Chapter Text
They throw Abbie a party when she ‘comes back’.
Crane hates it, and isn’t too much of a gentleman to tell everyone how much. He’s a little shyer in Abbie’s presence about it; she was clear as soon as she’d made it home and still, since he wont stop turning those sincere doe-eyes on her: she’s fine and it wasn’t a big deal. She’s home, and the party is nice and thoughtful.
Crane’s pursed lips and crossed arms are of the opposite opinion, “not at all misguided? Do you truly believe a ‘party’ is in your best interest right now…” he trails off, feeling Abbie’s subtle, stern shift. His shoulders sag in regret as she turns her body from him where they stand in his foyer, going over the details of their latest case on the road to Pandora. “Abbie, I--”
“Crane, for the hundredth time”, she stands with her back to him, pretending to simply need more coffee, and not to put as much distance between she and his concern as she can, “I’m fine. And you need to trust that and drop it .”
It had been two weeks since Abbie had been freed from Purgatory. Jenny and Crane hadn’t asked any questions, but it wasn’t for a lack of curiosity; Abbie needed some time. But she was fine; relatively unharmed, as she’d explained with a quick flash of her smile. Jenny had been so glad to have her back that she’d conceded, even if not completely. They’d learned to bide their time with one another, and Jenny trusted their pattern--that Abbie would come around. Crane didn’t have any of those reservations, and dug his heels in. His worry was palpable; coated his throat when they spoke and weighted his every move when he was around her. It’d only gotten worse after Jenny and Luke had decided on the welcome home party. Obviously, Crane thought it was out of the questions. Clearly, no one was listening.
The party was hosted at Mugsy’s, a local cop bar where the bartender knew Abbie’s name and always made it feel like home. It was meant to be lowkey, but Abbie had more friends than she realized, as she walked in and noted the bodies surrounding one another, stacked against the bar and pressed in together. Abbie, in her years as a police officer and more recently in the supernatural business, had learned to read a room and adapt, but her facilities were a little rusty. She’d prepared herself for the bigness of their reactions, and for everyone’s sake girded herself in case the noise became too much.
All things considered, she thinks she may have handled it well.
“Happy birthday to you...” the crowd all turned on her, bright eyed and gentle smiles. She took a deep breath - the wash of love and appreciation was ever-present, and she fought away from it feeling overwhelming.
This was nice. Kind. A party in her honor, and Abbie Mills could appreciate a good party.
She kept smiling, counting the faces in the crowd. Cynthia and Lacey. Luke. Devon. Mrs. Walters and her annoying ass dog, Truffle. Irving. Jenny. Her new friend, Sam, and his brother. Crane. The faces of the people who cared for her. Who she’s cared for. The memories of their moments floating in her head, and then suddenly turning. Fast, like wind in a storm. Because it had only been a week since she had made the striking, hollow realization that she may never see them again and her mind felt a little fucked up because, for a split second - just one - she wondered if any of this was even real.
God, she hoped her smile didn’t look like she was just baring her teeth.
She blew out the candles, and did something she always did before; thrust a victorious fist in the air and commanded the room to party, all with a little charm. They responded in kind. Almost exactly how she hoped they would.
She needed to get out of here.
Luke’s hands - because she knew them well - were suddenly at her mid-back. Always the gentlemen, even if he wasn’t shy about his intentions. “Hey Abs”, he said, loud enough for her to hear over 1999, “you got a minute?”
The polite thing would have been to say yes , The normal thing, even. But Abbie’s head was still swimming and she needed some air, but she didn’t want an audience, and she didn’t want questions and she didn’t want to see Crane’s face when he told everyone that he had been right. Maybe the crowd of loving faces was too soon. Maybe she should have gotten everyone in small doses. Maybe she should have seen Cynthia’s doctor-friend. Maybe she should have stayed in tonight. Maybe, she shouldn’t have spent so much time in an empty world that drove her a little crazy. Maybe she should have admitted that she was a little crazy, now.
“Maybe--”, she says out loud, and shuts her eyes but tries to cover the fact that now, ever her thoughts won’t stay in check, “--maybe a little later? I forgot something in my car…” It was lame. She knew that he knew it was lame, but she hoped that Luke would take the hint - go find Devon and Irving and forget about her for a minute just so she could pinch herself to make sure they were all really here.
“Abbie...you good?” Luke said with the concern she wish he hadn’t. Because now she felt like the whole room could see the storm in her head, and she really wasn’t ready for all of those eyes on her again.
“I’m fine…” Abbie tries to smile, but she knows its not working. It doesn’t look right. It doesn’t feel right on her face but she’s trying to get out of this room and Luke, in all of his well-meaning concern, is making that hard. She looks up, for a moment, into his eyes. Their soft concern, and the hold of his jaw, where he’s beautiful even when he’s stressed out. She remembers, for some long moments in there, because there were no days in Purgatory, she’d look for this face in her memories. She needed...wanted to feel safe, and this is one of the things that did it.
But there hasn’t been enough time to separate truth from fiction. And now, when she looks into those brown eyes in all their soft concern, a rock drops to the bottom of her stomach. Is my mind playing tricks on me again?
It all happens at once - the sharp intake of breath and the step she takes out of Luke’s orbit. He reaches out to her, but someone else catches her instead.
“Hey. You said you were getting my brother’s laptop out of your car”, she hears behind her, and this is new because this isnt someone she wrapped herself in - this isnt a memory that could be playing tricks on her.
Abbie turns to find Sam’s brother - Dean - standing with his hand on her shoulder. It’s firm, but she could slide out of this grasp, too, if she really wanted. She doesn’t. For the first time all night, she sees the door. “Yes”, she says, and this time, the smile she gives Luke is genuine because she’s still living in the relief of seeing that door, “yes, I can grab it now. Be right back, Luke.”
His brows furrowed - his concern deepens - and Abbie’s smile becomes re-assuring. She puts a hand on his, and the solid weight of it creates in her an imbalance. Both real and wanted. She lets go with that smile still in place and heads for the door.
~*~
Neither of them stop walking until they get to her car.
Abbie presses both hands to the roof of her car and takes deep breaths of the night air - it's actually kind of gross. It smells a little like city, and garbage, and gasoline, but she takes all of it into her lungs, because it’s better than clay and dirt and memories. She doesn’t look at Dean for a long time, but when she does, she’s glad that she didn’t have him to think about, too.
He might be the one person in there she knows is real. “Sam’s laptop isnt in my car.”
“I know”, he says with assuredness.
Abbie takes a minute to study him. There is an oldness to him that does not match the softness of his features - there is something in his eyes that’s seen too much. His shoulders form a hardline, like they’re cemented that way but the rest of him seems coiled, like a snake. Like he’s always waiting for a fight, even if there isn’t one.
It feels familiar to Abbie. She rolls her shoulders. “You’ve been there?”
He doesn’t miss a beat, his eyes firmly on hers and they feel familiar, “a version of the same.”
Abbie doesn’t know where this resolve comes from, but it’s nice to know that she’s not taking to someone who wants to understand. Someone she has to explain the silence to. Someone she has to explain the unbreaking days to. It’s nice to know that she’s talking to someone who already knows what that’s like, “was it--”
Dean nods, “I forgot how to separate things, at first…”
They both lock eyes, because Abbie may not know Dean well, but he’s not the vulnerable type. And to be fair, neither is she. After all, she’s been fine . It is both amazing and jaunting; the honesty he gives, and how honest she is, in return, “I’m scared I’m still there, sometimes.” Dean nodded, a knowing smile of agreeance on his face. Abbie continues, turning her head up to to the night sky, not missing the sun, “I know I’m not...but…” she breathes a little bit of the fear out, and her eyes prickle, “but...how would I know?”
Dean exhales, his hands leaving his pockets to brace against the car, too. He doesn’t give her an answer right away. She doesn't know why she expects him to. Her eyes stay up in the stars, but his go from the ground to her. When she does look at him, she notices that he doesn’t look at her the way Luke does, or Crane, or Jenny, or Irving. He looks at her, and waits for her. There is no expectation for her to be okay, there’s no surprise when she’s not. She’s not fine - and she doesn’t have to be.
“I think I might have to see that shrink”, they grin, because they’re not the types and she doesnt know much about Dean Winchester, but she can sense that.
“Or you could just hang out with me”, he grins. He’s flirting and she smiles because this is the most normal conversation she’s had in weeks. Her teeth aren’t baring - she feels this smile in her guts.
“As much as I’d like to ditch my party and hang out with you”, she grins, sardonically, and he shakes his head at her, “I don’t think Crane would appreciate all that money going to waste. Old men are real frugal.”
On their way back to the bar, they walk side by side this time. Abbie doesn’t mind the sudden kinship. It feels real. “I never answered your question”, he says to the ground, and she looks over at him, measuring their steps in her periphery. He continues, “you know it’s real when it’s new: make new memories.” Abbie looks at Dean - a man who’s seen too much, with cement in his shoulders and features that don’t match his age. It’s familiar, but it’s not a memory.
It reminds her that she’s real.
Abbie looks at Dean and decides, maybe she will be making some new memories.