AN: Hello! So here's the next chapter, where we learn a bit about what Ali got up to whilst Dean was in hell (After whatever happened between her and Sam). Hope you enjoy! x
Dean had noticed it for days now.
The way Ali was acting—off. Distant. Jumpy. Snapping at him over nothing, then immediately retreating into silence. He'd catch her staring at nothing, a crease between her brows, her hands fidgeting in her lap like she couldn't quite sit still. He thought maybe it was the weight of what had happened with Travis still hanging heavy on her. She'd physically healed from the blood loss, but the question about why he had wanted her blood in the first place was still a mystery to all of them.
It was driving him crazy.
After everything—Hell, coming back, Sam going off the rails—he needed something to feel normal. And Ali—she was supposed to be part of that normal. But now she wouldn't even look him in the eye.
So that night, when he found her alone in Bobby's kitchen, arms crossed, staring out the window like she was anywhere but here, he decided he was done waiting.
"Alright," Dean said, stepping into the room. "What's going on with you?"
Ali stiffened.
She didn't turn around, didn't even flinch, but he saw her hands tighten where they rested on her arms.
"Nothing," she said flatly.
"Yeah?" Dean leaned against the counter. "'Cause you've been acting weird as hell for days now."
Ali sighed sharply, turning her head just enough to give him a look. "Dean, drop it."
"Not happening."
Her jaw tensed. She shook her head, irritated, and went to step past him—when something slipped from her pocket and hit the floor with a quiet clatter.
Dean glanced down.
A small white box.
Ali's breath caught.
She moved fast, but not fast enough. Dean had already seen it.
A pregnancy test.
He felt his stomach drop.
Ali snatched it off the floor, shoving it back into her pocket like she could erase the last five seconds.
"Ali," Dean said, his voice rough. "Ali, are - are you pregnant?"
She exhaled, shaky, her fingers curling into a fist around the fabric of her jeans. "No," she muttered. Then she shook her head, correcting herself. "I don't know, okay?"
She wouldn't look at him.
"Ali," he tried again, gentler this time.
"I'm not talking about this with you," she snapped, turning away.
Dean reached out, grabbing her hand—not tight, just enough to stop her. "Ali."
She stilled, but she didn't turn back.
"You think I can just erase what I saw?" he pressed.
She let out a sharp, frustrated breath. "I haven't even taken it yet." Her voice was tight, strained. "I'm just… I'm late, okay?"
Dean studied her face, taking in the stress, the tension coiled in her shoulders.
He hesitated, then asked, "Whose is it?"
Ali huffed, shaking her head, like she couldn't believe he was doing this.
"I said I'm not talking about this."
Dean frowned, watching her carefully. "Is it Sam's?"
Ali's head snapped up, her expression shifting from tired to completely unimpressed.
"What?" She shot him a glare. "No, it's not Sam's."
Dean held up his hands in defence, eyebrows raising. "Just checking."
Ali's eyes darkened. "I'm done talking about this," she muttered, pushing past him.
But Dean wasn't just gonna let that go.
Ali might've walked away, but there was something in her face—something tight and afraid—that had him pushing off the counter and following after her.
(3 months ago)
The man's lips almost touched her ear as he spoke over the crowded bar. Ali laughed light-heartedly as he pulled away, shooting him a million dollar smile.
"I need to use the restroom," he said, finishing his gin and tonic before leaning in, planting a kiss on her cheek and slipping a fifty dollar bill into her hand. "Why don't you get yourself another drink."
A satisfied smile fell on her lips as she watched him walk away. She didn't feel guilty. She barely felt anything these days. She twisted back to the bar on her stool catching the bartender's eye who was shooting her a disproving look. She shrugged it off.
"Can I get a dry martini?" she asked, leaning her elbows on the bar. "Hold the olives."
"Can I see some ID?" the bartender asked in a bored voice. Ali rolled her eyes. He'd clearly seen her drinking through the evening. Why ask now?
She shot him a flirtatious smile, sliding the fifty dollars across the counter towards him.
"It's right here," she said, withdrawing her hand and leaving it on the edge of the bar. "Keep the change." He shot her an understanding glance, but when she thought she'd got away with it, he slid the note back towards her.
"Nice try," he said with a smirk. Ali narrowed her eyes at him. "Does that idiot really believe you're twenty four?"
"Why do you care?" Ali asked, growing irritated.
"Because if I served you, I'd be breaking the law," he replied matter of factly. At that moment, the man arrived back, an arm snaking around Ali's waist as he sat back down next to her.
"Everything alright?" he asked, noticing the staring match occurring between Ali and bartender. Ali's eyes narrowed threateningly, silently saying that if he said anything, he would regret it. The bartender didn't car. The man Ali was with was clearly much older and he wasn't going to lose his job over her.
"Fine," the bartender replied, breaking eye contact with Ali and looking back over to the man. "She's underage, don't buy her anymore drinks." With that, he turned away, ready to serve another customer.
(Present day)
She was halfway down the hall when he caught up, reaching for her arm.
"Ali, wait."
She yanked away immediately. "Dean, no."
He held up his hands. "I just—" He exhaled, shaking his head. "Are you okay?"
Ali scoffed. "I'm fine."
"Yeah? 'Cause you don't look fine," Dean shot back. "You've been acting weird, carrying that around—" he gestured toward her pocket, "—and now you're running off like I just caught you doing something illegal."
Ali shook her head, rubbing a hand over her face. "It's my business, Dean."
He frowned. "If something's wrong, I—"
"There's nothing wrong," she snapped.
She was lying.
Dean could see it, plain as day.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Ali, come on."
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.
For a second, he thought she was gonna crack—thought maybe she'd let him in just a little—but then she squared her shoulders, shaking her head.
"No." Her voice was quieter this time. "Back off."
Dean clenched his jaw. "Ali—"
"I said back off."
She turned to go, but he caught it—that flicker of something in her eyes before she did.
Fear.
Real, raw fear.
Dean's chest tightened.
She wasn't just stressed. She wasn't just pissed that he wouldn't drop it.
She was scared.
"Ali." His voice was softer now, careful. "What's going on?"
Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. She kept staring at the wall, like if she just ignored him long enough, he'd disappear.
He didn't.
"I need to know you're okay," Dean said.
Ali exhaled hard, eyes squeezing shut.
Then she turned away.
"I can handle it," she muttered.
And then she was gone, leaving Dean standing in the hallway with a sick feeling settling in his stomach.
Because Ali wasn't okay.
And she sure as hell wasn't handling it.
Dean ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply before following after her again.
"Ali, you might be pregnant," he said, catching up to her. "That's not something I can just ignore."
Ali huffed, pushing open the door to her room. "I never asked you to care, Dean."
"Yeah, well, too bad," he shot back, stepping inside after her. "You need to take anything? Vitamins or some kind of—"
Ali let out a sharp breath, spinning on him. "Dean, I don't even know if I'm pregnant yet."
He scoffed. "Right, because you haven't taken the damn test."
She glared at him.
Dean crossed his arms. "Well, until you do, you sure as hell aren't coming on any more hunts."
Ali's scowl deepened. "You cannot be serious."
"I'm dead serious," he said, jaw set. "You think I'm gonna let you run headfirst into some demon nest when you might be—" He stopped himself, dragging a hand through his hair. "No. No way."
Ali's eyes flashed with irritation. "You don't get to let me do anything, Dean."
He ignored that, taking a step closer. "Why haven't you taken it?"
Ali's lips parted slightly, like she hadn't expected the question.
Then she sighed, dropping down onto the edge of her bed. "Because," she muttered, running a hand over her face, "if I take the test… it makes it real."
Dean's stomach twisted.
For all her bravado, all her snapping and shutting him down, she was scared.
And that scared him too.
(3 months ago)
Ali stood outside in the cold night air, cigarette between her lips as she inhaled the nicotine into her lungs. Each intake of breath was like a blanket resting on her mind, calming it. It didn't, however, do anything to calm her soul. Nothing did these days. After the incident with the bartender, the nicely dressed man she'd been with had become disinterested in pursuing her and had found himself another woman to flirt with.
It must've been well past midnight, but Ali didn't bother checking her phone. Her newly dyed hair shielded her face from the intermittent passer-by. She wasn't sure why she'd decided on the darker colour, but she liked it. It didn't bother her that Bobby wouldn't.
It had been a few weeks since she had left Sam. But she didn't want to think about him anymore. She just needed to focus on surviving.
A cooler wind descended, and she pulled her jacket around herself, taking another drag. She'd knew she probably needed to get back to her car, but first, she'd let herself finish smoking the last cigarette left in the pack. She hadn't managed to get any money today, meaning it was the last one she'd have for a few days. She wanted to savour it.
Across the street, she watched as a figure exited the bar she'd been in earlier that evening. Her eyes narrowed when she recognised the blonde hair of the bartender that was now poking out from underneath a baseball cap. He seemed to be locking up, the last of the couples and lone drinkers having stumbled out over half an hour ago.
For a moment, it crossed her mind as to whether she should just walk away, but that wasn't in Ali's nature. She was a confrontational person. That much about her hadn't changed in the two months since Dean had gone to hell. However, the more she thought about it, the more she realised she'd probably just embarrass herself further. She'd walk away.
Talking another drag of her cigarette, she pushed away from the wall and started down the road, praying she could just get back to her car and get some rest. But God was not that kind.
"Hey baby," a voice said from next to her, causing her to jump. The man smiled at her, his eyes on her cleavage. He moved closer and Ali knew he was about to grab her by the waist. She thought about letting him before chastising herself for it. Her usual targets for rich morons who she was guaranteed to be able to lift some cash from. She didn't go for sleazy drunks.
She carried on walking, sidestepping the man so she could continue on her way, but he made a grab at her wrist and suddenly she felt fear in her blood. Ghosts and vampires she could handle. Men were an entirely different species of monster.
"Hey!" She heard someone shout. Ali used the distraction to wiggle herself free as the man drunkenly stumbled away, clearly scared off by the newcomer.
She groaned when she saw her last cigarette on the damp pavement. The evening was definitely not going the way she'd planned. She groaned even more when she realised who the newcomer was. The bartender was now making a beeline for her across the street which she pretended not to notice as she turned away and headed in the opposite direction.
"Hey, are you okay?" he asked as he caught up to her. Of course she was fine. That guy was certainly not the worst thing that had ever happened to her. She stopped walking, sensing he was close and turned towards him.
"I'm fine," she replied, catching his eye. He released a breath, clearly having recognised her.
"It's you," he said and she rolled her eyes at him. "What are you still doing here?" She ignored his question and turned back around, ready to stalk off into the night once again. It was late. She was tried.
"You're welcome," she heard him mumble sarcastically after her. Ali whipped her head around, her blue eyes narrowing at the bartender who was really starting to piss her off.
"I can take care you myself," she snapped back at him.
"Sure looked like it," he replied again with the sarcasm. She scoffed, shaking her head at him as she took a step forward.
"You know what? Screw you," she said through gritted teeth. Who did this guy think he was? "You cost me like 200 dollars tonight."
"Is that how much you charge for the pleasure of your company?" He looked alarmed by his own words, a guilty look forming in his eyes. She slapped him in the face. The bartender looked taken aback, but Ali didn't stop to notice before she strode away.
"Hey, wait!" He called after her, catching up. Ali quickened her pace. He grabbed her wrist in a similar way to the drunk man before and she snapped, elbowing the man in the ribs and shoving him against the wall. He looked completely shocked for a second as she breathed angrily at him, completely humiliated and embarrassed.
"Woah," he said raising his hands in surrender. "Look, I'm sorry. That was a shitty thing to say. It's none of my business."
She scoffed at him, releasing her hold as she stepped back. "I'm not a hooker," she said seriously. Her life might've derailed since Dean went to hell, but it hadn't reached that point, though she feared she was nearing it.
"Do you need a ride home?" He asked as she started to walk away again. She rolled her eyes.
"Are you kidding?" He shrugged, looking a little afraid. Her eyes softened, but she shook her head. "No, I don't need a ride."
"Come on, at least let me call you a cab?" The bartender suggested. She shook her head, already backing away once again. The street was completely deserted and she didn't like how vulnerable she felt.
"My car's only a few blocks away," Ali told him. He frowned.
"Is that a good idea? I mean, I know I didn't serve you that last drink but-."
"I'm fine, alright," she snapped back at him. "Jesus, would you just back off?"
The bartender exhaled sharply, rubbing his ribs where Ali had elbowed him. "Alright, alright, I get it. You don't want help. I'll stop asking."
"Good," Ali muttered, turning on her heel.
He watched as she stalked away down the empty sidewalk, her arms hugging herself against the night air. He frowned, his bartender instincts kicking in.
She was lying.
Not just about being fine—about everything.
The way she'd flinched when that guy grabbed her, the way she kept looking around like she was expecting someone to jump her, the fact that she hadn't given him an address when he offered a ride—
Yeah. Something was off.
And then it hit him.
She'd said her car was a few blocks away. But she'd been at the bar for hours. He'd been there when she walked in, and she sure as hell hadn't driven there.
He ran a hand down his face.
She was living in her car.
Ali had made it halfway down the block when she heard footsteps behind her. Her whole body tensed, and she spun, ready to throw a punch if she had to.
He stopped in his tracks, hands up in surrender.
"Jesus," she hissed, pressing a hand to her racing heart. "Do you follow all your underage customers home, or am I just special?"
He sighed. "Look. I don't know what your deal is, and I'm not gonna ask. But I do know it's way too late for you to be walking alone, and if you think I'm gonna sleep tonight knowing I let some half-drunk teenager wander off into the city, you're out of your damn mind."
Ali rolled her eyes. "'I'm not a damn kid. And I'm not your problem."
"Maybe not." He shrugged. "But I'll make it my problem anyway."
Ali let out a sharp, irritated sigh. She was so done with this conversation. With him. With the whole damn night.
She turned to leave.
He spoke again. "You sleeping in your car?"
Ali froze.
Her breath caught in her throat, fingers curling into fists.
He saw the slight hitch in her step, the smallest hesitation, and that was all the confirmation he needed.
Ali swallowed, then forced a scoff. "What, you offering me a five-star suite at your place?"
The bartender exhaled, glancing away for a second before rubbing the back of his neck.
"Look, I got a couch," he said. "A shitty one. But it's got a blanket, and it's inside, which is more than I can say for whatever parking lot you're about to pass out in."
Ali clenched her jaw, suddenly feeling too seen.
It made her itch.
She hated this. Hated when people tried to help her, like she was some sad little girl who couldn't handle herself. Like she hadn't been doing this, surviving just fine, since the moment Dean—
She inhaled sharply, shoving that thought away.
"I don't need your damn charity," she muttered.
He huffed a short laugh. "Good. 'Cause I'm not offering charity."
She shot him a look.
"I am, however, offering a beer and a place to sit that isn't the curb," he added, nodding toward his truck parked at the curb. "Take it or leave it."
Ali bit her lip.
Her whole body was so damn tired. Her head ached, her muscles stiff from too many nights in the driver's seat. And God, the thought of stretching out on anything other than that cramped backseat—
Her throat bobbed.
He must've seen something in her face, because he smirked slightly. "Relax. I don't bite."
Ali sighed heavily. "Fine," she muttered. "One beer."
He grinned. "That's the spirit. I'm Leo by the way." Leo held out a hand for her to shake.
Ali shook her head, muttering under her breath as she climbed into his truck, ignoring his outstretched hand.
She wasn't planning on staying.
Just one drink.
And then she was gone.
Leo huffed a breath of laughter as he climbed into the driver's seat, starting the engine.
Ali sat in the passenger seat, her fingers curled into the fabric of her jacket. She hadn't said much on the drive over—just a few muttered responses to Leo's attempts at conversation. She was regretting this already.
The truck rumbled to a stop outside a small, unremarkable brick apartment complex. The lot was mostly empty, a couple of streetlights flickering above them, casting pale pools of light onto the cracked pavement.
Leo pulled the key from the ignition and shot her a quick look. "You coming?"
Ali exhaled, her breath fogging slightly in the cool night air. She didn't move.
Leo waited a beat, then shrugged. "Suit yourself. But fair warning, you'll look real dumb sitting in my truck all night."
Ali shot him a glare but, with a frustrated sigh, finally pushed open the door and stepped out.
She followed him up the steps to his apartment, her boots heavy against the concrete.
At the door, she hesitated.
It wasn't anything she could explain—not really. Just a feeling. Like the moment she stepped inside, she'd be in too deep. Like this would be some kind of line she couldn't uncross.
Leo, halfway through unlocking the door, caught her hesitation. He arched an eyebrow but didn't comment. Instead, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, flicking on the light.
Ali lingered in the doorway, hovering just beyond the threshold.
Leo glanced over his shoulder. "You waiting for an invitation?"
Ali scoffed, stepping inside before she could talk herself out of it.
The apartment was not what she expected.
It was small, but not messy. Lived in. A beat-up couch sat in the middle of the room, a coffee table cluttered with beer bottles and a couple of old magazines. A dartboard hung on the far wall, and there was an open pizza box on the counter, but nothing about the place screamed serial killer.
Leo kicked his shoes off and gestured vaguely. "Make yourself at home, I guess."
Ali hovered near the couch, crossing her arms.
Leo disappeared into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "So, do I get a name?"
Ali hesitated for half a second.
"Katie," she lied smoothly.
Leo returned, two beers in hand. He arched an eyebrow but didn't call her out on it. "Right. Katie."
She took the bottle he offered but didn't immediately drink, instead turning it over in her hands.
Leo dropped onto the couch, stretching his legs out. "So, Katie—where you from?"
"Nowhere."
He smirked. "Nowhere, huh? Must be quiet."
Ali shrugged, eyes flicking toward the door like she was already debating leaving.
Leo took a sip of his beer. "You got family?"
Ali's grip on the bottle tightened.
He noticed.
"Not a fan of small talk, are you?" he mused.
Ali shot him a dry look. "Not really."
Leo huffed a short laugh. "Alright, alright. No more questions."
Silence stretched between them. Ali took a small sip of her beer, staring at the scuffed floorboards.
Then, as if out of nowhere, Leo said, "Winchester. That your last name?"
Ali froze.
Her pulse spiked, stomach flipping violently.
She whipped toward him, her hand already moving before she could stop herself—
In a blink, she had him pinned.
Her elbow pressed against his throat, her gun shoved hard against his chest.
Leo stilled, eyes going wide. His hands shot up instinctively. "Whoa—what the hell?"
Ali's heart pounded against her ribs. "Why the hell would you ask me that?" she ground out, her voice sharp, dangerous.
Leo's breath came fast. "Jesus, relax—"
"Answer the damn question!"
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing beneath her arm. "It's—it's on your necklace." He nodded toward her chest, voice strained under the pressure of her arm against his throat.
Ali's brow furrowed.
She glanced down.
And there it was—the small, worn, bullet-cap pendant Dean had given her, glinting just slightly in the dim apartment light.
Her stomach twisted.
She hesitated, pulse still hammering in her ears.
Then, with a sharp inhale, she pulled back.
She shoved the gun back into her jeans and yanked the necklace from sight, tucking it beneath her shirt like that could somehow erase the last ten seconds.
Leo coughed, rubbing his throat as he sat up, breathing still rapid.
Ali turned away, jaw tight, arms crossing stiffly over her chest.
Silence.
Thick. Awkward.
Leo let out a long breath, still looking at her like she might snap again at any second.
"Jesus," he muttered, running a hand down his face. "You got a lot of trust issues, huh?"
Ali didn't answer.
Leo huffed a humourless laugh, shaking his head as he picked up his beer. "Fantastic."
Neither of them spoke after that.
Because what the hell do you say after someone holds a gun to your chest?
The apartment was dark and quiet, save for the hum of the fridge and the occasional creak from the old pipes in the walls. Ali lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, arms crossed over her chest.
She shouldn't have stayed.
She should've left the second things got weird. Should've walked out the door, gotten in her car, and kept driving.
But for some reason, she didn't.
Leo hadn't pushed her, hadn't asked for an explanation, hadn't even really looked at her after what happened. Just grabbed another beer, muttered something under his breath, and let the silence settle. And now, here she was, trying to sleep in a stranger's apartment, again.
She sighed, turning onto her side, but sleep didn't come easily.
She eventually drifted off, waking again just before dawn.
The apartment was cold, the early morning light barely starting to creep through the blinds.
Ali sat up carefully, rubbing a hand over her face. Leo was still asleep in the other room—good. If she was lucky, she'd be gone before he even knew she left.
She moved quietly, slipping her jacket on, tucking her gun back into her waistband. Just get out before—
"You leaving already?"
Ali froze.
Leo was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, hair a complete mess. He looked half-asleep but annoyingly perceptive, like he'd been expecting this.
Ali straightened, pulling her jacket tighter around herself. "Yeah."
Leo studied her for a second, then exhaled through his nose. "Figured you might."
He wasn't angry. He wasn't even surprised.
Ali shifted on her feet. "…What?"
Leo ran a hand through his hair, stepping further into the room. "Nothing. Just—" he let out a breath, "—I can tell you've been through some shit."
Ali's jaw tensed.
"I dunno what happened to you," he continued, voice low, even. "And I'm not gonna ask. But you seem like someone who just… needs a break."
Ali scoffed, shaking her head. "I don't need anything."
Leo tilted his head slightly. "You sure about that?"
Ali clenched her fists. "I—"
"And for the record," Leo cut in, "someone who's scared enough to lie about their name? They didn't just wake up that way. Somebody broke them first."
Ali stilled.
His words landed hard, like a punch she wasn't ready for. She swallowed, throat tight.
Leo didn't push. He just watched her carefully, his face unreadable. "You don't have to leave."
Ali exhaled sharply, looking at the floor. She should go. She should walk out that door.
But she didn't.
Ali wasn't sure how it happened, but somehow, she stayed.
The first day was awkward—Leo didn't push for conversation, and Ali didn't offer any. They mostly sat in silence, the TV playing in the background.
The second day was better. They talked about random stuff—music, movies, how Leo had a deep and irrational hatred for pineapple on pizza.
The third day, Ali let her guard down just enough to tell him her real name.
Leo smirked when she finally admitted it. "Yeah, Katie didn't really suit you."
She rolled her eyes. "Shut up."
The next evening, they sat on the couch, a couple of empty beer bottles on the coffee table. The room was dimly lit, warm in a way that felt safe.
Leo leaned back, head against the cushion. "You ever wonder how the hell you ended up here?"
Ali glanced at him. "What do you mean?"
He gestured vaguely. "I mean, here. In this life. In this exact moment. Like—what if you'd taken a different turn somewhere? Would you still be the same person?"
Ali thought about that.
Would she be here if Dean hadn't gone to Hell? If she hadn't run?
She shrugged. "I dunno. Guess it doesn't matter."
Leo smirked slightly. "That's a very you answer."
Ali shot him a look. "You barely know me."
Leo met her gaze, something unreadable in his expression. "I know enough."
Ali held his stare for a beat longer than she meant to.
Then, before she could overthink it, she leaned in and kissed him.
Leo tensed in surprise, but only for a second. A part of her expected him to shove her away. To reject her. But he didn't. He kissed her back.
His hand found her waist, his touch steady, grounding. When they finally pulled apart, he exhaled, forehead still close to hers.
"…I don't want you to think that's why I let you stay," he murmured, voice low. "This—you—you're not some obligation."
Ali shook her head. "I don't feel like that."
Her fingers curled slightly into his shirt, keeping him close.
"I want to be here," she said softly.
Leo searched her eyes, and whatever he saw there must have convinced him—because he nodded.
"…Okay."
And for the first time in months, Ali felt safe.
The bar was closed for the night, the chairs stacked, the lights dimmed to a soft amber glow that cast long, sleepy shadows. Music hummed faintly from the jukebox, something low and bluesy.
Ali stood in front of the dartboard, holding her third dart between her fingers, squinting in mock concentration. She took a deep breath, tongue poking between her teeth, then launched it with a dramatic grunt.
It missed the bullseye by several inches.
Leo laughed. "Wow. That was... generous."
Ali shrugged, feigning disappointment. "It's harder than it looks."
"Liar," he muttered, stepping up to take his turn.
She grinned, but only for a second. When he wasn't looking, she picked up one of the darts and turned it over in her hand, her thumb brushing over the ridges.
She remembered playing darts with Tyler. Back road bars, lazy nights between hunts. He used to pretend to let her win when she was a kid. Then, one day, she actually did. He never let her forget it.
She remembered playing with Dean too. And Sam…
Her smile faltered just a little.
She threw the dart—quick, clean, without thinking.
Bullseye.
Leo turned around. "Wait—what the hell?"
Ali schooled her expression quickly, smirking. "Beginner's luck."
"Uh-huh." He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're a hustler."
She winked, but that smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
They played a few more rounds of darts before Ali insisted he show her how to make a proper martini.
It didn't go as planned.
"You are banned from using the shaker ever again," Leo said flatly, wiping vodka off the counter.
Ali was giggling, which didn't help her case. "Okay, but—hear me out—what if I meant to do that?"
"You meant to spray gin all over the mirror?"
Ali shrugged, mischievous. "Maybe."
Leo sighed dramatically, placing a clean glass in front of her. "Alright. We're starting over. Just a basic pour. Whiskey, neat. Think you can handle that?"
She saluted. "Yes, sir."
He handed her the bottle and she uncapped it carefully. The moment the scent hit her nose—rich, smoky, oaky—the memories hit her like a wave.
Bobby.
The old flask he used to carry. The smell of his workbench, cluttered with weapons and books. The creak of floorboards under heavy boots. His gruff voice, always a little grumpier when he'd been drinking.
She blinked, swallowing hard.
"You alright?" Leo asked.
"Yeah," she said too fast. She gave him a tight smile. "Just… smells strong."
He set a glass down on the bar. "You ready?"
"Absolutely," she replied, pushing the guilt back down where it belonged.
She went to pour and immediately started spilling down the side.
Leo reached for her hand, steadying it. "Slow. Controlled."
His hand over hers made her breath catch—just slightly. She didn't pull away.
Their eyes met.
Something hung in the air.
Then Ali cleared her throat and finished the pour, setting the bottle down with a clink.
Leo raised his brows. "Perfect."
Ali smirked. "Told you. Natural."
He lifted the glass in a toast. "To chaos bartending."
"To drywall repair bills," she added, clinking her glass to his.
A week later Ali was curled up on the couch. Leo's hoodie swallowed half her body. A bowl of popcorn sat between them, mostly untouched.
On the TV, a ridiculous horror movie played, one of those low-budget ones with a killer doll and the worst acting either of them had ever seen.
Ali was howling with laughter. "Oh my God, did you see that head roll?"
Leo shook his head, equally amused. "You're twisted."
"No, seriously, that was the most fake decapitation I've ever seen in my life."
Leo threw a piece of popcorn at her. "You're supposed to be scared."
The guy on screen tried to fend off a monster with a chainsaw, then switched to a machete, holding it completely wrong.
Ali snorted. "He's gonna snap his wrist like that. You gotta grip it low, angle the swing—diagonal if you want a clean decapitation."
Leo paused, popcorn halfway to his mouth.
"…Should I be worried?"
Ali blinked, then glanced at him. "Kidding."
He looked unconvinced.
She grinned. "Mostly."
He looked over at her, smiling, his elbow resting on the back of the couch behind her head.
"You know, you laugh like someone who forgot how," he said softly.
Ali's smile faded just a touch. She looked down, picking at a piece of popcorn.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "Sometimes I think I did."
Leo didn't press.
He just reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers.
And this time, she didn't pull away.
It had been a good night.
One of those rare nights where Ali actually let herself enjoy things, let herself relax. The movie they'd been watching had long since ended, and now she was straddling Leo's lap, her fingers tangled in his hair as they kissed, deep and slow.
Leo's hands slid up her back, over the curve of her waist, warm and steady. He made her feel anchored in a way she wasn't used to. When his hands found the hem of her shirt, she lifted her arms, letting him pull it over her head.
And that's when he saw them.
Leo went still.
Ali knew what he was looking at—the long surgical scar stretching across her abdomen, stark against her skin. The others—fainter, older, scattered like remnants of a past she didn't want to explain. But it was that one that caught his attention the most. The one that shouldn't be there. The one that should've killed her.
Leo's fingers ghosted over the edge of it, hesitant.
"…Ali."
She tensed.
He met her eyes, brows furrowed. "What the hell happened to you?" She looked away.
"Donated a bit of my liver," she quipped, trying to lighten the heaviness that had squashed the evening's mood. Leo didn't laugh at her joke. His lip didn't even twitch.
Leo reached for her then, his hand drifting to her shoulder—not rough, just steady—as he gently turned her before she could stop him.
"Don't." Her voice was sharper than a blade, but it was too late. He'd already seen it.
His breath hitched as his eyes fell on the large, angry scar between her shoulder blades, like someone had intentionally burned her. Ali jerked away like he'd touched a nerve ending.
"Ali."
Ali exhaled sharply, grabbing her shirt from where he'd tossed it on the couch and pulling it back over her head. "It's nothing."
Leo scoffed. "That's bullshit."
She stood up, putting distance between them. "I don't wanna talk about it."
Leo ran a hand over his face, clearly frustrated. "Ali, come on. You think I haven't noticed how closed-off you are? The way you flinch in your sleep? Or how you never talk about your past?" He stood too, stepping toward her. "I've let you keep your secrets, but if we're—if this is something—I think I deserve to know a few things."
Ali's jaw clenched. "You don't deserve anything."
Leo's expression flickered. "Really?"
Silence stretched between them, thick with tension.
Leo shook his head. "Ali, I care about you. And I've just been sitting here, watching you avoid questions, avoid telling me anything real—"
Ali scoffed, tugging her shirt harder down, like it could make her disappear. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise you had the right to my trauma."
Leo's breath hitched. "Ali—"
"I don't talk about it." Her voice was sharper now, raw. "I don't think about it. I don't let it matter." She exhaled, shaking her head. "And I don't need you acting like it does."
Leo stared at her, something unreadable in his eyes. Then, his voice dropped.
"…It does matter."
Ali turned away. "Not to me."
There was a long beat before Leo muttered, "That's a lie."
Ali's hands curled into fists. "Just drop it, Leo."
But he didn't. "Do you even trust me?"
Ali turned back to him, eyes flashing. "I trusted someone once. And then I had to bury them."
That shut him up.
Leo's jaw tightened, and for the first time since she'd met him, he looked hurt.
After a long moment, he exhaled, stepping back, rubbing a hand over his face. "Jesus, Ali."
Guilt twisted in her stomach. She hated that look on his face. Hated that she cared.
After a beat, Leo shook his head. "You don't let people in, do you?"
Ali didn't answer.
Leo swallowed, then muttered, "Maybe I should've figured that out sooner."
She swallowed thickly. For a second, it looked like she might say something. That she might give him something.
But then, she shook her head.
"I can't do this."
And just like that, she shut down.
Leo watched her for a long moment, then sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He knew he'd pushed too hard. He knew he'd fucked up.
"…Ali—"
"I'm going to bed."
She left, retreating into herself, like she always did. Leo didn't follow her to the bedroom.
And the worst part? She knew she was hurting him.
She just didn't know how to stop.
They were lying on the couch, a record playing softly in the background—some old vinyl Leo had insisted she'd like. He was right. It was bluesy and rough around the edges, like her.
Ali had her head resting on his chest, her hand idly tracing a seam in his shirt.
"Hey, Leo?" she asked, voice quiet, hesitant.
"Yeah?"
She didn't answer for a moment. Her eyes stared at the ceiling.
"I ever tell you about my brother?"
Leo turned his head slightly, sensing the shift in her tone. "No. You haven't really mentioned family."
Ali nodded slowly, lips parting like she was about to say more. Her thumb kept moving over his shirt, like maybe the motion would keep her calm.
"He was…" She swallowed. "He was older. Drove me nuts. Always thought he had to fix everything."
A beat.
"He's gone."
Leo looked at her carefully, not speaking. He didn't want to push.
"Just thought you should know that," she said quietly, before adding, "in case I ever decide to stop pretending I'm not messed up."
Leo reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers.
"I think I figured that out already," he said gently.
Ali exhaled slowly, letting her head rest heavier against him.
The room stayed quiet after that.
But something had shifted.
And it made what came next, not just sad. But inevitable.
The sheets were warm, tangled at her waist. The room was still, the soft hum of a fan the only sound cutting through the silence. Ali lay on her side, eyes open in the dark, watching the shadows shift across the ceiling.
Leo's arm was draped across her waist, fingers gently splayed against her stomach. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm behind her. He was so close. So still. And for the first time in months, her body wasn't tensed like a coiled spring. She could almost pretend this was normal. That she belonged here.
Then he said it.
Barely a whisper, like it had snuck out of him before he could stop it.
"I love you."
Ali blinked.
He said it like it was nothing. Like it didn't crack her clean down the middle.
She didn't move. Didn't breathe. Just stared into the dark as the words settled over her like ice water.
Leo's hand squeezed gently. "You don't have to say anything," he murmured. "I just… I needed you to know."
She closed her eyes, and for a moment, she let herself pretend she hadn't heard it. That maybe it hadn't happened. That maybe if she just stayed still long enough, the weight of those words wouldn't crush her.
But she felt it.
The familiar ache building in her chest. That instinct to run. That voice that screamed this isn't for you. You don't get this.
Leo's breath evened out again. Sleep tugged at the edges of his voice. He was exhausted.
But Ali? She was wide awake. Every nerve in her body was lit up like a warning flare.
Slowly, carefully, she slid his arm off her.
The mattress shifted as she moved, but he didn't stir.
She sat up, moving like a ghost. Pulled her jeans from the floor. Her shirt. Her jacket. She didn't turn on the light. Didn't dare.
Her fingers trembled as she shoved her things into her bag. No sound. No note. No goodbye.
At the last second, she reached for the hoodie he'd left at the foot of the bed — the one she always stole when it got too cold at night. She paused.
Then she left it.
Ali took one last glance at him — peaceful, unknowing, someone who never should've let her in to begin with — and turned away.
She closed the door behind her with the softest click, like she'd never been there at all.
By the time the sun rose, she was already miles away.
And Leo was left with a cold side of the bed, and a silence that didn't feel like sleep.
(Present day)
The bathroom light buzzed faintly overhead.
Ali sat on the cold tile floor, knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped tight around her shins. The pregnancy test lay a few inches away, face-up on the linoleum.
Negative.
She'd known it would be.
She wanted it to be.
So why did it feel like a part of her had just disappeared?
Her eyes didn't leave the little plastic stick. She stared at it like the result might somehow change if she just waited long enough. Like maybe, if she blinked, the truth would rewrite itself.
But it didn't.
The single, stark line remained.
Ali let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It shook on the way out — not quite a sob, not quite relief. Just... air. Empty. Heavy.
She leaned her head back against the wall, the cool tile grounding her spine. Her fingers curled into her sleeves, fists pressing into her ribs where that ache still lived — not from bruises or demons or anything supernatural.
Just the ache of almost.
Almost a future.
Almost a consequence.
Almost something permanent from something that was already long gone.
She thought of Leo. His laugh. The way he'd made her coffee even when she said she didn't want any. The way he'd said I love you like it wasn't terrifying.
And the way she'd run. Like she always did.
Her throat tightened, and she shut her eyes, tipping her head to the side until her temple touched the wall.
It wasn't that she wanted to be pregnant. She didn't.
It was that this answer — this empty result — made it real.
Leo was gone.
That chapter, whatever it was, was closed.
And she'd left him without a word, without an explanation, carrying this fear like a weight in her pocket for weeks.
She reached down, picked up the test, and held it loosely in her hand. For a second, she just stared at it.
Then she dropped it in the trash.
Ali pushed herself up slowly, bracing a hand on the counter to steady herself. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror — messy hair, tired eyes, old scars and new ones underneath.
She didn't look any different.
But she was.
She switched off the light and walked out, leaving the bathroom — and that part of her life — behind.