It was late, and little Dean Winchester lay curled up on the couch, his eyes fixed resolutely on the cartoon characters dancing across the television and ignoring his parent's screaming at each other in the next room. He tried to hold back the tears that threatened by scrubbing his eyes with the edge of the blanket covering his body, flinching when a loud smash came from the other room, followed by silence.
The door behind him creaked open and Mary waddled in, running an absent hand over her swollen stomach with a heavy sigh. She noticed her boy, curled up in the afghan, with watery eyes fixed resolutely on the television. Dean didn't take his eyes off the cartoons to look as his mother knelt beside him.
"What are you still doing up, baby?" she asked, placing a gentle hand on his blanketed knee. The boy's gaze dropped from the television to his mother's hand and he shrugged, frowning sullenly.
"Is Daddy mad?" he whispered, shrinking further into the comforter. Mary watched Dean's restless fingers twitch against the edge of the comforter as a single tear rolled down his cheek.
"No, baby, he's just tired," Dean dropped his eyes down to Mary's baby bump and frowned.
"Did he scare Sammy?"
Mary chuckled and rubbed her stomach, "No, he's sleeping, see?" She grabbed his hand and placed it just above her navel with a smile. Dean's face creased with concentration, as if trying to communicate telepathically with his unborn brother. Mary chuckled, and Dean's face cleared, smiling at the sound.
"Come on, honey, let's get you to bed," she wrapped her arms under his armpits and hoisted him onto her waist. "How about we do some baking tomorrow, hmm? It'll cheer Daddy up if you make something for him," Dean's eyes lit up.
"Can we make pie? Pie always cheers me up."
"Of course we can, sweetie," Dean smiled a satisfied grin and tucked his face into his mother's neck.
She lowered Dean down to the floor and stroked his hair, "go brush your teeth." She sighed as he scampered off to the bathroom, turning to the mirror on Dean's bedroom wall. Surreptitiously glancing around, she pulled down the collar of her t-shirt to reveal a large dark bruise forming just below her collar bone. She prodded the mark with a wince and jumped when a small gasp emerged behind her.
"Mamma, w'assat?" Dean stared up at her with confused green eyes which widened as he caught the bruise disappearing behind her collar.
"Just a bruise, darling, not to worry. Mamma had an accident," accident caused by John Winchester wasn't going to be mentioned, but Dean was far too young to understand. "Bed time, baby."
Dean clambered into his bed and slid under the duvet, pulling the edge right up under his chin with a blissful smile. "Can you do the poem, Mamma?"
Brushing the hair from his forehead, she began in a soft voice.
Matthew, Mark, Luke and John,
Bless the bed I lie upon,
There are four corners to my bed,
and four angels around my head.
Michael to watch, Raphael to pray,
and Gabriel to bear my soul away.
When at night, I go to sleep,
Fourteen angels watch and keep:
Two my head are guarding,
Two my feet are guiding,
Two are on my right hand,
and two are on my left
Two who warmly cover,
and two who over me hover,
Two to whom 'tis given to guide my steps to heaven.
All night, all day,
Angels watching over me, my Lord,
All day, all night
Angels are watching over me.
Now as I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
Dean's eyes drooped as she spoke, drifting into a dreamless sleep. She sighed, reflecting on John's ever rising temper and the baby growing in her belly. His drinking had gotten worse and worse, claiming stress from work and the pregnancy; and of course the more he drank, the angrier he was. Mary hoped the new baby would restore the happy balance they'd achieved at the start of their marriage.
Gazing at the tiny, angel shaped figurine on the shelf above her son's bed, she contemplated everything that led to this. She could never regret it – not when she got two beautiful babies out of it.
"Angels," She whispered, rocking her head back and staring at the ceiling, as if it would hold any answers, "Watch over them." She placed a hand on her stomach, stroking it as if to comfort the restless child inside her.
"Keep them safe."