Work Text:
Sandra Lynn enjoys her quiet mornings.
They’re a common occurrence, but cherished nonetheless. Just her and the sun as it creeps up in the sky, peeking through the curtains as she opens them to let the light wash in.
The routine she slipped into was slow, for once in her life. Over time, the tasks became methodical. Easy as breathing. It reminds her of the way things used to be - when Fig was just a little girl with her hair in pigtails and her life still perfectly right. Before Sandra Lynn’s past once again reared its ugly head.
No.
She shakes her head, inhaling the sweet coffee smell as her mug warms her hands. If there’s one thing she’s still learning, after everything, it’s not to dwell on those things.
Particles of dust dance through the living room as Sandra Lynn leaves the kitchen. The carpet is plush beneath her feet, stepping over a creaky spot on the floor to get to the couch. One of many couches. She can pick out the day they’d bought each of them - most with Jawbone when they’d just moved in and tried desperately to make this empty husk into a home.
The one she sat on, though, was picked out with the girls.
All four had insisted on coming shopping that day and Sandra Lynn couldn’t say no. She’d hardly ushered them into the second-hand store when they spotted a large, worn red sofa and rushed to claim it, elbows and feet flying as they fought for the best seats. Tracker had perched on top, half-standing with Kristen on the armrest cuddled against her legs, Fig with her head in Kristen’s lap and Adaine very politely serving as a footrest.
She breathes a deep sigh as she remembers the look on the cashier’s face - an unspoken “You better be buying that” glared across the room. Sandra Lynn had shilled out the appropriate gold and 20 minutes later they were dragging it into the house, wondering where they’d even find the space.
It worked out pretty well.
The tiniest creak stops her reminiscing, alert as footsteps trail closer. Jawbone sometimes wakes up early, but she’s learned the sound of his footsteps by now. These are a little heavier, lacking the gentleness that comes with Jawbone’s movements. Sandra Lynn wonders if she should be concerned for a moment, but it’s not unheard of for Adaine to rise with the sun. Especially now that she’s scored a job.
Christ, that makes Sandra Lynn feel old.
Instead of shaggy fur or bright blonde curls, Kristen Applebees shuffles into the room. Her grey shirt is faded and too-big, falling to her thighs even on her large frame, and her sweatpants are definitely stolen from Fabian - they’re the softer, more expensive-looking fabric he prefers. Now that she thinks about it, that shirt definitely belonged to Ragh too.
There’s nothing more like family than sharing. And the kids seem to do that a lot.
She blinks groggily, one hand behind her back and the other in a large stretch. She cracks her neck - making Sandra Lynn wince - and finally makes eye contact. There’s a look of surprise on her face that seems almost genuine, but everyone knows how early Sandra Lynn wakes, including her.
Kristen wants something.
The body language of a Kristen that wants something is very familiar to Sandra Lynn, because it;s something she faces off against daily. The girl is tense in the shoulders, a hand wringing the back of her neck as her mouth opens and closes. She always takes a few seconds to think of what to say, and Sandra Lynn waits patiently.
Seconds pass. Sandra Lynn drains the last of her coffee and frowns, setting it ruefully on the table. The smell still lingers in the air.
“I need… help.”
Sandra Lynn’s head snaps up. Kristen is embarrassed, refusing to look her way as she waits for a response. Her hands pick at a loose shirt thread, newly interesting, and Sandra Lynn takes a second to fix her posture.
Kristen isn’t one to ask for help. Very rarely does she want it, and even rarer still does she ask directly. Something deep in Sandra Lynn is set off, wild and uncomfortable, fearing the worst for this (previously) quiet Sunday morning. It’s an instinct dialled to eleven over the previous years, when the worst case scenario had often become the most realistic one.
What if someone broke in? Did someone get hurt? Maybe one of the kids’ friends called and they need help - They’re troublesome, it wouldn’t be her first time picking them up - Or what if they –
“Yeah, I need help with, uh…” Kristen trails off and Sandra Lynn steels herself, preparing for the worst while trying to look calm and composed. The kids have taught her, many times over, that it’s not easy to speak to someone freaking out.
A deep breath.
In.
Out.
“My.. hair?”
What?
Sandra Lynn wants to laugh from pure relief, honestly, but Kristen’s eyes are shiny and her voice has an uncertain lilt and the hand holding her hairbrush - no longer hidden behind her back - is shaking just a little bit and Sandra Lynn knows that it’s really, really hard to ask for these things sometimes. She still remembers the first time Adaine asked for help with her homework, practically sobbing in her arms over an essay, and she never wants any of them to feel unsafe again.
Her face softens. Kristen looks about ready to just walk back up to her room and pretend nothing happened, but Sandra Lynn scoots back into the sofa and makes room at her feet, reaching her hand silently for the hairbrush.
For a moment, Kristen looks even more like she’s going to cry.
Then, with a little breath, she comes up and sits herself on the floor.
She places the brush gently in Sandra Lynn’s hand and sits completely still for a moment, not daring to move before she shuffles back and her ginger curls hit Sandra Lynn’s lap. A tanned hand reaches out, wanting to soothe her, but Sandra Lynn takes it away slowly. She knows Fig loves displays of affection, even if they were rare, and Adaine prefers to avoid them unless it’s her dad, but the girl now sat vulnerable before her had slipped through the gaps in her mind.
There are lots of things she knows about Kristen.
She’s loud, often brash, and if she isn’t the one laughing then she’s telling jokes to others. Her favourite colour is purple. There’s a deep sadness, a sense of loneliness that she lets slip through sometimes when she’s joking. Oftentimes, the things she says are uncomfortable for most people to hear. Her favourite ice cream flavour is mint choc chip.
Now, she’s realising there are a lot of things she doesn’t know either.
“Hey, kid. I’m gonna start brushing now, okay?”
Kristen hums an affirmative.
As soon as Sandra Lynn’s hand runs through her hair, she melts.
The muscles in her back, built with hard work over the summer, press against Sandra Lynn’s legs, a shudder running through her body. It feels like her entire being, just for this moment, is being shaped by her loving hands.
It takes a few minutes before either of them make another noise.
Sandra Lynn could’ve thought Kristen had fallen asleep if it wasn’t for her constant shuffling. She’s never been very good at staying still, and neither of them mind. Sandra Lynn pauses for a second as she adjusts, then continues as normal, working out a stubborn knot with practised hands.
Her hair smells faintly of strawberry shampoo, same as the brand she bought for Fig the week prior. She smiles, looking back to the brush as it runs through Kristen’s hair. Brown, blonde and dyed strands of hair were caught in the bristles already. The girls - her girls - love each other so much.
“It’s just hard sometimes.” Kristen’s voice is soft, much smaller than the girl she’d come to know. “I try, really hard, my hands just-” she pauses, “-can’t do it right.”
Sandra Lynn nods. She strokes her hair gently, then realises she should probably speak up, clearing her throat.
“I know, kid. It’s okay if you need help.”
Kristen’s shoulders are tense again and she grinds her foot against the carpet, trying to release the energy in her body. She takes a deep inhale.
“I get Fig to do it usually. Or Adaine!” Sandra Lynn slows her brushing. “And I’m fine with them helping– they’ve seen a lot worse.”
Kristen laughs. It’s hollow and anxious. She starts to hit her leg.
“I just wish I could do it by myself.” She sniffs. It’s quiet, almost enough to get lost in the chirping of morning birds, and it breaks Sandra Lynn’s heart. This is one of the strongest kids she knows, in every way, and here she is crying at her feet. An ache spreads through Sandra Lynn’s chest.
“Hey, Kristen. Look at me.”
Kristen’s head doesn’t turn. She shrinks in on herself a little more.
“You’re okay.”
Finally, the dam bursts. Kristen climbs up on the couch and all but tackles Sandra Lynn, burying her face in the older wood elf’s shoulder. Sandra Lynn can feel the tears wetting her shirt and the feeling makes her itch, but she clutches Kristen tighter. She’s not letting go when it’s taken this long to hold her.
“That’s right, kid. You’re all good,” Sandra Lynn shushes, rubbing her back as the girl cries. “Let it out.”
And she does. Sandra Lynn doesn't know how long she sits there with Kristen in her embrace, crying and clutching her like a lifeline. It’s long enough that the sun sits steady and risen above the earth, warming the room and the two within it. There’s the faintest rustle from upstairs, the others finally waking.
Clearly, Kristen’s had this bottled up for a long time. It shouldn’t have been hard to see coming. Every joke she made and story she shared was just a small crack, building and building until she finally broke.
Note to self, find the girls a new therapist. Jawbone was great, but maybe not the best for this particular job.
Kristen’s breathing steadies after a long time, warm against Sandra Lynn’s skin. She hiccups.
“My mom used to do it for me,” Kristen mumbles, “When I was a kid.”
Sandra Lynn wants to remind her that she’s still just a kid - she’s still just a teenager in high school who deserves none of the horrible things she’d gone through. She doesn’t interrupt.
“She didn’t like it very much. I used to cry a lot.”
“I’m sorry, kid.”
“It’s okay, I like when you do it. You’re gentle, like Fig.”
Sandra Lynn hugs her closer.
“Thank you.”
If there’s a tear stain on Kristen’s borrowed shirt after that, it’s between the two of them.