Russell's mother sets the hot dish on the counter. It's filled to the brim with sizzling, delicious, golden peach cobbler.

"Don't touch it, baby," she chastises. 

Russell's big brown eyes are trained on the dish still. "Can we have some yet?"

She laughs. "Not yet. It needs to cool just a little. Don't want to burn your tongue." She strips her hands of their oven mitts and ruffles his hair. 

Except Russell isn't seven anymore. He's a grown man, and his mother is looking at him with complete adoration, just as she did then. He is older and she is not. Her face isn't as full as he remembered...her cheekbones seem more pronounced. Her hair is still dark, wisps of blonde here and there, curled around her face. Her brown eyes are tired, but so warm...she touches his face, and he closes his eyes...and feels her fingers curl into his skin—

Russell's eyes fly open, and he slowly lifts his head from the sofa. He's angled awkwardly, left arm draped over the back of the sofa and his body leant into Katherine's. Her legs are pulled up, knees resting against his leg. A blanket is pulled over the two of them, with highlights from the night's baseball games playing over the television across the living room.  Her blonde hair is hidden underneath that oversized gray hoodie she seems to wear most days. She's slumped against him in her sleep, warm breath fanning over his chest. He flexes his fingers, waking them up a little.

He holds a hand to his cheek, almost making sure his skin is still there. He sighs through his nose, heart hammering in his throat, and sinks back into the sofa with a grimace. His back aches.  Russell sighs again, almost regulating his breathing, as he rolls his head back onto the top of the sofa, fingers curling against Katherine's shoulder...willing himself back to sleep. Back to his mother's kitchen, just before they all found out how sick she was. Just before his eighth birthday.

I need you to drag Sam by the hair back to Florida with you. I need you two to stay together, out of it.

Charlie's warm arms snake around her shoulders, his comforting smell fills her nose. Calm eases over her body, seeps into her skin. 

"Is that mine?" His husky voice asks in her ear. Without moving her head, her blue eyes slink to the second coffee mug beside hers. 

"Perhaps," she murmurs. Dean's voice has drifted away on the breeze, and she doesn't even remember hearing it in the first place. 

Charlie sighs in her ear, planting a kiss just there, and reaches for the light blue mug full of coffee just the way he likes it. A splash of cream and a little bit of sugar. She learned the Charlie Taylor Coffee Method rather quickly, the more he stayed over. He never measured anything, in any regard, so it's a wonder he's a fair cook. For his coffee, he went off of coloring. He usually aimed for "toffee-colored." 

Today's coffee is perfectly toffee-colored. So much better than what he picks up from the gas station on his way into work when Katherine isn't home. She doesn't know why he doesn't make his own anymore, since he has his perfect beans, his perfect creamer, his perfect sugar, and his perfect recipe. Though, it did selfishly warm her heart to know how much weight she has in his heart, in his every day life. It made her heart hurt a little.

"Merry Christmas," he purrs. 

"Merry Christmas," she whispers back. Charlie kisses her head.

"Sort of expected you to be under the tree when I woke up." She giggles. "Imagine my surprise to find Jolly Green passed out beside it."

Katherine grins into her mug. "I took a picture," she admits, staring out into the sunrise. 

"Really?"

She nods. "We do this thing with polaroids...it started out as a joke...catch everyone in their worst moments. Dean got one when I was cramming pizza into my face and there was marinara everywhere." Charlie smiles. "He took another when Sam was brushing his teeth."

"Like a family photo album."

Katherine's heart grows a little heavy. "Yeah," she whispers. "So I'll add this one to it. They never really...celebrated holidays like normal people, you know...'cause their dad was their dad, and they were on the road...Dean always tried to make it special for Sam, but I don't think it ever caught onto Sam the way it did for Dean."

"Can't help but feel sorry for them," Charlie murmurs, moving to settle beside her, leant against the railing as they look over the lake. "That's no way to grow up."

Katherine rubs her palm against the wooden railing. "No," she hums in agreement. "It's not gonna be that way with us."

He turns his head towards her, flashing her a brilliant warm smile. Katherine loved his face when he smiled, how it all lit up and turned so...sweet. Soft.

"How could it be?" Charlie asks. Her brow wrinkles. "I won't have any kids."

"Charlie..."

"Did you honestly think this could've worked?" He asks, leaning away from her grasp. His warmth has disappeared. "Did you think I wouldn't have figured it out?" He abstractly gestures to the house with his hand. "You weren't ever going to tell me, were you?" His eyes shoot to her belly, but Katherine's are full of tears.

"I was," she whispers. "I swear it."

"Before or after I was murdered?" The outside air is silent. She can't even hear her own heartbeat.

Russell looms in the bedroom with a frown. 

"Charlie—" She chokes out.

"I guess that saved you the experience of telling two of us," Charlie spits. "How horrifying it must've been for you." He sets his coffee down and rolls his tongue over his teeth. "I hope it keeps you up at night." He turns from her and pushes into the bedroom. Russell stumbles back into the shadows. 

"Charlie!" Katherine rushes after him. The pounding silence has been filled with music from the happiest day of her life. Most of the songs that played at their wedding—the love ones anyway, since they're Charlie's favorite—floats to her ears. 

Russell watches that bat swing from around the corner and hit Katherine in the side, then she's on the ground and limp.

Everything melts away. He can only hear Charlie's voice. 

Give them what they want.

Russell's head snaps up and his body lurches. Katherine is sobbing, still curled up on the sofa beside him. Her fingers fist the fabric of his t-shirt, and she's almost pressing her body into his even more than it already is. 

HIs chest feels remarkably heavy...and yet, so empty. 

"Katherine?"

She's mumbling incoherently, breath catching, face twisting up. A nightmare of her own, then. 

"Katherine, hey." Russell tightens his hand around her shoulder and pulls away.

"nO, NO!" She holds on tighter. 

"Okay, okay."

"I'm sorry," she sobs. 

Russell looks around the room, like he'd get any help from the empty walls. "It's okay," he mumbles. Is she awake now? "It's okay." His hand rests behind her head, on top of that hood, and she curls into him as she cries.

So sorry, so sorry.

Russell starts humming—rather poorly—Here Comes the Sun. His mother sang that to him until he fell asleep most nights up until the night she died, when he crawled up in that bed with her one more time.

Katherine's body tenses. She must be waking up.

She sits away from him, cheeks pink, and puffy, red eyes scan the room around her. Her lips are moving, but she's not making any noise. She'll do this sometimes after nightmares. 

Russell thinks she's grounding herself, but he's never asks. He thinks it would be rude.

"Hey," Russell whispers, reaching into her hood to fix her disheveled hair that's fallen out. "We're at home, just watchin' some baseball."

"Watching baseball," she whispers, breaths still hitched. 

"Yep." Russell's hands rest on her forearms, and her eyes snap to his, seemingly staring right into his soul. "You and me are just watching some baseball. The Rockies won."

"Rockies won." She nods. Her blue eyes are filling with tears again, and he sees her mouth twitch.

"Hey—we're okay." He reaches into her hood again, and she sniffs, face crumpling.

"I'm sorry," she croaks.

"No, no." He tuts at her, hands snaking around her as she tries to pull away. "You're okay." He pulls her onto his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around her, and she presses her face into his chest.

And for the first time in his company, wide awake, she sobs.