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Sam walked off, leaving Dean alone.

He sat up with a groan, rubbing a hand over his face before dragging himself toward the bathroom. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, and sank into the stupid bath like it might drown his problems away.

What the hell did Sam expect him to do?

Ravenna hated him.

And it was his own damn fault.

So what was he supposed to do about it?

His brother didn’t seem the least bit concerned when Dean finally came downstairs, barely put together.

“What do you want?” Dean asked, stopping in the doorway of the drawing room.

Sam shot him a look, setting his book aside.

“Me?” he said. “I want a peaceful marriage. And for that to happen, I need you to fix your shit.”

Dean sighed heavily, but Sam was already on his feet.

“You love her? Then apologise,” he said simply. “Tell her why you did what you did.”

That was it? That was his big plan to fix things?

Dean scoffed.

“And what, you think she even wants to see me?” he stared at him. “Did you suddenly forget who Ravenna is?”

He was lucky she had forgiven him once.

But what was she thinking now? That he was just some rake who had used her and tossed her aside? That he’d gotten what he wanted and then lost interest?

Or worse, things even uglier than that.

“Then write to her!” Sam countered. “Send a letter.”

Dean scowled.

“I’m not good at writing.”

He was barely competent enough to handle estate correspondence — did Sam really expect him to be a damn poet?

His brother dragged a hand down his face, exasperated.

“You can put letters and words together,” he shot back. “So do it. It’s something.”

“I wouldn’t know what to say!” Dean snapped. “I don’t… I’m not you! I’m not smart or charming or sweet Sammy, who always knows the right thing to do, who always finds a way to fix his mistakes!”

Sam stared at him, his expression unreadable, as if turning Dean’s words over in his head.

“And what?” he finally said. “You wanna stay holed up in here? Drown yourself in bourbon until your body gives out?”

Maybe.

Because that was what he knew how to do. Dean knew how to fuck — be it fuck things up, or fuck someone. That was it. That was all.

And then Sammy could be the Baron. He could carry the name and the legacy, and do something good with it.

Sam let out a slow breath, shaking his head.

“You’re so damn stubborn,” he groaned. “But you don’t get to quit, Dean. Not on this.”

He stepped closer to him, and Dean crossed his arms, looking away.

“You love her? Prove it! You broke something. So fucking fix it.”

As if it was easy. As if it was simple.

“I don’t know how to fix anything,” Dean breathed out.

Sam sighed, his shoulders falling in defeat, and they both turned when the butler stopped by them.

“Lord Winchester,” he greeted. “Mr Winchester. Mr Novak is here and requests an audience.”

Dean barely had time to react before Sam straightened, seizing the opportunity before he could refuse and send Castiel away.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Dean barely had time to scowl before Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder and strode off, leaving him standing there like an idiot.

Great. Just what he needed.

With a sigh, he turned to the butler. “Fine. Send him in.”

A moment later, Castiel Novak stepped into the room, his expression unreadable as always. The man was infuriatingly difficult to read — never too much, never too little. Just calm, steady, and there.

Right now, he hated that.

Dean crossed his arms, sighing.

“What do you want, Cas?”

Castiel tilted his head, studying him with that infuriating patience of his.

“I came to talk about Miss Matarazzo,” he declared. “It’s very important.”

Dean stiffened.

Of course. Of course Cas was here about her. Because what else would it be?

He rolled his shoulders, feigning nonchalance.

“Yeah? And what about?”

Castiel’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Don’t you want to sit down?” he offered.

Dean breathed in deep, looking back to the drawing room and then pointing inside.

“Fine,” he mumbled. “Get in.”

Castiel stepped inside first, settling on the couch with that same infuriating composure, while Dean dragged himself into the chair across from him.

“I recall you seemed quite interested in Miss Matarazzo the last time I visited,” Castiel stated evenly. “Which is why I stepped away from my pursuit of her. I was content to remain her friend and forgo any romantic intentions because I have been friends with you for many years. I did not wish to jeopardise our relationship.”

Dean slowly sat back, his shoulders falling.

He wanted…

He’d come to talk about that?

“But at the party, you were quite clear in your conversation with Mr Crowley. You have no interest towards Ravenna, is that correct?”

Dean opened and closed his mouth.

What?

“You heard that?” he asked.

Who else had heard it? He’d spoken to Crowley — just Crowley. Well, and Ravenna and her uncle, by accident. But beyond them…?

How many damn people heard what the bullshit he had said?

“I was standing quite close to the door,” Castiel replied, his tone infuriatingly natural, unaffected. “Your words were harsh, but they seemed honest.”

Dean swallowed, his throat dry. Shit.

“Of course,” Castiel went on, as if this were all just a casual discussion and not a knife twisting into Dean’s ribs, “I didn’t need to come here simply to confirm your sentiments. Miss Matarazzo seemed upset enough by the situation, and I intend to give her time. But before she returns to Genova, I will be making my intentions clear.”

What?!

“Return to Genova?” Dean echoed, his stomach lurching.

She was leaving?

“I believe that’s her intention,” Castiel said, frowning slightly, as if this weren’t a goddamn disaster. “Miss Rosetta has adapted far better to English society, but Miss Ravenna remains quite attached to her home. I do hope to persuade her to stay longer, but I wouldn’t be opposed to dividing our time between England and Genova once we are married.”

Dean’s blood ran cold.

Once they were married?

Dean clenched his jaw. His hands curled into fists against his thighs.

“You want to marry her.”

His voice was flat, but inside, his pulse was roaring in his ears.

“That is what I’m saying,” Castiel confirmed.

No. No, he couldn’t.

He couldn’t marry her!

What did they even have in common? Cas was too calm, too measured, too damn bland. Ravenna was fire, a storm that commanded attention. She was decisive, fierce — she felt everything with her whole soul.

They couldn’t be a worse match!

And Castiel had been married before, and it was never that. There was no passion, no hunger — just companionship. Friendly, yes. Stable. But Ravenna deserved more. She deserved—

Dean swallowed hard.

“She isn’t—” He stopped himself before the words could spill out.

She isn’t for you.

But wasn’t that exactly what he’d claimed? That he had no interest? That she meant nothing?

Castiel watched him, unreadable as ever.

“Jack and Claire adore Miss Matarazzo,” he continued. “And I believe they would be quite happy to have her as a stepmother. I’ve been lonely, Dean. And she—” he paused, a rare warmth softening his eyes. “She is the kind of woman I have waited for. Someone mature, outspoken, passionate about what she believes in.”

Dean’s stomach twisted, a sick, awful thing.

He’d done this.

He’d handed her over to him on a silver plate.

Dean forced himself to breathe evenly, but his chest felt tight, his ribs like iron bars locking him in.

Cas wasn’t just speaking hypothetically. He was serious.

“You’re really going to propose?” The words felt strange in his mouth, thick and unfamiliar.

“Yes,” Castiel confirmed, steady and assured. “Not immediately, of course. I want to give her time. But when she is ready, I will make my intentions clear.”

Time.

Time for what? To move on from Dean? To forget about him completely?

Dean dragged a hand over his face, trying to ignore the sharp, ugly thing clawing at his insides.

“Right,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “And what if she says no?”

Castiel tilted his head, considering the question.

“Then I will respect her decision, of course,” he answered simply. “A relationship is made of two people.”

That was it. That was all.

Because Cas was a good man. A man who would do things the right way. Who would be patient and careful and earn Ravenna’s trust instead of throwing it away like—

Dean exhaled, pressing his palms into his knees.

Cas took his silence as a cue, standing to leave. He took his hat, placing it atop his head with the same quiet grace that made Dean want to tear something apart.

“Thank you for your time, Dean. I thought it best to speak to you first.”

Dean barely heard him. His mind was too full of her — of Ravenna. Her fire, her sharp tongue, the way she had once looked at him.

He stayed there long after Cas left, staring at the floor, his own words from that damned party echoing in his head, Castiel’s assumptions making everything more bitter.

‘You have no interest towards Ravenna.’

The hell he didn’t.

Dean stood abruptly, the frustration and anger burning inside his belly. He stomped to his room, muttering curses under his breath. He didn’t even care if it was too late. He didn’t care about the consequences anymore.

He grabbed the quill and paper, sitting down on his desk.

Well, there went his best effort.

Ravenna I don’t know how to begin this letter because I know any attempt at words will fail me. I don’t even know if you’ll ever read this or if you’ll burn it as soon as you receive it, but I can’t leave things unsaid. I’ve always been a man who says the wrong things when it matters most. It’s a curse, I think. I never learned how to properly express what was in my head or heart as a boy. When I try to do something right, it backfires and I fuck ruin things beyond saving. But I owe you more than silence and moping for my mistake. In trying to protect you, I made a complete fool of myself. In doing so, I hurt you in ways I can never take back. When I spoke to Crowley, my intentions were simple: I wanted him to think of our relationship as something insignificant, so he’d leave you alone. He brought up rumours, and I feared they were connected to us — our relationship, our closeness. I was afraid he would try to ruin your reputation or force me to admit to things we had shared. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the words I said, and I’m sorry for not making my intentions clear from the start. I should have been honest. I should have shown you how I truly felt about you instead of trying to protect you in the wrong way. I wanted the world to know how much I love you. I thought I was doing it right, but I see now I was wrong. I should have courted you like any other man would. I should have shown up at your house every day, sent you flowers, and danced with you. I should have introduced myself to your family, made an impression on them, and told them from the very beginning what my intentions were. But instead, I was too proud, too stubborn, and I ruined everything. Our relationship was never a plaything to me. I loved and cherished every moment we shared. You made me feel something I’ve been running from my entire life: real, unfiltered, and raw hope for my future. Hope for something more than I ever thought I deserved. I know it’s too late now. I know you may not want anything to do with me anymore, and I’ll understand if you don’t. You deserve more than I’ve given you, and I’ll carry that regret with me always. But if there’s any chance left, even the smallest one, I want to prove to you that I can be better. That I can be the man you deserve, the one you need. Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you, Ravenna. Not for a single moment. You’re more than just the words I said that night. You’re more than the mistakes I made. I beg you, forgive me. Even if it’s only with words just so you can leave and forget about me. But I’ll never be able to live with myself unless I know that at least, I have your forgiveness. Yours, Dean Winchester

. . .

…

Next Chapter: Chapter 50 (Ravenna XV): Forced out of the house after days of sulking, Ravenna has an unexpected encounter at the park. (16th of June on Tubmr/AO3)

…

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You shot up bolting past Julia and racing up the stairs, heart already in your throat.

You yanked open the attic door...

And there it was. All wet, a huge puddle already forming and waiting to create more trouble.

“Fuck!”

That was why you had the goddamn tarp! And it was covering a fucking bounce house while three very distinct holes in the roof let in water all down the fucking wood!

You could hear Julia wincing behind you.

“Well… at least we know why we bought the tarp.”

You glared back at her.

“It’s not funny!”

You winched a bit more.

“It’s a little funny.”

You raised your eyebrows, ready to grab her and throw her in there to dry it all with the clothes on her body before your sister raised both hands up.

“I’m gonna get the old towels and the mop.”

“And three buckets!” you shouted after her.

You groaned as you stepped into the attic, the old board creaking under your feet as you tried to check for the damage.

Why the hell hadn’t you remembered the roof?

Julia came back a few minutes later with her arms overloaded with towels, buckets clanking against each other, and the mop tucked under her elbow.

“You said three,” she panted, dropping everything down. “I brought five. Figured we’d need the optimism.”

You let out a pathetic laugh, grabbing one of the buckets and sliding it under the worst of the leaks, the water splashing noisily inside.

“This fucking house,” you groaned.

You two worked together with the towels, buckets and the mop to try your best to dry the space, though it really felt half condemned already.

If you ended up with a mould problem after this — and the basement fiasco — you honestly didn’t know what you were going to do. You would probably have to take out a loan.

By the time you’d done everything humanly possible to dry the space — at least, for now — you’d discovered a fourth leak, thin but steady, trailing water down into yet another dark puddle, and admitted defeat, with one of you coming back every other hour or so to make sure the buckets didn’t overflow.

The rain kept coming. Through the afternoon and into the night, and you were sure you’d gotten a full workout just from moving buckets around to keep the attic dry.

And, of course, when the storm finally broke the next morning, you had to drag yourself out there to dry off the bounce house before the rental guy came to pick it up.

Oh, you tried very hard not to show your bad mood as you stood in front of the truck, per Dustin’s request.

“Thank you for the bounce house, Mr Bounce House Man,” your son said dutifully as the man loaded it onto the truck. “We had a lot of fun in it.”

The guy chuckled, clearly amused, and nodded at the two of you.

“No problem, kid. Happy birthday.”

Dustin waved enthusiastically as the truck pulled away, and Julia came to stand beside you on the driveway.

“You gonna put that tarp on the roof?” your sister asked. “I can call Dad.”

You shook your head, crossing your arms as you stared up at the roof.

“I don’t think so,” you sighed. “Gonna give those holes a look first. I think I can fix them.”

Julia raised her eyebrows, not looking too sure, but she didn’t say anything.

So that’s what you were doing when you climbed up onto the roof to see what the hell was wrong and what could be done about it.

Two of the holes were close together, both in the same row of shingles, but the other two were scattered farther apart. That meant you’d need to replace three separate areas, patch up the underlying material, fill the holes, and… hope for the best.

The whole roof needed work, probably just a full-on replacement, but that wasn’t gonna be possible for another half a year. Or more, even. You’d need to talk about Julia and her expectations about the basement, you knew she was looking forward to having her own space.

But the repairs first.

You bought new shingles that looked enough like the old ones, nails, caulk, got the old gloves and overalls on and went to work.

You used the hatch in the attic to access the roof and got to work on the first hole.

That was an old skill of yours.

Your parents’ roof had always leaked, year after year.

Every spring, your dad would be up there, replacing shingles, hammering nails, filling holes… and when you were old enough to be of use, you were up there too.

It wasn’t even like they couldn’t afford to have someone working on it, Dad just really hated asking for help. At least from adults, you weren’t included on that list.

So, yes, you knew your way around DIY-ing a roof leak fix.

You’d just finished patching two of the holes and were moving on to the ones close together when you heard your name being called from below.

When you looked down, Thor was standing in your yard, looking thoroughly confused.

“What are you doing up there?”

“Fixing some leaks,” you called back, reaching for the pry bar to lift the shingles. “I’ll be down soon.”

Well, he didn’t sound too convinced.

“You sure you know what you’re doing up there?”

You tried not to scoff. What, did he think you couldn’t handle patching a roof?

“Let me give it a look,” he offered.

“It’s fine,” you warned him, already wedging the pry bar in place. “My dad was a stubborn bastard when I was growing up. Only hired someone to replace our roof after I broke my leg helping him for the fourth year straight.”

That had definitely taught you a thing or two about rooftop safety.

“No, it’s okay,” Thor interrupted, not sounding the least bit convinced.

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m fine. I’m just finishing the last bit.”

And yet… you heard the unmistakable scrape of a ladder being dragged and propped up against the house.

You straightened up quickly, turning toward the edge.

“Thor, really,” you called down. “Don’t come up. The sides of the roof are still slippery, I had to come up through the attic.”

“I’ll be fine,” he shot back easily. “Let me see that.”

Of course he would.

“The ladder doesn’t reach the roof,” you warned him, voice firm.

“I can climb the rest of the way.”

You froze, shingle bit still in your hand.

He could what now?

“Get down,” you snapped, losing patience.

Was he stupid? Ddid he want to hurt himself?

And then you saw a single hand grabbing the end of the roof and heard a groan.

Then you heard the ladder fall.

Then a thump.

And a...

“Fuck!”

Your heart stopped.

You scrambled to your feet, barely keeping your balance as you moved as fast as you could to the edge.

There he was: sprawled out in the grass, clutching his arm in pain.

“Fuck…” he groaned again.

“Don’t move!” you yelled, panic already throwing you into action.

You didn’t think twice, just dropping the pry bar and the shingle as you bolted back to the attic hatch and down the house through the back door.

By the time you reached him, Thor had managed to sit up, his face twisted in pain — but of course, of course — trying to play it off like it wasn’t that bad.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” you shouted, breathless, dropping to your knees beside him. “I told you not to climb up!”

He winced but had the nerve to give you a crooked grin.

“Yeah… should’ve listened.”

You stared at him. Did he think this was a joke? Did he think it was funny?

“Lay down!” you hissed. “I’m gonna call an ambulance.”

Thor groaned as he moved, but you pushed a hand to his chest.

“I’m fine,” he tried to argue.

“You’re lying down,” you interrupted him. “Right now.”

He grimaced but obeyed, and you could see it then — the way his arm was at a completely wrong angle to a fucking human being.

“Fuck,” you hissed, fumbling as you dialled 911, both hands trembling.

What the hell was he thinking?

Thor closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling too quickly.

“911, what’s your emer—”

“I need an ambulance. My friend fell off a ladder, he’s injured. His arm looks… wrong. I don’t know if he hit his head.”

You rattled off your address right after, barely hearing yourself, your free hand still pressed to his chest, keeping him down and feeling his heart under your palm.

“He’s breathing, he’s conscious,” you added quickly, looking at him just as he let out another groan. “But he looks like he’s in a lot of pain. It was a two-story fall.”

The dispatcher promised help was on the way, told you to keep him still, and you nodded numbly, even though she couldn’t see, and hung up.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” you demanded, looking down at his face.

Thor huffed a breath, almost a laugh.

“Wanted to help.”

You glared at him, even as your throat tightened up, the sound of your pulse loud in your head.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you bit out. “I was fine. I’ve been fixing roofs since I was eight. By ten, I could do it by myself.”

He tried to smile but then winced again, his face twisting with the pain he wasn’t quite able to hide and you stared at him, and you held him in place.

“I told you not to come up,” you exhaled.

God, what if he had hit his head?

Broken bones were fine, but the brain was… weird. Complicated.

Dangerous.

“I know,” he exhaled. “Just didn’t want you to do it alone.”

The distant wail of sirens broke through the fog in your head, and you looked back to see some distant lights.

“Stay down,” you told you. “I’m gonna go help them in.”

…

Next Chapter: Chapter 14: You have to fix your roof after a day of raining. Thor has an accident. (15th of June on Tumblr/AO3)

…

T

AG LIST IS OPEN

Brother Aurion had already admitted that half the Brothers and Sisters were thrilled. They had not hosted a naming ceremony in over three years, and the last one had been for a child born over in Driftmark.

According to him, ceremonies happened almost weekly in New Valyria, but he hadn’t done many since he had moved.

On Dragonstone Island, children were rare enough that the twins might be among only five or ten babies born all year, which was why she knew some people in the temple might try to sneak in a look.

Helaena looked down at the sleeping twins, all wrapped in white and gold, and she couldn’t help feeling something softening in her heart as the sight of them,

So small and perfect, and entirely unaware that today would tie their names to gods older than anything they knew.

She raised her eyes as the lift stopped.

The de facto temple was quiet when they stepped inside, the air touched with incense and the faint mineral chill of ancient stone. Many candles were burning in niches carved into the walls, their flames painting warm gold over the long shapes of stone dragons that curled along the pillars and ceiling, like guardians frozen in silence. The whole place felt old in the way Dragonstone always did, as if the mountain itself was alive and watching.

They visited almost every month, and yet this was the first time it felt as serious as it felt on their wedding day.

Sister Aenar stepped out first, guiding them to the altar, and Brother Aurion was waiting for them with a smile, dressed in gold and smoke-grey robes embroidered with symbols.

“Helaena,” he greeted warmly. “Jacaerys. It is good to see you again.”

She smiled, nervous, feeling her belly tighten.

Jace gave him a respectful nod, one hand still on the pram.

“Are we terribly late?” he asked softly.

Brother Aurion shook his head, clearly amused.

“You are early, actually. A rare miracle in any ceremony involving newborns.”

That made Helaena laugh under her breath, the feeling enough to loosen the tightness in her belly a little bit.

“Just you two, as you informed me?” he asked then. “And the babies, of course.”

She nodded.

“Just us,” she agreed.

Brother Aurion glanced behind them, and Helaena followed his eyes and found Sister Aenar still lingering a respectful distance away, hands folded before her robes. Her eyebrows were raised almost comically high, her eyes wide with hopeful curiosity as she looked at Aurion.

He let out a soft breath, the sound almost fond.

“Sister Aenar has been helping me prepare today,” he explained. “She has not attended a naming ceremony yet in her time serving with us.”

Jace glanced over his shoulder at the Sister, then back to Helaena, a silent question passing between them before he returned his attention to Aurion.

“She has asked me to ask your permission to watch,” Brother Aurion added gently. “Without any interference, of course.”

Helaena looked at Sister Aenar again.

She was young, probably their age, and if the Driftmark softness in her accent meant anything, probably born there too.

And yes, she very excited, even if she was doing her absolute best to hide that excitement.

Somehow, that sweetness untied the last knot of Helaena’s nerves.

A single Sister wasn’t a crowd, just a witness.

“I don’t mind,” Helaena said softly. “If she wishes to watch, she should.”

Sister Aenar’s face lit like a candle catching flame and she was actually about to clap before she softenedd her face into serenity and bowed her head.

“Thank you, Princess,” she said, voice hushed with genuine gratitude.

That made Helaena almost chuckle.

Princess.

As if she still wasn’t walking around half her days with spit-up on her shirt and baby wipes in every pocket.

Jace smiled too, the tension in his shoulders easing as he looked down at the twins sleeping.

“Well,” Brother Aurion said, clasping his hands before him as the candlelight flickered over gold thread and stone dragons alike, “then we may begin whenever you are ready.”

There was a bit of silence, and she nodded, nudging Jace, and he pushed the pram to a corner.

“I’ll take Hera,” he whispered. “She’ll be the fussiest if she wakes up. You get JaeJae.”

She nodded, watching move so carefully as he leaned in to take their girl, suddenly squinting.

“Wait, which one is Jaehaera?”

Helaena snorted.

“She’s…”

But she paused too.

Wait…

She stared from one sleeping face to the other.

The same pale wisps of hair. The same pink mouths. The same impossible little noses.

Yeah, she didn’t remember which one had gone to which seat.

The twins were practically identical, and putting them in identical clothing didn’t help!

Jace looked from one baby to the other, squinting harder, lips pressing together in dawning horror.

“I’ll have to check,” he whispered.

Helaena had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop a nervous smile from escaping.

Of all the moments to mix them up, it happened right before presenting them to the gods.

“Yeah, alright,” she whispered back. “But do it quick.”

The last thing she needed was Brother Aurion realising the proud parents his beloved Prince and Princess of Dragonstone made, had lost track of which infant was which!

Jace took off the little glove from their baby’s hand, and the little fist immediately closed around his finger, stubborn and warm as he counted the fingers.

Yep, five of them.

“This is Jaehaera,” he informed her in a proud whisper. “Four fingers and one thumb.”

Helaena pressed her lips together so hard her shoulders shook.

They were so tired, oh gods.

Of course, that was how they had to identify their daughter in the middle of a sacred naming ceremony.

No paternal instincts or just knowing. They had to count her fingers.

Jace glanced at her, already trying not to laugh as he carefully scooped Jaehaera into his arms.

“Well,” he teased, way too amused. “At least we know we’re sleep-deprived equally.”

Helaena snorted, rolling her eyes before leaning in to pick up JaeJae.

And, just to be certain, she slipped off his tiny glove too.

Six fingers.

Yes, definitely Jaehaerys.

That absurd little confirmation settled her more than it should have, and they finally stepped together into the centre of the ritual circle of flames, the warm stone beneath their feet worn smooth by centuries of prayers, vows, and names spoken into history.

Brother Aurion’s smile softened as he approached them, all candlelight and solemn eyes.

“If I may,” he said quietly, reverently, “I will remove their shoes now.”

Helaena only nodded, holding Jaehaerys a little more securely as Aurion leaned in.

He slipped the soft fabric shoes from Jaehaerys first, then from Jaehaera, tucking both pairs carefully into the deep pocket of his robes as though even those tiny things were part of something sacred.

The twins stirred only the littlest bit, warm and drowsy from milk, their little socked feet suddenly bare to the temple air.

“Mother,” Brother Aurion said softly, lifting his hand. “A finger.”

She offered it to him, watching as he showed her the blade, a slender piece of polished obsidian, sharp enough to catch candlelight in a wicked silver line.

Her mind was right back to their wedding day when he pricked the pad of her thumb, and a red bead came out quickly.

“Blood two joined as one,” he recited, placing the droplet of blood on her boy’s foot carefully.

Her son twitched, toes flexing.

Aurion pressed gently again at her thumb, coaxing another bead, and marked Jaehaera’s foot the same way.

“Fire of the gods.”

He released her hand, and Jace stepped forward without needing to be asked, already offering his own, and the obsidian kissed his skin like wth her before. Helaena watched as Aurion repeated the rite, Jace’s blood pressed to one tiny foot, then the other, a mirrored blessing sealing mother and father alike into the twins’ beginning.

“Blood of two joined as one,” Aurion intoned once more. “Fire of the gods.”

He stepped back and raised his chin, eyes closing for the span of a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice carried through the temple stone, wrapping around candles and dragons and sleeping children alike.

“We stand in the circle,” he declared, “to name the blessings given to us.”

Helaena held Jaehaerys a little tighter, kissing his head, feeling the soft weight of his tiny body against her chest.

“The oldest guides,” Aurion instructed, his voice low and ceremonial. “The youngest follows.”

He moved to Jace, guiding him closer to a flame.

“We may thread your path now.”

Helaena looked at the flames for a moment.

Fourteen flames, for fourteen gods and fourteen blessings.

Each iron pole was marked with a sacred name, the carved letters catching amber in the firelight, and together they formed a glowing circle around the altar like a crown of living stars.

Aurion began to walk, slow and deliberate, guiding Jace around the first post, and Helaena followed close behind, Jaehaerys warm in her arms, her steps falling naturally into rhythm with theirs.

“May the King of Fire light your spirit,” Aurion intoned as Jace rounded the first flame, then the second. “May the Queen of Blood keep your lineage strong.”

The smoke curled around them, fragrant and ancient, and Helaena breathed it in, comforted by the scent of ash and resin and old time.

The path came in and out of the circle, each step taking them deeper into blessing, deeper into history, deeper into the sacred story their children were now being woven into.

“May Vhagar grant you the strength to protect and the wrath to survive,” Brother Aurion continued as they kept walking. “And may Caraxes give you the ambition to conquer and the courage to win.”

Helaena could not help the leap in her heart when the flame marked as Caraxes flickered high and fierce, as though the god himself had stirred at the sound of his name in the presence of their children, like an answer.

“May Vermax keep your roads open, and may your words carry his truth. And may Meleys’ wisdom guide your hand and her justice rule your house.”

At that, Helaena’s mouth softened into the faintest smile.

Of course Vermax’s flame burned bright and steady, almost smug in the way it crackled, and she imagined their ridiculous guardian cat would consider that entirely appropriate.

“May Draxtar, and the beauty of creation, flourish in your shadow as Onixa hides you and yours within them,” Brother Aurion intoned. “And may your vengeance be swift.”

They moved deeper into the circle, and by now the rhythm of the ceremony had become something almost trance-like.

The next fire glowed a softer gold, its warmth almost honeyed as Brother Aurion guided them around it.

“May Syrax show you the harmony of love and the heat of passion,” he recited.

Helaena’s arms tightened instinctively around Jaehaerys, not from fear, but from the sheer tenderness of the blessing.

Love, yes. They would be loved.

Not just from family, but everywhere they went.

That settled happily in her belly as they rounded the next flame.

“May Tyraxes make your harvests plentiful and your heart generous.”

The words wrapped around her like warm bread and salt.

Tyraxes always felt to her like a blessing for more than the old way of life, of harvesting or money. It was a blessing that made her think of full tables, of quiet rooms with loved ones together, and being loved for who they were and not who they were ‘meant’ to be.

It made her feel like she felt when she was at Jace’s side.

She was her favourite goddess.

The next blessing came just like that, settling into her much more heavily.

“May Tessasion make your instincts sharp and your dreams visions,”

She looked at Jaehaera in Jace’s arms, finding his eyes watching her for a moment before he moved forward.

She had dreamed them — not just the twins, no.

She had dreamed Jacaerys by her side long before he had ever truly become hers, and she had dreamed the twins when they had been nothing more than two bundles of cells in her womb, weeks old.

She hoped both of them inherited that sort of knowing, that their worlds felt rich and certain like hers did.

The last flame was the one they fully stopped at, side by side, and she watched light dancing like a threshold as if the god herself was lingering in place.

“May Shrykos bless every gateway you cross,” Aurion said, voice deepening with finality, “and every new beginning.”

Helaena exhaled, feeling her shoulders relaxing as the flame shone brighter, a warm feeling settling in her heart.

When she opened her eyes, she caught Jaehaera with her eyes open, looking at the flame, enchanted, like she knew what she meant.

Her girl didn’t blink away as brother Aurion guided them back into the centre of the circle.

“The Fourteen have looked upon them and blessed them,” he announced. “Now name them.”

Jace exhaled, lifting Jaehaera carefully to face the circle and the flames, as if she would be seen by the gods better like that.

“This is Jaehaera,” he declared, his voice steady and proud. “She is blood of our blood, fire of our fire, a daughter of House Targaryen.”

The flames surged brighter, crackling in sudden agreement, and Helaena’s breath left her in a rush.

“It is witnessed,” Brother Aurion declared with a very solemn nod. “You are named, Jaehaera.”

Their daughter kicked once, small and indignant at being held up to destiny and not in her father’s arms, and Jace immediately rocked her close again, soothing her easily.

“Helaena,” Brother Aurion looked at her.

She swallowed, heart thudding, and adjusted JaeJae in her arms before lifting him as Jace had done, and her boy didn’t wake one moment.

“This is Jaehaerys,” she recited, voice a bit shaky, but still very much there. “Blood of our blood, fire of our fire, a son of House Targaryen.”

Brother Aurion’s smile deepened.

“It is witnessed,” he said again, bowing his head. “You are named, Jaehaerys.”

She cuddled JaeJae close, tucking him against her body.

His tiny hand caught in the fabric of her shirt, six little fingers clutching it with all that determination only newborns have to not let things go, and she felt the soft puff of his breath against the side of her neck.

He was named.

…

Chapter 3 (on Patreon) - 11th of June on Tumblr/AO3

…

“name day” is a short married!Jace/Helaena story set in the Modern Era, and was posted on my Patreon on April 2026.

Subscription is only $2 a month for early access to everything I do and exclusive access to some works, and I promise you won’t regret it.

“We plan to spend our honeymoon on the Continent,” Rosetta added, reaching out to touch the fabric. “Do you make pieces suited for warmer weather?”

“They can certainly be made,” the modiste assured her. “Where do you plan to go?”

“Genova,” Rosetta declared with a smile of pride. “It’s where our family is from. We’ll be staying at our shore house.”

Ravenna watched the woman’s face, noting the flicker of confusion. The modiste clearly had no idea where Genova was. She had to resist the urge to scowl at that.

“I’m sure it’s beautiful,” the woman said anyway. “Will you be staying long?”

A brief hesitation crossed Rosetta’s face before she smiled.

“We’re still deciding,” she admitted at last.

The modiste nodded, flipping a page in her fabric book.

“And speaking of that,” she said, her tone brightening, “have you chosen the colour for your wedding dress yet?”

Rosetta glanced at Ravenna, and she quickly softened her expression for her sister.

“I was a bit uncertain,” Rosetta admitted. “I was considering silver or white.”

“Oh, you must wear white,” Grandmama insisted, her voice almost pleading. “With gold embroidery.”

“And there must be a veil,” Ravenna added. “As tall as you.”

Rosetta smiled, clearly picturing it.

“White it is,” she decided. “And the veil should have gold trimmings as well.”

The modiste’s brows raised slightly, though she masked her surprise. Lace was costly, and a veil of that length would require days — if not weeks — of meticulous handwork. One as grand as Rosetta’s would be an undeniable display of wealth.

But Ravenna had no intention of pinching pennies. Her sister deserved the best — every ounce of luxury money could buy.

“We’ll pay in advance, of course,” Ravenna remarked, taking a sip of her tea. “Considering how important it is.”

The modiste exhaled, visibly relaxing.

“And the maid of honour?” she asked.

Rosetta turned to Ravenna without hesitation.

“Oh, Venna, you must wear baby blue,” she declared. “You look the most beautiful in it.”

Grandmama nodded in agreement.

“A soft blue, with silver embroidery. Refined, but not too simple.”

Ravenna set her cup down, studying them both.

“And here I thought this was your wedding, Rosetta,” she teased. “Not a ploy to dress me up like a doll.”

Rosetta only laughed, undeterred.

“Is it such a terrible thing that I want my sister to look stunning beside me?”

Ravenna sighed, though a ghost of a smile tugged at her lips.

“I will wear whatever you want me to wear,” she assured her.

The modiste jotted the details down, glancing between them with mild amusement.

“Would you like a matching headpiece?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Rosetta answered before Ravenna could do so. “Pearls, I think. Nothing too extravagant, just enough to set off her hair. The contrast will be beautiful.”

Ravenna merely smiled, lowering her eyes to watch the modiste take notes.

“And you have the jewellery you’ll be wearing with the dress?”

“New pieces,” Ravenna replied. “They’ll be made for the wedding. Preferably diamonds, if I’m to have any say.”

Rosetta’s cheeks flushed.

“It will be terribly extravagant if you are to have any say,” she replied. “But if you could provide the jeweller with a sketch of the dress—”

The modiste nodded quickly.

“Before the week is over,” she assured them.

Ravenna reached for her sister, making circles over her palm.

“You only get married once,” she reminded her. “Hopefully.”

Grandmama chuckled.

“And you know we have no other wedding on the horizon,” Ravenna added. “Let us live vicariously through you.”

For a fleeting moment, Rosetta’s eyes turned sombre and sad, and Grandmama’s expression softened to match. But Ravenna held onto her smile, unwavering.

“A sample of the fabrics, please,” she requested, keeping her tone light. “For the shoemaker.”

The modiste nodded, flipping through her book before carefully tearing some swatchs of silk, folding it neatly before she set it on the table.

“I’ll have the full design sent to you along with the sketches,” she assured them.

Rosetta exhaled softly, smoothing a hand over the fabric of her gown.

“It’s all happening so quickly,” she mumbled. “Sometimes, I feel as though I’ll wake up and none of it will be real.”

“It’s real,” Ravenna said firmly. “And it will be perfect.”

Rosetta gave her a small, grateful smile.

The modiste cleared her throat delicately.

“And for the evening gowns in the trousseau?” she returned the subject. “I suppose you’ll be dressing for warmth.”

“Lighter fabrics,” Rosetta agreed. “Since we’ll be in Genova, I’d prefer something suited to warm weather, as we said. Silks, perhaps muslin.”

“With lace,” Grandmama added. “Not too heavy, but something that will add elegance.”

Ravenna tapped her fingers against the arm of her chair, watching as Rosetta carefully selected colours and details, her earlier wistfulness giving way to quiet excitement.

“You’ll be the most stunning bride,” she said, reaching for her tea.

Rosetta laughed softly.

“With you and Grandmama in charge, I doubt I have much say in the matter.”

“Oh, you have many says,” Ravenna teased. “Just not the final one.”

The modiste chuckled, closing her book with a satisfied nod.

“I’ll have everything arranged within the week. You’ll have nothing to worry about.”

Rosetta sighed, relaxing in her seat.

“Thank you. Truly.”

The conversation drifted to smaller details. Gloves, slippers, how many gowns would be necessary for dinners and outings... but Ravenna found her thoughts wandering.

It was all happening so quickly.

Soon, her sister would be Mrs Winchester, and she would have her own life.

Ravenna bit the inside of her lip for a moment, Rosetta’s words coming to her mind once more. They weren’t certain of how long they would be staying in Genova.

It made her want to fidget.

Rosetta was her heir, and it was important that she stayed close to home. The travel between London and Genova was no short journey, anywhere between three and four weeks.

Zio Alessandro wasn’t getting any younger, and if something happened to Ravenna, her sister would need to be there. But if she wasn’t in Genova... it could take anywhere from six weeks to two months to return.

Besides, she was to be the next Marchioness, and her oldest son — or daughter — would carry the name and title. They should be Genovese, not English.

Had she spoken about it with Samuel?

Was he the one who wanted to stay behind?

Certainly, he understood what being in his position meant.

“If this will be all,” the Modiste stood. “I’ll be on my way.”

“Let me walk you, Grandmama spoke up quickly.

They left together, leaving Ravenna and Rosetta behind, and Ravenna turned to her little sister as Rosetta took her hand, a bright smile on her face.

“It’ll be wonderful,” Rosetta sighed, her eyes sparkling. “Aren’t you excited?”

Ravenna smiled, the excitement in her sister’s voice lifting her spirits, even if only for a moment.

“It’ll be the most beautiful wedding this country has ever seen,” she promissed.

She would make sure it would be the most grand wedding of all.

Rosetta’s gaze lingered on her, her light brown eyes studying Ravenna’s face carefully, and she pushed her fingers between hers slowly.

“Mister Novak left a calling card,” Rosetta said, her voice soft, almost hesitant. “Grandmama said he seemed worried about you.”

Ravenna swallowed hard, the name hitting her like a cold wave. She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. Castiel had heard what Dean had said at the party, he seemed to be the only guest who had.

“And I’m certain Grandmama has assured him of my well-being,” Ravenna replied.

But Rosetta squeezed her hand, her voice gentle but insistent.

“You could welcome him today,” she suggested. “He seems to nurture great affection for you.”

Ravenna’s eyes drifted away, her thoughts momentarily tangled. It was true. Castiel did care for her, but not in the way Rosetta seemed to hope. And the affection Ravenna felt was not the kind of love her sister was imagining.

“I am not marrying Mr Novak, Rosetta,” she replied firmly. “Our relationship is exclusively friendly. He doesn’t wish to find a wife. He is more than satisfied raising his children on his own.”

It had been the very foundation of their connection, their mutual understanding, the agreement that had kept things clear between them.

Rosetta, however, wasn’t deterred.

“He seemed quite interested in the last few weeks,” she remarked, her tone soft but insistent. “And the greatest of loves often start from friendships.”

She pulled her hand away, clenching it as she stood.

“I’m a spinster, Rosetta,” Ravenna reminded her, her voice sharp. “Lord Winchester made that very clear. Since I arrived in this city, I’ve been treated like one, and I will hardly cease to be one. It would help greatly if you and the rest of the family stopped pretending I have any hopes of changing that status.”

Rosetta’s eyes softened at the mention of Lord Winchester, her expression mirroring the sting Ravenna felt.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Ravenna added, her tone final as she turned, ready to retreat to the privacy of her room.

But before she could take a step, Rosetta’s voice cut through the tension.

“What if he truly loves you?” she questioned.

Ravenna froze, caught off guard, her mind briefly struggling to comprehend the words. She turned slowly back to her sister, a frown knitting her brows in confusion.

What?

“Lord Winchester?” Rosetta stood now, her tone serious. “What if he truly loves you?”

The question made Ravenna laugh, bitter, without humour.

“Loves me?” she echoed, her voice dripping with disbelief. “Has the wedding preparation clouded your mind so much that you've lost your wits?”

Rosetta’s expression fell.

“You know what he has done,” Ravenna reminded her. “The things he said. He sees me as nothing more than what everyone else sees me.”

“But there must be a reason!” Rosetta insisted, her voice trembling with emotion. “Venna, he has pursued you so insistently. He has grovelled for your forgiveness, he begged for it! Why would he do that if it weren’t because of real feelings?”

Ravenna couldn’t contain the frustration any longer, snapping at her sister.

“He wanted a conquest, Rosetta! A prize! Are you so naïve that you cannot see it? Haven’t I taught you to see the world for what it is? Haven’t I raised you to be a realist?”

The question echoed in her mind as she spoke. What had she said?

Where was she pulling these thoughts from?

Why Rosetta, of all people, could not see the truth as it was?

“Are you so set on your ways that you refuse to consider that it might have been only a mistake?” her sister questioned back. “Samuel said…”

That made Ravenna stiffen.

“Samuel? You told him what I told you?” her voice shook, the disbelief and hurt escaping right through her words. “How could you have done that?”

She had entrusted her sister with a secret, moments humiliating to even recall. How could Rosetta have shared something so personal, especially with Samuel?

“No!” Rosetta quickly defended herself, her hands raised in a gesture of innocence. “His brother told him.”

Ravenna stood frozen, her heart sinking as the words sank into her. Dean had spoken to Samuel? He had shared those moments — those painful, intimate moments — with his brother?! The very moments that Ravenna had allowed him to pry from her, the improper touches, the sinful words whispered into her ears?

“Samuel says Lord Winchester confessed his feelings,” Rosetta continued, voice softening, but the weight of the words hit Ravenna like a slap. “That he is unwell.”

“Unwell,” Ravenna echoed, her tone flat.

How could he possibly be unwell when it was she who had suffered for his actions?

“I… I didn’t believe it at first,” Rosetta continued, her voice quieter now, uncertain. “But what if he just made a mistake? What if his intentions were… different? What if he, I don’t know, Venna. I don’t know him.”

“None of us do,” Ravenna muttered, her throat tightening as the knot inside her grew.

She fought to keep her voice steady, but the weight of everything pressed heavily on her chest.

“Samuel does,” Rosetta insisted, her voice filled with an unshakable hope. “Lord Winchester raised him as much as you raised me! They’re as close as we are.”

Ravenna scoffed. As close as they are? She highly doubted that.

If they were so close, why had Samuel not seen the man’s true nature?

“Perhaps… perhaps he fumbled,” Rosetta said slowly, her voice soft and tentative, as if trying to find a way to justify the unthinkable. “Maybe his intentions were noble, but his words were... foolish.”

Ravenna's chest tightened as she listened to Rosetta’s words, each one sounding more distant than the last. It was as though her sister was grasping at straws, trying to piece together a story that would make sense of something that was too painful to face.

“I frankly do not know how you can believe that,” Ravenna sighed, her voice tight.

Rosetta’s face softened, her eyes searching Ravenna’s as if looking for something—an opening, perhaps, or a crack in her resolve.

"He’s not a monster, Venna," she said gently. "What if he regrets it? What if he wants to make amends? What if he truly does care for you?"

Ravenna felt a sharp pang in her chest. Her heart fluttered uncomfortably at the thought, but she quickly smothered it, pushing the idea away as fast as it came. She couldn’t — she wouldn’t — let herself believe that.

“If he cared,” she said, keeping her words cool and steady. “He wouldn’t have treated me like that in the first place. He wouldn’t have said what he said.”

Ravenna closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself, her body heavy, her stomach boiling.

“Venna...”

“I will not entertain such foolish notions just because your fiancé doesn’t want to see you hurt,” she interrupted, her words sharp. “Samuel loves you, and that’s all that matters to him right now. You should be grateful for that.”

Rosetta didn’t respond, the silence stretching between them as Ravenna stood and smoothed her dress, the motion feeling almost mechanical. Her hands trembled slightly, but she refused to acknowledge it.

“I’m going to my room,” she said, her voice firm, yet tired. “I’m not entertaining any guests or correspondence. And if you wish to join me at any point of the day, I’d highly request you leave such delusions at the door.”

Without waiting for her sister’s reply, Ravenna turned on her heel and walked away.

…

Next Chapter: Chapter 49 (Dean XI): Sam tries to push Dean into fixing his problems. Castiel's visit might be exactly what he needs. (9th of June on Tubmr/AO3)

…

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You pressed your lips together, and — like it or not — the image flashed through your mind again: Thor standing at the edge of the bounce house, effortlessly tossing Dustin inside while Clint did the same with Nathaniel, making the same old heat creep up your cheeks and ears.

How could a man who did not have kids look so… dad material?

Damn him. Damn you.

“Mama! Mama!” Duz sprinted up to the porch and grabbed at your arm. “Can we ask Mister Thor to come play with us?”

You put your laptop aside, exhaling softly.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you said gently. “Mr Thor helped a lot at your birthday. He should have the day for himself.”

Dustin frowned, little lips turning in a pout.

“But you don’t have the day for yourself!” he argued.

You pressed your lips together, holding back your answer for a moment.

Well… he wasn’t wrong, was he? You couldn’t exactly just pass Dustin off to someone else and stop thinking about him for a day — your mind didn’t work like that.

But you couldn’t exactly say that to him.

“I do, sometimes,” you told him, at last. “And those are called Grandma and Grandpa sleepovers.”

He frowned a bit more, still pouting.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you told him, smoothing back his hair. “But Mr Thor should rest. And you two can go bounce a bit more before I make popcorn.”

Both the boys lit up with the mention of the snack.

“With butter?” Nathaniel asked, eyes wide with hope.

Oh yes, Laura had absolutely warned you about that boy’s obsession with butter… and how you were absolutely not to let him have more than two teaspoons of it on his popcorn.

Preferably margarine, which (luckily) you had.

“Yes, with butter,” you confirmed, earning a small victorious whoop from him. “Now go play. I need to finish this first.”

You looked back at your sheet, trying not to grimace.

They took off at full speed, already halfway to the bounce house before you even finished your sentence.

You turned back to your screen, sighing as you stared at the spreadsheet. Honestly… you needed to start this first, by the looks of it.

You rubbed between your eyebrows, exhaling, and caught sight of Clint’s older boy looking back at you from his spot.

“Cooper,” you called out.

He perked up a little but immediately tried to play it cool, covering it with an obviously practised shrug.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“No one’s looking,” you teased. “You’re under 200 pounds?”

He frowned, confused.

“Yeah?”

You bit back a smile — it was obvious he was under 200, but the way he looked at you was too funny to have that part of the joke skipped.

“Then you’re fine,” you assured him, playful. “Just… don’t duplicate or anything. The waiver says it can only take 300 pounds, and I’m pretty sure those two over there are at least 60 each.”

Cooper snorted, shaking his head, but you caught the hint of a smile before he jogged over to the bounce house with the boys.

Sending them off gave you a good ten minutes to wrestle with some of the numbers before you finally gave up and slammed the laptop shut.

You whistled to the yard, and all three heads popped out of the bounce house like little prairie dogs.

“I’m gonna go make the popcorn,” you warned them. “Please, try not to break any bones while I’m inside.”

They giggled, and you shot a pointed look at Cooper. He nodded dutifully, all business, before ducking back inside with the little ones.

You made the popcorn in the microwave – Julius had talked over and over about using paper bags and putting ther kernels inside, and after you were a stubborn bitch about it for months, you tried it.

And he was right.

So yeah, you made popcorn like that now.

You measured out exactly two teaspoons of margarine for the little boys’ bowls, melted it, tossed the popcorn with a pinch of salt, and set Cooper’s aside, leaving it plain so he could spice it up however he wanted.

“Alright!” you called, raising your voice just enough to cut through their squeals. “Popcorn’s here. Leave the bounce house alone!”

Nathaniel and Dustin ran to you so quickly that they almost looked like little blurs before they got to you, and you chuckled as you gave them the bowls.

“You can sit on the chairs or steps,” you told them. “But no more going back to the bounce house. You don’t want to get sick after all that jumping.”

Cooper lingered nearby, glancing between your hands and the table, looking for his food.”

“Yours is in the kitchen,” you told him, pointing inside. “Didn’t know how you’d want it, so you’ve got free reign to fix it up however you like.”

He gave a small nod and headed back inside, and you exhaled quietly, sitting on your chair as with the boys, watching them dive happily into their popcorn. Their content little faces made your chest feel full in the best way.

Cooper came back and settled into the last chair on the porch while you stayed quiet, letting the breeze wash over your face and cool you down.

“You’ve got a nice car, Mrs T,” Cooper said suddenly, pulling your attention his way.

You arched an eyebrow at him.

Oh?

“Thank you,” you replied, a little amused.

“I wash cars,” he added quickly. “And clean up yards. I separate trash for recycling too. I can come over after school and do it.”

“You do all that?” you asked, surprised.

Voluntarily?

He nodded, serious.

“I’m trying to get my own money. Dad won’t let me follow him around,” he explained with a little shrug. “Apparently, he doesn’t want me doing plumbing.”

You tilted your head a bit, watching him.

Well, that was… nuanced.

“Oh — and I rake leaves, walk dogs, shovel snow…” he started ticking things off on his fingers. “If you’ve got a lawn that needs mowing, I’ll do that too.”

“Damn, kid,” you chuckled. “When do you play your video games?”

“After homework!” Nate piped up proudly before Cooper could answer.

You shook your head.

“Don’t work yourself to the ground,” you warned him. “How old are you? 16?”

“Seventeen,” he corrected proudly. “Gonna go to college soon.”

“Wait until you get the diploma to do that grinding, it pays more.”

He scowled, shovelling popcorn into his mouth, and you just shook your head.

“How much an hour?”

“Eighteen bucks,” he said. “And I take tips.”

You chuckled.

Smart kid.

“I’ll text your mum about it,” you told him.

“You’re gonna replace me as your odd job guy?”

You glanced up. Thor was leaning casually against his fence, feigning shock like you’d just betrayed him.

God, you couldn’t even help how everything in you softened at the simple sight of him.

“Mr Thor!” Dustin gasped, his face lighting up. “I thought you were having the day for yourself!”

Thor raised his eyebrows, caught off guard, but you shot him a look and he cleared his throat quickly.

“I was, buddy,” he replied. “But… uh… I wanted to check on you after your party. You looked really tired when we said goodbye.”

“I played a lot!” Dustin grinned proudly.

“It was so fun!” Thor exclaimed, matching his enthusiasm. “I’m glad you had a good time!”

“And we bounced today too!” Nate told him. “We were bouncing on the bounce house! But we can’t bounce after we eat.”

“Very smart,” Thor agreed, nodding seriously. “You don’t wanna get sick.”

You smiled a bit, reaching to pet Duz’s hair carefully, and he gave you his empty bowl.

“Mr Thor,” your boy called, rushing to the porch railing, eyes bright. “Can you toss me in the bounce house tomorrow when my belly isn’t full?”

Thor raised his eyebrows, surprised.

“Of course, kid. You’re keeping it for the weekend?”

“The company’s gonna pick it up Monday morning,” you told him, shrugging. “We went through all that trouble.”

He threw you a look, smirking and arching his eyebrows very slightly before smiling innocently at your son.

“I’ll come over tomorrow,” he assured him. “You got more popcorn there?”

Dustin shook his head proudly.

“All gone!”

Thor gasped in mock horror.

“No! Aw… I wanted to come over.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile as you leaned against the porch railing. Duz stood on his tiptoes, lifting his chin.

“My mama can make it for you!” he declared confidently. “Right, Mama?”

You raised your eyebrows. Oh, you could now?

“Oh, I can’t impose,” Thor said quickly, hands up.

“I’ve got some kernels in the kitchen and an almost-new paper bag,” you replied, smirking. “You can go make some.”

He squinted at you, playful suspicion in his eyes.

“I don’t know… you were just offering my jobs to Cooper,” he pointed out, giving the boy a smirk. “How am I supposed to make myself useful around here now?”

You just shrugged.

“Well, I’ve got a house with plenty that needs fixing,” you told him. “Pretty sure you won’t run out of work.”

Thor chuckled, finally stepping through the fence open and into your yard.

“You say that now,” he scowled playfully. “But then I offer to help and you go, ‘You don’t have to do this, Thor.’”

You scoffed, crossing your arms.

“Still my house. I get to pick,” you shot back.

He just shook his head, still grinning, and headed into your kitchen while you stayed on the porch, keeping an eye on the boys as Nate finished his popcorn.

“Why don’t you three go inside,” you told them, standing up. “I’m gonna grab some juice, and you can watch Bluey for…”

You checked your phone.

Laura had asked you to send the boys home at four.

“Two episodes,” you decided.

“Yes!” Nate cheered, pumping his little fist. “I love Bluey!”

The boys rushed inside, and Cooper followed with a bit of an annoyed look on his face. You were the last one to step into the kitchen, and Thor was making his popcorn now.

“I’ll watch over as they walk home,” Thor told you as you stepped to his side. “I texted Clint. They’re not far, just some ten minutes West.”

You nodded, feeling your shoulders relaxing a little.

Good, that was good.

Thor glanced at you then, the corner of his mouth lifting in that easy, familiar way that made your belly flip.

“You holding up?”

You let out a slow breath, leaning back against the counter next to him.

“Trying,” you admitted, offering him a small smile. “You know… one spreadsheet, one list of tasks, one bounce house injury at a time.”

He chuckled a little bit as the kernels popped in the microwave behind him.

“You need any help?” he asked softly.

You shook your head.

“Just gotta find a way to focus,” you told him. “Got a lot in my mind.”

“Duz?” he asked sweetly.

You threw him a look for a moment and pressed your lips together.

Well…

“You,” you said simply.

There was a moment of silence by your side, and when you looked at him, Thor was wide-eyed, pink on the face.

“Try doing math with you in my head the whole time,” you teased, leaning just a little closer. “Very hard to budget.”

He opened and closed his mouth.

“Well, I… well…” he looked for words. “Sounds…”

You waited.

“Hope I can help?” he asked.

You chuckled.

“It’s alright,” you told him. “I’m sure I’ll finish when Duz is in bed later today.”

Thor licked his lips, nodding as you turned to the fridge, grabbing the juice boxes and heading into the living room to hand them to the boys.

By the time you returned to the kitchen, he was still standing exactly where you’d left him, watching you like he hadn’t moved at all.

“I… I hope it’s okay?” he asked quietly. “That you’re… distracted. That it’s a good kind of distracted.”

You nodded quietly, smiling a little.

“It is,” you confirmed. “Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “It’s okay.”

“Alright,” you nodded.

Good.

“Alright.”

…

Next Chapter: Chapter 13: You have to fix your roof after a day of raining. Thor has an accident. (8th of June on Tumblr/AO3)

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