(no subject)
Sleep was coming easier and easier, and whether or not this was a good thing for Roger's health was yet to be determined. Dean insisted the more and more he took his medical what-the-fuck-ever classes that sleep was the best thing for him, but if Roger slept "too much" (what the determining factor was to Dean, Roger had no fucking clue), Dean was immediately on his ass, banging pots and pants and shit to make sure he got his daily dose of earful about his health. Some days, roger would have told a prolonged life to fuck off for another few hours of sleep. Of course, Dean had other plans, like worrying like someone's damn mother.
On this Saturday morning, though, all was quiet. It had to have been near noon and Roger was still sleeping--sorta. Every few minutes he'd wake up and marvel that Dean wasn't on his ass telling him to get up and take a brisk walk or something equally as boring sounding. The sun was no longer in his eyes through the makeshift window-thing, and he was still sleeping. He was excited. He was going to stay in bed until he had to leave for work. He was never going to move, and Dean could fuck himself. In fact, he--
-- heard his door open.
Immediately, Roger feigned sleep. Maybe if he looked cute enough and sick enough at the same time, he'd get all the sleep he wanted and Dean would just slink away. He tried to look sorta miserable and sorta adorable, and probably just looked constipated. Moments passed, and there was still no sound of the door closing, nor loud noises, nor the sound of breathing that wasn't Roger's own. Weird. He opened one eye. Nothing. So he opened the other. Still nothing. He sat up, scratching a hand through his hair, yawning.
His eyes opened again and a pair of Anime-big brown eyes smiled back at him.
"Jesus, Cori," Roger murmured, patting her somewhat awkwardly on the head. "How the hell did you even get up here?" He cleared his throat before hoisting the little hellion (Dean wouldn't have found that funny) into his arms--more like a football than a child--and headed out into the common area of the hut.
[[Find Roger outside his hut or knock on the door. Either way, it's Roger and a baby.]]
On this Saturday morning, though, all was quiet. It had to have been near noon and Roger was still sleeping--sorta. Every few minutes he'd wake up and marvel that Dean wasn't on his ass telling him to get up and take a brisk walk or something equally as boring sounding. The sun was no longer in his eyes through the makeshift window-thing, and he was still sleeping. He was excited. He was going to stay in bed until he had to leave for work. He was never going to move, and Dean could fuck himself. In fact, he--
-- heard his door open.
Immediately, Roger feigned sleep. Maybe if he looked cute enough and sick enough at the same time, he'd get all the sleep he wanted and Dean would just slink away. He tried to look sorta miserable and sorta adorable, and probably just looked constipated. Moments passed, and there was still no sound of the door closing, nor loud noises, nor the sound of breathing that wasn't Roger's own. Weird. He opened one eye. Nothing. So he opened the other. Still nothing. He sat up, scratching a hand through his hair, yawning.
His eyes opened again and a pair of Anime-big brown eyes smiled back at him.
"Jesus, Cori," Roger murmured, patting her somewhat awkwardly on the head. "How the hell did you even get up here?" He cleared his throat before hoisting the little hellion (Dean wouldn't have found that funny) into his arms--more like a football than a child--and headed out into the common area of the hut.
[[Find Roger outside his hut or knock on the door. Either way, it's Roger and a baby.]]