The seventh part of my Midnight, Texas story. There are another two parts after this! Yay! I don't know why I really wanted this chapter to happen, but I did and I love it. It's cute. ^_^

Warnings: Implied child abuse. Implied alcoholism. Talks of drug abuse. Talks of shitty mothers.

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Placing his coffee down he reread over the translation his computer hand come up with. It looked even more like gibberish than when he first typed it up. Maybe he had written it wrong. For the hundredth time.

He had had high hopes when he found a book that had been written in French. Growing up that had been the foreign language class he took when he went to school. It had only been for one semester, but he had thought that he knew the basics.

Now that he had the words in front of him though he wasn't as confident as he had been before. Sure he could read a few words here and there, but knowing words like 'man', 'woman', 'book', and 'red' was not all that helpful.

To say he was struggling was an understatement. He had been flipping through the pages for what felt like hours. According to how numb his ass felt from sitting in the hard chair it was possible it had actually been hours.

It wasn't the best way to be spending his day, but he had said that he was going to learn his family powers and that was what he was going to do. Hopefully it was going to be without him bashing his head into a wall in frustration. Considering the amount of brain damage ha had that was for the best.

It still gave him pause when he thought of something like that. He never spent much time thinking about his own health. In his mind as long as he wasn't dead or dying than he was good in the clear.

He wasn't suicidal or anything, but he never really had the time to stop and think about himself. They had always been moving around and sometimes running from the more dangerous situations that they had gotten in.

There wasn't a lot of time left for things like eating properly or thinking about how much alcohol was currently in his system. All that mattered was doing what had to be done to keep alive at the moment screw the rest of it.

Midnight and her people had changed that though. It was as if he finally had a reason to care that he was okay. Not just alive, but that he was healthy. He wasn't exactly there yet, but he was getting better. There were a lot of learned habits that he was trying to break now.

Don't get him wrong. He loved his grandmother with all his heart, but she wasn't the best role model. Considering she raised him to use his powers to take money from grieving widows and widowers that wasn't surprising.

He hadn't actually thought about it all the much while it was happening, but he knew now that there had been something going on underneath it all. Something that Xylda had been running from. Something to do with him.

Back when he was living with his mother she had talked about her mother quite a bit. Well, she had slurred about her mother while drinking from a bottle of whiskey. He should really work on not drinking alcohol as much as he did.

He could still remember all the things that she had called the woman and, knowing full well his powers, had called him as well. None of which he was going to repeat out loud. Needless to say she did not like the magical part of her family.

It hadn't taken much digging to found out that the Bernardo family powers had skipped her for some reason. It wasn't that much of a common occurrence in their line, but it happened once every few generations.

From what he knew about his mother he was positive that she was glad that it skipped her. Manfred had tried to figure out why she hated them so much, but he never had to guts to ask her outright.

Okay, so he understood why she might not like them. Sometimes he hated what he could do, but he never thought of just giving them up. He was a psychic and trying to ignore that part of him would feel as if he was dying. Which was sadly something he knew first hand.

When he had started taking pills to repress the ghosts that were around him he felt… Wrong. He didn't really know how he was supposed to explain it. The pills had helped with the pain that came with seeing and hearing ghosts, but they didn't make him feel floaty and calm like they should have.

Even on his worst day he never would give up his powers. Because of that he didn't understand how his mother could hate them as much as she did. He didn't understand how she could hate him as much as she did.

And she did hate him. It wasn't just his grandmother that she liked to call name, but him as well. Freaks was probably one of the most popular, but he truly loved hearing her scream that she should have had an abortion and end the Bernardo line. That had been a good day.

After that everything went down hill pretty fast for him and his mother. Mostly because he was terrified of what she was going to do to him next. It was only a few weeks after that that he was dropped of with Xylda for good.

A sigh fell from his lips as he shook his head to get rid of the thoughts. His parents were dead as was his grandmother. There was no reason for him to be thinking about them anymore. It would only bring pain and heartache.

Feeling the need to get out of the house and stretch his legs Manfred stood up and began to clean off the kitchen table. Call him weird, but after living in a trailer most of his life he was a bit of a neat freak now that he had a house.

Olivia had actually began to call him a good house husband. Which made him flutter his eyelashes at Lem just to get her to glare at him a little. It wasn't until later that Lem had pointed out that she was the same way.

Once his table was cleaned up and everything was back in its place he put on his boots. He didn't really have a place in mind. All he knew was that he needed to get out of his house and away from his thought for awhile.

Patting his pockets he sighed when he realized that his wallet was still in his bedroom. A groan left his lips as he made his trek up to the room. He might not know where he wanted to go, but he knew at the end he'd be at Home Cookin' some time that day.

It didn't take long to find the wallet sitting on the night stand next to the grimoire and index cards that Fiji had gotten him. A smile came to his lips as he let his fingers drag over the leather bound book.

He knew that it wasn't the safest place for him to have placed it, but he liked having to close. It was strange to be so drawn to an inanimate object, but from what Fiji told him it was a good sign that he was.

She said that when it came to magical objects like grimoire's, tarot cards, and the like it was best to have a connection to them. Something about them thinking that they belonged with you when that happened.

He had to admit that he didn't really understand what she was talking about, but he wasn't complaining. The grimoire was his and he was more than happy knowing that it was in his possession now.

Still, something about her words got to him. The way she said it made him wonder if the connection was one sided. He had come across a few items in the trailer that felt more alive than some people he had met.

As his fingers ran over the dream-catcher an idea suddenly hit him. It didn't really make that much sense to him, but after everything that he had come across in his life he wasn't going to even pretend it was an odd thought.

Picking up the book he made his way out of the house and down the road. He had found that the best thing about living in such a small town was that you were never far from what you were looking for and he was looking for the tattoo parlor.

"Manfred," Chuy greeted when he walked through the door, "How are you?"

"Good," he replied finding for the first time in a long time he wasn't lying, "Are you guys busy?"

"I'm about to be, but Joe's done for the rest of the day I think. He's up in his drawing room if you want to talk to him. Unless you were looking to get your nails done. In that case you need to make an appointment."

"Maybe next time, Chuy."

With a wave to the man he made his way through the building and to the room the fallen angel always seemed to be. Joe looked up from his sketchpad when he walked in a welcoming smile on his lips. Everyone always looked so welcoming. He wondered if he looked the same.

"Hey, Manfred," he said putting his pencil down.

"Hey," he smiled making his way over, "Are you busy today?"

"No, I finished the client I had about an hour ago. How can I help you?"

"I was hoping you'd help me with this."

"A grimoire? That's more Fiji's territory."

"I know. She's the one that gave it to me, but I was hoping that you'd tattoo this dream-catcher on me."

"Oh. That makes more sense. Let me see."

Placing the book on the table Manfred watched as the fallen angel ran his fingers over the spine a few times before nodding his head. Motioning for Manfred to sit down he grabbed his sketchpad and flipped to a new page.

"Why'd you decide to get a tattoo of this?" Joe questioned his eyes flicking up to the psychic's.

"Honestly?" Manfred shrugged staring at the man as he drew, "I don't know. Just felt like it was something I should do."

"You sound like the college kids from a few towns over that come in here. Normally, I make them wait a day or two before I have them on my table."

"But for me?"

"But for you… I can see just how much this means to you. It might be an impulse, but I doubt it's one you're going to regret. I can start this today if you'd like. Probably finish it too."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. This isn't that big or really detailed. I can get this done in about four hours? We'll take breaks of course. And don't worry about the healing process. Fiji makes a salve that will cut the healing time to a few days instead of weeks. You'll just need some one to put it on."

"You have thought of everything, haven't you?"

"We're like a well oiled machine. You ready?"

"Lead the way."

Grabbing his grimoire Joe led him back downstairs to his workspace. Chuy was talking to one of the women that Manfred had seen around town, but hadn't talked to yet. There weren't that many people outside of the Midnighter's, but the ones that were there tended to run just as weird as everyone else.

Taking off his shirt he laid on his stomach and closed his eyes. Outside of laying on the table for the next few hours there wasn't really much that he could do. Something that he was surprisingly okay with at the moment.

As he laid there he let himself get lulled into a half sleeping state. There was something about listening to Chuy and Joe talk that put him completely at ease with the world. He was so lost in that state he missed Joe stopping and asking if he needed a break.

"Manfred," Joe called out tapping his cheek, "You awake?"

"What?" the psychic muttered blinking a few times.

"I asked if you were awake."

"No."

"I've gathered that. I think you'd do better if you wen home and took a nap there."

"Comfortable."

"That's the first time I've heard that about this chair, but I won't hold it against you."

"Done?"

"Yes, you're done. Which means it's time for you to get up. Unless you want Chuy to take over and paint you up."

"I'm not sure I care."

"He's going to match you to Olivia."

"Put it on her tab."

Joe laughed softly before hoovering slightly as the younger man stood up. The last thing either of them wanted was for him to fall and hurt himself. As he stretched he found himself finally feeling the pain from the tattoo. How had he been so out of it that he hadn't felt it?

"What do you think?" Joe questioned holding out a hand mirror for him to use.

It took a second for him to get the right angle, but when he did he couldn't help but grin sleepily at the man. It was everything that he had thought it would be. He didn't quite understand why he felt so at peace seeing it but he loved it.

"I love it," Manfred replied handing the mirror back.

"Good," he nodded before motioning to the table, "Let me put on the first of the salve and wrap you up and you'll be good to go."

"You want me to fall back asleep don't you?"

"It would be worth it to see you running around with periwinkle colored nails."

"I could pull it off."

"Of course you could."