#dabby

Forgiveness whispered beneath revenge’s burning tree.

Dina x Abby One Shot Req Content: Domestic fluff, Post canon

Dina’s hand tightened around the edge of the door the moment she saw Abby standing on the other side of it. Her fingers curled instinctively against the worn wood as if her body had reacted before her mind had time to catch up. For a second she did not breathe at all. Her chest stalled halfway through an inhale and stayed there, frozen. The sight of Abby standing on the porch was so sudden and so completely impossible that her brain struggled to process it as something real. It felt like seeing a ghost standing in the daylight.

The afternoon light spilled through the open doorway in a long golden stretch across the farmhouse floor, warming the old planks and catching the dust floating lazily in the air. The house had been quiet just seconds earlier, the calm kind of quiet that came from routine and safety. Behind Dina, the soft clatter of toys broke the silence. JJ sat in the living room on the rug near the couch, surrounded by a messy little kingdom of blocks and wooden animals. His small hands pushed a red truck back and forth across the floor while he babbled happily to himself in a stream of half formed words and bright toddler noises. The wheels clicked softly each time they rolled over the grooves in the wood.

The normalcy of it made the moment at the door feel even more surreal.

Dina stared at Abby like she had stepped out of some buried nightmare.

Abby stood on the porch in the late afternoon light, her shadow falling across the doorway and stretching long across the floor at Dina’s feet. She looked different. Dina noticed it immediately. Abby was still tall, still broad through the shoulders in the way Dina remembered from Seattle, but something about her frame had changed. The muscle was still there but it looked leaner now, sharper, as if months of travel and survival had carved away whatever softness once remained. Her clothes were worn and dusted with dirt, the seams darkened from sweat and the long road. Her face looked older too, drawn tighter than Dina remembered. The hollows beneath her cheekbones were deeper and her skin had that pale weathered look of someone who had spent too many days under an unforgiving sun.

The wind stirred lightly across the porch and lifted a few loose strands of Abby’s now short pixie hair. . Dust clung to the edges of her sleeves and to the knees of her pants.

Behind her stood Lev, quiet and still. Dina recognized him after a second, though he looked a little older now too. He lingered just behind Abby’s shoulder like a cautious shadow, his posture tense but composed. His dark eyes moved carefully between the two women, watching the exchange with the wary awareness of someone who had seen enough conflict to expect it before it even began.

Dina’s brow furrowed deeply as the shock settled into something sharper. 

Her voice came out rough and incredulous before she could stop it. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

JJ let out a sudden delighted laugh from the living room just then as his truck crashed loudly into a crooked stack of wooden blocks. The pieces tumbled across the rug and he clapped his hands together in excitement, babbling proudly at the destruction he had created.

The sound snapped Dina’s attention away for half a second. Her head turned over her shoulder automatically, her eyes searching the room until they landed on JJ sitting there on the rug in the warm sunlight pouring through the windows. Seeing him safe and absorbed in his little game grounded her for a brief moment. Her shoulders dropped just slightly with the instinctive reassurance that he was still there and still okay.

Then her attention swung back to Abby like a blade.

Her eyes narrowed.

Abby shifted her weight on the porch boards in a small careful movement. The wood creaked faintly beneath her boots. It was the kind of movement that carried hesitation in it, the kind that suggested she was painfully aware of how fragile this moment was and how easily Dina could end it by slamming the door in her face.

Lev stayed where he was behind Abby’s shoulder, silent and observant.

Dina looked Abby up and down slowly, her gaze dragging over every detail as if searching for something hidden. The change in her was impossible to ignore now that she was looking properly. Abby’s arms bore new scars Dina had never seen before, thin pale lines cutting across tanned skin. One ran along the edge of her forearm like the ghost of an old blade wound. Another disappeared beneath the collar of her shirt near her neck. Her knuckles looked rough too, the skin there thick and slightly discolored from healing injuries.

Dina had no idea what had happened in Santa Barbara.

Only that Ellie had gone there.

And when Ellie had returned, something in her had been different. Quieter. More distant. Like some part of her had been left behind out there on the coast. Regardless, Dina refused to allow Ellie back in. So this… was even more confusing.

Abby cleared her throat softly. The sound carried a roughness that made it clear her voice had not been used gently in a long time.

“I understand this is… jarring.”

Dina barked out a short humorless scoff before Abby had even finished the sentence.

“Jarring?” she repeated, the word dripping with disbelief.

Dina’s voice rose sharply before she caught herself. “Jarring?!”

The volume of it made her flinch immediately and she glanced quickly back toward the living room again. JJ was still happily absorbed in his toys, completely unaware of the tension coiling thick in the doorway. He knocked another block tower over and laughed to himself.

Dina turned back to Abby, lowering her voice but not the anger burning through it.

“I am no longer a part of whatever the hell you and Ellie did,” she said firmly.

The words came out slow and clipped, each one controlled but heavy with the strain underneath them. Her jaw tightened as she spoke, the muscles along her cheek twitching slightly. There was a tremor of something deeper beneath the anger. Old grief. Old wounds that had never really healed.

Her hand tightened again around the edge of the door.

She began to push it closed.

The door moved only a few inches before Abby reacted. Her hand came up quickly and pressed flat against the wood, stopping it from swinging shut. The motion was instinctive but not aggressive. Her palm simply rested there against the door, steady but careful.

“Please,” Abby said quietly.

Her voice dropped lower now, almost cautious, the tone stripped of the hard edge Dina remembered from Jackson.

There was no threat in it.

No demand.

Just exhaustion. 

“Just let me talk to you.” Abby whispered.

Dina froze.

Her eyes flicked downward to Abby’s hand braced against the door, the calloused fingers spread against the wood as if she was holding onto the last fragile chance she had.

Then Dina slowly lifted her gaze back up to Abby’s face.

For a long moment neither of them spoke.

The air between them felt thick and unmoving, like the entire farmhouse was holding its breath.

Behind Dina, JJ’s little red truck rolled across the floor again with a soft clacking sound as it bumped over the wooden boards.

Was that really how it had happened?

Dina sat with that question longer than she expected to. Months had passed since that first moment Abby had stood in the doorway like a ghost dragged out of an old life Dina thought she had buried. Time had moved strangely since then, stretching and folding in ways that made it hard to remember exactly when the shift had happened. At first Abby had only come rarely, standing outside the fence or near the porch with the uneasy patience of someone who knew she had no right to expect anything. Sometimes she brought things with her. A sack of dried beans one week. Fresh fish another. Once she arrived with a bundle of herbs Lev said grew near the creek. Always something small. Always something for JJ.

Dina never invited her inside at the beginning.

Lev was the first one she allowed through the door.

She could still remember that evening clearly. The sky had been deep orange and the smell of roasting vegetables had filled the farmhouse. Dina had opened the door just enough to look out and seen Lev standing there beside Abby, both of them dusty from the road. Dina had stared for a long moment before finally stepping aside for Lev alone.

“You can come in,” she had said quietly, her eyes never leaving Abby’s face. “You stay outside.”

Lev had hesitated before stepping inside. Abby had not argued. She had only nodded once and leaned against the porch railing while Dina shut the door between them. Abby sat on the porch and waited while the three had dinner inside. Abby didn’t complain.

Dinner had been awkward that night. Lev sat at the table with Dina and JJ, eating slowly while JJ babbled happily in his high chair, completely unaware of the strange tension hanging in the room. Dina could see Lev glancing occasionally toward the window where Abby’s shadow moved faintly across the porch boards. But Lev never asked to open the door. Dina never offered.

That became the rhythm for a while.

Abby would come. Lev would eat with them. Abby would wait outside seated quietly.

Weeks passed that way until one morning Dina woke with a heavy unease in her chest she could not quite explain. The house felt too quiet that day. JJ had been playing with his toys on the floor and Dina found herself staring out the window toward the road where Abby sometimes appeared. The feeling lingered in her chest like a stone she could not swallow.

She remembered standing in the doorway that afternoon when Abby approached again, Lev walking beside her.

Something in Dina shifted then.

She had thought of God in that moment. Not in the way people did when they were desperate or afraid, but in the quiet reflective way her mother used to talk about their faith. Dina had sighed softly and shaken her head as the old memories surfaced unexpectedly. Her mother’s voice. The warmth of her arms. The constant gentle insistence that being a good person meant something even when the world made it difficult.

Her mind drifted suddenly back to childhood.

She could see Talia clearly in the memory, sitting cross legged beside her at the kitchen table with an old book open between them. Dina had been small then, small enough that her feet had not touched the floor from the chair. Her mother’s hair had fallen over her shoulder as she leaned close to the page, reading slowly while Dina followed the lines with her finger.

Dina remembered the smell of her mother more than anything. A warm scent of pink pepper and castile soap that lingered on her clothes whenever she hugged Dina from behind. Her mother had always hugged her that way, wrapping her arms around Dina’s shoulders while resting her chin lightly against the top of her head.

Other memories flooded in after that. The bright laughter the day they had both spotted an apple tree growing near the edge of an outer fence. The way Talia had clapped her hands with childish excitement when she realized the fruit was ripe. Dina remembered being lifted easily onto her mother’s shoulders, her small hands stretching toward the branches while Talia held her legs steady.

“Careful,” her mother had laughed softly. “Don’t take more than we need.”

Another memory followed that one. The golden hum of bees drifting through warm summer air as Talia carefully guided Dina’s hand toward a small wild hive hidden in the hollow of a tree. Dina had been terrified at first, her tiny fingers shaking as she reached toward the honeycomb.

“Slow,” Talia had whispered gently beneath her. “Respect them and they’ll respect you.”

And then there was the memory of the Torah.

That one had returned most clearly.

Her mother’s voice had been calm and steady as she read from the page. Dina remembered the rhythm of the words even if she had not understood them fully as a child.

“Whoever refrains from exacting his measure,” Talia had read softly, her finger tracing the line of text, “the heavenly court forgives his sins.”

Talia had looked down at Dina then, her expression thoughtful.

“This is why forgiveness matters,” she had said. “Especially before Rosh Hashanah.”

Rosh Hashanah had always been Dina’s favorite holiday growing up. The warmth of the candles. The sweetness of honey on apples. The quiet feeling that the world was starting over again.

That memory had flashed through Dina’s mind in the present like a sudden beam of sunlight breaking through clouds.

She remembered standing in the doorway that day staring at Abby, the weight of the past sitting heavily in her chest. Abby’s hair had been shorter then, brushing the line of her collarbone, and her face had carried that same tired guarded look Dina now recognized so well.

Dina had looked up toward the sky then as if searching for something in the pale blue stretch above the farmhouse.

And finally she had sighed.

“Okay,” she had said quietly.

That night they had eaten together for the first time.

Dina had made deer stew, thick and rich with potatoes and herbs simmered slowly over the stove. Abby had sat stiffly at the edge of the table at first, like she expected to be told to leave at any moment. Lev had watched the exchange carefully while JJ threw pieces of bread from his high chair with delighted giggles.

Abby had been starving. Dina could tell immediately from the way she ate. The first bowl disappeared quickly. Then the second. By the time Abby finished the third bowl the tension in the room had eased just enough for Lev to smile faintly.

But that had been months ago.

Tonight the farmhouse was quiet again.

Dina sat up slowly in the bed and turned her head toward the other side of the mattress. Abby lay there asleep beside her, her breathing deep and steady in the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the window. Time had softened some of the sharp edges between them. The distance that once existed now filled the space with something quieter and more fragile.

JJ, now two years old, slept curled against Abby’s side.

One of Abby’s arms lay draped protectively across the boy’s small body, her hand resting gently against his back like it had fallen there without thought sometime during the night.

Dina watched them for a long moment.

The sight stirred something complicated inside her chest.

She slowly pushed the blanket aside and stood, careful not to wake them. The floorboards creaked faintly beneath her bare feet as she moved through the dark hallway toward the other bedroom.

Lev’s door stood half open.

She stepped inside quietly.

Lev was sixteen now. Taller. Older. The sharp nervous boy who had first stood behind Abby on the porch had grown into someone calmer, steadier. His room looked completely different from when he first moved in. The walls were covered in music posters and faded ocean photographs they had found together during trading trips. Abby had spent weeks repairing an old upright piano they discovered in a crumbling house outside Jackson, sanding the wood and restringing the broken keys until Lev could play it again.

The instrument sat against the wall now, its surface worn but cared for.

Dina gently closed the door.

Then she let out a long quiet sigh.

Dina walked slowly down the stairs, her bare feet quiet against the worn wooden steps as the early morning light began creeping through the farmhouse windows. The house still held the cool breath of night, the air thin and chilly enough to make her arms prickle as she reached the bottom of the staircase. Outside the window the sun was just beginning to crest the mountains that surrounded Jackson, pale gold light stretching across the snow dusted peaks and slowly spilling down into the snowy valley below. The sky was a soft washed blue, still quiet in that fragile moment before the town fully woke. For a few seconds she simply stood there, looking out through the glass, watching the light crawl slowly across the fields.

She moved toward the kitchen counter and opened the small cupboard beside the stove, reaching inside for the little metal tin she kept tucked near the back. The lid gave a soft scrape as she slid it open, releasing the fresh sharp scent of mint leaves she had grown herself the previous summer. She had spent hours tending that small garden behind the house, drying bundles of herbs and storing them carefully once the season turned. The smell of the mint was strong and comforting in the quiet kitchen.

A cold shiver ran through her and she rubbed her arms before stepping toward the back door. The stack of firewood outside had been neatly piled against the wall and she gathered a few heavy logs in her arms before bringing them inside. She knelt in front of the wood stove first, arranging the logs carefully before striking a match. The flame caught slowly at first, licking across the dry bark before the fire began to take hold. The stove crackled softly as the heat started to build, the metal sides warming beneath her hand.

She rose and carried another log into the living room, kneeling again to repeat the process with the fireplace. Soon both fires were breathing steadily, filling the house with the quiet comforting sounds of burning wood. Already the chill in the air was beginning to soften.

Hanukkah was coming soon.

The thought lingered in her mind as she stood near the mantle, staring quietly at the small empty space on the table where the menorah would sit.

It would be her first Hanukkah with Abby.

Dina shook her head slowly and rubbed a hand across her face, letting out a quiet breath. Months with Abby now. Months of her presence filling the house. Nights spent side by side in the bed upstairs, the slow careful closeness that had grown between them little by little.

She swallowed and felt heat creep into her cheeks as a memory surfaced unexpectedly.

Abby had never been with a woman before Dina.

Dina chuckled softly under her breath, the memory rising vivid and warm in her mind. She could still picture Abby beneath her that first night, the broad strength of her body giving way to something surprisingly vulnerable. Abby’s breath had come out uneven and shaky as her hips lifted instinctively beneath Dina’s touch, her lips parting with quiet breathless pleas that sounded almost shy despite the intensity behind them.

The memory lingered for a moment before Dina shook it away and moved toward the cabinet.

She pulled the menorah from the shelf carefully, holding it for a second before placing it gently on the kitchen table. The metal caught the early morning light faintly, the empty candle holders waiting. She would need to make candles soon. Supplies were harder to come by these days, and most things like that had to be made by hand.

She turned back to the stove and pulled out a small pot, filling it with water from the glass distiller jug sitting near the sink. The water sloshed quietly as she set the pot over the flame and waited for it to begin warming. While it heated she added a small pinch of the dried mint leaves into a mug, crushing them slightly between her fingers so the oils released into the air.

She was focused on the steam beginning to curl from the pot when warm arms suddenly wrapped around her waist.

She jumped slightly in surprise.

Abby rested her chin against Dina’s shoulder, her breath warm against the side of her neck as she leaned comfortably into her. Her hair was still messy from sleep and her voice carried the soft thickness of someone who had only just woken.

“Wanna make me one?” she murmured quietly.

Dina nodded and relaxed into the touch, leaning back slightly as Abby’s hands settled against her hips. The warmth of her body was comforting against the cool morning air.

“That feels nice,” Dina breathed, closing her eyes as Abby’s thumbs pressed gently into the muscles at her hips, slowly working out the stiffness there.

Abby smiled faintly and kissed along the side of her neck, moving slowly upward before pulling away and leaning casually against the kitchen counter beside her.

“It’ll be cold today,” Abby said, glancing toward the brightening window. “Lev and I should probably finish up the winter garden.”

Dina’s brow furrowed immediately.

“I could do that,” she said.

Abby shook her head without hesitation. “I don’t want you hurting your back.”

Dina gave a small smile and shrugged one shoulder. “It hasn’t been that bad.”

Abby gave her a look that made it clear she did not believe that for a second. She shook her head again, her expression firm but not unkind.

Dina knew immediately she had been caught. Abby was right. The pain in her back had been getting worse lately. Just a few nights earlier she had tried to bend down to pick something up and the ache had flared so sharply she had to sit down for a moment until it passed. She hated letting anyone see her struggling, though. Even Abby.

Abby pushed herself off the counter and walked over toward the table, her attention shifting to the menorah Dina had placed there.

“What’s this?” she asked, picking it up slightly to examine it.

Dina nodded toward it. “Do you remember when I first let Lev in the house?”

Abby looked up and nodded.

Dina leaned against the counter and folded her arms loosely.

“That was during Rosh Hashanah,” she said. “This is for Hanukkah. Another holiday I celebrate.”

Abby took a slow breath and nodded again, a small slightly awkward smile forming.

“Oh.”

Dina chuckled softly.

“It comes after the next holiday from that one. Yom Kippur was a bit ago, remember?”

Abby nodded again. “Right.”

The water had begun to steam by then and Dina carefully poured it into the mug, letting the hot liquid swirl through the mint leaves before preparing a second mug the same way for Abby. She placed both cups down on the counter before walking closer to Abby.

“It’s another Jewish holiday,” she explained gently.

Abby’s lips pressed into a thin thoughtful line as she looked back at the menorah.

“What are the candles for?”

Dina smiled softly at the question.

“They’re to commemorate the miracle of the rededication of the Holy Temple,” she said. “There was only enough oil to keep the temple lamp burning for one day, but somehow it lasted for eight.”

Abby nodded slowly, absorbing the explanation. “Is that it?”

Dina laughed quietly and reached out to brush her fingers along Abby’s arm.

“Kind of,” she said. “There are dreidel games and food and… God, one time my mom found chocolate coins somewhere.” Her smile softened at the memory. “They were so good.”

Abby’s expression warmed slightly. “You’ll have to teach me all about it.”

Dina rolled her eyes with a small amused smile and turned back toward the kitchen, carrying the mugs with her. The mint leaves had risen to the top of the water while they steeped, dark little flecks floating against the pale steam. She grabbed the small strainer from the drawer and worked slowly over the sink, pouring the tea carefully through it so the softened leaves gathered in the mesh. The warm scent of mint filled the air again as the liquid ran clean back into the cups. When she finished she tapped the strainer lightly against the side of the sink and set it aside, then lifted the mugs and carried them back into the living room.

Abby had already moved to the couch. She sat angled slightly toward the fireplace with one leg tucked beneath the other, a thick book open in her hands. Her hair was still tousled from sleep and the early light from the window caught along the side of her face as she read, making the small scar near her eye more visible. Dina stepped over and handed her one of the mugs.

Abby accepted it without looking up at first, her eyes still following the line of the page.

Dina glanced toward the staircase at the far end of the room, listening to the quiet house for a moment.

“Should I wake up JJ?” she asked.

Abby shook her head slowly as she finally looked down at the tea, blowing lightly across the surface before taking a careful sip.

“No,” she said softly. “Let him sleep until the sun’s fully up.”

Dina nodded and leaned one shoulder against the side of the couch. “He usually wakes me up.”

Abby turned a page in the book and nodded faintly, the corner of her mouth lifting just a little.

“Well,” she said quietly, “he’s getting older.”

Dina let out a soft sigh and lowered herself onto the couch beside her, drawing her legs up into a cross-legged position. She leaned back into the cushions and wrapped both hands around the warm mug, letting the heat soak into her fingers. Across from them the fireplace crackled steadily, the flames licking up through the stacked logs and casting soft flickering light across the walls. The room felt calm and warm now, the cold morning air chased away by the fires Dina had lit earlier.

Abby read silently beside her.

Every so often she lifted the mug and took another slow sip before setting it back down on the small table beside the couch. Sometimes when she reached the end of a page she would pause, licking the tip of her finger before turning it carefully. Dina had begun to notice the small habits Abby had when she read, the quiet unconscious movements that made her smile.

Dina could always tell when Abby’s book was getting good.

Her brows would lift slightly when something surprised her, or her lips would part a little if she was concentrating on a tense section. Sometimes when the story grew sad Abby would sniff quietly without realizing it and rub her nose with the back of her knuckle, trying to keep the emotion to herself.

Dina watched her for a moment with quiet amusement before reaching forward to grab the embroidery hoop resting on the table. The cloth was stretched tight across the wooden ring, the pattern slowly taking shape under careful stitches. She sighed softly and resumed her work, guiding the needle through the fabric with slow practiced motions.

It was a flower she was stitching for Abby’s jacket.

Two daisies curled along the edge and a rose was blooming between them, the threads layered carefully so the petals looked full and soft. Dina had been working on it in small pieces over the last few evenings whenever the house grew quiet.

They sat like that for a while, the room filled only with the quiet sounds of the fireplace popping softly and the occasional rustle of Abby turning another page. The tea cooled slowly in their mugs while the morning light grew brighter through the windows.

Eventually the soft creak of the staircase broke the quiet.

Lev appeared first, trudging down the steps slowly with JJ balanced against his shoulder. Lev’s eyes were still puffy with sleep and his hair stuck up messily in different directions. JJ rested his head against him, half asleep and limp with the heavy warmth of a toddler who had just been carried out of bed.

“He woke me up,” Lev mumbled as he reached the couch.

He dropped down beside Dina with a tired plop.

Dina set the embroidery hoop aside quickly and reached out, taking JJ gently from Lev’s arms. The little boy barely stirred as she settled him against her chest, his head lolling sleepily against her shoulder. Lev shifted beside her and stretched out along the couch, laying his head across Dina’s thigh with a long exhausted sigh, his feet resting on Abby’s lap.

Abby glanced over the top of her book at the small pile they had formed.

A slow smile spread across her face.

“Gosh, look at you,” she chuckled softly. “Must be comfortable.”

Dina rubbed JJ’s back slowly, the rhythm instinctive as the little boy’s breathing steadied again against her chest. She nudged the embroidery hoop further out of the way on the table beside her.

“I guess so,” she said.

The two women shared a quiet laugh that warmed the room even more than the fire.

Abby cleared her throat gently and lowered her gaze back to the book, turning another page as the house settled again into comfortable silence.

Dina leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to JJ’s hair.

Lev shifted slightly on her thigh, stirring but not waking.

Abby by @accio-bagel | Danny by me

Dabby: the school years

◽️After the Sorting Ceremony of 1890, fourth-year Abby is literal sunshine in the night when she congratulates Danny for joining Gryffindor's fifths-years.

◽️For nearly two years they like each other mostly from a distance (many thanks to Finn the blocker Abby's very protective older brother). All that flirting is totally platonic. Definitely just jokes.

🤍 Danny will literally snap his neck when he hears Abby laugh, just to see the reason why. And he's always so proud when he's the one who made her laugh. Just as he hates her dates.

Dabi waking up realizing Hawks left before he could check what he was wearing and seeing pictures of him in this on social media -