draws blood. She’s had this habit since she was a child.

She also bites the people she’s fond of, usually on the arms or shoulders. These affection bites never draw blood.

Whenever the depression gets to be too much, Jask can often be found hiding in small, cramped spaces below deck.

The tattoos that Jask showed up with after the time skip were given to her by the tribe she stayed with during the two years. Each band represents a trial she passed during her time with the tribe as she prepared to take on the thick ring of supposedly impassable mountains surrounding the island and keeping the tribe isolated there.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

3, 8, and 10 for Josh?

Hello! Gonna answer these numbers from appearance :3

👕3. Is there something about your character's appearance that they would change if possible? Josh is extremely self-conscious about his Corprus burn scars. They cover most of his body and have resulted in the amputation of part of his right foot and most of his right pectoral. They are painful to the touch in a way that makes his skin feel too tight. He wears tightly wrapped bandages to compress what he can when he's going about his day to day and most of the time he can play his wrapped hands off as sparing tape. He has a variety of stories about how he got them. The stories about the Nerevarine don't mention his extensive scaring anymore, and he's not inclined to start correcting people on it. If someone does get close enough to him to see him without his armour then he usually just says he was attacked by a wizard. There was a time when he blamed Red Mountain erupting but as the decades dragged on that became less feasible. He sometimes blames them on dragons once it became readily apparent those exist now. For a long time his anxiety over how he looks kinda ate into his sex life. He fucks in the dark and rarely disrobes entirely to avoid questions. Anything more than that and he finds he just can't continue. He just gets into his head far too much. Seeing him vulnerable like that is a level of intimacy he is often uncomfortable with. Which is why he can count those who are that close on one hand.

👕8. Does your character have a physical trait that they're known for? In the late third era it was the Corprus scarring that generally marked him as unquestionably the Nerevarine. Particularly the hand shaped one on his left forearm. Though with that memory fading from the Dunmeri collective consciousness the focus lands back onto Moon-and-Star, the ring he wears on his right pointer finger. But that's pointing the Nerevarine out in a crowd, not Teldryn Ensirhaddon-Sero. Recognising Teldryn in a crowd usually come down to his height and attire. The guy is rarely seen in public without his full suit of armour. (yeah I should properly draw the whole outfit) A chitin helmet, magenta goggles that obscure his eyes, his vermilion scarf that covers his face and the various suits of mixed pieces of netch leather and chitin plate that he's scavenged together over the centuries. He dresses like an old Ashlander and he has the height to carry that illusion. Only by the fourth era, no one really sees any Ashlanders outside of Solstheim anymore, so he just looks like a rough mercenary from the mainland who may or may not be part chimney with how much tobacco he smokes.

👕10. If your character could splurge on a particular garment, what would it be?

Josh really, really adores silk- specifically Urshilaku spun silk but any will make him happy. He owns a lot of expensive silk lounge robes that he wears when he's alone (and little else). His favourite garment is the crimson and gold robe that Erra had made for him when they married (they designed each others as wedding gifts). If he was going to splurge on some Ashlander spun silk it would probably be another robe or another pair of silk lounge slippers that cushion the parts of his foot that are often sore from his prosthesis. Though mostly he just has repairs done on his old stuff. Some of his clothes are centuries old at this point, and he's very sentimental. He spends a lot of money to make a proper robe for someone else though.

OC asks here

[swadloom]

Welcome to my Tank!

Mike / Swad, He/him + fish neos if you'd like!

Around-adult-limbo, no more details than that but will respect dnis over age

Directory:

@mj-makoshark - Artblog. I've been drawing my comic ocs lately! Go check it out!

@occasional-pyrrhon - the one where I draw the guy

Pkmn irl roleplay (Main / currently most active): @silver-crowned-riders @rocket-researcher-antares @savior-of-raging-flames

More infrequent pkmn irl blogs: @starblessed-blasterz @therealwormhole-official @cookinguptrouble

Artfight: https://artfight.net/~MJ_Makoshark

My Flight Rising :] (has it's own batch of ocs and bits of writing teehee)

I like getting asks, especially on my sideblogs listed above! I can just be slow and too perfectionist with replying to things. Also im anxious and forget things a lot. Reminders are fine 👍

Mutuals feel free to tell me if you need an "x don't look" tag or the like

Main interests / Things I might post about a lot:

🦢 #ki - kid icarus uprising my biggest old hyperfixation ever that gives me a heart attack if I think about it too long

🌞 #guy tag - posts that have mister pyrrhon kid icarus's spirit in their hearts. I hyperfixated on him so hard as a young teen during lockdown that I thought god hated me I am not joking.

🐱 #creatures - animal guys

🐝 #music tag mix of posts with music and posts about the guys who make it. They might be giaaants boy

🦈 #disney atlantis - My favorite movie my beautiful fuckeing wife

🐉 #d&d - I'm just now getting to play it again after a lot of shitty history with it but I mostly half-enjoy half-complain about the setting and monsters, and also love miniature painting

🐾 #pkmn - my last interest that I can cling onto for more than 3 seconds before being pulled back into sun guy abyss. I love elgyem

Usually original posts about each of these use the full game / show etc names and such

Other tags

🐠 #mecore - posts that are me

🐏 #rambles - The posts that make me sound the most like a Poster posting Posts to the internet. You'll get what I mean maybe

🦜 #vocabulary altering posts - a verbal stim art gallery of sorts

🎮 #michael gaming - Posting about my experiences with different games, especially might use if I otherwise wouldn't put it in a main tag

#👾 - Vague space and/or alien and/or technology and/or horror adjacent stuff tag idk how to explain this oneee :ppp

I can have a hard time talking about some of my interests or even engaging with them without embarassment or anxiety (especially kid icarus) but most discussions I'm up for now. saying things about Pyrrhon is a physical need just i might start growling and walking around to calm down if I see official art or game screenshots of him I'm sure you can understand </3

if you're obsessed with fawning over pairings between kids and adults and call ppl who hate that antis uhm don't come to my house and I won't go to yours. I don't do call outs and anon hate I say "ew gross" to myself and keep walking and go lalala. I usually only block people who are weirdly passionate about this stuff yk

[griffincloud]

desire or nightmare for peachleaf :3

Sorry for not getting to this sooner ^^", I was busy and now I'm sick so I may not be super coherent in my rambling

So this will require a "brief" worldbuilding synopsis since Peachleaf is very much intertwined with the non-WC canon part of this WCOC story. But basically, there are basically 3 levels/tiers of existing (best wording I got): you're either alive, in limbo (sort of like The Dark Forest but not really? You don't go there if you're evil; described as "having a paw between being alive and dead" by Tuftbee), and fully dead/StarClan. Most cats go from living straight to being a StarClan cat upon dying, but if you for some reason have some form of "unfinished business" or cannot accept your death, you are now stuck in limbo. A spirit cannot leave this state once stuck there and this limbo state isn't good for the "health" of the spirit. The spirit will slowly become sick or "corrupted" by their feelings of hate and turmoil over their death; if enough time passes, the spirit will fully "corrupt" and become unrecognizable from their former selves. The speed at which this happens relies on how well the spirit keeps themselves at peace, but no spirit is immune from corrupting as spirits are naturally emotional creatures

Corrupted spirits are known to attack and kill the living. But the presence of non-corrupted spirits isn't good either; extended exposure to one unknowingly causes sickness and unexplained stress usually manifesting as anxiety or paranoia

This is where Shepherds come in. Shepherds are unique in the sense that they can see spirits (as cats cannot see spirits with the exception of corrupted spirits when they're about to be attacked by them/when the spirit shows themselves to the cat first) and are gifted the power to help spirits pass on and purify the corrupted spirits. Each Shepherd is born from the same family, descended from the first Shepherd's littermates as Floodfog never had kits of her own. When one Shepherd dies, the eldest kit of the next litter born after they pass will become the next one. Peachleaf is the 11th Shepherd, succeeding Icefern

Now, onto the actual questions...

Desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

To have a voice in the clans (whether that be by taking up a higher-ranking role or otherwise). This isn't a bad desire at all, but she still tries to word this to herself as just wanting to serve the clans and make them better in an attempt to be humble/coy. She doesn't like to draw much attention to herself paradoxically

She chooses to be a Medic since she genuinely wants to help other cats and that is something she feels strongly about, but being a well-respected member of her society is a plus to her. She tries to work hard and aid her leader and clanmates any way she can to earn or keep their respect, even if they already respect her because she's their family (by blood or not)

Nightmare: What does your OC have nightmares about? How do they deal with their nightmares? Do they tell people, or keep it to themself?

Peachleaf has nightmares about seeing her friends, family, and clanmates become corrupted spirits because that means she could not help them not only in life as a Medic but also not in death as a Shepherd. As for how she copes with the idea, I can't particularly go into that too much as that would be leaning into spoiler territory (which I would love to talk about with just mutuals if anyone is curious but it's maybe not the best idea to go into that too much publicly if I wanna turn this into a comic one day) but let's just say, she copes with it in ways that progress the plot. But she largely keeps these fears to herself as she feels it is her burden to bear (and has been sworn to secrecy by Tuftbee, her great-grandmother and the 8th Shepherd as she feels that's what you're supposed to do) but she does console in a select few cats about her duties and fear of failing those duties such as Sterletcurl, Ripplingbreeze, Sizzlingpond, Xanthiawing, and of course Tuftbee

Prompts List

[voidapocalypse]

Welcome to the Void Apocalypse

Hello! This is technically my second ask-blog, but also not a ask-blog? I don't know what to call this blog, it's just my Void blog I guess! Anyways, this AU seemingly takes place after gourmands quest (Still figuring time frame out but this seems a good time).

Main blog: @unknownanomoly Other RW ask-blog: @ask-the-other-side SprunkiTown Ask-blog: @ask-sprunkitown-citizens Sprunki Experiment Au: @lostexperimentsau Artfight: Mistakens_art Discord: Server Toyhouse: [May add one soon for this AU at least] Commissions: Closed 0/5 slots (rewriting)

Ask Box: OPEN

Requests: OPEN

WARNING!! Before you proceed!!!

This Au involves a LOT of sensitive topics!!! Such as abuse, suicide mentions, depressions, anxiety disorders, mental disorders, yandere stuff, gore/blood, body horror, death, undead, infection/virus, child death, please proceed at your own risk!!

Prologue:

A long time ago, around when spearmaster was made (Thousands of years before) he was sent out on a mission to see what was wrong with Five Pebbles. When he got there, Five Pebbles was dripping with a void fluid substance and ended up attacking spearmaster, infecting him with the void virus (Send me any better name ideas for the virus if you have one!). After spearmaster was infected he started infecting other creatures, and the virus quickly spread throughout the entire rainworld. For a while it seemed it was contained within the walls of the 5P and LTTM area, but one certain slugcat was sent to help moon, and ended up bringing the virus over the walls and into outer expanse, where it spread more. This virus affects EVERYTHING, nothing is safe from it, nothing can hide. The virus spreads from either bites, wounds, or any substance that comes from the infected such as "blood", slobber, tears, etc.

Cure: None found yet

You may for this blog: ~Ask AU questions ~Request drawings ~Ask me things (Preferred if this is on main blog tho) ~Send me your OCs to draw ~And IDK anything else you can think off NO suggestive or sexual asks or requests please

You may send me your OCs and I can draw them in this AU's style if you wish! Just be aware they WILL BE anthropomorphized if they are not already! So if your not alright with this please don't send your characters to me!! You can also send me Iterator OCs if you wish as Iterators also play a big part in this AU! Also if I like your character enough I might add them as filler/background characters if needed, if you are also not comfortable with this please don't send your character to me! If you want to send me any other creature, I'll allow it, but only scavengers will be anthro, lizards and any other creature will not, and also most other creatures besides scavvy, iterator, and slugcat, will most likely be like 95% of the time infected, so also be aware of that, if you really wish me not to make them infected but REALLY want me to draw them, just tell me, I don't bite I promise, plus I don't think I can bite through the screen anyways!! ^w^

Main Characters:

Survivor ~ Ref (Slugcat) Monk ~ Ref (Slugcat) Gourmand ~ Ref (Snaildog) Spearmaster ~ Ref (Snaildog) Hunter ~ Ref (Slugcat) Artificer ~ Ref (Slugcat) Pearlcat ~ Ref (Snaildog) Saint ~ Ref (Slugcat) ??? ~ Ref (Snaildog)

Main Villians:

Void Watcher ~ Ref (Slugcat??) 5P ~ Ref SOS ~ Ref

Main Side Characters:

Rivulet ~ Ref (Slugcat) Freckles ~ Ref (Slugcat) Vinki ~ Ref (Slugdog) Drone Master ~ Ref (Snaildog) Karma ~ Ref (Slugcat??) Pearlpup ~ Ref (Snaildog) Beecat ~ Ref (Slugcat) SRS ~ Ref NSH ~ Ref LTTM ~ Ref CW ~ Ref UI ~ Ref ??? ~ Ref (Slugcat)

Side Characters (Friends OCs):

Side Characters (Others OCs):

Other Animals:

Scav king ~ Ref Monk's Lizards ~ Ref Mr. Wigglesworth ~ Ref

[funstarscircusmichealafton]

Had to make some alternate outfits for my fnaf oc, this took even longer than some of my best art pieces 😭

My apologies for not posting ✨any good art✨ (Aka anything besides my ocs) During the past few days, summer break has just started and I’ve been having some major anxiety issues (anxiety attacks almost every other day) so I really need a break from drawing and to finally get therapy. Also my dog has been being super bad lately, meaning I have to put more attention to her, also with an overall lack of motivation to draw I just haven’t been drawing as much , sorry :,)

I much prefer drawing my ocs over drawing fnaf characters , maybe it’s because I can’t draw males and my favorite character is micheal afton so I kinda have to make a (kind of?) genderswap micheal afton oc , she’s not really genderswap, I have just heard people call her that

[makshu]

Another OC! And this time with digital drawing! :D

This is an OC of a pjo RPG that I'm going to participate in, and if everything goes well, the first session will be this Saturday :)

Without further ado, here it is!

This is Raviel Belmonte, a 15 year old boy, son of Hipnos.

A boy who is going through a lot of problems and all he wanted most was to see his father at least once. He was born in Brazil and lived there until he was 5 years old, then moved to the USA and lives there to this day with his mother and older sister. He is about to discover his true origin, little does he know that he is actually a demigod.

Some fun facts about him:

• His nickname is Ravi;

• He is American and Brazilian, having been born in Brazil but having an American mother (in short, he has dual citizenship);

• He has dyslexia, ADHD, OCD, anxiety and insomnia;

• Every moment he is falling asleep, making people around him have to wake him up. Even so, he cannot sleep at night, having exchanged day for night over the years;

• He is 1.72 tall (5,6 feet I think), making him shorter than his mother and sister;

• In relation to the other characters in the RPG, he is one of the oldest;

• He is fluent in both English and Portuguese (having more ease in English due to its simpler grammar);

• Even though he prefers to speak English, he likes the Portuguese language more for its lyricism;

• When he speaks English you can notice that he has a slight Brazilian accent;

• He has a diary where he shares his life experiences, and to have less chance of someone reading it, he writes the diary in Portuguese (note: this diary has a physical version that is being made by me for the RPG :))

• Most of the clothes he wears (the sweatshirt in the drawing included) are made by his mother;

• He's bisexual and uses he/him (but if you used they/them he wouldn't mind);

• He attacks using a bow and arrow

• In RPG terms: He is a warrior and arcane (wizard) (system used: Tormenta20)

• And, I have a playlist inspired by him :)

Well that's all! I'm really excited to play with him :)

And I really liked this drawing too! (it was done in traditional form and then transferred to digital)

Thank you for your attention ^^

[the-whumpening]

Meet the Character Monday #1

Eddie Glenn - Son of Bat

[Image ID: A sketch of my OC, Eddie Glenn. He sits hunched over, with his elbows on his knees, looking to the left of the screen. One hand is by his mouth, and he appears to be biting his thumbnail. Eddie has fair, curly hair and wears a hoodie and shorts. He's missing his ring finger on his right hand. The drawing is all in shades of blue. /End ID]

Basic Info:

Name: Edward (Eddie) Glenn

Age: 24

Birthday: Feb 14 (Aquarius)

Height: 5' 4" (162.5 cm)

Hair: Blond

Eyes: Blue

Favorite Color: Blue

Gender ID and Orientation: Pansexual; not overly pressed about gender. If he really sat down to think about it, he may identify as agender, but for now cis male is fine.

Pronouns: He/him mostly, but he doesn't mind others.

Other: Is autistic and ADHD

What's Eddie's role in the band? Eddie co-founded Son of Bat with James shortly after high school. He is the primary drummer, and he also designs the band's album art and merch.

Fun Facts about Eddie:

He thinks horses are kinda gross. Why are they like that?

Tarzan is his favorite Disney movie, and inspired his love of Phil Collins.

He believed in Santa until he was around 13-14. (Despite growing up Jewish herself, Eddie's mom wanted to give him as much of a "standard American" childhood as she could, including a secular Christmas.)

His sleep cycle is hyucked, so he usually ends up sleeping on the couch rather than his bed. Technically, he and Vince shared a room until Vince moved in with Cassandra.

He had to have his right ring finger amputated due to an infected injury at 12 years old. Luckily, he's left-handed.

Because of his AuDHD, he tends to forget to eat/misses hunger cues and struggles with low blood sugar, so he always keeps snacks/candy in his pockets for emergencies. Plus, gum is a great subtle stim and sour candy helps calm anxiety attacks.

Biggest Secret: Maybe not the biggest, but he's never told anyone that when he and James first met, he had a bit of a crush on him. As they got to know each other better, it quickly shifted into a more brotherly/platonic love, but he would still die of embarrassment if anyone found out.

Inspired by this post by @amaralionelli. I might not do all of those specific prompts, but I'm working on ideas for how I can rework it for my preferences. Also, this was just a lazy sketch so there's a ton of mistakes, pls don't judge lol

[tirededuxhours]

Meet Cabbie! He's my Tadc oc ::3

✧: CHAR INFO!!

・Name: Cabbie(Cubby)

・Age: [error]

・Gender/Pronouns: He/They/It/Ze/Fae

・Sexuality: Ace/Demi

・Species: Fluogen/Lava Lamp Caterpillar Plush Animatronic

Height/Weight: 7'3" 10.89-376.2 pounds(can fluctuate if wanted)

・Illnesses/mental health probs: Depression, Adhd, Autism, Mild hallucinations (auditory, visual, and scent), social anxiety disorder, insomnia, mild asthma/trouble breathing, sensory processing disorder, chronic pain and frequently (silent) panic attacks, might also have did/osdid(he isn't sure)

・Personality: Cabbie is a large gental giant, wanting to treat everyone with kindness and respect. He doesn't talk much, though when he does it's a low rumble sound or using some sort of lingo from the 1920s, 1990s, or from fiction (i.e. steampunk or videogames). His references are all over the place, mostly because he can't remember which timezone he was from.

He's sweet, slow, and quiet and will never pass judgment onto others unless they really grind his gears.

✧: STATS!!

・Strengths/Weaknesses: Calm during crisis, soaks up information like a sponge, can knitt/sew, he can lift on a good day up to twice his max body weight. While being the jack of all trades he is slow at communication and have bad days where he can't do anything he normally can.

・Magic(yes/no): yes

・LV/AT: ???

・HP/DF: ???

✧: ABILITIES!! (only if `yes` magic)

・Description: Music. The audials/headphones on his head emite constant music into his skull but if needed he can cause auditory illusions for one or more persons. He can also use the headphones to listen to his surroundings more in depth but he uses that only when he needs to fight.

・Weapons: hatchets/axes would be his primary go to for weaponry whole scythes and Sickles is his close second. He is more equipped to do hand to hand verses distance.

✧: OTHER INFO!!

・Fears: Crowds, Porcelain dolls, Needles

・Hobbies: Drawing, Listening to music, Writing

・Birthday: [Error]

・Likes: Coffee(coffee addict before tadc, coffee addict now), dark places, alone time, plushies, nests, bugs

・Dislikes: crowds, people shouting(hurts his ears), the lava lamp star in his chest, touch(picky on who he allows to touch him)

・Is your character ok with romance?: yep!

AU or outcode? Yes.

・Occupation: ???

・Backstory: [error]

✧: RELATIONSHIP INFO!!!

・Family members: ???

・Lover(s)/ Crush(s): Mal, Kinger, DJ MM

・Enemies: Monty(doesn't like how loud he is)

・Friends: Jax, Ragatha, Pomni, Sun/Moon, etc

・Pets: Two rats Mal made him that just chill in his Bedroom

NSFW Notes

➤Name: Cabbie(Cubby)

➤Kinks: Mommy/Daddy, Leashes and collars, Size difference, voyeurism, more to be added

➤Genitalia: Cunt mainly, but can summon an ecto dick if needed, though rarely

➤Description of their 'assets': Pierced, no one knows where he got his clit/dick pierced especially in tabc but they are. They are also the same colours as the lava lamp chest.

➤Favorite Position(s): he doesn't have one

➤Switch,Top,Bottom?: Bottom mainly, rarely a top

➤Limits: depends on kinks and his comfort levels of touch in the moment. Diaper and bodily fluid kinks are an automatic no.

➤Preferred type of sex: he likes to service his partner verses being serviced himself.

➤Masochist or sadist?: masochist mostly