Filled: How It All StartedsinnerforhireSeptember 27 2009, 19:46:38 UTC
This is a comment fic I did for another meme, but it hasn't been posted anywhere but my journal, so I hope it's okay to post it here, as it fits the prompt exactly.
When John goes upstairs after the six o’clock news, he’s not at all surprised to hear Dean’s lusty, relentless wails spilling out from the open nursery door.
“It’s just colic,” the pediatrician had said. “It’s common in firstborn children. He’ll grow out of it in a couple months.”
He knows it’s wearing on Mary--the frustration, the helplessness--and he knows that, as Dean’s father, it’s his duty to help in any way he can. It’s just that Dean is so tiny. At six weeks, he’s still on the small side of the growth chart, and John is so afraid that his rough laborer’s hands will hurt his precious, delicate son without him meaning to.
He steps into the nursery. Mary looks up and sags a little with relief. “John, please,” she begs, stepping forward. “Do something.” Mary’s shadowed eyes glisten with tears and John feels a sudden ache in his chest at the hopeless desperation written on his wife’s beautiful face.
As gently as he can, he removes Dean from Mary’s arms and settles him against his shoulder. Dean’s crying so hard it resonates through his entire little body; John can feel it when he strokes Dean’s back. Mary edges toward the door and John nods to let her know that it’s all right, she’s off duty now. She gives him a grateful smile and leaves.
“Hey, buddy,” he murmurs. “What’s the big problem, huh?” He walks over to the window and looks up at the nearly full moon hanging low over the treetops. “It’s okay, Dean. Daddy’s here.” He paces the room a few more times, whispering soothing nonsense and rubbing Dean’s back with one hand. Dean’s sobs have decreased a little in volume, but not intensity, and John can only hope that he’s starting to wear himself out.
He crosses to the window again and looks down on the silent, tranquil street. The Impala’s recently-washed roof sparkles under the glow of the sodium lamp. Just then, he gets an idea.
“Mary?” he calls, stepping into the hall.
She sticks her head out the bedroom door, hairbrush still clutched in one hand. “What is it?”
“I’m going to take Dean for a ride,” he tells her.
“You need help with the car seat?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” He shifts Dean higher on his shoulder. “I’ll keep him out for an hour or two.”
She nods, offering him a weary smile. “Thank you.”
He takes Dean down to the car and gets him settled into the car seat, then turns the car on and puts a Led Zeppelin tape in the tape deck. As he pulls the car onto the road, Dean’s crying hitches, as though he’s suddenly aware that he’s not where he was a minute ago, and then continues on a little less forcefully than before. John points the car south, away from the busy highways, and takes Dean past the garage even though it’s a little out of the way. He chatters inconsequentially, first about cars and then about baseball and summer and Mary and anything else that pops into his head.
When the tape runs out, he flips it over and sticks it back in. The opening strains of “Ramble On” fill the air and John grins and turns it up. “There are three things that are absolutely essential in a man’s life. One is a good, reliable car. The second is a woman like your mom--the kind of woman that you fall in love with all over again every morning when you wake up next to her. And the third is Zeppelin II.”
Aw, sometimes I grow so tired but I know I’ve got one thing I got to do
Ramble on and now’s the time, the time is now to sing my song I’m goin’ round the world, I got to find my girl on my way I’ve been this way ten years to the day Ramble on gotta find the queen of all my dreams...
When the song winds down and John stops singing, he’s shocked at the silence that pervades the vehicle. He angles the mirror so he can see the car seat and grins when he sees that Dean has finally, blessedly, fallen asleep. He turns the music down slightly and starts humming along with “Moby Dick” as the car glides down the open road.
Maybe I should add a fourth thing to that list, he muses, glancing once more at his slumbering son.
When John goes upstairs after the six o’clock news, he’s not at all surprised to hear Dean’s lusty, relentless wails spilling out from the open nursery door.
“It’s just colic,” the pediatrician had said. “It’s common in firstborn children. He’ll grow out of it in a couple months.”
He knows it’s wearing on Mary--the frustration, the helplessness--and he knows that, as Dean’s father, it’s his duty to help in any way he can. It’s just that Dean is so tiny. At six weeks, he’s still on the small side of the growth chart, and John is so afraid that his rough laborer’s hands will hurt his precious, delicate son without him meaning to.
He steps into the nursery. Mary looks up and sags a little with relief. “John, please,” she begs, stepping forward. “Do something.” Mary’s shadowed eyes glisten with tears and John feels a sudden ache in his chest at the hopeless desperation written on his wife’s beautiful face.
As gently as he can, he removes Dean from Mary’s arms and settles him against his shoulder. Dean’s crying so hard it resonates through his entire little body; John can feel it when he strokes Dean’s back. Mary edges toward the door and John nods to let her know that it’s all right, she’s off duty now. She gives him a grateful smile and leaves.
“Hey, buddy,” he murmurs. “What’s the big problem, huh?” He walks over to the window and looks up at the nearly full moon hanging low over the treetops. “It’s okay, Dean. Daddy’s here.” He paces the room a few more times, whispering soothing nonsense and rubbing Dean’s back with one hand. Dean’s sobs have decreased a little in volume, but not intensity, and John can only hope that he’s starting to wear himself out.
He crosses to the window again and looks down on the silent, tranquil street. The Impala’s recently-washed roof sparkles under the glow of the sodium lamp. Just then, he gets an idea.
“Mary?” he calls, stepping into the hall.
She sticks her head out the bedroom door, hairbrush still clutched in one hand. “What is it?”
“I’m going to take Dean for a ride,” he tells her.
“You need help with the car seat?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” He shifts Dean higher on his shoulder. “I’ll keep him out for an hour or two.”
She nods, offering him a weary smile. “Thank you.”
He takes Dean down to the car and gets him settled into the car seat, then turns the car on and puts a Led Zeppelin tape in the tape deck. As he pulls the car onto the road, Dean’s crying hitches, as though he’s suddenly aware that he’s not where he was a minute ago, and then continues on a little less forcefully than before. John points the car south, away from the busy highways, and takes Dean past the garage even though it’s a little out of the way. He chatters inconsequentially, first about cars and then about baseball and summer and Mary and anything else that pops into his head.
When the tape runs out, he flips it over and sticks it back in. The opening strains of “Ramble On” fill the air and John grins and turns it up. “There are three things that are absolutely essential in a man’s life. One is a good, reliable car. The second is a woman like your mom--the kind of woman that you fall in love with all over again every morning when you wake up next to her. And the third is Zeppelin II.”
Aw, sometimes I grow so tired
but I know I’ve got one thing I got to do
Ramble on
and now’s the time, the time is now
to sing my song
I’m goin’ round the world, I got to find my girl
on my way
I’ve been this way ten years to the day
Ramble on
gotta find the queen of all my dreams...
When the song winds down and John stops singing, he’s shocked at the silence that pervades the vehicle. He angles the mirror so he can see the car seat and grins when he sees that Dean has finally, blessedly, fallen asleep. He turns the music down slightly and starts humming along with “Moby Dick” as the car glides down the open road.
Maybe I should add a fourth thing to that list, he muses, glancing once more at his slumbering son.
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