EIGHT

Sam opened the cabin door and crossed the main room. He went into the larger bedroom, the one Dean had automatically adopted as soon as they had stepped into the place, and dumped his duffle gratefully onto the bed. It slid off over the side, hitting the floor, but he really couldn’t care. He waved a hand at it and grabbed two large towels, going straight into the en-suite bathroom.

He stripped off his bloody, foetid clothes and dropped them in a pile in the corner of the bathroom. He turned on the shower, feeling at the hot water piping out over his fingers and grinning. He hopped into the square cubicle, pulling the glass door closed and leaning under the water.

He had never been more grateful to feel the hot water running over him, washing away more than just blood and gore.

This time it also washed away the ugliness, the uncertainty, of a baby that may or may not have turned out to be a werewolf. Hardened since his Trickster days, he knew he would still never be able to kill something so small and apparently helpless - even if it were killing humans.

He hummed to himself, relieved beyond measure that, for once, things had gone his way. Just this once, it had panned out - he had killed only bad things, no-one and nothing had been killed in its place, and they had bagged the bad guy.

Spectacularly.

Sam grabbed at the bar of soap and made good use of it, even frothing it in his hands to drag them through his hair, trying to loosen the sawdust and hay from it. All too soon he felt the water starting to cool and had an abrupt pang of guilt; Dean would have to wait a while for it to heat up again.

But even that couldn’t dampen his mood. He grinned and hummed as he washed off the soap, slapping the small round cake into the soap dish in the wall. He turned off the water and let himself drip for a moment, shaking his hands before opening the door and scooping up the largest towel.

He pressed it to his face first, sniffing and feeling extremely glad to be clean and free of worry for once. Just for today, things were fine. Just for today, everything was coming up roses.

He wrapped the towel round him and stepped out of the cubicle. He realised he could hear the front door closing and remembered Dean must be helping Martia with the baby. As he began to towel himself off, he heard voices in the bedroom right outside the bathroom door, and paused to listen.

.

.

“You sure you’ll be alright with her? It’s just for an hour or so - Bobby says he needs me to help fake some records for her,” Martia said.

“We’ll be fine,” Dean assured her with a smirk. “Go. The sooner you get it straightened out, the sooner I can get shot of the little monster for good.”

“You don’t mean that,” Martia teased, but there was a look in his eyes she recognised but didn’t take to. “I’ll be quick.”

“Thanks.”

She looked at the carry-seat on the table behind him, then smiled brightly. She turned and left the bedroom quickly, and he heard the main door open and close.

Dean turned and pushed his hands deep into his blood-soaked pockets that had dried stiff as a board. He sniffed in disapproval, watching the tiny baby giggle and kick from her perch.

“I ah… I guess I owe you an apology,” he said confidently, wandering closer and looking down at her. “I just shot your mom. She was a werewolf, though,” he added hastily. “You’re better off, trust me.”

He looked around the room surreptitiously. Then he stared down at her.

“This is a cat thing, right? I mean, you only like me the same reason cats like some people but hate others? Cos I’m not all over you, trying to make you love me? Cos I ignore you? Yeah, I got that,” he said uncomfortably. He cleared his throat. “So I ‘spose I owe you an explanation about that too, huh?” he added with brash, false cheer. “I mean, I been a bit cold with you the whole time. Now that you’re going back to the hospital, this is my last chance to straighten a few things out.”

He put his hands on the table either side of her carry-seat, leaning on them and watching her move.

“It’s not that I want to get rid of you, not really. I mean, you ain’t half bad when you’re not screaming the place down, know what I mean?” he breathed with an attempt at a smile. “But… you got everything to grow up for. See, when my brother was your age, he lost a home and his mom. But he still had me and Dad. Right now, you got no-one, but you will do. Someone’s gonna come along, take one look at you and take you home. I’m not just saying that to be nice,” he smiled. “Tell the truth, I seen a lot of pretty girls, but you’ve got miles on every one of them. Trust me, this is something I know a lot about.”

The baby shifted and gurgled.

“You’re just… something I was never meant to have, y’know? It’s never gonna be part of my life, I’m never gonna get my own one of you, it’s just not me. I tried to tell Sammy that, but… he just don’t get it… and why should he?” He paused for a long moment, running a slow, thoughtful tongue over his lower lip as he watched the child. “I got to hand you over to someone so they can take you home, give you a good start. A good life.”

He shifted and lifted his right hand, putting it down to her tiny limb. He put his index finger under four of hers, smoothing his thumb over them gently, amazed at their miniature size. She chirruped unexpectedly and grasped his finger, clutching tightly. She sighed and blew a wet bubble, and he just watched, entranced, for a long moment.

Presently he pulled himself together, sighing with the injustice.

“It’s just… I can’t get attached to you, can’t let maself like you, y’know? Cos… I ain’t going to be around for much longer, and knowing there’s good stuff like you about just makes it even harder to do what I have to do. So… it ain’t you,” he said confidently, shaking his head, feeling her tiny hand grip his so securely. “It ain’t you. I agreed to do something, and I don’t mind telling you, it ain’t sitting well with me right now. Not when there’s all this stuff I haven’t done yet. So I can’t even notice you, can’t even acknowledge the fact that there are good things like you left to see, cos… Well I gotta be somewhere. But you have all the time in the world, sweetheart.”

He straightened slowly and carefully retrieved his finger from her grasp. He felt the reluctance in his movements and closed his fist, taking a slight step back.

“I just hope you grow up in a world where good things happen to good people, and there are no monsters under the bed,” he said, smiling to try and cover the emptiness to his barrel of hope. “I hope you never have another need for people like me and my brother.”

He let his eyes drop to the floor, then shook his head at himself. He turned away and headed for his bed.

He realised he had forgotten to bring his duffle in from the car, and tutted. He looked over at the baby, then at the bedroom door. He wandered over to her again.

“Don’t you move, ok?” he smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

He pulled his car keys from his pocket, jangling them as he walked out of the door. It banged closed behind him, and the baby giggled. The front door to the cabin opened and closed as she kicked her feet about.

Sam opened the bathroom door cautiously, letting it simply swing open as he looked around the room. He walked out with a slowness born of anguish and compassion.

He looked at the bedroom door, trying to twist his face into something other than a heart-rending illustration of dolor. He blinked and realised his eyes were too full.

He swallowed, looking down at the baby.

He said nothing.

But his eyes did.

.

.

“I’ll just wait out here to make sure you two actually drop her off,” Bobby called gruffly, watching Sam, Dean and Martia climb out of the Impala parked next to his car.

“If he don’t leave the thing in there this time, I’ll personally Superglue his eyes open so he knows how it feels never being able to sleep,” Dean grumped. Sam looked at him for a second, opening his mouth. Martia noticed his eyes turn sad as he gave up on whatever he was about to say, instead looking away.

“Come on then,” she said, forcing herself to be cheerful.

The three of them walked up the steps and into the hospital, the tiny baby gurgling and fidgeting in Sam’s arms. They walked through the busy reception and she led them through to the nursery again.

As Sam laid her down gently, watching her with a small, fond smile on his face, Martia looked at Dean.

“We’re all done here,” she said slowly. He was looking round the room, as if bored. He turned quickly.

“Whut?” he asked quickly, focusing on her. She recognised the attempt at detachment and smiled, folding her arms.

“I said, we’re done,” she said, Sam straightening and looking at them both. His eyes sagged, his eyebrows hitching up in the middle in apologetic weariness.

“Dude,” Dean sighed, enervatedly rubbing his forehead and then looking at his younger brother again. “Suck it up, man, we gotta go.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, nodding. Like you have? Fine. If you can do it, so can I, he managed, trying not to let the overheard monologue in the bedroom spring to mind for the third time since he’d been Dean’s unwitting audience.

“Right then,” Dean nodded.

“There’s just one more thing,” Martia said quickly, as the two of them turned to find the exit.

“What?” Sam asked, a little hope in his tone.

She let herself smile. “She still doesn’t have a name. She needs to be entered into the adoption register, and we can’t do that without a name. A forename, at least. Bobby said Sam would have one.”

“Oh, well…” Sam began. He looked at Dean, who made his eyes study his feet on the clean floor with a speed of which Superman would have been proud. Dean rubbed a tired hand through his hair, continuing to stare at his boots. Sam looked back at Martia helplessly. “You got a pen?” he asked.

She reached over and picked up a clipboard, leafing through a few sheets and tucking them behind the board. She pulled out the attached pen and handed both to him.

Sam thought for a second. “Something grand,” he smiled. “Something that says ‘I had a real scary start, but nothing’s gonna stop me now’,” he added with amusement. He clicked the pen decisively and scrawled something on the sheet. He handed the board back to Martia. “There.”

“Great,” she said, casting her eyes down the paper and smiling. “Guinevere?” she read.

Dean’s head came halfway up, then shot back down again. There was a muffled cough and Sam looked at him.

“What’s wrong with Guinevere?” he protested.

“Nothing, Sam, absolutely nothing,” Dean said politely, looking up. He put a closed fist to his mouth, coughing vaguely. “Well then, shall we?” he said, blinking bright, innocent eyes at his younger brother.

Sam smiled, relieved. “Let’s go then,” he said with a definitely satisfied air. Dean nodded, then looked at Martia.

“I’m just gonna say goodbye here,” he said lightly to Sam. “You wanna stick around and watch? Might learn a few things,” he added maliciously.

Sam’s eyes rolled with more speed than a returning NASA rocket. He shook his head and looked at Martia.

“Thanks for everything,” he said meaningfully. She grinned.

“Thank you,” she countered. “Look after yourself, Sam. Now I know why he thinks the world of you,” she winked.

Dean looked outraged, turning to look at her with such righteous indignation she could have been forgiven for thinking she’d just accused him of being Charlie Manson.

“Yeah - the netherworld,” Dean protested clearly.

Sam simply winked at her from behind his brother, absolutely tickled he would never see it. Then he clapped a heavy hand on Dean’s shoulder, patting.

“I’m gone. Say your goodbyes,” he said, patting once more and walking off.

Dean turned and watched him go, waiting till he was pulling open the door and letting himself out of the nursery. He watched the door close behind him, then turned to Martia quickly.

“Give me that,” he hissed, taking the clipboard from her and clicking the pen. He scrubbed out Sam’s spidery scrawl. “Guinevere my ass,” he tutted. He scribbled and then handed it back.

Martia grinned as she took it from him, spying the improved name.

“Mary?” she wondered.

“Mary,” Dean nodded. “Don’t you tell him I changed it,” he warned.

“I promise I won’t,” she teased. “Cross my heart and hope to--”

“Anyway,” he interrupted loudly, and her smile faltered. “Time I put my feet to the street, missy.”

“You always say that,” she grinned, shaking her head. “You know, sometimes you’re exactly like you used to be, exactly as I remember you,” she marvelled. “And then there are these moments you look… Well, different.”

“Yeah, got my hair cut,” he smirked.

“I noticed.”

“Thanks.”

“I like it longer.”

“I like ice-cream with hundreds n’ thousands in it, but we don’t always get what we want,” he grinned cheekily.

She chuckled. “What if I want you to come back here when you’re not so busy? Now that I know what you do.”

“You still want me to? Knowing what I do do?”

“Doo-doo?” she grinned, pointing at him. He laughed, shaking his head.

“Yeah, doo-doo,” he confirmed. She sighed, putting her hand out to his face, searching his eyes slowly.

“Yes, I want you to come back. One day when you’re not busy killing creatures in the night, or tracking monsters under people’s beds… Just turn up here. Just walk in like you’ve never been away.”

“Seriously?” he asked, his eyebrows twitching in concern.

“Seriously. Tell the truth, I… I sometimes take my break in the old staff room out back, just so I can see the parking lot. I used to hope I’d see your amazing car pull in one day, and you’d get out and say ‘hi, Mar, long time no see’.”

“What would happen if I did that? Just for one day?” he asked quietly, and for the first time in her life, Martia realised he was unsure of himself.

“I’d make you stay,” she said confidently. “Forever.”

He studied her eyes for a long moment.

“Staying forever ain’t a problem,” he admitted, his eyes clouded with something at which she could only guess. “It’s the ‘where’ that’s the thing.”

“You don’t want to?” she dared, letting her good humour die away. He swallowed.

“It’s not about what I want, Mar. It’s… it’s already decided for me,” he breathed.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, suddenly worried. “What’s been decided?”

He stared into her eyes for a long moment, and she became ever more unsettled.

“Dean - what have you done?” she demanded urgently.

Tell her. Tell her what a stupid thing you’ve done, for Sam, for everyone. Tell her every damn thing you’ve ever done for this piss-poor excuse for a family - that really only amounts to you and Sam, now. And why is that again? It’s all your fault, Dean, all of it. You found Sam and made him help you find Dad. Now Dad’s dead - your fault - and Sam died too. Why? Cos you weren’t asshole enough to stop it. So what did you do? The only thing you could? You worthless, lying, useless excuse for a failure - you tell yourself it’s cos it was all you could do. But if you’d just been a little stronger in the first place, Dad wouldn’t have died, and neither would Sam. And then all three of you would still be together this time next year.

The thoughts ran through his head, not pausing to heed his begging that they stop.

“Dean - what is it?” she asked gently, stroking at his face slightly.

He smiled suddenly, making it touch his eyes. “Nothing,” he said cheerfully, and she took a deep breath, sighing it out. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Good. You were starting to freak me out,” she said with a smile, but she still sounded nervous.

“Naw - everything’s gonna be fine,” he asserted, putting his arms out and pulling her into a hug. She rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes.

“I hope so, Dean. I hope you stay safe. I hope you don’t get hurt, doing what you do. And I hope you come back to see me one day.”

“Yeah, of course,” he said with a wide smile, pulling her back to look at her.

“Don’t say that,” she said worriedly.

“Whut?”

“Don’t say ‘yes, of course’. Just say yes,” she said quietly, watching him avidly.

“Why?”

“Because ‘yes’ is the truth - ‘of course’ is not,” she said.

He chuckled suddenly, catching her by surprise. “Ok then, yes,” he said clearly. “I’ll come back and see you.”

“Good,” she said, relief pouring off her like rain. “You’d better go see to your brother,” she said, gesturing over his shoulder with her chin.

“Yeah. He’s probably crying with Separation Anxiety already,” he winked. She smiled and he put a hand to her face, kissing her soundly for a long moment. “Take care of yourself, Mar.”

“And you, Dean. Be careful.”

He smiled once, then turned and walked away.

She sighed unhappily, then looked around the nursery slowly. She picked up the clipboard, read the name again, and smiled to herself. Then she put it down and looked at her watch, deciding she needed a shower before her official shift started.

.

.

Dean opened the driver’s door on the Impala slowly, hesitating as he looked back at the hospital doors.

“What now?” Sam called from the passenger seat. “I’m not hanging round here while you go back in and bang some nurse.”

“Language, Sammy, we’re outside a kiddies’ hospital,” Dean grunted, sliding into the seat and squeaking the door closed.

Sam smiled, watching him lean forward and push the key into the ignition. But instead of turning it, Dean simply sat back and let his unsettled thoughts cloud his face.

“What?” Sam asked quietly. Dean flicked his eyes up to his left, at the hospital steps. “I take it she’s still on your list of Must Visit Tourist Attractions?” he teased.

Dean looked away quickly, to the steering wheel. “Yeah,” he admitted, but it was barely above a whisper. Sam’s face fell slowly.

“Ok, what is it?” Sam said, in a very no-nonsense tone. “I’m not following Bobby all the way back to the interstate with you in one of your moods.” He smiled as he folded his arms, waiting.

“I ah… Nothing, Sam,” he managed, putting his hand out to the key in the ignition.

“Alright dude, but the first person to sigh or roll his eyes springs for pie.”

Dean’s hand fell back to his knee and he looked at Sam with a very damning expression. Sam’s momentary happiness at a Hunt well done collapsed in on itself. He cleared his throat slowly.

“I lied to her,” Dean said clearly. “There. That do you?”

“Relax, Dean. We lie to everyone about our job,” Sam said easily, shaking his head. “You taught me that, remember?”

“Not about our job.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Then what? What else could have been so important that you’d lie to protect it?”

Dean looked back over at the hospital, thinking. He chewed on his lip for a second.

I told her I’d come back and see her. “I told her everything’s going to be fine,” he muttered.

“And it is. We got the werewolf and the baby’s going on the adoption list. Everything’s as it should be,” he nodded, well pleased with himself as he looked out of the front windscreen.

Dean slid his eyes round and then his head followed. He looked at Sam for a long second. The younger brother realised he was being studied and looked over.

“What?” he asked.

Dean opened his mouth, thought about it, and then his face changed. It wasn’t exactly a smile, but there was something decidedly more pleasant about it. “You’re right,” he nodded, shrugging to himself. “Everything is going to be fine.” Of course it is. Of course.

Sam watched him as he leaned forward and turned the key. Dean listened to the purr of the engine, letting the sound wash over him and nudge all of his misgivings to one side.

“Listen to that,” he muttered to himself in appreciation, and Sam snorted in amusement. Dean ignored him and put the old girl into gear. He checked his mirrors before looking up and watching Bobby’s car pull out in front of them. He spared Sam a single glance before falling into line behind him.

The Impala growled in approval as they hit the main road, heading back to the Kansas Turnpike. Dean squeezed the wheel slightly, letting a small, smug smile steal over his face at the sound of the engine.

Sam noticed. “Happy now?” he teased.

“Two words, Sammy--” Dean began.

“No no no - don’t tell me, I know,” Sam interrupted: “bite me.”

.

THE END

Well that's it - hope you liked how it all turned out. Thanks everyone who read right to the end! Very much appreciated!