weary_head | (no subject)

He can't remember how he got here.

He'd been walking from the clinic for home. He'd been alone, and then Thrace was there, yelling at him and then grabbing him by the shoulders to push him down. He can still feel her fingers on the back of his sweaty neck, shoving until his head was between his knees. Even now, the simple missive to just breathe is ringing in his ears, but who needs to be told that?

Then he'd been here in Neil's new kitchen, three sets of wide blue eyes on him until they'd been ushered away, and now there's only silence.

The house is empty, Dean realizes. It's been empty for a while now, and there's a bottle in his hands that he thinks that someone gave him, but he can't remember when.

He'd just been walking.

He'd just been walking, and thinking that there was plenty of time. Thirty four weeks of time, two hundred and thirty eight days. It's practically an eternity. He could do anything in that time, make anything, anything could - anything could happen.

Dean doesn't hear his breaths go shallow, nor the wheeze they make on the way back out. He doesn't hear the door open, but it must, because suddenly the air feels a little less close, but it doesn't help. The brown walls are going gray and closing in, and Dean can't even find his feet to stop them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Maybe could've picked a better time," I say, taking the risk to tease him a little. There's not much chance he was only askin' her 'cause she's pregnant. He's always been the marrying type.

Which makes it suck even more that it never seems to work out right.

"That's what she said," huffs Dean, wiping beneath his eyes. "It was just - out of nowhere, I had everything. Whole picture, everything but the white picket fence. It just seemed right, but. She's right. It's too much right now."

"So, give her some time. She'd be kinda stupid not to marry you," I say, and I still sound like I'm teasing, but it's true. At least, that's what I think.

"God, the two of you are gonna make like, fuckin' disgustingly adorable babies."

They really will, Dean thinks, heart seizing around the hope that the impossible will happen and he'll actually get to meet his kid.

"She's so fucking pretty," he says, "Baby's gonna look like her Aunt Cori."

"Yeah, both of you are," I point out with a snort of laughter, ruffling my hand through his hair before I pull away completely.

"Gonna be an aunt at three. 's kinda weird, right?" I grin, shifting over to sit next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

"She'll step up," says Dean, a mix of fondness and pride on his face. "You'd be surprised what a kid can do. And I figure..." Dean looks over. "Would it be weird if they were more like sisters? Or brother and sister. I don't know why I feel like it's a girl."

"Isn't it suppose to be the mom that knows that shit?" I tease, thinking of all the times he's gotten all nagging mother hen at me. Seems appropriate, now.

"Guess it wouldn't be weird. I mean, no weirder than anything else 'round here."