Posting my spn oc shit because I want someone else to read it (art above done by the absolute goat @dolorum-magne, story below by me) The motel is quiet, but not the good kind. It’s the kind that’s deafening, the kind that resurfaces old memories when it has no right to. The kind that reaches down and hollows the hole in Quinn’s chest a little deeper.
Not to say that it’s anything new. It’s been a recurring theme for the past ten months, something that hasn’t gotten any easier to stomach. Sam and Dean had offered to help out. Several times. The entire time, the furthest they’d ever went for a hunt was a state away. Dean isn’t one to linger where he shouldn’t, but Sam could see right through Quinn’s dull reassurances over the phone. He didn’t need to see his face to know how exhausted he was, and how it wasn’t getting better.
And he wasn’t wrong, either. Quinn’s hair had gotten longer, his beard fuller. His eyes didn’t open fully anymore. They had lost their glint.
But today was different.
Today was December 5th.
Jenn’s birthday.
She would’ve been 33.
Quinn had let it slip a few days before in a moment of vulnerability, and Sam was quick to decide that they should stay close. He’s spent enough of Jess’s birthdays without her to know how that one goes. So they holed up in a cheap motel just a town away. Dean didn’t argue too much.
༺═───────|♱|───────═༻
Quinn sits up against the headboard, Ellie sprawled out on top of him, just on the cusp of sleep. Her fingers curled into his shirt, her face pressed into his chest. Jenn’s hair tie around her wrist. Quinn’s hand rests gently but protectively against her back, relishing in the small movement of it rising and falling.
He’s learned to cherish even the tiniest signs of life.
“When I find myself in times of trouble,
Mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom,
let it be.
And in my hour of darkness,
she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom,
let it be.”
Quinn’s chest rumbles softly against Ellie’s cheek as he sings, a perfect low lullaby in the bleakness of the motel room despite his voice starting to crack and his breaths stuttering. He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying here with her, he stopped checking the time God knows how long ago. All he cared about was that she stay asleep. She never does that easily anymore, not like she used to.
When she finally stops shifting and her breaths become even and slow, Quinn takes his time to move her off of him and pull the threadbare sheets up to her chin. He brushes her hair back and presses a soft kiss to her temple.
He stands up and exhales shakily through his nose, trying to ignore the fact that holding himself together now is like holding up a skyscraper with a piece of floss.
He doesn’t move right away. Just stares down at Ellie like if he blinks she might disappear too. Her fingers curl into the seam of the comforter, her hair sprawled out around her head in a brunette halo.
She looks just like Jenn when she’s sleeping.
She should’ve been 33 today.
He turns away from Ellie, rubbing his hands up his face and pushing them into his shaggy hair.
He can’t do that to himself. Or to Ellie. He’s not allowed to think.
So he starts to pace, dropping his hands and twisting his wedding ring until the skin underneath runs raw and red.
There’s only so much you can do in a motel room.
He heads for the kitchenette, desperately opening up the cabinets in hopes of finding something that would slap a bandaid over the gaping hole in his chest.
He didn’t know what he expected to find other than the cereal and instant ramen he didn’t have an appetite for.
He moves to close the cabinet door when something glints from the corner of his eye in the flicker of the dim lamplight. A couple bottles of whiskey, tucked guiltily behind the cereal — just enough of them sticking out to tempt him like it was pure sin.
He remembers when he got them. A gift from the motel clerk at the front desk. He said he was trying to get sober, and that Quinn looked exhausted. He didn’t know the half of it. Quinn took them with a nod and a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He never had any intention to open it.
But now, he stares at them with bleary eyes, and the devil guides his hand forward and curls his fingers around the cool glass.
The first sip didn’t go down easy as the second one did. Or the third, or the fourth.
The bottle gets lighter, and the swallows sting less.
His thoughts become fuzzy, but the silence isn’t empty. It’s filled with all the things he’s trying to drown out. Jenn’s laugh, Ellie mumbling for her mom in her sleep. The sounds of his own screams, the kind that rip through your chest when you already know you’re too late.
He doesn’t know when the tears started. He just knew that his shirt was wet and everything ached. Inside and out.
Before he knows it, he’s slumped on the floor against the wall, his fingers still curled loosely around the neck of the bottle. Tear tracks glisten on his cheeks as he stares right through a staticky drama rerun on the TV, the volume down low enough not to wake Ellie.
His chest stutters with the aftershocks of his sobs. Some people are violent drunks— the alcohol runs through their veins, flares their rage and makes them dangerous. Not Quinn. His limbs get loose and heavy, as useful as sacks of sand. His eyes get sad and he thinks too much about what he could’ve done differently.
Because if he had done things differently, Jenn might still be breathing.
Through the buzz of the alcohol and the guilt, he hears it. Barely. Small, light steps on the laminate floor.
“Daddy?”
The voice was small and raw. It hadn’t been used in a while. Quinn turns his head slowly to see Ellie standing in her pajamas, her fingers fidgeting idly with her pant leg. She got that from him. Her eyes are wide and scared. She looks so small.
Quinn’s eyes start to sting again.
“Go back to sleep, baby.” His words are low and slurred. They couldn’t have been heard if you weren’t listening closely. His head pounds, and he tilts it back against the wall. His breaths are heavy and labored. He wants to move but his body won’t cooperate.
Ellie stares at her father wordlessly, a helplessness in her eyes that was all too real.
She tried to do as he said. She climbed back into bed, pulling the sheets up to her chin, making herself smaller underneath them. She closed her eyes and tried to keep them that way. But she also heard the clink of the bottle, heard his ragged and choked breaths. His small mutters of her mother’s name like a prayer on his lips.
She tried for a long time. But eventually she heard silence. She couldn’t lay still. She wanted her father.
“Dad?”
No answer.
“Daddy?”
She slides herself out of bed once more, slowly making her way over to her father. He had curled up on the floor, one of the empty bottles tucked under his arm and the other tipped over a few feet away. His head slowly turned to press his face into a pillow he’d taken from a nearby armchair.
“Daddy, get up, please.”
Silence.
Her breaths circle faster from her lungs, her chin starting to tremble. She turns toward the nightstand next to the bed, and grabs at Quinn’s phone.
She goes through the steps in her head, the ones he made her memorize. She unlocks the phone, scrolling past missed messages and calls from various people. She clicks on his contact, dialing the number.
It only rings once before he picks up.
“Quinn?”
Ellie doesn’t speak right away, but the shaky breath is enough for Dean to go from calm to alert in half a second.
“Ellie?” His voice immediately softens. “Ellie, hey, it’s ok— where’s your dad, huh? Where’d he go?”
Ellie forces the words out softly. “He won’t get up.”
Dean’s stomach drops. He’s already moving. “Is he hurt?”
“I don’t know. He was drinking something. He won’t answer me.” The words border on sobs, and Ellie forces herself to take a big breath.
Dean curses silently. “Alright, listen to me— you did real good callin’ me, ok? Me ‘n Sammy will be over soon. You stay put, you hear me? He’ll be ok.”
“Ok.”
༺═───────|♱|───────═༻
Twenty minutes later, a soft knock on the door makes Ellie jump. She’d been sitting on the bed, knees hugged to her chest, glancing at her father every so often. She didn’t want to cry, so she had channeled the energy into clutching Quinn’s phone until her knuckles turned white.
She gets up and heads for the door, unlocking and opening it slowly to find Sam and Dean just on the other side. Dean looks down, his expression shifting to something softer. “Hey, sweetheart.” He glances past her, scanning the room. He looks back at Sam expectantly.
Sam nods. “I got her.”
Dean moves past Ellie with an affectionate squeeze of her shoulder, intent in his step.
Sam crouches down in the doorway, getting eye-level with her. He gives her a small, sad smile. “Hey, Ellie.“
Ellie didn’t have very many tears left to cry, but her chin starts to tremble at Sam’s soft voice anyways. She looks down, watching the floor start to blur.
Sam’s brows knit softly, and he tilts his head. “Hey, it’s ok.” He offers his hand out to her.
Ellie looks up at him, her small lips curled in a frown. She slowly lifts her hand and places it on Sam’s.
Sam curls his fingers around hers gently. “It’s gonna be ok. How about we go on a drive for a little while, huh? That sound good?”
Ellie nods, barely. “Ok.”
Sam smiles, standing up slowly and guiding her out of the room, closing the door softly behind them.
༺═───────|♱|───────═༻
The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed in the room was so thick it might as well have screamed.
Dean stood in the middle of the room, still and quiet, staring at Quinn slumped on the floor.
The man looked like a ghost.
Dean crossed the room in three steps and crouched beside him.
“Quinn.”
No response. Just slow, vacant breathing.
Dean reached down and gently pried the bottle from his friend’s grasp, setting it aside. It clung to Quinn’s shirt and breath and skin like a second grief.
He placed a hand on Quinn’s shoulder and shook him firm, not rough.
“Hey. C’mon, man, don’t do this. Wake up and look at me.”
Quinn lets out a soft groan, his limbs shifting like something heavier than gravity was weighing them down. He turned his face away from the pillow and blinked blearily up at Dean, eyes bloodshot and still wet with unshed tears.
“…Dean?”
“Yeah, man, I’m here.”
Dean didn’t say anything else for a beat. He just let the moment sit between them. It hurt to look at him like this. He was always so steady, so grounded in faith and quiet strength. Now he looked shattered. And not in the dramatic, movie-scene kind of way. In the real way. In the way that looked numb and weak and terrifyingly quiet.
Quinn blinks again, slower this time. The recognition in his eyes flickers, dims, then flares again like a dying candle trying to hold on.
Dean got down to his knees and sat back on his heels. “Ellie called me. Said you weren’t ok.”
Quinn’s brow furrowed. He tries to pick his head up. “Ellie- where’s- where’s Ellie?”
“She’s safe.” Dean reassured him quickly. “Sam’s got her. Gonna keep her busy for a while.”
That seemed to register—just enough to sink in and hit. The shame crept in like smoke under a door. Thin, slow, but choking all the same.
Quinn’s face crumpled.
“I didn’t mean to,” he slurred, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to- Dean, I swear, I just- I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry-“ his breaths picked up, the tears spilling over his cheeks. He curled his legs in, his knees pressed to his chest. He looked like a child, making himself smaller and blubbering out apologies that were directed at anyone and everyone.
“Hey, hey, easy- it’s ok. Let’s get you cleaned up, alright? Then we’ll talk.”
Dean didn’t wait for an answer. He just reached out, one hand steady on Quinn’s arm as he slowly guided him to uncurl, like coaxing a wounded animal out of hiding.
“C’mon, man. One step at a time.”
Quinn’s limbs were slow, heavy with guilt and whiskey, but he didn’t resist. He let Dean pull him up into a shaky sit, then to his feet. He swayed, the world tilting under him, and Dean caught him with a firm hand under the arm.
“Easy. I got you.”
He led him to the bathroom, turning on the light with a soft click. The mirror was brutal. Quinn caught one glimpse of himself and had to look away.
Dean grabbed a washcloth, ran it under cool water, and pressed it gently into Quinn’s hand.
“Here. Start with that.”
Quinn nodded, barely. He pressed the cloth to his face, wincing as if it burned.
Dean leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. He found a spot low on the wall to stare right through.
Quinn drags the cloth across his skin, feeling the water drip down his arms to his elbows.
But a washcloth can’t wipe away that night.
Quinn sniffles, voice hoarse. “I scared her, didn’t I?”
Dean’s jaw clenched. “Yeah. You did.” He didn’t sugarcoat it. “But she also knew who to call.”
Quinn lets out a shaky breath. “She shouldn’t have to-“
“But she did. Which means you raised a kid with guts, and it means she loves you enough to try.”
That shuts Quinn up.
Dean’s voice gets a little more intense.
“Yeah, ok, you messed up. Now you get to fix it. She doesn’t need you perfect, Quinn, she just needs you there.”
The words hung in the already tense air, Quinn having lowered the cloth from his wet face. He turns his head and locks his bleary gaze with Dean’s desperate one.
Dean exhaled, glancing off. The words were heavier than just some tough love. That weight had been sitting in his chest for years.
His jaw tightens. “Stay put, I’m gettin’ you some water.”
Quinn watches him leave the bathroom and head for the kitchen. He didn’t need to be sober to see right through him.
He was going to fix things. For Ellie. And for Dean.
༺═───────|♱|───────═༻
Outside, the motel parking lot was cold and damp with leftover rain, the pavement glistening under the amber streetlights. Ellie squeezed Sam’s hand like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth. She didn’t speak as he walked her to the Impala, didn’t argue when he buckled her in like she was still small enough to need his help.
Sam shut the door gently. Like she might break.
He didn’t rush starting the engine. Just sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, letting the silence breathe. Then, with a slow exhale, he pulled out of the lot, the tires whispering over wet pavement.
They drove with no real destination, just motion for the sake of it. Ellie stayed quiet, curled against the door, absentmindedly rolling the fabric of her pant leg between her fingers.
Sam glanced over, his heart tightening. She looked so much like Quinn in moments like this: silent, locked up, holding in more than any kid should.
He started to speak, to ask if she was okay, he but then a warm glow flickered up ahead.
A diner.
Small, old, with flickering neon lights and a red OPEN sign that buzzed faintly against the night.
“How do you feel about pancakes at 11 p.m.?” he asked, voice soft, like he didn’t want to scare her away from the moment.
Ellie looks over at him, the idea having broken her out of her dull gaze. A small smile ghosted over her lips.
She nodded
Sam returns her smile, something easing in his chest. “Pancakes it is.”
-
The bell over the door jingled as they stepped inside, and they were greeted with the smell of syrup and old coffee. The linoleum floors squeaked under their damp shoes, echoing softly in the mostly empty diner. Only one of the many booths was occupied— a trucker nursing a late-night plate of eggs, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.
Sam looked down at Ellie, who had her arms wrapped around herself. He nods towards the booths. “Your pick.”
She gave a small nod, scanning the rows of empty booths before padding toward one tucked under a fogged-up window. The glass shimmered with humidity, blurring the view of the glowing streetlights outside.
Ellie slid into the booth without a word. Sam followed, settling across from her. He glanced around at the walls, at the collage of faded photographs and yellowed newspaper clippings— stories that have long since passed.
When he looked back at her, she was huddled in on herself, shoulders curved inward like she was trying to disappear.
His brow creased. “You cold? Wanna wear my jacket?”
She nodded before the words had fully left his mouth.
He was already moving, slipping out of the booth, shrugging off his brown jacket, and draping it gently around her shoulders. The sleeves swallowed her hands, the hem nearly reaching her knees.
It made her look smaller than she was, but she sat back against the seat comfortably anyways. She looked up at him, eyes shining just a little beneath the weariness.
“Better?” he asked.
Ellie gave the faintest nod.
As Sam smiled, a waitress made her way over to their booth— an older blonde woman with kind eyes that immediately took a lighthearted interest in Ellie.
She told her she looked like she could use something warm.
Sam ordered a hot chocolate for Ellie, coffee for himself, and a stack of chocolate chip pancakes to split. Ellie added strawberries.
As they waited for their food they sat quietly, Ellie fidgeting with the cuffs of Sam’s jacket that ran several inches too long. It wasn’t hard to read her expressions and figure out what was going through her head. She’s just as much of an open book as her father.
She spoke up softly. “Is he gonna be ok?”
Sam nods without hesitation. “Yeah, he’ll be ok. Dean’s with him. He just needs a little time.“
“I didn’t wanna call. It felt like I was telling on him. He was just sad.”
“That makes sense.” Sam said gently. You didn’t tell on him, though. You helped him. You did the right thing, Ellie. You were real brave.”
Ellie looks down at her jacket sleeves. “I don’t feel very brave.”
“That’s ok, you don’t have to.” He replied. “Sometimes it doesn’t make you feel like a superhero, even if what you did was good. All that matters is that you know it was good.”
Ellie takes in his words, nodding softly. She was still deep in thought.
“He was singing earlier.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Let It Be. The one with Mother Mary.”
“Good choice. Your mom’s favorite?”
She nods, her voice a whisper. “I think he was crying.”
Sam’s voice drops, softer still. “It’s ok if he cries. That just means he loved her a whole lot.”
She looked back at him, something small and trembling in her expression. “Do you think he’s mad at me? For calling?”
Sam shook his head. “No, no way. He’d never be mad at you for somethin’ like that. You just wanted to help. And he knows that.”
Ellie leaned forward, resting her head on her arms, half-covered in the too-big jacket. She didn’t cry, but her voice came muffled.
“I miss her.”
Sam’s voice caught in his throat. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I know, kiddo.”
༺═───────|♱|───────═༻
Dean’s firm hand on Quinn’s back is the only thing grounding him as his body curls over the toilet, his fingers white-knuckling the edges of it. His knees ache from pressing into the tile and there are stray tears that had made their escape from the corners of his bloodshot eyes.
The small bathroom is charged with the consequences of bad decisions and even worse grief as Quinn’s breathes are ragged and uneven— trying to will the taste of bile and whiskey from his mouth.
Dean sits beside him with his back against the cupboard under the sink, pressing his hand to Quinn’s back to keep him upright during the times he starts to sway.
Quinn shuts his eyes, his stomach empty and his chest hollow. He just breathes a moment.
Because it’s the only thing he seems to have control over.
“You all out?” Dean says, tone gentle but firm as he lets his hand slip away from Quinn.
Quinn doesn’t move at first, just sits with his eyes closed like the inside of his eyelids have all the answers he’s been begging for. He reaches up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“It‘s her birthday.” He slurs quietly, having completely disregarded the question.
Dean turns his head to look at him. “I know.” His voice comes softer now.
“I bought a damn cake. Like she’d walk right through the door.”
Dean fell silent, leaning his head back against the cabinet.
A wave of nausea washes over Quinn, and he grips the edge of the toilet seat harder as he exhales shakily, bowing his head.
“God, I hate that she saw me like that.” He mutters, like the thought itself was the only thing making his world spin in ways he couldn’t keep up with.
“She saw you hurting. It’s different.”
Quinn’s stomach lurches, and his eyes flutter. “Y- you think she’s mad at me?”
Dean rolls his head to the side to look at Quinn. “I think you’re still drunk.”
Quinn doesn’t respond.
“You think you’re the only one who’s ever tried to drink away a ghost?” Dean huffs out a breath. “You’re not. But you got a kid. She needs you above ground, Quinn. Not curled up on the floor with half a handle in your gut.”
Quinn let out a noise between and cough and a sob at Dean’s words, bracing himself as he feels the consequences bubble up in his throat once again.
༺═───────|♱|───────═༻
The atmosphere of the diner slowly shifted as the air began to fill with Sam and Ellie’s chatter and soft laughter.
The scent of warm syrup and coffee curled in the air, mingling with the soft clink of forks on plates. Ellie had finally started eating — slow at first, just nibbling at the corner of a pancake — but once Sam steered the conversation away from the heavy, unspoken grief that had clung to them since the night started, she’d begun to perk up. Now she was mid-giggle, swinging her legs softly under the table.
“I swear, he was so mad at me the year I passed him up. He kept telling everyone I was wearing lifts in my shoes.” Sam’s voice is light and easygoing as he pokes his fork into the disassembled short stack, tearing off another piece.
Ellie giggled, her cheeks puffed slightly with strawberry. “That’s dumb.”
Sam smiled, still chewing. “Yes, it is. Very dumb.”
Ellie was quiet for a beat, chewing slowly before she set her fork down. She toyed with the edge of Sam’s jacket sleeve again, her fingers small against the worn fabric.
“Do you ever fight with him?” she asked, glancing up. “Dean?”
Sam blinked, surprised by the shift in tone. But he didn’t hesitate. “Oh yeah. All the time.”
She hummed, unsatisfied. “Is it hard?”
Sam’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. The question hung there for a second, heavier than it looked. He let the fork rest against his plate and looked at her more carefully, his voice softer now.
“Yeah. Sometimes.”
He tried to keep his tone light — he didn’t want to lose that small smile he had worked so hard to get on her face. But he didn’t want to snub out her curiosity either.
“We get mad at each other a lot, but- I’m never scared. Because I know at the end of the day he’s still my brother, and I’d still do anything for him. And I know he feels the same way.”
Ellie nods, taking in his words like he’d just spoken gospel. It’s obvious that she’s taking them to heart.
“I don’t have a brother. Or a sister. I always wanted one.”
Sam’s smile softened, eyes twinkling with a mix of nostalgia and affection. “They can be a lot sometimes,” he said with a teasing tone, trying to lighten it.
Ellie hesitates for a moment as she looks up at Sam. “Maybe you can be my big brother.”
The words caught Sam by surprise, and for a second, he just looked at her, taken aback by the weight of her simple request. Her words make a certain warmth fill Sam’s chest that he hasn’t felt for some time. It spreads all the way to his face and lifts the corners of his mouth a little higher.
He grinned, a small, genuine smile that lit up his whole face. “Yeah? You think so?”
Ellie nodded, more certain than she’d been about anything all night.
He leaned in slightly, resting his forearms on the table and lowering his voice just to make it a little more serious. “Well, if you’re my little sister,” he started, “that means you gotta promise me somethin’.”
Her eyes locked onto his, her expression shifting from curiosity to pure determination. She looked like she’d follow him into Hell if he asked her to. “What?”
Sam leaned in closer, his voice lowering even more, making it almost a whisper. “You gotta promise me that you’ll call whenever you need help. No matter when it is, or what it’s about. Ok?”
Ellie’s eyes sparkled in the dim light of the diner, her tiny body stilling with the weight of her promise. She nodded once, her expression serious but trusting.
“I promise,” she said, her voice quiet but strong.
Sam keeps his gaze locked with hers as he leans back in his seat. “Good. First order of business — you gotta help me finish off these pancakes,” he declares, bringing a hand up to pat his stomach. “If I eat the rest of this by myself, you’re gonna have to roll me outta here.”
Ellie giggles as she picks up her fork, her legs starting to kick softly beneath the table again, not knowing what to do with the newfound warmth she feels buzzing in her chest.
༺═───────|♱|───────═༻
The quiet of the motel room was deafening.
The dim glow of the lamp pooled across the stained carpet — the same one that had caught Quinn’s breakdown only hours earlier, now drinking in the quiet aftermath.
He sat on the edge of the bed, changed into new clothes, hair still damp from the shower Dean had all but forced on him. He looked less wrecked from earlier, but only just.
His stomach was still in knots. The earth still tilted slightly under him, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut every so often to set it right again. His heart still ached when he let his mind run for too long, and his chest was still hollowed out.
But he’d be damned if he didn’t make things right with his daughter.
“She’s on her way.” Dean said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “You ready?”
Quinn nodded once wordlessly, staring a hole right through the door Dean had just come through.
The seconds dragged like hours until headlights flooded the thin curtains and a soft knock tapped at the door. Dean crossed the room in two strides and opened it, stepping aside as Sam entered with Ellie clinging to his hand.
Quinn’s heart squeezed in his chest when he saw her, the way Sam’s jacket swallowed her up and made her look so damn small and vulnerable.
It doesn’t help that she has her mother’s eyes.
He stood slowly from the bed.
She didn’t move, just looked at him like she was trying to gauge if he’d start muttering Jenn’s name into the air again.
He cleared his throat. His voice was raw.
“Hey, baby.”
Ellie’s last bit of resolve snapped under the emotional weight of his two words. Her bottom lip starts to tremble and she bolts toward him, dropping Sam’s hand in the process.
Quinn drops to his knees, just in time to catch her and wrap his arms around her so tight that it hurt. She latched onto his shirt and buried her face into his neck with a sob so raw that it cut right through him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair, his words broken but said with every fiber of his being. “I’m so sorry, baby, I- I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t mean- Jesus, I’m so sorry—“
Ellie didn’t dare loosen her grip, her whole body trembling as she lets herself crumble in the protective hold of her father. Her fingers curled into his collar tighter, her tears soaking into his shirt.
Ellie attempted to get her words out, but they were overridden by sobs and gasps.
The sound is so gut-wrenching that Quinn’s eyes start to sting, his vision going blurry. He brings a hand up to cradle the back of her head, holding her close.
“You told me t- to call… if anything was wrong. You were what was wrong, and I- I didn’t want to tell on you, I didn’t want to call—”
Her words deteriorate into intelligible sounds as she goes on, a ramble of guilt and anxiety a father should never have to hear from his eight year old daughter.
The words etched themselves into Quinn’s heart, a wound that would stick with him for a very long time. The guilt of knowing he’d made his daughter feel that way twisted in his gut, sickening and sharp.
“No, you- you did the right thing. Listen to me, honey, I’m so proud of you. You did the right thing. It’s ok. You’re ok.”
She sniffles into his shoulder. “You scared me, Daddy.”
Quinn lets out a sound between a sigh and a sob. He turns his face into her hair. His voice broke. “I know, baby. I scared me too.”
They stayed like that for a long time — tight, loving holds and sweet muttered reassurances. Quinn could feel every shuttering breath that Ellie took, every sob that wracked her body. It killed him.
Eventually, leaned back just enough to look at Quinn’s face. They both looked wrecked, but their red-rimmed eyes have never had more love in them.
She brings her hands around from his neck, making sure to push them out of Sam’s jacket sleeves before reaching up to cup his cheeks. Quinn lets out a shuttering breath, closing his eyes and immediately leaning into her touch.
“No more drinking like that.” She murmurs firmly, face still red and wet with tears.
Quinn immediately nods. No room for debate. “No more.”
He opens his eyes, and he swears it’s Jenn looking right back at him. His face crumples slightly and his chin starts to tremble.
She tries to firm up her wavering voice. “You promise?”
Quinn nods again, his arms securely around her, the floor digging into his knees. “I promise.”
Ellie pulls him back in again, and this time it’s Quinn that buries his face into her shoulder, breathing her in and holding her like God Himself was trying to pry her away from him.
Sam and Dean stood by the door, silent. Neither brother said anything, because they knew the moment didn’t need words. Dean’s gaze had softened, watching how willing Quinn was to change, to do better and to make things right. How sorry he was.
Sam looked over at Dean, noticing the softness in his eyes despite his tight jaw. He recognized that look all too well. The longing for just so much as an apology.
But Dean swallows it down, just glad to see them both in one piece.
Quinn doesn’t let go of Ellie, just lifts his head slightly to look at Sam and Dean over her shoulder. He mouths a small “thank you.”
