#jake gray fluff

The cabin in the woods had always been a place of refuge for Jake Gray.

As a child, he'd spent summers here with his adoptive parents, fishing in the murky creek that wound through the property, helping his Uncle Charlie chop wood for the winter, falling asleep to the crackling of the fireplace while his mother read him stories about knights and dragons and heroes who always won in the end.

It had been simple then. Safe.

Now, the cabin stood as a monument to everything that had been torn away from him. Every memory, every moment of peace, every illusion of normalcy.. all of it had been burned to ash in the span of a single night.

Jake lay on his back in the middle of the clearing, his body arranged like a sacrifice upon an altar he'd never agreed to. The pentagram carved into the earth around him, stones and bones arranged with meticulous precision, seemed to pulse in the dim light filtering through the canopy of trees above. His parents hung from the hunting hooks at the edge of the clearing, their bodies swaying gently in the night breeze like macabre wind chimes.

He should be screaming. He should be crying. He should be doing something.

Instead, Jake stared up at the branches interlacing above him, watching the way the leaves blotted out the stars in irregular patterns. His mind had retreated somewhere deep and dark, a place where the copper taste of blood on his tongue couldn't reach him, where the memory of his mother.. Marisol, no, Satan, she was Satan, forcing that cup to his lips couldn't find him.

He'd killed her.

He'd killed his girlfriend, the woman he'd loved, the creature who had worn her skin like a costume and had laughed while she did it.

And now he was here, covered in the blood of the two people who had raised him, the two people who had chosen him, the two people who had loved him despite knowing nothing about what he truly was.

What am I?

The question echoed in the hollow chambers of his chest, but he couldn't find the answer. He couldn't find anything. Just the taste of iron and the distant hum of insects and the gentle sway of branches above him.

He didn't hear the footsteps approach. He didn't hear the soft crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot. He didn't hear anything at all until-

Tut tut tut.

The sound was feminine. Sweet. Almost musical in its gentle rhythm.

Jake didn't move. Couldn't move. His body had become a vessel for nothing but the lingering terror that had finally, mercifully, gone quiet.

"Awh…" The voice cooed, dripping with honey and sympathy. "Look at what a mess she made of you."

And then you were there.

You appeared in his field of vision like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, your face hovering above his with an expression so soft, so tender, so impossibly kind that Jake felt something crack open in his chest. Your knees settled on either side of his thighs, your weight barely perceptible as you straddled him, and your eyes...

Your eyes were full of light.

Not metaphorically. Not figuratively. Literally. There was a warmth emanating from them, a gentle golden glow that seemed to pulse with every beat of your heart. Your smile was apologetic and soft, your eyelashes batting down at him with the kind of innocent curiosity that made him feel like he was being seen for the first time in his entire life.

He knew you.

He'd seen you in the corners of his vision for weeks now. A flash of white dress in his peripheral, a glimpse of your hair in the bathroom mirror, the echo of your voice snapping him out of visions that would have ended with his own blood on his hands. You'd been there when he'd almost cut out his tongue.

"Mn, that's gonna hurt, I wouldn't do it if I were you."

He'd spun around, heart pounding, and there you'd been: peeking through the half-open door of his bedroom, your head tilted, that same soft smile playing on your lips. And then you were gone. Just like that. Disappearing as if you'd never been there at all.

He'd searched the house for hours that night, checking every room, every closet, every shadow. But there was nothing. No one. Just the silence of his father sleeping in the next room and the distant hum of the refrigerator and the overwhelming sense that he was losing his mind.

But you weren't a hallucination.

You were real.

"Mm?" The sound escaped his throat before he could stop it, pathetic and confused, a whimper of a noise that made him want to curl up and die. His hands moved without his permission, reaching up to settle on your waist. It was soft, warm, solid. Real.

You were real.

His throat worked convulsively, swallowing against the overwhelming copper taste that still coated his tongue. He could feel the blood drying on his skin, cracking slightly as he shifted beneath you. The scent of it filled his nostrils, metallic and sharp, mingling with something else.. something sweet and clean that seemed to radiate from your very being.

The dissociative fog that had wrapped around his mind like a shroud was peeling back, revealing the horror of his situation in sharp, painful clarity. But somehow, impossibly, your presence made it bearable.

"Y'look like an angel.." he managed to croak, his voice barely more than a whisper, rough and broken.

You laughed then. A soft, melodic sound that seemed to make the night itself grow brighter. Your hands came up to cup his cheeks, thumbs stroking gently through the blood that caked his skin. It was so intimate, so tender, that Jake felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

"That's sweet," you murmured, leaning in slightly. "But the angel is my father. I'm just grace made body."

Jake blinked.

The fog in his mind cleared further, sharpening into something like understanding. His hands tightened on your waist, feeling the warmth of you through the thin fabric of your dress, as he struggled to comprehend what you had just said.

He blinked.

He let go of your waist, pushing himself up onto his elbows, then further. Scrambling to sit upright against the cut-off log that had been placed behind him. His back hit the rough wood, and he winced, but he barely noticed the pain. All he could focus on was you, settling onto his lap as if you belonged there, your legs draped over his thighs, your smile still soft and sweet and impossibly warm.

You tilted your head, bird-like and curious, studying him with those luminous eyes.

"Who-" Jake started, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, trying again. "Who's your father?"

Your smile widened, and you seemed almost giddy as you answered, "Michael."

Jake's brain short-circuited.

"Michael..?" he repeated, the name feeling foreign and heavy on his tongue.

You tilted your head again, your expression shifting to one of mild confusion. "Yes?" You sounded almost uncertain, as if you weren't sure why he needed clarification. "The Archangel Michael. From the Bible. You know, leader of the heavenly host, defeater of the dragon, patron saint of warriors..."

Jake blinked. "I know who Michael is."

"Oh." You brightened, your smile returning full force. "Good! I was worried for a moment that you might not have been paying attention during your religious education."

Jake stared at you.

His mind was working overtime now, trying to process the impossible information you were presenting him with. Michael. The archangel Michael. The one who had cast Lucifer out of Heaven, who had waged war against the forces of darkness, who was supposed to be a being of pure celestial power.

And you—this sweet, soft, smiling thing perched on his lap—were his daughter?

"I-.." Jake started, then stopped, trailing off. His eyes dropped to your dress, noting the two splatters of blood that had transferred from his hands to the pristine white fabric. He grimaced, his stomach twisting with guilt. "Your dress. I got- uh, blood.. um- on it."

You looked down, seeming almost surprised to find the crimson stains marring the perfect white. But instead of anger or disgust, you just chuckled softly, waving a dismissive hand.

"Oh, don't worry about that," you said, your tone light and airy. "I've got plenty more like this one, I do surely love white dresses."

Jake stared at you.

The silence stretched between you, filled only by the whisper of wind through the trees and the distant call of a night bird. Jake's mind was still struggling to catch up, still trying to process everything that had happened, everything that was still happening.

You seemed to sense his confusion, because your expression shifted into something more thoughtful, more serious. "Oh! Right," you said, as if you'd just remembered something important. "I should probably explain."

"Explain what?" Jake asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shifted slightly on his lap, getting more comfortable, and Jake's hands instinctively moved to steady you once again. The warmth of your skin through the thin fabric of your dress was grounding, anchoring him to reality in a way nothing else could.

"Okay, so," you began, ticking off points on your fingers. "You just found out you're the son of Satan, right? Birthed by her, then stolen away and by that nice couple, well, your adoptive parents, to raise as their own?"

Jake nodded mutely.

"Right. Well, Heaven found out about you. About your birth, I mean. And they were… concerned." You paused, your brow furrowing slightly. "The idea of you growing up, unaware of your true nature, possibly being claimed by your mother and turned into her agent on Earth… it was a problem. Um, a big, big problem."

"So they sent you." Jake said, and it wasn't a question.

"Made me." You corrected him.

"Wait- made you?"

You nodded, your expression softening. "They needed someone who could stop you if it came to that. Someone who could counterbalance the darkness in your blood with light." You smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in it. "Someone like me."

Jake felt like the ground had dropped out from under him.

"You were sent to stop me.." he said slowly, the pieces clicking into place. "To kill me if I followed my mother?"

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head frantically. "No! No, Jake, not kill you. Never that." You reached out, cupping his cheek again, your thumb stroking soothingly across his cheekbone. "To guide you. To protect you. To show you there was another way."

"But I already chose another way-" Jake said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I killed her- I- I killed Marisol. I rejected her."

"I know." Your smile was radiant, proud. "And because you did that, I don't have to stop you from joining her anymore. My mission is complete."

Jake's brow furrowed in confusion. "Then why are you here?"

You chuckled, a soft, musical sound. "Because you're still a mess, silly." You gestured around you: at the pentagram, the bones, the bodies of his parents hanging in the distance. "Look at this. Look at what she did to you. You can't just… walk away from this. The police will think it was you, you know it."

Jake's throat tightened.

"You're offering to help me?" he asked, the words feeling too big, too important, too fragile to speak aloud.

"If you want me to," you said gently. "I can't help unless you ask for it. That's the rule. Angels- uh, and their children, me, of course- we can't.. really intervene unless we're invited. It's… a whole thing. Free will and all that."

Jake stared at you.

You were real. You were here. You were offering to help him clean up the wreckage of his life, to guide him through the aftermath of everything that had happened, to protect him from whatever came next.

And all he had to do was ask.

"I-" His voice cracked. He swallowed hard, trying again. "Yeah- I mean yes. Please. I need—I need your help."

Your smile was like sunrise breaking over the horizon, warm and golden and impossibly bright.

"Okay!" you said cheerfully, the sound like bells chiming. "Okay, Jake. I've got you, don't you worry about a thing!"

And then you were leaning forward again, your hands coming up to frame his face with a tenderness that made his breath catch in his throat. He felt your thumbs stroke across his cheeks, warm and gentle, and he couldn't help the way his eyes fluttered half-closed, the way he instinctively leaned into your touch like a flower turning toward the sun.

He thought, briefly, that you might kiss him. And God, he wanted you to. He wanted to taste the sweetness of your lips, wanted to lose himself in your warmth, wanted to forget everything else for just a moment.

But instead, he felt a gentle warmth emanating from your palms, spreading across his skin like honey. He blinked, confused, and opened his eyes in tiem to watch as the blood on his face began to vanish. Not wiped away, no, but absorbed, disappearing into the golden light that pulsed from your fingertips.

Your hands moved lower, sliding down to rest on his chest, palms flat against his pectorals. He could feel the warmth spreading through the thin fabric of his shirt, and he watched in fascination as the blood there disappeared too.

"There," you murmured, patting his chest gently. "All clean."

Jake felt like he was floating.

You shifted then, starting to move off his lap, and Jake felt a surge of panic at the loss of contact. His hands tightened on your waist, holding you in place almost desperately, and so you looked down at him with that gentle curiosity again.

"Where are you going?" he asked, and he hated how desperate he sounded. "Please don't... please don't go- Not yet, please."

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere, Jake." you assured him, and the warmth in your voice made something unwind in his chest. "I'm just going to fix the rest of the mess, you know, whole satanist thing and all.."

You trailed off, switching from looking around at the.. rather upsetting scenery around you, to looking back at the boy beneath you. He was mute, looking up at him with big and pleading eyes, not letting on his grip.

"Is it okay if I move, Jake"

He blinked, suddenly seeming to come back to his senses, and he nodded his head. Face flushing. "uh- yeah, yeah, of course, um." He shakyly let go of you, firstly just loosening the grip, then lifting his fingers and letting his hands hover for just a second, before finally letting his hands fall back to his sides.

He watched as you climbed off his lap, moving gracefully to your feet. You turned away from him, and he watched as you approached the pentagram, your hands glowing with a soft, warm light. The stones shifted, coated in a slight glow, sliding back into their original positions. The bones disintegrated into white dust, absorbed by the earth.

He pushed himself to his feet, his legs wobbling beneath him, and watched as you worked. You were so beautiful, so impossibly perfect, your white dress fluttering in the night breeze, your hair catching the faint light of the moon.

You moved to where his parents hung, your hands coming together in a gesture of prayer. Your eyes closed, your head bowed, and you whispered something—a prayer, he realized, too soft for him to hear.

A warm glow enveloped his parents' bodies, gently lowering them from their hooks. The ropes disintegrated, and they were laid on the ground with a tenderness that made Jake's eyes sting with tears.

You turned to him then, your expression softening as you saw the grief etched into his features. Your eyes flicked to Marisol's body, still lying in the clearing, still wearing the face of the woman he'd loved, and your expression twisted into something like disgust.

"Come on," you said, walking back to him and taking his hand in yours. "Let's get you out of here."

you walked in silence for a while, your footsteps crunching on the gravel road that led away from the cabin. The night was dark around you, the trees pressing in on either side, but Jake didn't feel afraid. Not with your hand in his. Not with your warmth beside him.

"Where are we going?" he finally asked.

"Somewhere safe," you said simply. "I'll contact the authorities in the morning. Tell them what happened. They'll understand Marisol was the killer, even if the body is just a vessel. I'll redirect their minds, make sure they come to the right conclusion."

Jake nodded slowly, processing your words. "And my parents? My.." He stopped, swallowing hard. "My adoptive parents?"

"They'll be given a proper burial, and their souls will be accepted into Heaven." you assured him. "They were good people. They deserve that much."

Jake fell silent again, his mind churning with everything he'd learned tonight. The son of Satan. The daughter of Michael. A war between Heaven and Hell that he'd never known existed, until it had consumed his life completely.

"I, um- I have a question." he finally said.

"Shoot."

"Satan- my mother, is she- is she dead?" He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. "I killed Marisol. The physical body. Is that enough?"

You shook your head, your expression turning apologetic. "No. Only celestial beings can truly kill infernal ones. And vice versa. What you did, it destroyed her vessel, her connection to this plane. But she's still out there. Still waiting."

Jake felt the blood drain from his face.

"Then she'll come back-" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "She'll- She'll come back, and she'll be so so angry, and she'll-" He broke off, his breathing quickening. "She'll make me do horrible things again. She'll make me-"

"Jake." Your voice cut through his spiral, soft but firm. "Jake, hey. Look at me."

He did. And the moment his eyes met yours, the fear began to recede, replaced by the warmth that seemed to radiate from your very being.

"That's why I'm here," you said gently, stepping closer to him. "That's why I came. To protect you."

"Protect me?" He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his throat. "You're not a celestial being. You're just the daughter of one. You said so yourself."

"I may not be a full celestial," you agreed, "but my father is constantly protecting me. He creates an aura around me, a shield that protects me and anything I consider important." You reached out, taking both of his hands in yours. "And I consider you important, Jake."

He stared at you, his heart pounding in his chest.

"An infernal being can't touch someone who's protected by celestial presence," you continued, your thumbs stroking the backs of his hands. "As long as you're with me, as long as you're under my protection, she can't hurt you. She can't touch you. She can't force you to do anything."

Jake felt tears prick at his eyes again.

"Why?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Why would you do this for me? You don't even know me. I'm—I'm the son of the fucking devil, for God's sake. I'm everything you're supposed to be against!"

You smiled, soft and sweet and so full of light that it made his heart ache.

"Because that's what angels do," you said simply. "We protect. We guide.." You squeezed his hands gently. "And you needed someone to protect you, Jake. I would love to be that someone."

Jake couldn't speak.

And then you were pulling him into an embrace, your arms wrapping around him, your warmth enveloping him completely. He buried his face in your hair, breathing in the sweet, clean scent of you, and let himself fall apart with a choked whine. He felt like a dog, like a small puppy that wandered off too far from home and was caught in the dark and dangerous streets, kicked around by strangers's boots, until his owner found her way back to him.

"I've got you," you whispered, your hand stroking through his hair. "I've got you, Jake. I'm not going anywhere."

You walked for hours, through the night and into the gray light of dawn. You never let go of his hand, your warmth a constant comfort against the chill of the morning air.

By the time you reached the outskirts of town, Jake was exhausted, physically, mentally, emotionally drained. But he felt lighter than he had in weeks. Months. Maybe ever.

"So what happens now?" he asked, his voice rough with fatigue.

You looked at him, your expression soft. "Now? We take you home, where you can rest. We figure out the next steps." You squeezed his hand. "And we take it one day at a time."

"Together?"

"Together," you confirmed, your smile radiant. "I told you, Jake. I'm not going anywhere."

He nodded slowly, a sense of peace settling over him that he hadn't felt in longer than he could remember. He looked down at your linked hands, at the way your smaller fingers intertwined with his, and felt something warm and hopeful bloom in his chest.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, his voice tentative.

"Anything."

"When you appeared to me- during the visions, the hallucinations.. um, was that you? Like, really you? Or was that just my mind playing tricks on me?"

You laughed softly, a gentle sound that seemed to brighten the gray morning around you. "A little bit of both, actually. I was projecting myself into your consciousness, trying to guide you away from the darkness. But you had to be open to it, to salvation. You had to want to see me."

"I did," Jake said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to be saved, more than anything. Still do."

Your eyes softened, and you reached up to cup his cheek—a gesture that was becoming achingly familiar, achingly intimate.

"You saw the light, Jake," you said softly. "Even when everything around you was dark. You saw it, and you reached for it." You smiled, your thumb stroking across his cheekbone. "That's why I know you're going to be okay. Not because of me, not because of your mother or my father, but because of you. Because of who you choose to be."

Jake leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed.

"Thank you," he whispered. "For everything."

"You're welcome," you murmured. "Now come on. Let's get you some sleep. You look like you're about to collapse."

He snorted, a weak laugh escaping his throat. "Yeah. That sounds about right."

You laughed too, taking his hand again and pulling him gently forward. And as you walked together through the quiet morning, Jake felt something he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

He felt hope.

He felt like maybe, just maybe, he could get through this. That he didn't have to face the darkness alone. That there was someone beside him, someone who would fight for him, someone who would protect him, someone who would love him for exactly who he was.

And that, he realized, was the greatest gift he'd ever received.