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It’s late. He’s distantly aware of it, though he hasn’t checked the time in quite awhile. The moon is high in the sky, though, and the streetlights are all shining when he looks down.
He’s not sure how long he’s been standing here, staring out his window and into the city. A drink sounds nice, or possibly bed, but he’s too exhausted to even move. So he simply leans against the cool glass, watching the people down below.
How did this happen? He killed Henrietta; not of his own power, of course, but that doesn’t make it better. Jack the Ripper possessed him, which is horrifying enough in its own right. Part of him can’t help but wonder if there are other bodies the police never found, lying dead in ditches around Portland. Adalind is pregnant with Nick’s child, and their child-dear, sweet Diana, the girl he’s only ever tried to protect from the moment he found out she existed-is with the Royals, well on her way back to Vienna. All thanks to Juliette.
Juliette. And how is he even supposed to feel about that? Juliette, who kidnapped his child, caused the death of Nick’s mother, and burned down the trailer. Juliette, who kissed him as fiercely as she had under the Zaubertrank, who asked him to help her, who trusted him when she didn’t know who else to turn to.
Juliette, who’s dead.
His kiss couldn’t save her, this time.
He should be angry with her, and maybe a part of him is, but mostly, all he feels is regret, and grief so thick he can hardly breathe. Grief for Juliette, for Diana, for Henrietta… For Adalind, because he hurt her so much, and now they’re all paying the price. Even, in a way, for Nick’s mother; she was a good woman, and she protected Diana with her life. (She promised she would, once.)
And of course, grief for Nick. Nick, who lost Juliette and his mother all at once, who has a son of horrible circumstances that might be the only thing holding him together, whose world keeps shattering around him through no fault of his own.
It’s all too much, and even if Sean could summon the strength to go to bed, he doesn’t want to think about what he might see if he closes his eyes.
The worst part is the trace of bitterness curling under his gut. Because he and Nick both lost so much tonight, but at least Nick isn’t having to deal with it alone. He has his child, for one, and Adalind-though he may not be grateful for her yet, Sean knows him; he’ll let her in far sooner than he should-not to mention Monroe and Rosalee, his ever-faithful protectors. Wu and Hank, no doubt, are there with him, too.
Meanwhile, Sean’s standing in an empty apartment. No one’s coming to check on him.
He’s always known that his place on the team was tentative, but he thought-he hoped-they were starting to embrace him. To care about him, the way he has come to care about them. For the first time in ages, he thought he had a family.
Then again, he kept Juliette’s condition a secret from everyone. But what was he supposed to do? She trusted him. If he betrayed her, she could have completely shut everyone out.
He groans, willing the racing in his mind to stop. He’s just about to gather up the strength to get a drink-hopefully that, at least, will take the edge off enough to help him sleep-when his door buzzes. He freezes, alarms going off in his brain- now what? -and tentatively makes his way to the door display.
When he sees who’s standing outside, draped in a crimson shawl, brows furrowed tightly together, his knees nearly give way beneath him.
“Mother?”
With unsteady footsteps, he walks over to the door, turns the knob, and lets her in.
She takes one look at him, and her normally calm expression cracks. “Oh, sweetheart…”
He’s not altogether sure what he looks like, but it wouldn’t matter; she’s always seen right through him, anyway. He lets her take him by the arm, guiding him back inside, and is only half-aware of her closing the door behind them.
As it clicks softly shut, she takes a seat on the couch, and opens her arms.
Feeling not unlike a little boy again, he all but falls against her, burying his face in her shoulder, clinging with all he has. She shushes him, stroking his hair, and murmurs something in a language he doesn’t recognize. He doesn’t mean to cry, but this is his mother; the one person he knows he’s always safe with. The tears come without warning, and he shatters, weeping openly.
Time fades to nothingness as he stays there, letting his grief fall into her shawl. Her words of reassurance never slow, just come at a steady cadence, promising him that everything is going to be okay.
Finally, he doesn’t have a tear left to cry, so he lifts his head, and she releases him.
“What happened?” She asks, in her usual way: quiet, but firm, leaving no room for argument or avoidance.
He doesn’t even know where to start. “I tried,” he murmurs. “I tried everything. I tried to help Juliette… Nick… Diana… Even Adalind. But nothing worked.”
She nods, as if this makes perfect sense. “Sometimes, life doesn’t turn out the way we’d like.” It’s something she’s said many times over the years, usually as evenly as this time. “All we can do is keep going.”
“The Royals have Diana.” It occurs to him, suddenly, that he should probably have led with that. Maybe she can help get his daughter back, at least.
Surprisingly, she doesn’t bat an eye. “Diana is well,” she promises him, and a wave of tension releases, even as he has to ask-
“How do you know?”
“I can… Feel her.” She frowns, as if that isn’t quite the right word, before continuing, “She’s happy. Safe. With people who are being good to her.” Although that doesn’t necessarily exclude the Royals, it’s nice to know that no one’s being cruel to her. “She misses the Grimm, and her mother. And you, of course. But she will be well.” A pause of consideration, then- “I’m going to Vienna soon. The Resistance has asked for my help, and I think it suits me to give it to them. I’ll look for her while I’m there.”
It’s promising to hear that she’ll be looking for Diana, but his heart drops, all the same. “You’re leaving?” She’s only just arrived, and it feels like she’s the only thing keeping him together right now.
She nods slowly. “Tomorrow,” she proclaims, and he knows better than to argue. “Tonight, I’m taking care of my son. Now, rest.”
And he isn’t a little boy anymore, hiding in his mother’s arms because the other boys called him a cruel name he doesn’t even understand, but just at the moment, he cannot bring himself to protest. So he lays down, his head in her lap, and she strokes his hair gently. His eyes fall shut, and he lets sleep claim him, knowing she’ll keep the nightmares at bay.