Author's Note:
I like my werewolves big, very wolf-like and shaggy.
ONE
He sat at the large wooden dresser, his elbows on the hard surface, his fists under either side of his chin, staring with apprehension and annoyance at the object on the surface in front of him.
It jiggled and bounced its feet, rocking the tiny carrier seat slightly. It burbled little watery sounds, dribbling and chirping happy noises to itself, apparently amused. Whether it was happy because of the brightly coloured mobile hanging from the slight canopy above its head, or the knowledge that it was causing abject fear and worry in its audience was unclear.
"What's she doing?" Sam called, out of sight through the far bathroom door.
"Staring at me," Dean replied from the dressing table, glaring at the baby in trepidation.
"Good - keep her happy," Sam called back.
Dean muttered something unkind, then noticed the baby's face squirming and twisting, apparently content to make miraculously innocent expressions to herself.
"Why'd we get stuck with you anyway?" he groused under his breath sourly, gesturing to the baby with his chin. "Why does Sam have to have such big ears?"
The baby giggled and bounced her feet again, tiny white booties flailing cheerfully. One of them scuffed his arm slightly. He moved back out of range hastily.
"You're not big and you're not clever," he grumbled, with a slight baring of teeth.
The baby shifted and sniffed to herself, her face falling as Dean watched a red tinge come to her cheeks. She opened her mouth and a thin wail began.
"Sam! It's making noise again!" he called fearfully, leaning back away from the table hurriedly. The wail turned into a piercing cry. It quickly morphed into a screech that even Mariah Carey would have found octavely challenging. "Sam! Make it stop! Saaaaum!" Dean bawled, apparently just as helpless as the child.
"What is it?" Sam called, appearing from the bathroom brandishing a baby's plastic bottle. "She alright?"
"How should I know?" Dean demanded anxiously over the noise. "But my first guess would be 'no'!"
Sam crossed the room quickly, holding the bottle out to his older brother. Dean looked at him with suspicion.
"Whut?"
"Feed her."
"You feed her!" Dean protested.
"I've got a bathroom to clean!" he pointed out.
"Shove that thing in its mouth before I do something I'll regret not regretting later!" he snapped, and Sam recognised how close his brother was to the end of his patience.
Being up all night tracking and killing werewolves hasn't helped his mood, he observed.
Sam motioned him up and out of the way and Dean quickly vacated his chair. He watched Sam set the bottle on the table and lift the baby from the seat, shushing and bouncing her slightly as he sat down. Dean backed away one, his eyes hard and round, unable to look away. Sam cradled her in his arm and grabbed the bottle, doing his best to get it near her tiny mouth.
After a few attempts the girl gripped the sucker and it was all settled. She chugged contentedly, and Sam relaxed, blowing out a long sigh. He watched her, smiling slightly to himself.
"See? All she needed was--" he began, looking up. He stopped abruptly.
Dean was staring at the bottle fixedly, his expression the result of absolute concentration warring with puzzlement.
"What?" Sam asked, surprised.
Dean started, looking at Sam quickly. "Whut?"
"I said what is it?" he pressed.
"Nuthin'," he scowled. "We need to get rid of it." Then he cleared his throat and straightened. "We need to find its parents and return it," he amended, much more confidently, and turned away to locate his phone.
Sam watched him for a moment, shook his head, and then looked down at the tiny baby girl, still chugging the milk down in much the same way as Dean went about alcohol. Dean found his phone but turned to see his younger brother smiling at his little charge. He backed away from them both, sitting on the bed behind him and staring.
Sam watched her finish the bottle before he pulled it away from her gently. He set it on the table, watching her tiny face go through a million different expressions, as if testing muscles to see just what they were for.
He stroked a finger against her face softly and she made a giggling noise, her little feet moving against his arm.
"She's kinda cute though," Sam smiled, shifting the giggling baby against his arm more comfortably.
"It ain't cute. Cute is… a girl's eyelashes, a pithy come-back only you and me get, a grossly over-priced carburettor, a real mini mini-skirt. It ain't that," Dean shivered in apparent repulsion. Sam shot him a questioning glance.
"What have you got against her?" he asked, surprised.
Dean raised his hand. "Two words, Sam: smell," he stressed, ticking off a finger, "and noise." He tapped the other finger before letting his hands drop. Sam just rolled his eyes. "Oh, and the fact that it's not ours and we've been saddled with it. Cos of that thing I've had no sleep, no breakfast, no coffee," he grumbled, then paused. "Why'd you have to notice it there anyway?"
"It's a she, Dean. And you'd rather she was left out there, in a barn littered with werewolf corpses?"
"The police were already busting in - they would have found it if you'd just left it where it was!" he snapped.
The girl's face turned sour and she began to grizzle.
"Now look what you've done," Sam accused him as she began to cry.
"See that? It sounds how I feel."
Sam lifted her to his shoulder and tried to soothe her, but she screeched and wriggled. The younger Winchester got up quickly and crossed the room, holding her out to Dean.
He just looked at him. "Whut?"
"Take her. I'll find diapers," he said irritably.
Dean muttered something but put his hands out, taking the infant. He looked at it with complete and utter distaste as it bawled and dangled from his outstretched arms.
Sam gestured to his shoulder. "Let her lean on you," he advised.
"Come here and I'll lean on you," Dean threatened.
Sam simply waved a hand at him and walked off in the direction of the bathroom.
The screaming intensified and Dean grumbled before letting the wailing baby lie against his chest, her head inadvertently against the base of his throat.
The noise stopped immediately.
Sam rushed out from the bathroom. "What happened? Is she alright?" he blurted.
"Yeah…" Dean managed, mystified. "It just... stopped," he shrugged.
Sam grinned suddenly. "She likes you."
"Don't you dare be amused at me, Steve Guttenberg," he snapped. "Get the damn diapers."
"Tell you what," Sam said over his shoulder, going back into the bathroom, "I'll leave you the diapers and then I'll go check to see if any parents have reported her missing."
"Couldn't you do the diaper thing and then check for parents?" Dean hoped.
Sam came back out of the bathroom holding the bag of baby gear. "Do you want to get rid of her?"
"Hell yeah," Dean breathed, trying to look down at the quiet infant. She was clutching at the black cord hanging round his neck, gurgling.
"Then I'll get going. You sort the diaper," Sam said neatly, dumping the bag next to Dean before turning and making a quick exit from the room.
Dean sighed and let his shoulders sag as he heard the front door close firmly behind his brother.
Could be worse, he thought wearily, we could still have live werewolves running around out there.
He sat and consoled himself with the fact that they had actually done a good job clearing a barn full of werewolves last night. He was trying to let it make him feel better about his current situation. He was very nearly succeeding when he realised his t-shirt was sticking to him. He frowned in confusion, looking down to find the area of stickiness was in the exact same spot as the baby's head.
"Awwwww, no!" he protested, lifting the infant away from him and finding a large patch of dribble, mixed with a strange, milk-like substance. "Gross!" he heaved, standing and holding the baby at arms' length.
He looked around the room, trying to find somewhere to put her down. He turned back to the carrier chair on the dresser, depositing her in it quickly and then pulling at his t-shirt to look at it in horror. He felt his fingers squish into something on the cotton and let go quickly.
"Gimme entrails! Gimme shapeshifter slime or - or - chewed body parts! Anything but you!" he cried.
He hurried to the bathroom and elbowed on the tap. Cold water blasted out and he shoved his hands under a little too eagerly. The water was deflected onto the front of his jeans and he gasped at the chilly shock just where he didn't need it. He sprang back and banged into the open door, catching just the right angle of his funny bone to send a painful jab up his entire arm.
"Son of a bitch!" he managed, grasping at his elbow. He heard cheerful giggling from the outer room and cursed under his breath.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to let it out slowly. He made himself walk calmly to the sink. He turned off the tap, dried his hands, and just looked at the large wet patch over the entire button-fly area of his jeans.
He just shook his head, tossed the towel into the bath, and walked out. He went over to the infant, standing over her with his hands on his hips, thinking.
"Ok then… Let's just get this over with," he tutted.
He went back to the bathroom and found a large towel, taking it back to the table and laying it out. He picked up the baby - carefully - and laid her out on her back. Her lemon yellow jumpsuit, the one she had been wearing when Sam had found her - was still remarkably clean. He looked it over slowly, trying to remember how Sam had closed the poppers the night before after changing her nappy. But all he remembered was the noise.
And the smell.
He shook his head, located two poppers next to each other at her side, and pulled them open. She giggled and her feet kicked about.
"Stay still," he commanded gruffly, pushing them gently out of the way to pull the rest of the lower poppers open. She gurgled and made raspberry noises, but he would not be distracted. Instead he pulled the white boots off her feet and then slid the lower half of the jumpsuit off her legs to reveal a large, white nappy.
Full with smelly promise.
He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and let it out again. Then he opened up the tapes at the side of the nappy gingerly, peeling it all away.
He gasped and then felt himself gagging.
He pressed his right forearm to his mouth quickly to stop the gag reflex following through. He looked at the ceiling fixedly.
The ceiling is your friend, the ceiling is your friend, he chanted in his head, over and over.
Once he was sure he could take the smell and the sight of the contents of the nappy, he looked down long enough to drag it off the small giggling creature. He folded it up quickly, one arm again pressed to his mouth and nose as he hurried it into the bathroom bin.
He came back and just looked at the messy, happy infant, currently rolling around on her back.
"Ok, no offence, but seriously, I am not cleaning someone else's ass."
He looked back at the en-suite bathroom and a lightbulb went on in his head. He looked back at the baby.
"Right," he said decisively. He pulled the jumpsuit completely off the tiny bundle of strife and picked her up under the arms. "And I thought you smelt bad on the outside," he quoted. He turned and marched the baby at arms' length into the bathroom. "All we gotta do is hold on till Sam gets back - with details of your parents and how we dump you back with them," he said confidently. He put the girl down gently in the sink, looking around and wondering just what to do next.
She gave a little giggling noise and he looked at her.
"Don't you start laughing at me, too. I swore I would never do any of this again," he grumped, reaching for the tap.
.
.
Sam pulled up outside the forgotten shack, again very glad that they had found somewhere so deeply out of the way of any prying eyes in which to hide. He climbed out of the car, shrugged into his jacket uncomfortably, and went into the hut.
The front room was empty and he looked around quickly. No baby. Hearing a slight growling noise, he walked quickly through the front room and came upon the door to the first and biggest bedroom. He pushed it open and looked in.
He found his brother sat on the bed, one leg folded under him and his hands dealing cards onto the bedspread in front of him. His phone was by his side, one earphone securely housed in an ear, delivering Dean's favourite brand of music - to which he was humming not so quietly. Sam noted with some relief that the other earphone dangled over his t-shirt, unused.
"Hey," Sam said gingerly, looking over and seeing the baby in the carrier seat, on the dressing table. She looked to be sleeping.
Dean looked up. "Any luck?" he asked eagerly.
"Ah… no," Sam said quietly. He was still looking over at the infant, relieved it was snoring and bubbling with goo quite happily. "She alright?"
"Yup. Sleeping like a grown-up - at last," Dean said pointedly. "So what gives?" he added, gathering the cards together and picking up the phone, turning off the music as his other hand popped the earphone free by the cord.
"No-one has reported any babies missing in the last six months," Sam said. "No deaths, no kidnappings, no parents running off with one outside of custody allowances… nothing."
"Nothing?" Dean pressed. "So where did it come from? You think those werewolves just picked it up from the next town over?"
"I don't know," Sam said, but his face was pensive.
"Ok, you don't know. What do you think, Sherlock?"
"I think… Maybe the parents are dead. Maybe there's no-one to report a missing child, cos the werewolves maybe killed the remaining family." He moved over to chair in front of the dresser and sat slowly, looking at the sleeping child.
"Are you shittin' me?" Dean cried. "A bunch of werewolves break into a house, kill everyone and steal the baby? Why the hell would anyone want to keep it?" he asked, horrified.
Sam levelled his sharpest damning gaze at him. "Y'know, some people actually make it their business to have kids, Dean. Which means yeah, some people actually plan to keep a baby for the time it takes for them to grow up," he snapped.
"Then they're nuts."
"Like Dad?"
"I rest my case."
"That's not funny," Sam grumped. He put an elbow on the table, propping his chin up to watch the infant. "She's so small," he mused.
"Well her lungs ain't," Dean muttered. He pushed himself over the bed and stretched to put the cards on the bedside table. Sam glanced up to reprimand him for his snotty behaviour but paused.
"What happened to your arm?" he asked curiously, noticing the long welt and nearby scratch running up the inside of his brother's forearm.
"Oh, you should have seen it - we had amazing fun in the bathroom," he said, and if there had been a national shortage of sarcasm, it would have been all Dean's fault. "Someone stank like four-day-old horse manure and needed hosing down. Then, cos I hadn't slept in like twenty-four hours, we took a nap."
"We?" Sam prompted, about to be very amused.
Dean's lip curled as he flicked his annoyed eyes over at the sleeping infant. "It wouldn't stop screaming unless… unless it was lying on me. So it did," he admitted reluctantly. He looked back at his younger brother to find Sam couldn't help smiling. "Laugh all you want, Wannabe Foster Dad, but you're doing the next diaper," Dean stated.
He noticed Sam's face twist abruptly, his words appearing to have delivered a horrendous emotional slap. Sam ironed it out as fast as he could. But Dean knew that look of torture, of raw anguish on his brother's face would haunt him every time he tried to convince himself he hadn't seen it.
"Ah… anyway," Dean said quickly, wondering just what he had just said to sting his younger brother so harshly, "doesn't help us figure out what to do with it."
Sam cleared his throat, bravely pretending his face had never been anything but straight. He looked at Dean with blatant disapproval. "She," he corrected.
"Whatever. What do we do, dump it at a hospital?" he asked innocently.
"Dean! We are not dumping her anywhere! I'll find the parents - or next of kin - and we'll explain."
"Yeah right!" Dean scoffed. "What do we say - 'hey there, Mr and Mrs Doe, we just found your baby in the middle of a secret hideout full of werewolves, but don't worry, it's perfectly fine'," he asked, his hands out and up in query.
"Just - let me think," Sam snapped, putting his hands over his eyes and blowing out a huff. Dean watched him for a moment before looking back at his phone.
"You know what?" he asked quietly. Sam shifted his hands to look at him. "I think we should call Bobby."
"What does Bobby know about babies?" Sam asked defensively.
"Well Hell, Sam, what do we know about 'em?" he shrugged. "But I meant about the werewolves, dumbass. They might have needed it for a special reason, maybe even done something to it."
"What do you mean?"
"Like… maybe they didn't need it alive," Dean shrugged, pressing numbers into his phone.
"Dean!" Sam cried angrily. His brother looked at him just as the baby opened its eyes, offended by the sudden shout.
"Whut? You know werewolves Sam, they're as bad as vampires for having nasty rituals and habits," Dean replied dismissively as the baby started to shift uncomfortably. "Maybe they had to keep it alive for something like a sacrifice, or some kind of blood--"
"Shut up!" Sam snapped, and Dean blinked, surprised into momentary submission by his sibling's ferocity. "How can you think like that?"
"Cos this is the kind of shit we see every week, Sam! What's wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with you?" Sam shot back. "How can you be so cold?"
A piercing cry interrupted them and they both looked at the now red-faced infant.
"Here we go again," Dean growled, but Sam reached over and picked the baby up quickly. He rested her against his shoulder, patting and cooing, trying to placate her. It did not appear to make the slightest bit of difference.
"That's it," Dean called over the noise, "I'm calling Bobby!"
"You seriously think he'll know what to do?"
"Come on, man - Bobby could eat flour and shit cupcakes!"
He kept one eye on Sam, trying to placate the wailing baby, and one on his thumb, dialling Bobby's number as fast as he could.
Thanks for reading!
Next chapter should be up momentarily. Have to catch up with the posting over at SPNVille.
