A/N This is an AU fanfic. The characters are younger, and in another setting and time period, so naturally they aren't going to be exactly the same as in the show. I really hope you enjoy this fanfic. Please drop a review and let me know what you think.

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The cigarette she held to her lips was hardly satisfying. Mostly because she smoked so often that it had become as natural as breathing itself.

She tucked a strand of her rich dark hair behind her ear and leaned up against the brick siding. It was a chilly October evening, and her breath came out in little white puffs. The day had gone like any other. Work all day, and smoke away the night. At only nineteen years of age she was ready to throw in the towel.

Her father would be home soon enough, and if her mother caught her smoking she would be dead before nights end. She let the cigarette drop and crushed it under her heel before rushing inside and into the kitchen.

The house was cold and dark, as usual. Her mother had prepared no dinner, but instead sat in the parlor, a compress over her eyes.

"Oh Meg, darling. I'm glad you're home. Would you be a dear and start dinner? Your father will be home any minute and I haven't been feeling well."

Meg rolled her eyes. Ever since she could remember, she had been taking care of the household. Her mother sat around and flipped through catalogs, pining after the fancy life she was sure she was supposed to have.

Meg headed to the kitchen where she turned on the lights and started rummaging through the fridge, searching for something that would make a suitable dinner. Her muscles ached from a long day of working at the barber shop and taking an extra shift at the diner, but she ignored the low throbbing of her muscles and continued to work.

Settling on meatloaf, she gathered up all the ingredients and began cooking. The kitchen filled with light and warmth,and the decadent smells of a good home cooked meal whenever Meg was around. Something about her brightened places. Because even though she felt she couldn't escape the darkness in herself, something about her strove to bring light to everyone else.

She heard her father before she saw him, the stomping of his boots and rustling of him hanging up his Singer Auto jacket at the door were welcome noises.

She remembered a time where she dreaded those sounds. A time when the sound of his voice sent chills of fear down her spine. But that was years ago. And now that he had been sober and his hands had become gentler, she was almost happy to have him home.

As her little family sat around the dinner table, Meg tried to pretend that it wasn't terribly awkward. Her parents tried to make small talk, but they had drifted so far apart that talking about anything deeper than the weather was like pulling teeth.

"So," Her mother began, poking at the meatloaf with her fork and glancing up at her husband. "How was work, Bill?"

"It was alright." He replied, before scooping another bite of mashed potatoes into his mouth. Meg ground her teeth together. She hated this. Hated that her parents were so weird. Don't married people talk to each other?

Her father cleared his throat. "I almost forgot, I have some news, Lana."

Lana looked up, her eyes going from her daughter to her husband, an eagerness shining in them.

She's most likely hoping the news is about money, Meg thought bitterly. Not that she herself didn't want to have a better life, but her mother's constant hunger for money made the thing detestable in her eyes.

Her father leaned back in his chair. "Robert Singer's moved back to town."

Lana's eyes widened. "The owner? I thought he moved east to start a new chain of businesses?"

"He did." Her husband replied. "But he's decided to settle here for now. And hes brought his sons with him. You remember the little ragamuffins he adopted? I guess they're all doing well in business now. His wife Ellen is well too. He and I talked for quite some time today. He know's we're short on work so he's sending his sons to fill in until we get enough employees."

Lana seemed to have lost interest when the news wasn't about money. But after a moment, her eyes brightened. "Darling, Bill, how old are Roberts sons?"

Bill scratched his chin. "Hm. Well. His oldest Dean is twenty four. And Sam and Clarence are both 20 I believe."

Meg looked at her mother who was trembling with excitement. "Meg. Darling. Go get some beauty sleep. In the morning we're going to visit some friends."

She had an idea what her mother was up to, and she didn't like it. Not one bit.