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Nights were always particularly challenging for Renata. Ever since she became what she was now she hasn't had a good relationship with the moon — with the darkness that seeped in through every crevice and demanded rest that just couldn't come to her.
Insomnia was truly a terror to deal with, and led to times like this, where she nursed a mug of coffee at the table and zoned out while staring at the dark liquid, thinking of times long past and peaceful sleep she would never receive again.
She could still remember it, the blood, the camping out in front of Finn’s small bed with a knife clutched in her shaking hands (not a gun, which would be more effective, but would also damage little Finn's ears and obviously wake the child. Renata would never risk such a thing. Not with Finn), gaze frantically shifting from the bedroom door to the window. Waiting for someone to threaten them. To threaten her, to try and kill her again. Waiting every night for something to happen, for a hunter to come like they did before. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Now it was a subconscious instinct even years later, to wait for danger, to expect it around every corner, to walk in through every door or break through every window. It's the reason she couldn't sleep now. A part of her was still there, trembling, with short breath and her throat closing in, willing her tears away in order to see properly. Waiting.
Finn was safe. She made sure of it. (Dorian wasn't safe. He wasn't safe because he loved Renata. He died on the floor of his own home for a being that wasn't even human, not anymore, knowing that the hunter was there for her. Renata was supposed to die that night. Instead Dorian died a liar in her place). She sent him to school, she worked to pay for anything they may ever need. Finn wouldn't see her break, not again.
Now they were in a bunker, made by the Men of Letters, surrounded by hunters. Renata told Finn they were the good kind, and she was almost certain they were, but she wasn't about to let her guard down. She learned her lesson the first time.
“Renata?” She damn near jumped out of her skin, nearly launching her mug of coffee at the person. Instead she clutched her non-existent pearls and sighed dramatically, shaking her head and running her fingers through her hair to calm herself down.
“Shit, sorry. Damn.” Fallon muttered, awkwardly standing in the doorway of the Men of Letters Library, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“No—no, you're fine, hon.” Renata breathed, waving her hand dismissively before patting the table in front of her. “Sit, I'm sorry for freaking out. Probably scared you, that's my bad, sweetie.”
“Not as much as I scared you, I'm sure.” He chuckled slightly, trying to lighten the tense mood as he sat down on the seat across from her.
“Yeah, guess I just wasn't paying attention. Wasn't expecting you.” Renata usually had good hearing, she could tell when someone was entering the room. (So why didn't she hear him? Why was she so surprised? Was she letting her guard down? Was her senses not as good as they used to be? What if something happened to Finn, would she be able to react in time?) Regardless, she wasn't about to worry in front of Fallon, poor kid had enough going on without concerning himself with her. Renata was an adult, she didn't need to worry a kid.
“I'll say.” He responded.
“Want some coffee?” She asked after a moment, scooting her mug across the table to him. Anything to divert attention away from her jumpiness.
Fallon’s eyes widened. “Huh? Oh, I don't want to take your coffee. I could just make my own cup—”
“I'm not gonna drink it, I'm offering it if you want it.” She interrupted.
His eyebrows furrowed, but wordlessly he reached across the table and wrapped both hands around the warm porcelain, bringing it to his lips and taking small sips. The coffee wasn't as hot as he would like, and had a little too much creamer for his taste, but it was from Renata.
“Have you been getting enough sleep? You got pretty dark eye bags, hon.”
Fallon blinked, almost not comprehending her words. It was an easy observation to make, and a simple question to ask, yet he couldn't remember a time when someone actually noticed such a thing about him. It was odd, but not necessarily unwelcome.
“I've been sleeping.” He lied through his teeth and Renata raised a critical eyebrow.
“Just not tonight, hm?”
“No. Just not tonight.”
Renata sighed and leaned back in her chair, looking him up and down, her eyes studying his appearance, as if finding something else to indicate any exhaustion. It was the kind of gaze that gave Fallon the urge to stand up straighter, wanting to prove to her that he was fine. Though he didn't know why he cared what she thought so much.
“Are you hungry?” She asked.
“No. I'm okay.”
Renata hummed with a small, sympathetic smile.
“I swear I'm okay.”
“I never said you weren't.”
Fallon nodded and pierced his lips together, taking another sip of Renata's, now his, coffee. He kept his hands wrapped around the mug, allowing the subtle warmth to warm his cool hands. The bunker got pretty cold sometimes, it reminded him of when he was locked in the basement because Dean thought he was possessed. It was a fair assumption, all things considered.
After all, the person he grew up with got possessed. He had to watch as that demon used her body to do all the shit that it did (lore stuff idk), posed as her to steal and kill and Lord only knows what else. Logically, he knew she had to die, or the demon inside her, more like. Carmen wasn't herself anymore. Fallon watched her fade with his own eyes. He still missed her, though, it made his chest hurt with grief. It made it hard to eat, hard to sleep. She was everywhere, yet she would never be anywhere ever again. Nowhere except wherever people end up when they die. He didn't feel like he knew much about that stuff anymore. He didn't feel like he knew much of anything now.
“I'm okay, Ren.” His bottom lip trembled and his hands shook around the mug, the coffee rippling within its confinement from the motions.
Renata stood, rushing to his side, sitting down beside him and slowly rubbing his shoulder, trying to be soothing without potentially overstepping or accidentally making him uncomfortable.
“You're a good kid, Fallon.”
“I'm not a kid.” Fallon grumbled.
“You have ‘teen’ at the end of your age. That makes you a kid.”
Fallon laughed, though it sounded a little more like a sob as he leaned into her side.