*Trigger Warning: While you may find some dark/morbid humor later in The Ties That Bind, I in no way take these issues lightly. My sense of humor is simply how I deal with my own issues and should not be taken personally because, come on, fanfiction is the only therapy I can afford.

The following chapters contain Dark/Adult Themes, including discussions of child abuse/neglect, drug addiction, and suicide. If you find these things disturbing, you shouldn't go any further. Seriously, this is lollipops and candy canes compared to how dark this series is going to get and this is the one and only time I will be putting a warning like this at the beginning of a specific chapter so as not to spoil upcoming events so... Don't say I didn't warn you.

If you suspect a child is being abused, please don't hesitate to call 911 or your local child protection agency to make a report. In most cases, you can remain anonymous. You could save a life.

The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline for the US is a 24-hour, toll-free, and confidential suicide prevention hotline available to anyone in crisis or emotional distress. Spanish speaking counselors available.

The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline can be reached at 1-800-273-8255.

The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (ESP) can be reached at 1-888-628-9454.

The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (Deaf & Hard of Hearing Options) can be reached at 1-800-799-4889.

A 24-hour Online Chat in partnership with Contact USA is also available.

Sitting here trying to write out my thoughts about that night and that conversation, I'm having a hard time coming up with the right words. Or any at all. I couldn't tell you the color of the tablecloth or if there even was one, but I can tell you exactly what Skyler was wearing and what her laughter sounded like and that it smelled like flowers. Honeysuckle, specifically. (Stop sniffing me, creeper. -Tink)

"I don't-I don't even really know where to start."

"You could start by eating your dinner." While I admit that watching Tinkerbell tear her salad apart like it owed her money was mildly entertaining, none of it was actually ending up in her and considering I couldn't actually remember the last time she'd eaten more than a granola bar, that was a little concerning.

Sitting across from her as she tried to vibrate out of her skin, it was kind of hard to believe this was the same girl that had been insulting my existence daily and had once threatened to start screaming for the cops if she didn't get her way.

...okay, so maybe it was more than mildly entertaining. Also real fucking cute. "Or, you know, you could start at the beginning. I think that's where most folks start things."

Glancing over, Tink stuck her tongue out at me, because she's just the epitome of grace and maturity, before viciously stabbing a forkful of what had once been a salad and was now just sad. Probably imagining it was my head. "With the beginning, huh? Alright." She looked thoughtful for a second, though that could just have been the chewing, one corner of her lips twitching as she spoke, "In the beginning, God created Heaven and Earth, and the Earth was void and empty-"

"Funny." Okay, that was actually pretty good. "Smartass."

"Dude, I'm fuckin' hilarious." Flashing me a grin that set my stomach to doing flips, she visibly started to relax, though whether that was because she had resigned herself to the conversation or because she no longer thought of me as The Enemy, I have no idea. (Little of column A, little of column B. -Tink) "Okay. The beginning, for real this time."

She reached for her drink, swiping a few loose strands of hair out of those dark eyes as she chose her words. "I was born in Bartlesville, Oklahoma on December 24th, 1986 to nineteen-year-old Michelle Bleu. The unwanted result of a one-night stand that she deeply regretted. Or so I've been told." From the way she said it, it wasn't hard to figure out that she must have heard that one a lot, and not phrased nearly as nicely. "Just imagine every Prom Queen to drug-addicted trailer-trash cliche you've ever heard and voila, you have Shelley Bleu. Am I paintin' a decent picture so far?"

"I think I got it." She does have a way of getting her point across with very few words, at least when she's got a mind to. Of course, she also has a way of being able to talk for hours without actually saying a goddamn thing. It's awesome in a really aggravating kind of way. (I'm just talented like that. -Tink) "Not sure I want it, but I got it."

"Just wait, it gets better." If by 'better' you mean 'rage-inducingly bad', then sure.

Before she could get into detail, the sound of Alfred and his wheeled cart announced his arrival a few seconds before he came into view, giving her just enough warning to pause the conversation. "But first I think it's time for a commercial break. These messages brought to you by The Corporation for Public Broadcasting and viewers like you."

"Exactly how much TV did you watch growing up?"

"...all of it?"

Alfred must have gotten the memo that he'd interrupted something, or maybe he was just good at reading the room, because he didn't waste any time switching out the rabbit food for the actual food. Just from looks alone, the man knew his way around a steak. Still one of the best meals I've ever had, though the company might have had some influence on that. The conversation was a little rough, though.

Waiting until our host was well out of earshot, Tink grabbed an unopened bottle from the stash of beer Alfred had left chilling in an ice bucket, twisting the top off before sitting back in her seat. "Where was I?"

"Eat first, talk after. Or during, I don't care." Nodding toward the steak on her plate, I met her eyes and smiled as I picked up my own silverware. "Don't make me cut it up and feed it to you like a toddler, 'cause I will." (It's true, he totally would. -Tink)

"Tell me, Winchester-" Picking up her own knife, she contemplated the meal in front of her before slicing off a piece of meat and spearing it on the end of her fork, eyeing it thoughtfully before popping it into her mouth. And of course I was left to wait for her to chew and swallow before she finished her thought, because 'manners'. "Does the whole 'bullying asshole' thing usually work out for you or is it just purely for your own puerile amusement."

"I think the answer is yes, but I'm not totally sure." Not only had she seen all the TV, but apparently she'd read all the books, too. The fact that I had no idea what 'puerile' meant—because come on, who talks like that—must have been pretty evident from my answer and the blank look on my face. If I'd been talking to Sammy, he definitely would have made fun of me for not knowing before explaining himself, but that's because he's a dick.

"It means immature-" Instead of the mockery or scorn I would have gotten just a couple of days before, she just smiled, her tone teasing but in a friendly kind of way. Maybe more than friendly. "-and so far I stand by that assessment."

"As you should." Hey, even I'll admit that was pretty accurate. I've never claimed to be mature. Growing old might be mandatory, at least for most, but growing up is optional no matter who you are. "You stopped eating again."

"Hypocrite." Gesturing at my own plate with her fork, she stuck her tongue out at me again before taking another bite of her own meal. "You know, you don't stop with that, I'm gonna start to think you care."

"I had lunch, you didn't." Still, be a damn shame to let a good dinner go to waste. With a mouthful of steak, I didn't bother to wait until after I swallowed to talk, speaking with my mouth full like the heathen I am. "And of course I care. It'd be real hard to explain a dead teenager to the authorities after you starve to death." Yeah, that's why.

"Like you don't know how to get rid of a body."

"I'm gonna choose to take that as a compliment." Also a nice reminder that we weren't talking about me right now, though mostly because I didn't really want her thinking too hard about the fact that I slaughter things for a living. 'Serial-killer' isn't really the best vibe ever. "Do you know who your Dad is?" Okay, even for me that might have been an abrupt change of topic, coming out sharper than I meant it. "I mean-You said it was a one-night stand and I just-"

"Relax, Winchester, you're allowed to ask questions. I promise I'm not gonna get offended when you stick your foot in your mouth." Brown eyes laughing at me over the rim of her beer, Tink wrinkled her nose in my direction before taking a long drink and setting it back on the table, the glass bottle clinking against what sounded like solid wood. "Believe it or not, I'm pretty easy going when I'm not bein' treated like a 'temporary inconvenience'. And no, to answer your question, I don't know who my Dad is. All Mama ever said about him was that he was a charming older guy with dark hair and a nice car."

"I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did." It was kind of nice not having to explain what I meant when I said I didn't mean it, but the 'you're so full of shit' look I was getting from the snarky brunette sitting across from me wasn't. "You don't really say things you don't mean, Dean." Not true, I say things I don't mean all the time—it's kind of my job—but I get what she meant.

The corners of her eyes crinkled as the wry twist to her lips turned into a full-on smile and she shrugged a shoulder. "It's aggravating as all fuck, to be honest, but I'm not complainin'. It's an admirable quality, even if you do come off as a total prick a lot of the time."

"Thanks, I think."

"You're welcome."

Pushing my half-eaten meal away, I sat back and took a second to figure out whether or not I was going to explode. Dean, of course, had polished off everything on his plate and was now eyeing my leftovers. I swear, there are times the man could eat an entire side of beef and still have room for dessert. To be fair, though, Charles had proven to be an excellent cook. "You can have it if you want it."

"Nah, I'm good. It's just a shame for it to go to waste, is all." Wadding up his napkin, Dean tossed it onto the table next to his plate and nodded toward the beer in my hand. "How many does that make for you?"

"This would be my third. Fourth? And don't look at me like that, I know I'm a lightweight." Come on, it's not like I was drunk or anything. Okay, maybe a little buzzed, but that's it, I swear. (A little buzzed, my ass. -Dean) "I guess I'm out of excuses not to continue the conversation though, huh."

"You know, you don't actually have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"Stop that or I really will start to think you're a nice guy after all." I don't know if it was the alcohol or those incredible green eyes looking at me like I was the only thing in the room, but the thought of sharing a few painful memories didn't seem nearly as bad as it had just a couple hours before. "I really don't mind so much, it's just weird to talk about, but I did promise and I always keep my promises." Or try to, anyway. "But-It's just-You wanna go for a walk or somethin' while we talk? I think I could use some air."

"I don't see why not." Running a hand through his dark hair, he flashed me a grin as he started to slide out of the booth, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the dirty dishes we were leaving behind. "What do you think, should we leave a tip?"

"No, but I have every intention of pickin' up a thank you card when we go to the store. If we're still doin' that, that is." Getting to my feet, I had to stop a second as the room tilted around me. Choking back a laugh, Dean tried to turn it into a cough and failed miserably before giving up any pretense of not being amused by my less-than-sober self, his hands hovering by his sides like he wanted to reach out to steady me but didn't dare. Poor guy was torn between wanting to help and respecting my boundaries, which is really sweet, if you stop to think about it. And I did.

"Depends." Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, Dean took half a step back as the room steadied and I straightened up, gesturing for me to precede him across the room. "You still gonna cook for me?"

"Depends. You still gonna tell me about you?" From the sour expression that crossed his face, he'd forgotten about that part of the deal, or at least tried to. Like I was really going to spill my guts without some kind of guarantee he'd do the same. Pfft. "If so, then yeah, I'll keep my side of the bargain."

"I keep my promises, too, Tinkerbell."