spn_las claim.
Story Title: Shore Leave
Genre: Gen
Character/Relationships: Lilith, the Fremont family (from No Rest for the Wicked).
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None.
Words: 712
World Series: Go Giants!
Happy: Halloween!
A/N: Written for spn_las.
Anna had had a tough pregnancy, and then labor had gone on for almost thirty-six hours before the doctors decided on an emergency C-section. Mike had almost forgotten about the baby, watching Anna crying in agony and then being rushed into surgery, twisting his hands together helplessly.
And then the nurse was waking him up with a gentle nudge.
“Mr. Fremont?” she’d said. “Your wife is in recovery. Everything looks fine. Would you like to hold your daughter?”
His muscles ached from being twisted up in the uncomfortable hospital chairs, but the exhaustion evaporated as she carefully handed him the bundle of soft fabrics and soft, brand-new skin.
Her name was Sarah and Mike knew that he would do anything for her. He would die for her. Kill for her. He’d heard other people talk about their children like that, but he’d never been able to understand it until then - that overwhelming feeling of love and responsibility, along with the deep fear that something bad could happen to Sarah. She was the very center of his world.
It had been difficult to relax that fear. Mike knew, logically, that Sarah needed to go outside and be exposed to germs, and to play with cats and dogs, and to meet new people. But there was always an urge to cradle her in his arms and hide her away, to shield her from the danger of the world.
In the end, of course, there was nothing he could have done.
Mike sits at the kitchen table. His hand shakes as he lifts the piece of pie to his mouth, and before he can eat it, he drops the fork. It clatters loudly against the plate before bouncing off and landing with a thud onto the floor. The pie slides against the linoleum.
“You’re so silly, Daddy!” says the creature that used to be his daughter. “Don’t you want your pie?” Sarah’s dress is covered in blood.
“Yes,” Mike chokes out. “Of course I do, honey. I love pie.” He manages a short, fake laugh, and smiles as well as he can at Anna, sitting across the table. She echoes him. Her laugh is more convincing, if you ignore the wild look in her eyes. If the creature notices their lack of sincerity, it doesn’t care.
“Then you shouldn’t be so clumsy!” it chides.
“I’ll be more careful, okay?” Mike finds himself promising.
“Okay, then,” the creature says. “You can have the babysitter’s fork anyway. She won’t need it anymore anyway.” It lets out a clear little laugh then. It isn’t Sarah’s laugh, but it’s close enough to sound like a parody of the real thing, and his skin crawls. Still, he reaches over and takes Mrs. Andreessen’s fork.
The pie might be great. Anna made it, and Anna is a fantastic cook. She had Mike over for dinner for their fifth date, when they were both poor college students. He hadn’t had a real meal in ages, just pizza and burgers and other crap, and he’s pretty sure that’s when he began to really fall in love with her, over baked chicken and risotto and a green salad. There had been brownies with ice cream for dessert. The pie is Anna’s mom’s recipe, and probably delicious, but Mike can only taste the scent that hangs heavily in the room; blood and other foul smells that hang in the air, from the gore on Sarah’s dress, and from Mrs. Andreessen’s body, lying on the floor. He’s afraid to turn and look.
“We have to do something,” Pat says in a low whisper.
“Yes!” the creature cries happily, as through it were meant to hear and Pat had been talking directly to it. “We should have cake next. Don’t you think so, Mommy?”
“That sounds lovely, dear,” Anna says. There’s a catch in her voice and Mike can see that she’s blinking away tears. Mike has the wild thought how brave she is. Only the thought that if they get out of this alive, somehow, they will still be there for each other keeps him from falling to his knees and weeping.
“I love cake,” Mike says instead. The creature looks at him, uses his daughter’s lips to smile, and he knows that he has failed.
Genre: Gen
Character/Relationships: Lilith, the Fremont family (from No Rest for the Wicked).
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None.
Words: 712
World Series: Go Giants!
Happy: Halloween!
A/N: Written for spn_las.
Anna had had a tough pregnancy, and then labor had gone on for almost thirty-six hours before the doctors decided on an emergency C-section. Mike had almost forgotten about the baby, watching Anna crying in agony and then being rushed into surgery, twisting his hands together helplessly.
And then the nurse was waking him up with a gentle nudge.
“Mr. Fremont?” she’d said. “Your wife is in recovery. Everything looks fine. Would you like to hold your daughter?”
His muscles ached from being twisted up in the uncomfortable hospital chairs, but the exhaustion evaporated as she carefully handed him the bundle of soft fabrics and soft, brand-new skin.
Her name was Sarah and Mike knew that he would do anything for her. He would die for her. Kill for her. He’d heard other people talk about their children like that, but he’d never been able to understand it until then - that overwhelming feeling of love and responsibility, along with the deep fear that something bad could happen to Sarah. She was the very center of his world.
It had been difficult to relax that fear. Mike knew, logically, that Sarah needed to go outside and be exposed to germs, and to play with cats and dogs, and to meet new people. But there was always an urge to cradle her in his arms and hide her away, to shield her from the danger of the world.
In the end, of course, there was nothing he could have done.
Mike sits at the kitchen table. His hand shakes as he lifts the piece of pie to his mouth, and before he can eat it, he drops the fork. It clatters loudly against the plate before bouncing off and landing with a thud onto the floor. The pie slides against the linoleum.
“You’re so silly, Daddy!” says the creature that used to be his daughter. “Don’t you want your pie?” Sarah’s dress is covered in blood.
“Yes,” Mike chokes out. “Of course I do, honey. I love pie.” He manages a short, fake laugh, and smiles as well as he can at Anna, sitting across the table. She echoes him. Her laugh is more convincing, if you ignore the wild look in her eyes. If the creature notices their lack of sincerity, it doesn’t care.
“Then you shouldn’t be so clumsy!” it chides.
“I’ll be more careful, okay?” Mike finds himself promising.
“Okay, then,” the creature says. “You can have the babysitter’s fork anyway. She won’t need it anymore anyway.” It lets out a clear little laugh then. It isn’t Sarah’s laugh, but it’s close enough to sound like a parody of the real thing, and his skin crawls. Still, he reaches over and takes Mrs. Andreessen’s fork.
The pie might be great. Anna made it, and Anna is a fantastic cook. She had Mike over for dinner for their fifth date, when they were both poor college students. He hadn’t had a real meal in ages, just pizza and burgers and other crap, and he’s pretty sure that’s when he began to really fall in love with her, over baked chicken and risotto and a green salad. There had been brownies with ice cream for dessert. The pie is Anna’s mom’s recipe, and probably delicious, but Mike can only taste the scent that hangs heavily in the room; blood and other foul smells that hang in the air, from the gore on Sarah’s dress, and from Mrs. Andreessen’s body, lying on the floor. He’s afraid to turn and look.
“We have to do something,” Pat says in a low whisper.
“Yes!” the creature cries happily, as through it were meant to hear and Pat had been talking directly to it. “We should have cake next. Don’t you think so, Mommy?”
“That sounds lovely, dear,” Anna says. There’s a catch in her voice and Mike can see that she’s blinking away tears. Mike has the wild thought how brave she is. Only the thought that if they get out of this alive, somehow, they will still be there for each other keeps him from falling to his knees and weeping.
“I love cake,” Mike says instead. The creature looks at him, uses his daughter’s lips to smile, and he knows that he has failed.