Chapter Text
Cynthia didn't have a clear idea where they were going as Ivan drove on in silence. Of course, what little alcohol she'd consumed had settled, and she was too inexperienced with the stuff to properly know whether she was reacting to it or not.
Ivan had considered explaining their eventual destination, but was too angry to feel any need to make it easier on her. He pulled the car into the lot of the small local bar that surrounded the building on all sides, and took an empty space in the well lit front of the building, near the street, parking backward to face the main door, where a burly, bald, tattooed man hovered with a cigarette he occasionally brought to his scraggly beard.
She met him at the front bumper of the car, dragging her feet sullenly, not expecting him to tug her along by the jacket again, "Come on. You wanted answers, I'm getting you answers."
This time, she worked to match his pace as they approached the front door, satisfied that whatever was happening, she'd soon have a greater understanding of everything that had been upsetting her so deeply. Processing it would take longer, of course, but she felt a confusion that was nearly desperate.
Reaching the door, the heavy man stepped in the way, "Hey, no, sorry. Man, there's no way she's twenty-one."
"She's my daughter," Ivan replied, stressed, "We're only here to talk to somebody, in and out, won't take but a minute."
"Sorry, she's not going in here."
Ivan pursed his lips, glancing around for another option, before leading Cynthia several feet from the door, staying close to the wall of the building, "Okay, you stay right here, don't move, don't breathe, I'll be right back. Got it?"
"Yeah," she answered automatically.
Passing the bouncer at the door, he let his attitude take over, "She better be here when I get back."
He'd been right, that it had only taken 'not but a minute' and she wondered later about how fast he'd managed to drag out with him a wall of a man, somewhat haggard for his age, wearing a bartending apron with the establishment's logo on it. She didn't have time to think whatsoever as Ivan took hold of her shoulder again, pulling her out into the parking lot, the strange man following after them.
Ivan stopped in the middle of the open lot, one of the best lit areas available short of being inside, and let go her jacket, "Okay, we're gonna get this all settled right here, right now. You two have a lot of catching up to do, that's fine, but don't think for a second that I'm going anywhere."
Cynthia watched as Ivan continued off the short distance to perch on the hood of his car, just out of earshot, still uncertain she fully understood the situation she found herself in. She looked up at the guy, squinting a bit in the dim lights, looking for any hint of a family resemblance in his face. She didn't like what she saw, and she liked the idea of it even less.
"So you're-... Are you my real dad?" Cynthia asked quietly.
The man shrugged, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and glancing around the lot, likely trying to make the most of his unexpected break as he lit up, "You Julie's kid?"
"Yeah?" she replied cautiously.
He shook his head, taking longer than she expected to exhale a long stream of smoke, "No... Well, for what you mean, maybe. Kind of a toss up, might be me, might be the guy Claire Novak got killed, I don't know. Your mom might not even know. But I'm not your dad, because I don't want anything to do with you. The way I see it, the only thing I'd ever owe you is a check to planned parenthood that your mother wouldn't take, and if you want that, that's a one-time deal." He gestured to where Ivan sat, patiently waiting for their conversation to end, as he flicked a bit of ash from the end of his cigarette, "That guy over there, if he wants to raise somebody's bastard, I'd say stick with what you've got."
Cynthia hadn't realized there were tears running down her face until they reached her neck, but it certainly made sense to her, even in her befuddled state that they would appear, "But-... Is this some kind of sick joke?"
"Yeah," he replied gruffly, his agitation growing in bounds, "Because that's what life is, one big sick joke. Don't think I haven't seen you around, or that I don't know how good you have it being a spoiled little rich bitch. So quit crying, go crawl back into your daddy's convertible and tell your slut mother I said to keep her brats the hell away from me."
Chaz walked away, leaving Cynthia standing in the middle of the parking lot as she began to cry harder, never having expected such treatment from anyone.
Watching as her whole being began to shake, Ivan was torn, and wanted to walk back over, to comfort her, but something in him couldn't do it. He was sure Cynthia had stumbled into a lesson she needed to learn on her own, and he waited, watching as she slowly returned to the parking space, passing him to walk along the passenger side of the car until she'd reached the rear. Through the sounds of her harsh crying, it was audible that she'd thrown up, and still, he waited. Finally, he caught sight of her face, streaked with her ruined makeup and tears over the roof just before she got back in the car, still shaking, and he followed suit.
Ivan felt lost as he began the drive home, bringing Cynthia with him, exactly as he had promised Julie he would, but a quick glance her way as he slowed for a red light begged the question of what the cost had been to achieve an end to her suddenly rebellious behavior.
He questioned whether he'd done the right thing, whether he should have left the conversation to Julie, or if, in his state of exhaustion he'd completely fucked up. It had all seemed so simple, walking in, leaning over the bar and demanding Chaz come out to the parking lot and give the girl a goddamned explanation for a measly ten seconds.
Now she knew, though. He'd provided pure honesty. She wasn't his. And yet, beside him, in the passenger seat, it was still his baby with a broken heart, quietly sobbing.
His mind raced as he struggled to stay awake, contemplating whether he'd be functional enough to shower before bed, or if he would need to wait until he'd slept a good twelve hours, checking the clock and wondering if he'd manage to speak to Julie before any of it.
Cynthia broke the long silence when they'd nearly reached the driveway, "Who did Claire Novak get killed?"
Julie sat still on the bench at the end of their bed, - more her bed than theirs, if he was being honest, and he was ready to be honest - with a startled look as he recounted the evening's unexpected events from the stool he'd pulled out from below her vanity.
"She knows?" Julie asked with a hint of fear. Confirmed by his nod, she continued, "How did it go? Was she upset?"
"She... I don't think it was good, she was crying pretty hard. Threw up before she got back in the car. I only caught a few words, but 'quit crying' and 'bastard' were definitely in there," he answered, "I told her to go wash up, but I'm sure she still has some questions."
"I don't even know what to do, Ivan,-"
"This is on me. I said I'd handle it, and I did. I don't know, I didn't have any right to tell her anything about this, but-"
"Yeah, you do. She asked."
"Julie, I'm sorry-"
The slight tap at the door interrupted him, and Cynthia slipped inside. Her face was far less colorful, naked skin with some sort of damp looking care product on it, he assumed, and she'd sorted out her hair for the night, far less a mess than the one that had followed him in from the car. Her eyes were still red and puffy, and even across the room, there was a hint of a sniffle.
Julie looked at her daughter with sympathy and patted the bench beside her, and Ivan was thankful that Cynthia stepped closer to sit with her mom, even if he didn't particularly like the question that came next. Again.
"The guy said Claire killed somebody? Is that true?"
Julie shook her head, "That's not what happened. Chaz has been repeating that to himself long enough to believe it."
"So, what really happened?"
Ivan briefly wondered if Julie was as tired as he was, she certainly looked it.
"When we were all in high school, Claire was seeing this guy, Will, and I guess some kind of misunderstanding came up. There were a lot of rumors, and out of nowhere they weren't talking. Then prom rolled around, Claire was supposed to go with Will and he took somebody else to make her jealous, we all thought she would stay home, figure out that she was missing out, and get back with him later, because that happened a few times, but she showed up, and she brought that guy she married later, and, honestly, she was gorgeous, and completely ignoring Will, and he started to fall apart. There was something really wrong, just, nobody wanted to see it. It's a miracle he didn't shoot up the school. None of us wanted to blame Will, so we just decided it was Claire's fault, she was an outsider who wasn't from our town, and it was easy to put the blame on her. Then one night, he was out at Singer, stalking her, I guess, and he saw her leave in her dad's car, followed her, and... He used his truck to run her car into a big rig, trying to kill her, she lived, barely, he didn't. And from everything we could see, she didn't care that he died."
"She was dating him, and she didn't care?"
Julie shook her head, "I don't think any of us were looking too closely right then. We hated her, we bullied her, it's not a huge leap to guess why she was ducking from class to class, not talking to anybody, not with the way we'd gang up on her, and then out of nowhere, he's dead. She already had a target on her back, so it wasn't much of a stretch to say she drove him to it, that she knew exactly what she was doing, and pushed him too far, but that was a load of crap. For some of us, it eventually stopped, we came to our senses, and maybe other people never came around."
"You were involved in that?" Cynthia asked, horrified.
"I was... exactly who my mother was raising me to be," Julie spoke carefully, "Then I had you, and I didn't want to be that person any more. And when that brainwashing snapped, I came out of that haze and started thinking about other people, that's when I learned what remorse really felt like. And Claire was the first one to show any kind of faith in me, that I could do better, even after everything I put her through. I know what kind of person she is, or I would never have let you start babysitting at her house. She didn't kill anybody, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Okay," Cynthia took a few breaths, still shaken from an overload of information, "So, then, my real dad, it's either that guy from the bar, or it's the dead guy, right?"
"No. No, it wasn't Will, it was Chaz. From the bar," Julie answered.
Cynthia swallowed, "How sure are you?"
Julie rolled her eyes, "You would have had to have been three months late. There's no question. Chaz is your biological father, and he knows it. That doesn't mean you should trust anything he says, or go anywhere near him, but if you still want to poke around, my junior yearbook is in the garage. Will's last name was Latimer, and you don't look anything like him."
"Sorry," Cynthia mumbled, certain she was on thin ice with such a delicate subject.
Julie wrapped Cynthia in a hug, holding her a bit longer than necessary, and while Cynthia didn't fight it, there was a look of defiance in her eyes Ivan caught, even as she managed to avoid looking at him. Despite the extra effort it took to get to his feet, as Cynthia began to leave the room, he followed her, setting a soft hand on her shoulder as they reached the door, "Hey... I have no idea what I was thinking tonight, and maybe I didn't handle that right, but I want you to know, baby, on my side of things, where you're concerned, nothing has changed."
Cynthia paused, still keeping her back to him, but she nodded silently before she started down the hall.
Ivan closed the door after Cynthia, tired, beaten, and looked to Julie, who, while ready for bed, was clearly strung out and exhausted, "Looks like you're barely hanging on by a thread... I'm sorry, babe... That was a lot to fall on you all at one time, but I swear, I was trying-" he began.
Julie shook her head, "No, it was going to come up sooner or later, right?"
"It's not your fault. She's got every right to be upset, but all you ever did was give her everything she needed, and almost everything she wanted. She's gonna come around."
She nodded sadly, fighting back tears.
"God, you were barely older than she is now," Ivan mused, his voice soft, "Sometimes I wonder if maybe I was the best option at the time, and you just didn't feel like there was any other way to do things."
Julie didn't answer as she wiped her eyes, inhaling deeply to cover a sniffle.
"Or, maybe, I beat you down without knowing it. But, you know, that's the last thing I want to do... We both know you're never gonna file. So, I'm going to the courthouse in the morning, I'm not going to put you through this anymore. I love you enough to be the screw up, be the bad guy, here. I'm going to make sure you and the kids have everything you'll ever need, and when they're grown and gone, I don't care how far down the line, you need anything, ever, and I'm here, okay?"
A look of fear in Julie's eyes was clear as tears spilled over once more, and she was lost for words, but a tiny shake of her head made it evident that she was feeling panic at his plans.
"Julie, I'm not good for you. Not when I'm here. Don't put your life on hold because I exist. I'm going to be a damn good ex-husband. I actually picked up a honeymoon package at a travel agency for your birthday, I want you to go ahead and take it. I'll stay with the kids, and start setting up to get a second place here in town so they won't have to travel-"
"I have depression," Julie blurted out, her voice faltering clumsily, "I just found out a couple months ago, and they put me on these meds, they're still adjusting, and the doctor said it's cyclical."
"Depression?"
Julie nodded quickly, "I didn't know. It explains so much, though, right? Because I just, I don't know, I kept feeling angry, and empty, even when everything was good, but it was never all the time, so I didn't understand it, but-, God, Ivan... I don't think it's you making me miserable, not anymore. Please, please just give me a couple more months... don't file the papers."
As her voice ended in a whisper, Ivan found himself staring blankly, "Jesus Christ, Julie..."
Regaining his composure, Ivan sat down next to her and wrapped her in his arms.
"I don't know why I didn't tell you," she said quietly, shaking slightly.
"It's fine... So you think that's why we keep going back and forth on this? This is why you blow up at me? Because you didn't have your head on straight?"
"I don't know. I just know everything has been calming down, but now Cyndi's falling apart, and I don't want you to go," she answered with a pitiful whimper.
"No, I'm here. I'm staying right here until everything is okay. But the way things have been, Julie, I just think it's better if I stick to the guest room."
She shook her head against him, "That's one thing I figured out, okay? I think every time I was missing you how you used to be, it was probably me seeing stuff differently, not you doing anything different. I'm still learning about all of it."
"I'll wait, I'll give it time, but the back and forth crap has to stop. We have to have that distance right now. I've been really selfish, babe, otherwise we would have split up by now, but I'm not doing that anymore. I'm sorry, but everything is on hold between us until we have the time to figure out if we can still do this. Because if you aren't sure you want me with you after the kids grow up, then I'm not going to stay."
"You'd walk out on me?" Julie asked.
"Better than holding you back," he replied, his voice soft, "But it's the middle of the night, and-"
"And my daughter found out she only exists because I was total slut who dropped out of school to keep her, and thinks my bitch mother is some kind of a saint."
"We raised her right. She'll figure it out," Ivan replied, "I wish I could promise I'd get up early and handle everything, but I know I can't. You gotta sleep."
Julie didn't protest as he tugged her to her feet by her waist and accompanied her to the bed, stretching out beside her, but she did question it, "You're gonna stay here?"
"Just 'til you're asleep," he answered.
"Like you can stay awake that long."
"Yeah, I can. I don't have a bus moving under me... So, the medicine, is it helping? How's that going?"
She adjusted the pillow below her cheek as she turned to look at him, "I was laughing at something the other day, and, I don't know, it just felt really weird, and a couple of days later, thinking about it, I realized it was because I wasn't faking it, I was laughing for real... I felt like maybe I had forgotten how... Then I cried for a bit, not because I was sad, but, just, I could feel something again. And then I felt really bad that, maybe, if I had started the medication sooner, I could have felt better years ago. But I'm still glad it seems like it's working."
"That's beautiful, Julie," he replied, trying very hard not to yawn as his eyelids were quickly growing heavy.
She let her voice drop to a whisper, "I should have told you. It just seemed like the whole thing was too easy, just, 'hey, your brain is broken, here's some pills,' and like it was too good to be true. I figured I was going to be off them again in a month... Last chance, I think, if you really want the guest room."
Only silence answered her, and with a hint of a smirk, she turned over and switched off the lamp.
Perfectly happy to get out of the office chair, as it was beginning to bother her back, Claire, firmly against Randy's wishes that she 'please just not,' was absolutely comfortable below a car. Well, not absolutely, as her belly pressed gently against the vehicle where the top of her torso fit easily, and the shirt within the coveralls had ridden up, and the zipper, snug against her skin was beginning to chafe.
Footsteps carried in the building, as the bay doors had been shut to the late fall wind blowing in dust off the empty lot next door, a hazard of working in a building on the edge of a small town, and she knew instinctively when they didn't slow or pause at the sign that read 'employees only' that it was likely one of the Singer employees, one of her fathers, one of her brothers, or her husband.
She felt no alarm when the person crouched low, only aware they had moved too quickly for Randy's large frame, nor did she panic when, with a tug at her boot, she was pulled out from below the car, but she had had no reason to expect a slightly less familiar face, which nearly received a panicked blow from a wrench for his troubles.
"Sorry! Sorry!" Jack fumbled his crouch, landing on his hip clumsily, "I'm sorry! That was my bad, I know better than sneaking up on you, I wasn't thinking!"
Shaking slightly, Claire dropped the wrench, and rolled to her elbow to sit up, forcing air into her lungs to try to circumvent an oncoming panic attack, "What's going on?"
"Uh... Aside from me not learning a damn thing in all the years I've known you? Not a bunch. I just came by to say hi, and ask if you know any good babysitters," Jack replied.
"Babysitters?" Claire looked confused.
"Tanya and Randy's wedding? I can't take Liam, so-"
"I didn't even know you knew them outside of the shop," Claire blinked.
"Tanya and Kayla were close in high school, mostly because Kayla sucks, and Tanya's... uh," Jack gestured widely with his hands, "You know, a lovely person... Who would put up with Kayla's crap. And my dad's running for county commissioner, so they want me to slap on a monkey suit and act like I give a damn."
"He's not getting my vote," Claire groused.
Jack chuckled, "So, I just figured, you've had kids for a while, you probably know who to talk to, who to avoid, and-"
"Outside of family, only Cyndi Lowery watches my kids. But she's watching my kids that same night, so-"
"Think she might take one extra, if I pay the same, so she gets double?" Jack asked, hopeful.
Claire took a moment to choose her words carefully, "Uh... My hellraisers, um... I don't pay regular babysitting rates, I pay what I think it's worth to have my kids safe, and properly cared for, so, just, it's a lot. But I can ask her how much she'd expect for a third kid, and if she's willing. I know you're still figuring it all out."
"Why can't I stay with Grandpa and Pops?"
Margaret hid her intent to cringe, "They have some... stuff, um, going on right now. And-... Well, Grandma misses you, since she moved. It's only for a few nights, and-"
"I bet Jaime and Mel are going to their house," he reasoned, "I could take the couch, or whatever, it doesn't have to be a big deal," Mike argued.
"Mike, please, just listen, okay? Melody and Jaime are going to Ben and Millie's. I really don't want to get into this, because it's not my place, and I-"
"Do you trust them, or not?" Mike asked bluntly.
Margaret stared back at him in blank surprise, startled by the harsh tone he'd taken.
"There's a bunch of rumors going on, and I know better than to believe anything I hear at school, Mom. But nobody ever did anything weird with me, and now, I feel like I can't even hang out with them, because somebody's going to think something's really wrong. I just want to know what you think is happening."
Margaret shifted uncomfortably, "I think, your grandparents, all three of them, love you, and would never want to see you put in a place that Cas would be put into, if, with all these rumors flying around, a boy your age was at his house overnight... And I'm really glad you just told me nothing 'weird' ever happened, not that I ever thought it had, or would, and I hope you would tell me or your father if it did... I know you miss them, I get it now, that you need that kind of structure and responsibility that Dean set you up with, but right now, Cas needs our help, and our support, and the best way to protect him, is if Linda drives up to stay with you while we're out of town at the gallery."
"So, I can't see either of them, or talk to them until this is all blown over? How is that better, when it's just going to make it look worse, like you and Dad don't trust them?"
"Of course you can talk to them, honey, but people are already... The school board is looking into stuff. And because you were at their house for over a month, now that they have a formal investigation going on, they're already concerned about you. We don't want to do anything that could make it look worse-"
"Like changing our routine behavior as though there's actually a cause for concern?"
"Mike," Margaret took a deep breath, "Grown-ups are stupid, okay? We all love Pops, but those stupid grown-ups, whether they actually want the truth or a witchhunt, they are going to use you to hurt him. You haven't been around long enough to understand how easily someone's whole life can be completely ruined, you have to trust me on this. Send him love and support through phone calls and email, and texting, give him a hug if you see him in public and you have other adults present, but stay away from his house. It's the only way, right now, that you can protect him... And if you get roped into any interesting meetings at school, be very careful with anything you say about him and Dean. Don't lie, don't overshare, and be careful how you word things."
The boy sank into a defeated sulk, "And I bet Dad feels the same way, huh?"
"Maybe you'd feel better if you talked to him about it?"
He huffed before muttering, "This is a load of crap... It's gonna screw up Christmas."
"No," Margaret replied, checking her phone, "Not going to let that happen. We'll see them, whether this is over and done with, or not."
From upstairs, Julie could easily hear the bellowing as Eli insisted Susie had some small belonging of his, and Susie, from the sound of things, was muscling him out of her room.
Entering the living room with a full basket of clean laundry, she lifted it over the couch, setting it next to Ivan, who was furiously typing into his phone with his thumbs, "Hon, can you handle that? I gotta start dinner. Actually, it'd be a good time to get Eli folding his stuff, and tell Susie she needs to start her wash."
"Yeah, I'm on it," Ivan replied, getting to his feet immediately, taking a moment to place the basket before picking it up. He started upstairs as the sound began to swell, and followed the commotion into Susie's doorway, speaking over them both, as his voice projected well in the small space, "Susie, give it back, Eli, get whatever it is, and go to your own room."
"He doesn't even know how to use a compass, he's just poking holes with the pointy part!" Susie argued.
"I need it for making circles!" Eli shrieked.
Ivan held up a hand, hushing them both, "Not yours, give it back. Eli, circles only, I mean that. C'mon, man, you gotta show me how to fold socks."
The issue settled, despite neither child particularly happy with the outcome, Eli hurried off to his own room ahead of Ivan, who, taking his time in the hallway, noticed Cynthia, ear buds seemingly wedged in as tight as they would go, trying to duck to the stairs unnoticed.
"Hey, hold up-" Ivan said, stepping into her way. She tried to sidestep, but the cumbersome basket made passing him far more difficult.
"What?" Cynthia asked sharply, tugging an earbud from her ear.
"First word I've head from you in two days. Are you okay?" Ivan asked quietly, hoping to avoid the attention of his younger children.
She shrugged, but while waiting for a more definitive answer, he made note of her eyes, far redder than usual, as though they'd been rubbed raw. As he clearly wasn't about to let her pass, she settled on an excuse instead, "I have a babysitting job, and I'm already late because I had extra homework. Can I go, now?"
"Did you talk to your mom some more? You can't bottle this shit up, Cy-"
"Watch me," she answered, pushing past him, and darting down the stairs.