#cr1890

It was a rough time at the Harwoods. Fighting between Maribeth and Ezekiel was rare; theirs was usually a happy home. Wyatt had never seen his mother crumple to the ground sobbing while his father stood silent and uncertain.

Marley was lucky to miss all the drama as she'd curled up on her bed, plum tuckered out and too tired to even take off her boots and hat.

Fortunately, Ezekiel had always been the sort of man to step up when his family needed him. He'd push aside his worries and fears because that was what his family needed the most right now.

Ezekiel: Naw, Mari, it's gonna be great. We've got this an' I've got you.

He might not know how he was going to make it all work, but he'd find a way. For them, he'd always find a way.

With his girls all tucked in for the night, all was well at the Harwood Farm once more.

The next morning, Wyatt figured he could help out a little more than usual, stepping in to whip up a solid breakfast for his little sisters. It was rare that Wyatt needed to help out in the kitchen but the Harwoods believed cooking basics were a must for any of their children to learn.

Arabella came toddling down, once more all smiles for her breakfast as Ezekiel opened the door.

"Wyatt, you got company!" Ezekiel called across the house. Wyatt looked up to see Abel ambling in lazily after his father.

Wyatt: What're you doing up so early? Abel: Ain't no one sleepin' at my farm. Pa's got another big plan brewin' an' me an the twins all know to get gone while he's sleepin' it off. Thought I'd see if you had a spare plate or two. Ma's been real sick with this'un. Ezekiel: I'll fix you up a plate to take back to your Ma, Abel. Let you boys know when its done. Abel: Thanks, Mr. Harwood. She don' like to feel like she's troublin' me so she won't let me cook but if its from a neighbor, she would feel rude turnin' it way. 'Preciate it.

The boys tromped upstairs to lounge on Wyatt's bed, a familiar path. Abel had spent many a night sleeping over in the Harwood's fancy house as a boy. Though things had taken a bit of a turn as they'd grown from boys to men.

Wyatt flipped open his latest heavy book, another gift from Grandfather McBride who hopped the oldest of his grandchildren might follow his career path. Abel pulled out a note book to scribble away on some list with the stub of a pencil. (Definitely not a modern phone >.> Look, we take what the wicked whims gives us, sometimes).

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Wyatt looked up from the pages of his book to take in Abel's slight frown and focused expression as he scribbled in the chicken scratch he called writing.

Wyatt: ...What are you working on so intensely? Abel: Hm?

Though he made a noise of response, Abel didn't even glance up, which was unusual to say the least. No one had ever accused Abel Abbott of being the studious sort.

Wyatt: Abel... Abel. ABEL!

With one quick movement, Wyatt grabbed the pillow and chucked it at Abel's skull. Both notebook and pencil went flying.

Abel: ..thefuckin'hell?!

Wyatt cracked up, one thumb keeping his place in the pages, as he laughed hard enough for it to hurt at Abel's gobsmacked expression of mixed confusion and betrayal.

Abel's smirk quickly returned, though, "You little shit."

One rough hand snaked up to squeeze Wyatt's thigh, hard enough that there would probably be marks later as he shifted to capture the other man's legs before he could get kicked for his troubles.

"So its like that, is it?" Abel drawled as he quickly shifted to pin Wyatt down on the mattress. "Gonna pay for that, son."

Wyatt: Big words, tough guy. Seem to remember the last time we scrapped, I came out of it on top. Abel: That's definitely not how I remember it goin', but I don't mind havin' to give you a refresher.

Wyatt wasn't sure when things had shifted. It hadn't been a sudden ah-hah moment, but rather a slow slide from friendly boyhood rivalry into something... else. Something new. Something precious.

Fingers tangled in Abel's blonde hair, bumping the brim of his worn cowboy hat and knocking it askew. Abel's kiss was punishing, demanding. It always had been. Abel kissed like he had something to prove with ever scrape of his teeth over Wyatt's lip, every small bruise his fingers left.

Like he knew he was holding onto something doomed to slip out from between his fingers all too quickly.

Abel kissed like he knew they were on borrowed time, while Wyatt held him like the promises that could never be whispered aloud; close to his chest and treasured.

Until Ezekiel's voice calling them down broke the spell.

Abel pulled back, his gaze on Wyatt as they both struggled to catch their breath.

Abel: ... I gotta go. Need to take that food to my Ma 'fore Pa is up and stumblin' round.

He reached up one of those work-roughened hands like he was going to caress Wyatt's cheek and then paused, like he was thinking better of the gesture only to have Wyatt lick a stripe down his thumb playfully.

Abel's smirk was as reluctant as it was genuine. "Little shit." He said it like an endearment.

"You'll come back later?"

While Emma turned the corner into young adulthood at the Connelly Ranch, other noteworthy families of Chestnut Ridge were about to celebrate their own summer milestones.

Maribeth Harwood, oldest daughter of the McBride family, had found herself in the family-way to everyone's surprise, Watcher included.

Although Wyatt was basically grown, his younger sisters Marley and Arabella were still small but the Harwoods had considered their family complete.

Maribeth: Now, Zeke... Ezekiel: Another baby!? How? Wyatt: I assume, in the usual manner. Maribeth: Wyatt!

Arabella: Baby!

But Maribeth wasn't the only woman expecting an addition to her large family. Over at the Abbot's ramshackle homestead, another surprise bundle of joy was on the way.

The Abbotts didn't have a lot. Their farm was poorly run and not well maintained. Zachariah had been in and out of jail for everything from minor to major offenses, and the stigma of his thieving, alcoholic ways had tarnished his entire family.

But for all his many, many flaws, he did love his wife. His children? Not so much, but he did love Margaret.

The news of another Abbott on the way might have been a little less welcome if Zachariah was remotely involved in parenting his children, but that task fell almost entirely to Margaret and Abel.

Which certainly contributes to why Deacon is the way he is, no doubt.

The Worst.

But while Margaret was eager to share the news with her boys, they were... less than enthusiastic.

Abel: Ma, you can't be serious...

... and the ol' man is drunk ALL THE TIME. He's in his underwear fer godsake... And can you imagine Deacon around a baby?!

Deacon: A baby?

Deacon: Does this mean I'll have someone I can pick on now?

Even the twins were subdued. Apparently, they were upset enough to actually sit down and do about half of their homework for the night.

"What did you say to me, boy?"

For once, his father's slurred words didn't set his knees to shaking. Abel felt his lip curl in a sneer of his own.

"I said, no. No, I ain't paying your bail an' I ain't hustling. You can dry out in here for a bit." The words felt good, delivered with cold precision.

Everyone had a breaking point and Abel had reached his somewhere between the cooling body of the only parent worthy of the name and the sobs of his siblings.

Abel remained steady on his feet as his father flung himself against the bars, using them to balance against a world that was clearly swimming and shifting as he listed somewhere between 'still drunk' and 'viciously hungover'.

"When I get outta here, you little sack o' shit-"

"Ma had the baby," Abel cut in, the words harsh and flat. "A girl. Ma named her Fancy."

His father opened his mouth again but Abel continued, relentless. "The baby made it. Ma didn't."

Each sentence was short, bitten out as if each phrase hurt more than the last. He made no effort to gentle the news. Zachariah might have loved Margaret but he'd been a mediocre husband on his best day, and those were few and far between.

"Wha.. you lyin'-"

"I ain't," Abel said, fingers curling around the cold metal bar of the cell, grounding himself with the way it bit into his palm. "You can talk to the preacher 'bout it. I asked him to stop by later. Figured you'd need someone to listen to you an' I got too much to do."

"No... NO!" Zachariah flung himself at the bars, reaching for his son as if he could just rip that truth from Abel's flesh until it was bleeding on the ground.

"No, not my Margaret! MARGARET!"

Abel turned to leave, "Baby's healthy," he said, though he wasn't sure if his father actually heard any of it over his own shattered wailing. "Boys are... well, they ain't alright but they will be."

When he caught his father's muffled curses, words making it clear that he'd happily consign the rest of his family to perdition in exchange for his dead wife, Abel's sigh hissed through his teeth.

He hadn't expected this to go any different but it did confirm that he made the right choice. Abel didn't trust his father's grief not to turn to booze fueled fury on a dime and he had four younger siblings now to keep from Zachariah's fists.

As he turned away, the inhuman howl of grief that Zachariah released made even Abel's stomach lurch. But theirs wasn't the sort of relationship that led itself towards comfort and support, a fact that Abel had to remind himself as his foot stuttered on the floorboards.

And only when the screaming faded to broken sobs did Abel manage to make himself walk away.

Pleas for his mother's life fell on deaf ears, leaving Abel alone to take care of his brothers and one very tiny sister, with his father *still* no where in sight. He'd have to add checking the local jail to his growing to-do list. His father was erratic at the best of times and this... this was far from the best.

With Fancy tucked down for a nap and a stern word to the twins to watch her closely, Abel left to see where their father had stumbled off to. Best case, he was drunk in a ditch somewhere.

He was probably in lock up again, though.

Rather than head directly to the sheriff's, though, he walked up the road to the Harwood's home. Wyatt's grandfather was the judge for this town - and the owner of the general store right next to the jail - and it wouldn't be the first time that Wyatt had kept an ear out for his friend.

Wyatt, however, was utterly unaware of any of the sad tidings at the Abbott household. Word spread fast in their small town but not that fast!

Before Abel had much more than his usual laconic, 'Howdy', perhaps a bit more subdued than usual, Wyat had bounded up bright eyed and full of news.

"I quit my job with the rangers!" He burst out, not letting Abel get a word in edgewise. "And grandfather was able to reach out to an old buddy of his. I'll be starting in his law firm in the fall!"

Wyatt looked at Abel, eyes shining with excitement; full of eagerness to spread his wings and leave their small town and utterly oblivious to the verbal gut punch he delivered as he added, "In Willow Creek!"

"... Willow Creek... as in clear on the other side of Granite Falls, Willow Creek?" Abel finally managed.

"Well, yeah, but it's close to the East Coast. Willow Creek is a proper city and there are so many more opportunities. I mean, I could probably do quite well here but its just not the same. Feels kind of unfair to be one of two lawyers in town when your grandfather is the only judge."

Abel just stared for a moment, trying to form words.

Wyatt's enthusiasm began to fade as this response wasn't exactly the one he expected.

"I mean, its a few days by train, I know, but it isn't like I'm moving to Ondarion. I'll be back. I'll visit. There's holidays."

"What about..." Abel trailed off. "What about Emma?"

What about me, was in his eyes but he didn't say it aloud. They'd never put whatever was between them into words and now certainly didn't seem like the time.

"Emma?" Wyatt's brows arched up in confusion, "I mean, I know everyone figures we'll wed. Maybe someday. I mean, I think she'd like Willow Creek but there's no rush. I need to establish myself first. Make my fortune you know."

Abel didn't know. He'd never make a fortune.

"Some folks got ties here, Wyatt. Not everyone can just up and leave. Not everyone WANTS to just up and leave for your fancy cities."

"I don't even know why we're arguing, Abel," Wyatt replied with exasperation. "You could come with me, you know. Leave behind the reputation of your family and start fresh. We could go together."

That had after all been Wyatt's plan, half-formed and certainly not how he intended to present it, aggrieved and defensive.

Abel stalked forward, his posture a mix of frustration and aggression and behind that, bone-deep grief.

"You don't know nothin' about my family," he rasped as he closed the distance, grabbing Wyatt's hand in a grip that almost hurt, "An' I guess, you don't know nothing about me, either."

CW: Sim Death

Welcome to the world, Fancy Abbott!

(Watcher's Note: Fancy's skin tone has a drastic shift in this post because the deeper skin tone was what she had on for the only pictures I took with her mom. There was some CC reshuffling behind the scenes.)

Despite Zachariah's absence for the ENTIRE multi-day labor, Fancy came in to the world happy and healthy and was swiftly aged up to an infant instead of an object. Because rotational saves have no time for that many newborns.

And despite the absence of their only stable parent and big brother, the Abbott boys largely managed to feed and clothe themselves.

At least to something like their usual standards.

With minimal disasters.

Mostly.

After putting out a few fires, some of which were literal. Margaret introduced the boys to their new sister.

Carter: Did you leave a bunch of flammable things around the cookfire? Beckett: Of course not. I'm neither an idiot, nor evil!

Deacon: Cackling softly with paint and turpentine approximately two hours ago.

The teens are terrible at supervision, really.

Deacon: I can still pick on a girl, right, Mama? Margaret: ... Why don't you just come give her a quick kiss and go play, Deacon?

With the fire out, things were starting to settle back into the usual level of chaos and mischief once more at the Abbot farm.

(CW images after the cut)

CW: Sim Birth, Alcoholism, Parentification

It's time!

Just as the summer reached its peak, with the heat absolutely sweltering in Chestnut Ridge, Margaret Abbot went into labor at the Abbot Farm.

Zachariah gave her a kiss for good luck before he promptly went off to celebrate by getting drunk (again) and leaving for a 'big score', that would prove, yet again, unsuccessful.

...in his underwear, again, apparently. I don't know what the Abbots have against clothes.

Leaving her with the boys to fetch her anything she might need. (And Elsie, apparently, who stopped by after school).

Beckett: Ugh, he's off again? He's going to end up in jail. Again. Carter: The worst. Deacon: No adults, no rules! I'm going to cover the grass with more condiments. Elsie: You live like this ALL the time?

Fortunately, poor Abel was once again there to pick up the slack, stepping in to make sure the family was taken care of, even if he felt woefully out of his depths.

Just a few homes away, a very different birth was playing out at almost the same time.

Mari: I changed my mind, I don't want any more kids. You were right! Zeke: Aw, Mari, you always say that at this point. Not too much longer.

A few acres away and yet a world of difference.

While Wyatt played with his little sisters and his father supported his mother in her labor, Abel was left taking on a much more hands-on role.

Content Warning applies after the Cut: