October 31, 2005

Dean turned off the ignition and took a deep breath. Sam watched him as he sat silent and still, reliving those horrible moments of indecision at the hospital.

"God Dean," Sam whispered. "I wish you'd told me. I could've... I'd have been in your corner, man."

Dean smiled, that tight-lipped smile that was meant to be reassuring when he didn't have the words.

"Dad was in my corner, Sammy," he said with a sigh. "He just wanted to make sure we did what was best for Mary."

God Sam felt tired. Hearing Dean tell the story of how close he'd come to giving his own daughter up for adoption had been both heart-wrenching and exhausting. It had taken everything in him not to cry while his brother stared stoically ahead and retold the tale of hours of anxiety and upset, of gut-churning indecision and worry. But Sam knew his brother would tease him to no end if he broke down and cried about it, and he didn't need to give him any more ammunition than he already had. The hair alone had earned him the nickname Samantha at the tender age of thirteen. Crying in front of him now, without dismemberment or death to blame it on, would be like self-inflicted castration. And Sam liked his balls just fine where they were.

"Ready to head inside?" Sam asked, a grimace-smile dimpling his cheeks. "Jess is a great cook."

"Listen, Sam," Dean said. "Are you gonna help me find Dad or not?"

And right on cue, as if her ears were finely attuned to anything related to her grandfather, Mary piped up from the backseat.

"I wa'my Gumpy!"

Sam heaved a sigh.

"Dean..."

"I need your help, little brother. I can't do this on my own."

"Yes you can," Sam countered. "Jess and I can look after Mary if you need some time to go look for him."

"I wa'my Gumpy!"

Dean shook his head and smiled ruefully.

"I appreciate the offer, but it's not time I need, Sammy. I need your help." He looked his brother in the eye and held his gaze for a moment. "Dad left me this voicemail message, and aside from having some creepy-ass EVP and some cryptic message from some dead chick about never going home, he said something about us all being in danger."

"Dean," Sam tried to argue, feeling even more tired now that they were having this conversation. "I can't just run off with you to find Dad. I've got a really important interview on Monday and it's a seriously big deal."

"So we'll be back before Monday," Dean said casually. Problem solved.

"I don't know, Dean," Sam huffed, rubbing his forehead wearily.

"Well how 'bout we hold off on that until after we've eaten, huh?" Dean turned in his seat to peer at the two year-old. "You hungry, baby?"

"I wa'my Gumpy," she pouted.

"Yeah, I know you do."

They made their way inside the apartment complex without too much trouble, though their arms were full with baby things. Sam thought he spied a pink blanket with a cartoon girl on it bunched somewhere in there, but decided not to comment on it. It was still kind of surreal seeing Dean in father mode, the way he casually unhooked the child from her car seat and pulled her into his arms to rest at his hip, one hand resting under her bum, as if he'd done it a million times – which, of course, he had. It looked so natural on Dean, and yet so alien. Sam thought maybe this was what it felt like to see someone bodysnatched. The Dean he knew had been bodysnatched and replaced with this domesticated... dad.

Jess was waiting for them when they arrived, dinner ready to be served, the places already set at the table. Sam could see the steaming pan of lasagna sitting on the stove. It smelled amazing.

"Get everything sorted out?" she asked casually as she set a pitcher of water onto the table.

Sam kissed her temple, while she sort of missed grazing his cheek with her lips as she watched Sam's big brother lay out a blanket on the living room floor before settling the toddler there on her back. He pulled off her tiny shoes and then made short work of pulling off her tiny blue jeans. He dug around through the duffel bag he'd brought and emerged victorious, grinning like he'd just found a five dollar bill on the side walk, with a clean diaper in his hand.

"All right, stinky," he said. "You know the drill."

"I not stinky, daddy," the little girl giggled. But Dean made a very big show of screwing up his face in disgust and pee-ewing about the mess as he withdrew the dirty diaper and ran a baby wipe along her bottom. His antics sent Mary into fits of giggles, with pauses in between to watch her father make a new face, which inevitably sent her into louder, more infectious giggles than the ones before.

"Somebody call the Health Inspector!" Dean called to no one in particular. "This girl's bum is toxic!"

Mary screeched with laughter, her face turning red as Dean yanked her butt off the ground with one hand at her ankles and then continued to lift her until she was dangling upside down so that both Sam and Jess had a perfect view of her bare pink bum.

"Waaaah!" Mary squealed half in shock, half with unadulterated glee. "An'a hebody cawda Hell Spectre, Daddy!"

Sam wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, but it made Dean laugh.

"All right," Dean said with a heaved sigh, feigning defeat. "No Health Inspector. But I suppose I should do something about the half naked little girl, huh? Wouldn't want Uncle Sammy to call Child Services on my ass, would we?"

He eased her back down onto the blanket, and she hiccoughed a laugh, her whole face red from being held upside down. Dean then deftly slid the diaper under her and quickly fastened it. Mary was panting for breath while her daddy slid a clean pair of purple corduroy pants on her.

"Much better," Dean said with a grin. He nabbed her one-handed once she'd climbed to her feet and smooshed a kiss onto her cheek. "You ready to eat?"

"Mmm-hmmm," she said with enthusiasm.

They made their way into the kitchen, Mary staying close to her daddy's legs, and then paused at the kitchen table.

"Crap!" Sam hissed, noticing that there wasn't really anything adequate to seat a two year-old. "We don't have a high chair or a booster seat or anything."

"Nah, it's cool," Dean said, waving a hand. "She can just sit on my lap."

And with that he took a seat at the end of the table and then hefted the tiny blonde up onto his lap. She tilted her head upwards and grinned a big dimpled grin up at her daddy, happy to be sharing a big person chair with him, rather than sitting in a high chair.

"Watch yourself, Sammy," Dean warned, noticing the way his daughter was still looking up at him with that beaming grin. "She's a terrible flirt."

Sam snorted a laugh.

"She's your kid, Dean. I would have expected nothing less."

"Can you grab some ice from the freezer, Sam?" Jess queried as she ran a knife through the lasagna, cutting it into square portions.

"Yeah," Sam said, turning to the freezer and pulling out the ice cube tray. He glided swiftly to the table and attempted to empty the ice cubes into the water pitcher, but they were frozen in place. Then he grabbed the tray by both ends and bent it backwards, only he used a little too much force, causing the cubes to pop out of the tray, falling to the floor with a loud clatter.

The room fell silent as all eyes slid to the mess of ice cubes on the floor.

"Futt!" Mary exclaimed.

Sam turned to the child in slow motion, his eyes wide, and then met his brother's gaze. Dean was half-grinning, half-grimacing, his mouth stretched wide, his teeth clenched tight.

"Did she just – ?"

"She knows she's not supposed to say that," Dean replied sheepishly. "Those are grown-up words, aren't they Mare?"

"Can'I habba binka waddy?" Mary replied, choosing to ignore the matter of the swear word she'd illegally used.

"Mary," Dean admonished.

"Peeease!" she amended, grinning again. Her eyes were twinkling with mischief, another trait she'd obviously inherited from her Dad.

Dean sighed and poured a glass of water, which he held up for the child to take a sip from. But Mary was having none of that. Her chubby hands grabbed at the cup and attempted to pull it from her father's grip.

"I wanna!" she cried, her voice rising in pitch with a distinct whine.

"Quit it," Dean warned, batting her hands away. "Your sippie cup's in the car, Mary, and if I let go you'll spill it."

"Nuh-uh!" she countered, shaking her head emphatically in the negative.

"That's what you said last time and I ended up with a wet crotch."

Mary giggled evilly and tilted her head up again.

"Daddy habba wet cwotch!" she said.

"Drink your water, ya little monkey," Dean countered, narrowing his eyes in an overly dramatized stink-eye.

Mary giggled again and then turned resolutely back to the water in front of her. With one hand to help guide the cup to her face, she opened her little pink mouth and attempted to take a sip, her tiny teeth clanking against the glass. Sam shook his head in wonder and quickly collected the fallen ice cubes off of the floor.

Sam enjoyed watching his brother interacting with Mary throughout the course of the meal. Dean had insisted that Mary would just eat off of his plate, which seemed to work out rather well. Dean would take a bite and then he would spoon a mouthful for Mary to eat. She had her own fork, but more often than not the bits of lasagna, hamburger and cheese ended up back on the plate, rather than in her mouth.

"She just wastes it if you give her her own plate," Dean explained through a mouthful of food. "This way I can finish off whatever she doesn't eat."

"Smart idea," Sam said, grimacing at the sight of his brother finishing off the partially child-goobered remains of lasagna. But Dean didn't seem to mind. Then again, Sam thought, he'd always had an iron stomach and a gag reflex to beat a mortician's.

"So that's quite the vocabulary she's got," Sam said pointedly.

"Yeah, she knows lots of words," Dean said proudly. "You should hear some of the stuff that she comes up with sometimes..." Then he paused. "Oh. You were talking about the swearing, huh?"

Sam nodded.

"Well she spends pretty much every day with me and Dad, Sam," Dean pointed out. "And you know Dad..."

Sam huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, Dean. I know Dad."

888

August 2003

"Ellie's got pretty much everything you'll need here," Lindsey said solemnly. "If you want it, take it."

The loft apartment looked somehow smaller than Dean remembered it, now that Ellie Sykes wasn't there to fill up the space with her golden hair. It felt sacrilegious, somehow, being there now without her, rifling through her baby things – the baby things she'd never had a chance to use before she died – knowing that she would never get the chance to use them with the baby she'd carried in her womb for nine months. It made Dean feel like throwing up, and he was ashamed enough that he'd already done that twice since they left the hospital.

"Thanks," was all he said by way of reply.

The truth was they did need pretty much everything. They had no clothes or blankets or diapers or pacifiers or bottles or car seats or washcloths or any other number of random necessities that go along with having a newborn baby. And though Dean hated to admit it, it was certainly true that Ellie wouldn't need them where she was (wherever that was). Most likely she'd want Dean to take it; after all, she'd told Lesley to call Dean, had begged her to summon him to the call of fatherhood. Ellie wanted Dean to have Mary.

Still... Rifling through these things, packing up anything and everything that would fit into the Impala, left him feeling really cold inside.

Lesley had been somber since they arrived at the loft, but she'd been ecstatic and relieved beyond belief when Dean had called her from the hospital, asking her if she could bring Ellie's car seat by. He hadn't quite expected the full, on-the-mouth kiss that she greeted him with when she showed up with the baby seat, her eyes swimming with tears so filled with sadness and sudden pride that she'd reached for him without a second thought and planted the fiercest yet most chaste kiss on his lips that he'd ever received.

It was weird.

Leaving the hospital with his daughter had been surreal, and when they took those first few steps outdoors Dean thought he felt himself stepping out of his own body. That's when he'd thrown up the first time.

He wouldn't soon forget the completely crestfallen looks on the Andersons' faces, and though he knew rationally that he didn't owe them anything, and he certainly didn't owe them his first born child, he still couldn't help feeling guilty within his soul for having been the cause of their dashed dreams and hopes. It wasn't their fault they couldn't have kids of their own, and they really did seem like nice people – the desperate attempt to buy his child notwithstanding. He guessed they'd probably make better parents together than he would on his own.

But it didn't change the fact that Mary belonged with him. She was his daughter, and as long as evil existed while he had breath in him, he was going to protect her. That's what family did. It was the most important lesson he'd ever learned in his twenty-four years on this earth, and he was a damned fool if he ever let himself forget it.

Still, there he was, a single father, his life as he knew it completely and undeniably altered. From this moment forward, every decision that he made would have to factor her into it first. Every job he took from this point on would depend on him being able to find someone reliable to look after Mary. Every money-making scam he pulled, from hustling pool (with the inevitable bar fights that followed) to credit card fraud could bring him under the scrutinizing eye of the law, which would inevitably lead to CPS breathing down their necks. No more partying, staying out all night, hooking up with random chicks whenever he felt like it – because there was a baby who needed looking after. And Dean was pretty sure his Dad wouldn't be offering to babysit while his son went out to find some easy girl in a bar for one of his usual casual fucks.

Nope, everything changed from that moment onward, and no matter how much it terrified him that his own habits would be drastically altered by this decision, nothing compared to his fear of being a bad father to Mary. It was sink or swim now – no turning back. Mary was stuck with him now, and she'd suffer the consequences of every mistake he made as a parent. And who the hell did he think he was, raising a kid on his own, anyway? Dean had some very distinct memories of being a kid and going hungry while his Dad was off for days or weeks at a time on a hunt, having left his boys with dwindling supplies of food and not enough money to replenish them. He remembered sitting up late at night, unwilling and unable to fall asleep because Dad wasn't home yet, and if he fell asleep he might wake up in a world without his Dad in it – a world where John was dead, having been killed by the monster he was hunting. Hell, his childhood was so fucked up, Dean had somehow grown up without having any dreams of his own. He'd just been an empty vessel, filled up and emptied out by his father and brother, used and sucked dry when he was full to the brim and at his best, discarded when he was empty.

What if Mary ended up being the same way? What if this life crushed her spirit into the dust and left her empty and wanting?

That was when Dean threw up the second time.

"We'll have to get some kind of fold-down changing table," John said, breaking Dean from his morose thoughts. "Cos we sure as hell can't fit that thing into the Impala."

Dean frowned at the large wooden dresser/changing table.

"Might fit in the back of your truck," he said thoughtfully, sticking out his bottom lip and pretending to consider it.

"I'll make you ride in the back of my truck," John grumbled, tucking two large duffel bags full of baby things under his arms and stalking out the front door.

"He's just so excited to be a Grandpa," Dean said with a grin.

"I can see that," Harley returned dryly. She was Lesley and Ellie's other roommate, and though she hadn't been at the hospital, she was more than happy to help out the young father as he scoured the loft apartment in search of things he would need for the baby.

"It's a really great thing you're doing here, Dean," she said softly. "I know you two weren't in love or anything, but Ellie always said you were a great guy..."

Dean arched an eyebrow.

"...in bed," she finished, grinning.

Dean grinned back, his cocksure smile back in place.

"Well I don't like to toot my own horn," he said, puffing up his chest in a vain play at all false modesty. "Especially not when I can find a pretty girl to do it for me." And he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You're unbelievable," she sighed, shaking her head in wonder.

"I try."

When the last of the things had finally been loaded into the car, Dean paused and gave the loft one last look, remembering all the places he'd been naked in it. They'd really had some spectacularly awesome times in that loft.

"So I guess this is it," Dean said, feeling the world begin to close in just a bit tighter around him.

"You'll be fine," Lesley assured, reaching up to give him a tight hug. "You come back here to visit any time you feel like you need a break, okay?"

"As long as you give like a week's notice!" Harley amended.

"Why, you wanna go buy yourself something lacy to wear?" Dean teased.

Harley gave him a wry smile.

"Something like that," she huffed.

"Hate to disappoint you ladies," John barked, "but Fabio here's keeping it in his pants for the next twenty years, or I'll be fixing him a damned chastity belt. And don't you even think I'm kidding, boy."

The lumbering, glowering bear stooped over to pick up the car seat with the slumbering baby in it and promptly stomped away.

"Move your ass, Dean!" he growled over his shoulder. "Double-time, soldier!"

Dean gulped, paling visibly, but attempted a brave smile.

"Is he always like that?" Harley asked.

"Nah," Dean assured her. "Normally he's got a rifle in his hand."

888

"She's crying," John snarked when Dean finally made it to the car.

"What the hell did you do?" Dean demanded, reaching into the car seat and extracting the baby. "She was fine just a minute ago."

"I didn't do anything!" John shot back, his eyes darkening. "And you better watch that tone, Dean! I put up with it in the hospital because there was a lot goin' on, but that attitude ends now. You hear me?"

Dean pretended not to hear him, preferring instead to focus on the screaming infant in his arms. The fact was the day had been exhausting for both Winchesters, and now that the drama from the hospital, with the custody decision made and the baby supplies picked up, both were feeling drained and cranky. It was like coming down off a hard hit of drugs, without the added fun of having been high first. Now they were alone together, with a screaming baby, and tempers were flying high. Dean swallowed convulsively and tried to calm himself. He had no idea how to calm a screaming baby.

"Shh, shh," he cooed. "You're okay... You're okay. I've gotcha."

But soothing words were not soothing enough. Neither was rocking her in his arms. The bottle they'd prepared was spat out with disgust, followed by even louder wailing. Dean winced as the child's face began to redden with upset, her little tongue quivering in her mouth as she bawled to the heavens in baby rage. It seemed she was coming down from the adrenaline high as well, and she was not a happy camper.

"Fuck, Dad! What do I do?" Dean asked, feeling helpless already.

"Change her, maybe?" John suggested.

"We just changed her like five minutes ago."

John shrugged.

"Doesn't mean she doesn't need changing again."

They hurried to the nearest motel and hastily booked a double room so that Dean could change the baby. Both were dismayed to find the diaper was dry.

"Should I try feeding her again?" Dean asked.

"Give it a shot," John said wearily. He was having flashbacks to some of the not-so-pleasant moments from when both Dean and Sam were babies, moments when they'd screamed inconsolably for hours on end. He didn't have the heart to tell his son that the crying was just a natural part of being a baby, and that there might not be anything he could do to make it stop.

Dean did give it a shot again, and it was once again turned down with even louder shrieking. He shifted the baby onto his shoulder so that the length of her body was pressed against his chest, her tiny chin resting on his shoulder. But it didn't seem to help either: she screamed into his neck, nearly deafening him with her cries.

"Is there something wrong with her?" Dean asked, helpless.

John shook his head.

"She's a baby, Dean. Babies cry. Might be some colic. Might be she wants the crib at the hospital."

"But what if something's wrong?" Dean pressed. The idea that she could be suffering, without any means of letting him know what was really wrong with her, had his stomach twisted in knots.

"I'm sure she's fine, Dean," John assured him. "Just give it some time and she'll settle down."

Three hours later Mary was still crying.

"Do they usually cry this much?" Dean practically begged, looking positively frazzled as he paced the room with the infant bawling against his chest as he gently jiggled her against his body. She'd fed for a few minutes, granting them those precious seconds of reprieve from her wailing, and had promptly resumed the screech-attack with more gusto than before.

"I think she hates me," Dean said forlornly. "I'm the crappiest father ever and she's crying because she just saw her chances of going to college walk away with the Andersons."

"Dean, that's enough," John ordered. "Give her back to me."

He held his hands out for Dean to settle the squalling child into his arms.

They'd been playing this game off and on since they got to the motel, trading off in the hopes that she'd settle in a new set of arms. So far it seemed that wasn't working either.

"What if she just never stops crying?" Dean asked, horror-struck at the very idea. "What if this is it, and she just cries until she's eighteen?"

John snorted.

"You gotta grow a pair, son," he cautioned. "Day one of being a Dad and you're already giving it up as a lost cause?"

"I'm not giving up," Dean sulked. "You're giving up..." he muttered grumpily.

"Why don't you go take a walk or something?" John suggested. "You look like you're about to puke again or... cry or something..."

"Am not!" Dean was positively scandalized.

"Just go," John insisted. "I'll hold down the fort 'til you get back. Maybe go see if you can get some of that baby goat's milk or something... Or some of that lactose free milk."

The boy looked at his father like he'd grown a few extra heads.

"What?" John defended. "I had a lot of time to kill at the hospital while you were off mooning over Mary. I read on some pamphlets that babies these days are having issues with lactose intolerance... not like there was a lot of reading material around... And I thought maybe she wasn't liking this formula that we've got her on."

But Dean was grinning now.

"You doin' research on baby health?"

"Shut up and go!" John snapped, but he was smiling now too.

Dean didn't need to be told twice.

He eased his aching body into the Impala, feeling like he'd aged about eighty years in the last eight hours. He'd barely even begun, and already he could tell that being a Dad was hard. The crying was something he'd have to get used to, though he wasn't sure how. It frayed at his already frayed nerves. And he felt horribly inadequate not being able to get her to stop. Weren't parents supposed to have some kind of magic touch that babies just inherently responded to on some deep physical level?

Deep physical level... And somehow that thought made him think about sex.

What if he never got laid again? The last time he'd been with a woman had been... what? Over a week ago? By his standards that was a dry spell. Now he was left wondering when he'd ever find a moment to himself to even attempt to coax a woman into bed with him. Plus, his Dad hadn't sounded like he was joking about the whole chastity belt thing.

Then again, he was technically alone now...

He cursed himself for having such a one-track mind. Now that the thought had planted itself in his brain, it would be almost impossible to get rid of it. The fact was he was tense, and when Dean got tense there was usually only one cure: sex. It was like his instant mood restorative, the mother-of-all sedatives. Who needs Valium when you can have orgasms?

Okay seriously, stop thinking about sex.

He pulled out of the parking lot and navigated through the streets from memory. There was a baby store that held specialty items, one of the nurses said, somewhere in the mall. He'd check there first, see if they had any suggestions of things that might settle a newborn's stomach better than formula.

It was close to closing time by the time he arrived, and by the looks the forty-something sales lady was giving him, it was clear to Dean that he looked out of place in the pastel store.

"Can I help you?" she asked tentatively. She looked old for her age, Dean thought, with an overly sweet way of speaking that kind of screamed 'Grandma.'

"Yeah," Dean replied. "Maybe... I hope so, anyway. I'm looking for an alternative to milk. Like goat's milk or some kind of lactose milk or something?"

"Okay," she simpered, taking him by an elbow and leading him toward a wall of fridges at the back. "How old is your baby?"

"Six days."

The woman's eyes twinkled with warmth.

"Just brand new," she said, smiling.

Dean nodded.

"We're thinkin' maybe she's not liking the formula we've got her on now, 'cos she won't stop crying and doesn't really want to eat when I try to feed her. But we just brought her back from the hospital today, so there can't be anything, like, wrong with her."

"I see," the woman said, then frowned. "Well with babies that young, I firmly believe that nothing is better than a mother's milk. Breast really is best."

"Definitely agree with you there, but –"

"There are all kinds of nutrients and antibodies in the mother's milk that newborns need to grow strong and healthy."

"You anglin' to lose a sale here, lady?" Dean quipped, feeling annoyed now.

"I really think it would be in your daughter's best interest if you were to try breastfeeding," she said simply. She was still smiling, but the warmth was mostly gone. He could see that she was judging him.

His temper getting the better of him, Dean snapped.

"Do I look like I'm fucking lactating?" waving emphatically at his chest.

The sales lady looked startled, her eyes wide.

"Umm... your wife...?" she tried, but Dean cut her off.

"There's no wife," he said sternly, brandishing his ringless left hand. It was funny how people often mistook the silver ring on his right hand for some kind of wedding band, as though they'd forgotten what hand it was on.

"And Ellie died in childbirth," Dean added, coughing uncomfortably. "So it's just me, okay? Just me and my lack of breasts and life-giving breast milk."

"I'm sorry," the woman stammered. "When you said 'we' I thought... I misunderstood..."

Dean heaved a sigh.

"My Dad's helping me out," he explained. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, then rolled his shoulders, feeling the joints popping as he flexed his muscles, his fingers twitching to simply move. Do something. This quaint little baby shop was making him feel suddenly claustrophobic.

"All right," she said in a calm, placating voice. "Well why don't we get you sorted out here, then?"

Twenty minutes later Dean was back at the motel room, an assortment of baby milks-that-weren't-milk to try out on his finicky daughter. It was quiet when he entered, and he was immediately met with the sight of his father walking in a figure eight around the room, Mary sleeping peacefully in his arms.

"Hey," John whispered, beaming. "She settled down about ten minutes ago."

If Dean didn't know any better, he'd swear the old man was pleased with himself – proud, even.

"That's great," Dean said. "In the meantime, I got some stuff we can try. See if she likes it better than the formula. You want me to take her?"

"Nah," John said absently, his dark eyes returning to the sleeping bundle in his arms. "Don't want to move her in case she wakes up. When I stop she gets restless."

"Oh," Dean replied. So that explained the pacing.

"Why don't you take a nap, dude?" John suggested. "I'll wake you up in a bit. We'll swap places."

Dean's eyes slid to the inviting double bed, feeling the call of sleep like the moon pulling the tides.

"You sure?"

John nodded.

"Get some sleep. Lord knows you're gonna need it."

Dean crawled on top of the covers, not even bothering to remove his shoes, and was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.