In The Grip of Fate Chap 2/?
Title: In The Grip of Fate Chap 2/?
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Wincest, babyfic! (NON-MPREG), excessive use of the word 'familiar'
Word Count: 3,515
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: The boys begin their lives together, but life throws them an unexpected curveball. Three Hunters and a Baby? Just feed him, change him, don't drop him.
Author Notes: Sequel to Just Breathe and set approximately 6 weeks after the timestamp Good Good Night. Okay, some parts of this are so sweet you may want to have your toothbrush handy, but I promise the schmoop serves a purpose. As always unbeta-ed.
A/N 2: I'm extremely nervous about reader reaction to the direction I took this storyline *cough babyfic cough*, even though it was my intention from the beginning of Just Breathe (I actually alluded to it in Just Breathe and Good, Good Night). I would appreciate any feedback.
Bobby nudged Dean out of the doorway, sidestepping around him into the Study. He crossed to where Sam knelt next to Casey and pulled a hypodermic needle from his flannel shirt pocket. Sam shuddered slightly at the sight of the needle pressing into the soft flesh of Casey’s upper arm. The last time he’d seen a syringe had been in the car on the way to Florida, right after Dean told him that he believed Casey was dead.
“What’s in that?” Dean had followed Bobby into the room and now stood behind him, jostling the baby in his arms as the coos turned to whines.
“Aza… Nevermind, basically an elephant tranquilizer. This dose would take down a baby pachyderm.” Noting the twin disbelieving stares, Bobby sighed and ran his hand over his head. “Normal strength painkillers and tranquilizers don’t work on Casey; they’re either not powerful enough to keep her down or her body metabolizes the medication before it can take effect. We’ve experimented over the years and this seems to work the best with the least amount of side effects. She should be out for a couple of hours at the least.”
Bobby stood and motioned toward the fussing infant with his chin. “Junior there sounds like he’s getting hungry. I’m going out to see what kind of supplies Casey has in the car.” As the front door closed, Sam turned to his brother.
“What the fuck, man?”
“I don’t know.”
“No, seriously. What the fuck? We haven’t seen her in months, think she’s fucking dead and then she shows up out of nowhere…with a baby.” Sam was pacing back and forth in front of Bobby’s desk. He stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Dean could tell by the repeated dropping of the f-bomb from his brother that Sam was fairly riled up.
“I.Don’t.Know.Sam. We’ll have to wait until Bobby’s concoction wears off to find out. So calm down, you’ll scare the kid.” Dean looked down at the whimpering child in his arms and tried to think of a way to soothe him until Bobby came back in, hopefully with formula.
“Baby’s got to be pretty important, right? I mean, Casey almost got herself killed trying to protect it.” Sam moved closer, warily watching the small bundle in Dean’s arms like he was afraid the baby would jump up and attack him.
“Seems like. A better question would be - what would a bunch of demons do with a baby?” The moment the words passed his lips, Dean’s body shuddered at the thoughts his mind instantly conjured and felt a similar shiver shake through Sam.
Sam reached out tentatively and pulled the blanket surrounding the small face back for a better look, his fingertip accidentally brushing the baby’s cheek in the process. Blue-green eyes turned toward the touch and arms and legs pumped jerkily. Tiny fingers extended and curled around one of Sam’s holding the edge of the blanket and brought it to his mouth, body calming as he sucked. Dean watched them carefully, trying to gauge Sam’s reaction to the interaction. He couldn’t remember if Sam had ever been around many kids let alone babies, but the look in Sam’s eyes made it obvious he was fascinated.
The front door banged against the wall and a frustrated Bobby entered laden down with two overstuffed duffle bags and an odd shaped blue backpack. “Little help,” he grunted, tossing his head back in the direction of the car parked outside as he shifted the bags and started up the stairs.
“Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry,” Sam blinked, pulling back gently on the finger being used as a temporary pacifier, eyes never wavering from the bundle in Dean’s arms. Dean observed him shrewdly.
“Wait, here.” Dean shifted his arms, leaning toward his brother. Sam’s right arm moved into a cradle position in time to take the baby, adjusting his hold until he felt the small weight was secure. “You take Junior and I’ll help Bobby unload the car.”
“Dean! I don’t know the first thing about babies.” Panic was evident in Sam’s eyes as he mimicked Dean’s earlier movement in an attempt to give the baby back.
Dean placed a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder and pushed him back. He could feel Sam’s uncertainty rolling off him in waves. “Babies are simple, Sam, especially at this age. If they’re hungry, feed them. If they’re dirty, change them. Anyway, it’s only for a few minutes and Bobby and I are right here. Just don’t drop him and you’ll be fine.” Checking that Bobby was still upstairs, Dean leaned over and placed a quick kiss to Sam’s lips then went out the front door.
Sam grimaced, completely unfooled. He’d seen the harried, worn down looks on the face of mothers of newborns and was certain that infant care entailed more than feed, change, don’t drop. He had to admit, though, that last one was pretty sound advice. He knew Dean was setting him up for disaster, a creative new way to gather embarrassing blackmail material to be used at a later date.
The baby started to snuffle and wiggle in his arms so Sam jostled the little boy just as Dean had done earlier. It didn’t seem to produce the same results as snuffles morphed into whimpering cries. How did Dean expect him to do this?
This is the first time I’ve even held a baby.
Sam maneuvered the baby so he rested on Sam’s chest, his small head nestled in the crook of Sam’s neck. Sam walked around the Study, a slight bounce to each step like he’d seen moms on tv do, and hummed the first song that came to mind. His wide hand gently patted out the measured tempo on the diapered bottom and exchanged his lilting walk in lieu of a stationary sway.
Unconsciously, he titled his head, resting his cheek against the crown of tufted dark brown hair, and smiled when a small puff of exhaled air fluttered across his neck. In that moment he understood why Casey might risk her life.
Dean pulled a heavy, square nylon bag from the trunk along with two more duffel bags. Something shifted in the lighter of the two, clanking like a grocery bag of canned goods. Grunting he hefted the bags, shut the trunk and pushed his way through the front door. Glancing into the Study to check on Sam, Dean froze.
Sam was standing in the middle of the room, swaying left to right and humming. Dean’s forehead creased trying to pick up enough snippets of the tune to determine what song Sam was serenading the child with, but was unable to catch the melody. It was familiar, but elusive. The baby was nestled high on Sam’s chest with his head tucked under Sam’s lowered cheek. One of Sam’s hands was cupped under the baby’s bottom, tapping in time with the song - what the hell was the name of that song? -, the other was splayed wide, palm supporting the upper back and long fingers cradling the skull. The humming continued and Sam’s eyes closed like he was cherishing the peaceful moment and the small weight in his arms.
Dean was floored at the tenderness of the image, the naturalness of the contact, and his dick twitched. Stunned at his body’s response to the sight, Dean dismissed it as being at Bobby’s for three nights and Sam’s long body moving smoothly. Yep, it was just from a need to get Sam alone, not from the sight of Sam cuddling a baby.
The infant snuffled and Sam instinctively changed his side to side rocking and began moving his hips in relaxed, lazy figure 8s, slow dancing in time with the music. Something curled in Dean’s stomach that he couldn’t identify and before he could examine it further his mind finally supplied the lyrics to the tune.
Turn a whiter shade of pale
Dean smiled fondly. When they were little, Dad had a mixed tape of softer, slower songs he’d play when the boys were sleeping and that particular song was the third one on side A. For the life of him, Dean couldn’t tell you what the first two were, just that if he started stroking Sam’s hair when the tape started by the end of 'Whiter Shade of Pale', Sam would be asleep. Dean may not be able to remember the first two songs, but he knew that Sam didn’t remember any past the third.
Heavy footsteps creaked on the old wooden stairs, pulling him from his memories as Bobby reappeared at his side. Standing next to Dean and watching the younger Winchester, Bobby mumbled something about ‘never cease to amaze me’ low enough Dean wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear. They indulged in their innocent act of voyeurism for another few minutes.
“The bags upstairs were all clothes. These seemed heavier, probably supplies. Let’s open them in the Kitchen instead of lugging them upstairs just to bring them back down,” Bobby whispered, relieving the younger man of the square bag.
“Okay,” Dean murmured, then turned his attention to his younger brother. “Sammy, you okay? We need to unpack some bags.”
Completely unaware he had been watched, Sam opened his eyes and the corners of his lips curled up in a content smile. “I’m good. I’ll yell if I need help.”
The square bag revealed a constructively complex looking playpen that they set aside for the time being. The heavier of the duffel bags was a weapons carry-all, very similar to one that Dean and Sam had kept back in the day. The other contained a variety of baby needs: four small cans of liquid formula (the source of the canned goods sound), three baby bottles, a half dozen diapers, an almost empty container of wipes, baby powder, a snack-size resealable bag with two pacifiers and a blue baby blanket with Joseph embroidered in the corner.
“At least we can stop calling him ‘Junior’,” Dean remarked, holding the stitched name up for Bobby to see. “Little guy’s name is Joseph.”
Bobby grunted, mentally inventorying the items on the table. “Dean, this isn’t a lot of stuff. We’re going to need some more provisions.”
Dean nodded, he’d been thinking the same thing while unpacking the bag.” Let’s get little Joey in there fed and settled then Sam and I will make a grocery run.”
When Dean padded back into the Study, after compiling a list of items they needed from the store paying special attention to name brands and identifying words on Joey’s things, Sam had moved into the swivel desk chair. His toes pressed into the ground forcing the chair to rock backward and forward. Sam was quiet now, the hand on Joseph’s bottom still while the one on his back swept in soothing arcs.
“We found some formula for when he wakes up,” Dean muttered. Passing by the couch, he gently touched the back of his hand to Casey’s forehead checking her temperature. He trailed his fingers down her cheek, a mixture of relief and joy filling him at the sight of her alive after so many months of thinking she’d was dead.
“He’s not asleep, just calm,” Sam replied confidently. Dean shot him a quizzical look, walking over to lean a hip on the desk next to the younger man. Sam’s stilled the hand circling the baby’s back and Joseph’s head lolled fitfully on Sam’s shoulder, soft mewls emanating from somewhere around Sam’s neck.
An impressed eyebrow arched over green eyes. “You’re like the Baby Whisperer.”
Sam shrugged.
“No joke, man. You’re a natural.”
“I thought babies were simple. Feed them, change them, don’t drop them.” Sam directed a wry smile at his brother.
“Yeah, well. Since Joey is awake we should get to the change him, feed him part. We gotta’ make a supply run.” Dean dug a quarter out of his pocket.
“Joey?”
“Oh, yeah. We found a baby blanket with Joseph sewn on it.” Dean shrugged. “Okay, so unbiased division of labor. Heads you feed him, tails you change him.” Dean flipped the quarter. “Tails it is. Diapers are on the table, Sammy.”
Holding Joseph while feeding him, Dean could actually feel himself getting attached, not surprising considering he’d always loved kids. Sam, though, that was a different story. Sam wasn’t attached, he was in love. The fond look in his little brother’s eyes warmed Dean’s heart while at the same time made his pants a little tight again. Who knew a fatherly Sam was so hot?!
The baby gurgled and Dean glanced down. He was taken aback at the wise eyes scrutinizing him like he was a puzzle that needed to be solved. A sense of familiarity washed over him much as it had earlier listening to Sam hum a long ago forgotten song. Something he should know danced just outside the place in his mind that would be able to understand. He mulled it over as Joey finished his bottle, trying to force pieces to connect and make sense, but it felt like trying to grab smoke. Mentally shrugging it off, he figured it would come to him eventually.
Between the three men they successfully changed, fed and, with a good amount of cajoling, soothed Joey to sleep. It was less Three Men and a Baby and more Three Stooges at times, with Dean repeatedly reminding Sam and Bobby both that he was only four when Sam was a baby so he was hardly an expert, but Joey’s bottom was dry and his tummy was full. Lying the small boy down in the newly constructed playpen, Dean and Sam decided to make their trip to town.
The Impala pulled around to the back door of Bobby’s house to make unloading the groceries a little more convenient. Stepping out of the car, the brothers exchanged curious glances at the smell drifting out of the kitchen through the screen door.
“Do you smell…” Dean sniffed the air trying to pinpoint the exact fragrance.
“Garlic,” Sam supplied.
“Bobby knows how to cook something besides burgers?”
The beginning of ‘Magic Man’ floated on the air with the savory scent and the boys traded mirror image grins. Car doors slammed shut as they raced to the trunk to gather the packages. They skidded to a halt just inside the back door.
Casey was bent over the open oven door pulling out a pan of lasagna, cheese and sauce bubbling on the top. She set it on the stovetop and tossed some rolls in to warm. She leaned over something on the floor and happily sang along with the song coming from an old stereo propped on the windowsill. Sam shifted to the right and saw the object of her crooning, Joey in a bouncy seat. She moved to the refrigerator, not exactly dancing, but more undulating with the rhythm of the music.
“You know,” Dean whispered, leaning into Sam to see what was on the floor as well, “if we weren’t an ‘us’, I could marry that girl.”
Still a prisoner of the beat, Casey swiveled her hips, stirring a pot on the stove and singing slightly off-key. “I know. Me too,” Sam replied, smiling.
Casey turned, a blush spreading across her cheeks at being caught by the two boys. “Hi,” she squeaked then cleared her throat. “If you want, you can set those down on the table and I’ll unpack them. Dinner should be ready in about 10 minutes so you have time to wash up.”
“Should you be up and, um, dancing?” Setting the bags in his hands down, Sam’s distracted brain finally reminded him that earlier that morning he’d closed a four inch gash in her side. Joey made a cooing noise at the sound of his voice.
“Tis but a flesh wound,” Casey rattled off in a truly horrible British accent, lazy Southern drawls not really equipped to handle the inflections necessary. She rolled her eyes at their unamused expressions. “Super accelerated healing powers, remember? All part of...”
“The upgrade package,” Dean and Sam finished automatically. It was Casey’s standard deflective answer to anything that pertained to her enhanced abilities.
“The tranquilizer was really unnecessary.” She crouched down to replace the pacifier that Joey had dropped into his lap.
“Bobby’s idea, not ours. Speaking of Bobby, where is he?” Dean looked into the study but didn’t see the older man in his customary spot behind his desk.
“Resting. Joss got up about an hour before Bobby’s little comatose cocktail wore off. I think he gave him a run for his money.”
“Joss?” Dean eyebrows scrunched together in confusion before realization dawned on him. “Oh, you mean Joey. You call him Joss?”
“Yeah, it kind of evolved and stuck, but if you want to call him Joey then by all means go ahead. I’m sure he won’t mind answering to both.” A wistful look flittered over her face before she composed herself. “Now, go wash up so we can eat. Wake Bobby on your way, please.”
Dean groaned and pushed away from the table, hands rubbing his slightly distended stomach. Sam may have learned Casey’s tricks in the Kitchen but he still lacked her experience. Dinner had been an enjoyable affair with conversation covering a wide array of subjects from the belief that Casey had died back in September - ‘the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated’ coupled with a view of the scar just below her collarbone from the bullet - to what classes Sam planned on taking in the fall - ‘just the prerequisites this semester’. They danced around the topic of the three bodies now buried between some stacks of demolished cars and, of course, the 10 pound elephant in the room. They may not have talked about him, but everyone’s attention was focused on him as his coos, faces and movements provided their dining entertainment.
As Casey and Sam cleared the table, Joey - Dean refused to call him Joss - started to fuss. His pink bottom lip jutted out and he screwed up his eyes in a face that was achingly familiar to Dean. He leaned over and lifted the baby out of the carrier he’d sat in during their meal and met Casey coming out of the kitchen with a bottle.
“I got him.” Dean neatly plucked the bottle from Casey’s hand and headed toward the study to change Joey’s diaper before giving him his dinner. He shot Sam a look over his shoulder as he walked out that clearly said ‘get some answers’.
Sam brought the last of the dishes over to the sink already filled with soapy bubbles. Casey had turned the radio back on and was singing softly to ‘Kings and Queens’ as she slipped plates beneath the foamy surface.
“You know I’m going to ask.” Sam watched her scrub hardened cheese from one of the plates.
“I know,” she sighed.
“So? What do you know about Joey? Do you know why the demons want him? Is there something special about him?”
“Tomorrow, Sam.” She rinsed the plate and handed it to him to dry. “I promise I will tell you everything I know about that child. Just not tonight, please.”
“Remember you said that because I’m going to hold you to it.”
Sam told Dean that Casey had promised to give them the back story to Joey tomorrow, but watching the kid as he ate, that weird just out of grasp notion niggling at Dean’s brain all day had snapped into focus. He was fairly certain that he was right and didn’t think he could wait until morning to find out. Later that night, he excused himself from the nightly poker game with a vague mention of the bathroom and quietly climbed the stairs.
Dean stood silently in the hallway, unwilling to let his presence known yet. The only light in the spare room came through the open door, but was enough to him to see by. Casey was next to the playpen peering over the edge at the baby within. Through the mesh sides, Dean could see Joey asleep on his back, one closed fist in his mouth.
Casey shut her eyes on a deep exhale and her shoulders sagged a little in relief. She opened her eyes again and smiled at the baby sucking on its hand in his sleep. Dean studied the expression on her face. He knew that look. He’d seen thousands of times staring back at him from mirrors and reflective surfaces throughout his life, knew the feelings associated with it - devotion, protection, adoration. It was a look you only gave to someone you loved.
Clearing his throat softly, he entered the room and stood beside her. “He’s yours.” Dean’s tone was perfectly clear, it was a statement not a question. Casey turned to him, her blank face neither admitting nor denying. It didn’t matter anyway, that look had been all the confirmation he needed.
“And Sam’s,” he added knowingly.
Chapter Three
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Wincest, babyfic! (NON-MPREG), excessive use of the word 'familiar'
Word Count: 3,515
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: The boys begin their lives together, but life throws them an unexpected curveball. Three Hunters and a Baby? Just feed him, change him, don't drop him.
Author Notes: Sequel to Just Breathe and set approximately 6 weeks after the timestamp Good Good Night. Okay, some parts of this are so sweet you may want to have your toothbrush handy, but I promise the schmoop serves a purpose. As always unbeta-ed.
A/N 2: I'm extremely nervous about reader reaction to the direction I took this storyline *cough babyfic cough*, even though it was my intention from the beginning of Just Breathe (I actually alluded to it in Just Breathe and Good, Good Night). I would appreciate any feedback.
Bobby nudged Dean out of the doorway, sidestepping around him into the Study. He crossed to where Sam knelt next to Casey and pulled a hypodermic needle from his flannel shirt pocket. Sam shuddered slightly at the sight of the needle pressing into the soft flesh of Casey’s upper arm. The last time he’d seen a syringe had been in the car on the way to Florida, right after Dean told him that he believed Casey was dead.
“What’s in that?” Dean had followed Bobby into the room and now stood behind him, jostling the baby in his arms as the coos turned to whines.
“Aza… Nevermind, basically an elephant tranquilizer. This dose would take down a baby pachyderm.” Noting the twin disbelieving stares, Bobby sighed and ran his hand over his head. “Normal strength painkillers and tranquilizers don’t work on Casey; they’re either not powerful enough to keep her down or her body metabolizes the medication before it can take effect. We’ve experimented over the years and this seems to work the best with the least amount of side effects. She should be out for a couple of hours at the least.”
Bobby stood and motioned toward the fussing infant with his chin. “Junior there sounds like he’s getting hungry. I’m going out to see what kind of supplies Casey has in the car.” As the front door closed, Sam turned to his brother.
“What the fuck, man?”
“I don’t know.”
“No, seriously. What the fuck? We haven’t seen her in months, think she’s fucking dead and then she shows up out of nowhere…with a baby.” Sam was pacing back and forth in front of Bobby’s desk. He stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Dean could tell by the repeated dropping of the f-bomb from his brother that Sam was fairly riled up.
“I.Don’t.Know.Sam. We’ll have to wait until Bobby’s concoction wears off to find out. So calm down, you’ll scare the kid.” Dean looked down at the whimpering child in his arms and tried to think of a way to soothe him until Bobby came back in, hopefully with formula.
“Baby’s got to be pretty important, right? I mean, Casey almost got herself killed trying to protect it.” Sam moved closer, warily watching the small bundle in Dean’s arms like he was afraid the baby would jump up and attack him.
“Seems like. A better question would be - what would a bunch of demons do with a baby?” The moment the words passed his lips, Dean’s body shuddered at the thoughts his mind instantly conjured and felt a similar shiver shake through Sam.
Sam reached out tentatively and pulled the blanket surrounding the small face back for a better look, his fingertip accidentally brushing the baby’s cheek in the process. Blue-green eyes turned toward the touch and arms and legs pumped jerkily. Tiny fingers extended and curled around one of Sam’s holding the edge of the blanket and brought it to his mouth, body calming as he sucked. Dean watched them carefully, trying to gauge Sam’s reaction to the interaction. He couldn’t remember if Sam had ever been around many kids let alone babies, but the look in Sam’s eyes made it obvious he was fascinated.
The front door banged against the wall and a frustrated Bobby entered laden down with two overstuffed duffle bags and an odd shaped blue backpack. “Little help,” he grunted, tossing his head back in the direction of the car parked outside as he shifted the bags and started up the stairs.
“Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry,” Sam blinked, pulling back gently on the finger being used as a temporary pacifier, eyes never wavering from the bundle in Dean’s arms. Dean observed him shrewdly.
“Wait, here.” Dean shifted his arms, leaning toward his brother. Sam’s right arm moved into a cradle position in time to take the baby, adjusting his hold until he felt the small weight was secure. “You take Junior and I’ll help Bobby unload the car.”
“Dean! I don’t know the first thing about babies.” Panic was evident in Sam’s eyes as he mimicked Dean’s earlier movement in an attempt to give the baby back.
Dean placed a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder and pushed him back. He could feel Sam’s uncertainty rolling off him in waves. “Babies are simple, Sam, especially at this age. If they’re hungry, feed them. If they’re dirty, change them. Anyway, it’s only for a few minutes and Bobby and I are right here. Just don’t drop him and you’ll be fine.” Checking that Bobby was still upstairs, Dean leaned over and placed a quick kiss to Sam’s lips then went out the front door.
Sam grimaced, completely unfooled. He’d seen the harried, worn down looks on the face of mothers of newborns and was certain that infant care entailed more than feed, change, don’t drop. He had to admit, though, that last one was pretty sound advice. He knew Dean was setting him up for disaster, a creative new way to gather embarrassing blackmail material to be used at a later date.
The baby started to snuffle and wiggle in his arms so Sam jostled the little boy just as Dean had done earlier. It didn’t seem to produce the same results as snuffles morphed into whimpering cries. How did Dean expect him to do this?
This is the first time I’ve even held a baby.
Sam maneuvered the baby so he rested on Sam’s chest, his small head nestled in the crook of Sam’s neck. Sam walked around the Study, a slight bounce to each step like he’d seen moms on tv do, and hummed the first song that came to mind. His wide hand gently patted out the measured tempo on the diapered bottom and exchanged his lilting walk in lieu of a stationary sway.
Unconsciously, he titled his head, resting his cheek against the crown of tufted dark brown hair, and smiled when a small puff of exhaled air fluttered across his neck. In that moment he understood why Casey might risk her life.
Dean pulled a heavy, square nylon bag from the trunk along with two more duffel bags. Something shifted in the lighter of the two, clanking like a grocery bag of canned goods. Grunting he hefted the bags, shut the trunk and pushed his way through the front door. Glancing into the Study to check on Sam, Dean froze.
Sam was standing in the middle of the room, swaying left to right and humming. Dean’s forehead creased trying to pick up enough snippets of the tune to determine what song Sam was serenading the child with, but was unable to catch the melody. It was familiar, but elusive. The baby was nestled high on Sam’s chest with his head tucked under Sam’s lowered cheek. One of Sam’s hands was cupped under the baby’s bottom, tapping in time with the song - what the hell was the name of that song? -, the other was splayed wide, palm supporting the upper back and long fingers cradling the skull. The humming continued and Sam’s eyes closed like he was cherishing the peaceful moment and the small weight in his arms.
Dean was floored at the tenderness of the image, the naturalness of the contact, and his dick twitched. Stunned at his body’s response to the sight, Dean dismissed it as being at Bobby’s for three nights and Sam’s long body moving smoothly. Yep, it was just from a need to get Sam alone, not from the sight of Sam cuddling a baby.
The infant snuffled and Sam instinctively changed his side to side rocking and began moving his hips in relaxed, lazy figure 8s, slow dancing in time with the music. Something curled in Dean’s stomach that he couldn’t identify and before he could examine it further his mind finally supplied the lyrics to the tune.
Turn a whiter shade of pale
Dean smiled fondly. When they were little, Dad had a mixed tape of softer, slower songs he’d play when the boys were sleeping and that particular song was the third one on side A. For the life of him, Dean couldn’t tell you what the first two were, just that if he started stroking Sam’s hair when the tape started by the end of 'Whiter Shade of Pale', Sam would be asleep. Dean may not be able to remember the first two songs, but he knew that Sam didn’t remember any past the third.
Heavy footsteps creaked on the old wooden stairs, pulling him from his memories as Bobby reappeared at his side. Standing next to Dean and watching the younger Winchester, Bobby mumbled something about ‘never cease to amaze me’ low enough Dean wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear. They indulged in their innocent act of voyeurism for another few minutes.
“The bags upstairs were all clothes. These seemed heavier, probably supplies. Let’s open them in the Kitchen instead of lugging them upstairs just to bring them back down,” Bobby whispered, relieving the younger man of the square bag.
“Okay,” Dean murmured, then turned his attention to his younger brother. “Sammy, you okay? We need to unpack some bags.”
Completely unaware he had been watched, Sam opened his eyes and the corners of his lips curled up in a content smile. “I’m good. I’ll yell if I need help.”
The square bag revealed a constructively complex looking playpen that they set aside for the time being. The heavier of the duffel bags was a weapons carry-all, very similar to one that Dean and Sam had kept back in the day. The other contained a variety of baby needs: four small cans of liquid formula (the source of the canned goods sound), three baby bottles, a half dozen diapers, an almost empty container of wipes, baby powder, a snack-size resealable bag with two pacifiers and a blue baby blanket with Joseph embroidered in the corner.
“At least we can stop calling him ‘Junior’,” Dean remarked, holding the stitched name up for Bobby to see. “Little guy’s name is Joseph.”
Bobby grunted, mentally inventorying the items on the table. “Dean, this isn’t a lot of stuff. We’re going to need some more provisions.”
Dean nodded, he’d been thinking the same thing while unpacking the bag.” Let’s get little Joey in there fed and settled then Sam and I will make a grocery run.”
When Dean padded back into the Study, after compiling a list of items they needed from the store paying special attention to name brands and identifying words on Joey’s things, Sam had moved into the swivel desk chair. His toes pressed into the ground forcing the chair to rock backward and forward. Sam was quiet now, the hand on Joseph’s bottom still while the one on his back swept in soothing arcs.
“We found some formula for when he wakes up,” Dean muttered. Passing by the couch, he gently touched the back of his hand to Casey’s forehead checking her temperature. He trailed his fingers down her cheek, a mixture of relief and joy filling him at the sight of her alive after so many months of thinking she’d was dead.
“He’s not asleep, just calm,” Sam replied confidently. Dean shot him a quizzical look, walking over to lean a hip on the desk next to the younger man. Sam’s stilled the hand circling the baby’s back and Joseph’s head lolled fitfully on Sam’s shoulder, soft mewls emanating from somewhere around Sam’s neck.
An impressed eyebrow arched over green eyes. “You’re like the Baby Whisperer.”
Sam shrugged.
“No joke, man. You’re a natural.”
“I thought babies were simple. Feed them, change them, don’t drop them.” Sam directed a wry smile at his brother.
“Yeah, well. Since Joey is awake we should get to the change him, feed him part. We gotta’ make a supply run.” Dean dug a quarter out of his pocket.
“Joey?”
“Oh, yeah. We found a baby blanket with Joseph sewn on it.” Dean shrugged. “Okay, so unbiased division of labor. Heads you feed him, tails you change him.” Dean flipped the quarter. “Tails it is. Diapers are on the table, Sammy.”
Holding Joseph while feeding him, Dean could actually feel himself getting attached, not surprising considering he’d always loved kids. Sam, though, that was a different story. Sam wasn’t attached, he was in love. The fond look in his little brother’s eyes warmed Dean’s heart while at the same time made his pants a little tight again. Who knew a fatherly Sam was so hot?!
The baby gurgled and Dean glanced down. He was taken aback at the wise eyes scrutinizing him like he was a puzzle that needed to be solved. A sense of familiarity washed over him much as it had earlier listening to Sam hum a long ago forgotten song. Something he should know danced just outside the place in his mind that would be able to understand. He mulled it over as Joey finished his bottle, trying to force pieces to connect and make sense, but it felt like trying to grab smoke. Mentally shrugging it off, he figured it would come to him eventually.
Between the three men they successfully changed, fed and, with a good amount of cajoling, soothed Joey to sleep. It was less Three Men and a Baby and more Three Stooges at times, with Dean repeatedly reminding Sam and Bobby both that he was only four when Sam was a baby so he was hardly an expert, but Joey’s bottom was dry and his tummy was full. Lying the small boy down in the newly constructed playpen, Dean and Sam decided to make their trip to town.
The Impala pulled around to the back door of Bobby’s house to make unloading the groceries a little more convenient. Stepping out of the car, the brothers exchanged curious glances at the smell drifting out of the kitchen through the screen door.
“Do you smell…” Dean sniffed the air trying to pinpoint the exact fragrance.
“Garlic,” Sam supplied.
“Bobby knows how to cook something besides burgers?”
The beginning of ‘Magic Man’ floated on the air with the savory scent and the boys traded mirror image grins. Car doors slammed shut as they raced to the trunk to gather the packages. They skidded to a halt just inside the back door.
Casey was bent over the open oven door pulling out a pan of lasagna, cheese and sauce bubbling on the top. She set it on the stovetop and tossed some rolls in to warm. She leaned over something on the floor and happily sang along with the song coming from an old stereo propped on the windowsill. Sam shifted to the right and saw the object of her crooning, Joey in a bouncy seat. She moved to the refrigerator, not exactly dancing, but more undulating with the rhythm of the music.
“You know,” Dean whispered, leaning into Sam to see what was on the floor as well, “if we weren’t an ‘us’, I could marry that girl.”
Still a prisoner of the beat, Casey swiveled her hips, stirring a pot on the stove and singing slightly off-key. “I know. Me too,” Sam replied, smiling.
Casey turned, a blush spreading across her cheeks at being caught by the two boys. “Hi,” she squeaked then cleared her throat. “If you want, you can set those down on the table and I’ll unpack them. Dinner should be ready in about 10 minutes so you have time to wash up.”
“Should you be up and, um, dancing?” Setting the bags in his hands down, Sam’s distracted brain finally reminded him that earlier that morning he’d closed a four inch gash in her side. Joey made a cooing noise at the sound of his voice.
“Tis but a flesh wound,” Casey rattled off in a truly horrible British accent, lazy Southern drawls not really equipped to handle the inflections necessary. She rolled her eyes at their unamused expressions. “Super accelerated healing powers, remember? All part of...”
“The upgrade package,” Dean and Sam finished automatically. It was Casey’s standard deflective answer to anything that pertained to her enhanced abilities.
“The tranquilizer was really unnecessary.” She crouched down to replace the pacifier that Joey had dropped into his lap.
“Bobby’s idea, not ours. Speaking of Bobby, where is he?” Dean looked into the study but didn’t see the older man in his customary spot behind his desk.
“Resting. Joss got up about an hour before Bobby’s little comatose cocktail wore off. I think he gave him a run for his money.”
“Joss?” Dean eyebrows scrunched together in confusion before realization dawned on him. “Oh, you mean Joey. You call him Joss?”
“Yeah, it kind of evolved and stuck, but if you want to call him Joey then by all means go ahead. I’m sure he won’t mind answering to both.” A wistful look flittered over her face before she composed herself. “Now, go wash up so we can eat. Wake Bobby on your way, please.”
Dean groaned and pushed away from the table, hands rubbing his slightly distended stomach. Sam may have learned Casey’s tricks in the Kitchen but he still lacked her experience. Dinner had been an enjoyable affair with conversation covering a wide array of subjects from the belief that Casey had died back in September - ‘the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated’ coupled with a view of the scar just below her collarbone from the bullet - to what classes Sam planned on taking in the fall - ‘just the prerequisites this semester’. They danced around the topic of the three bodies now buried between some stacks of demolished cars and, of course, the 10 pound elephant in the room. They may not have talked about him, but everyone’s attention was focused on him as his coos, faces and movements provided their dining entertainment.
As Casey and Sam cleared the table, Joey - Dean refused to call him Joss - started to fuss. His pink bottom lip jutted out and he screwed up his eyes in a face that was achingly familiar to Dean. He leaned over and lifted the baby out of the carrier he’d sat in during their meal and met Casey coming out of the kitchen with a bottle.
“I got him.” Dean neatly plucked the bottle from Casey’s hand and headed toward the study to change Joey’s diaper before giving him his dinner. He shot Sam a look over his shoulder as he walked out that clearly said ‘get some answers’.
Sam brought the last of the dishes over to the sink already filled with soapy bubbles. Casey had turned the radio back on and was singing softly to ‘Kings and Queens’ as she slipped plates beneath the foamy surface.
“You know I’m going to ask.” Sam watched her scrub hardened cheese from one of the plates.
“I know,” she sighed.
“So? What do you know about Joey? Do you know why the demons want him? Is there something special about him?”
“Tomorrow, Sam.” She rinsed the plate and handed it to him to dry. “I promise I will tell you everything I know about that child. Just not tonight, please.”
“Remember you said that because I’m going to hold you to it.”
Sam told Dean that Casey had promised to give them the back story to Joey tomorrow, but watching the kid as he ate, that weird just out of grasp notion niggling at Dean’s brain all day had snapped into focus. He was fairly certain that he was right and didn’t think he could wait until morning to find out. Later that night, he excused himself from the nightly poker game with a vague mention of the bathroom and quietly climbed the stairs.
Dean stood silently in the hallway, unwilling to let his presence known yet. The only light in the spare room came through the open door, but was enough to him to see by. Casey was next to the playpen peering over the edge at the baby within. Through the mesh sides, Dean could see Joey asleep on his back, one closed fist in his mouth.
Casey shut her eyes on a deep exhale and her shoulders sagged a little in relief. She opened her eyes again and smiled at the baby sucking on its hand in his sleep. Dean studied the expression on her face. He knew that look. He’d seen thousands of times staring back at him from mirrors and reflective surfaces throughout his life, knew the feelings associated with it - devotion, protection, adoration. It was a look you only gave to someone you loved.
Clearing his throat softly, he entered the room and stood beside her. “He’s yours.” Dean’s tone was perfectly clear, it was a statement not a question. Casey turned to him, her blank face neither admitting nor denying. It didn’t matter anyway, that look had been all the confirmation he needed.
“And Sam’s,” he added knowingly.
Chapter Three