The following Saturday, Dean spends the morning working on a few projects around the house. He smiled to himself occasionally as he remembered something Cas had said or texted him during the week. They had talked daily, usually several times a day. Cas sometimes relating a funny incident from school via text or Dean calling in the evening to explain the nuances of the current job he was overseeing. Dean had even managed to meet Cas for lunch once during the week.
They were both moving slowly. Cas was behind with lesson plans and grading since he had missed to many class days while his father was hospitalized. He and his brothers were also still alternating their shifts with their father. Dean had managed to meet Cas once for lunch during the week at a burger place near the high school Cas taught at. Things were going well. Dean would find himself singing along to Whitesnake's Is This Love That I'm Feeling when it came across the radio while he was working in the garage. Cheesy? Yes. But, Dean was alone and if he felt like singing along to an 80's hair band, then who was going to stop him?
After stopping for lunch, Dean had answered his front door, surprised to find Sam standing on the porch holding a blanket draped carseat, with a diaper bag slung over his shoulder.
"I hope you don't mind," he said. "We decided to go for a little car ride so Jess could get some sleep."
"Of course I don't mind Sammy." Dean stepped back so Sam could bring the baby in. "The pink bag is a nice look. I really think it is your color."
"Shut up." Sam replied, walking past Dean, into the house and heading for the living room.
Sam sets the seat on the floor near the couch and draws the blanket back, revealing a sleeping Isabelle.
"I was honestly starting to go a little stir-crazy. Other than the pediatrician, and a grocery run, I haven't been out of the house in a week." He says as he sinks onto the couch.
Dean crouches down in front of the seat and looks at his sleeping niece. "Are you guys getting any sleep?" he asks.
Sam tilts his head back onto the couch and closes his eyes, speaking in a tired voice, "She wakes up every two hours to eat, by the time she eats and we finally get her back to sleep, she spits up or has a diaper blow out, so we change her, then she is awake. Then, by the time we get her back to sleep, it's time for her to eat again. It just starts over. It's like Groundhog's Day."
Dean looks over to his brother, noticing his shirt is buttoned wrong and he has dark circles under his eyes. Even his hair is limp, like the exhaustion has reached his follicles. "You want a drink or something?" He asks.
Sam, eyes still closed, answers vaguely, "Sure. Whatever."
Dean walks into the kitchen and pours a glass of water for Sam. By the time he makes it back into the living room, Sam's soft snores are filling the room. Dean smiles affectionately, and places the glass on the coffee table.
"Well, little lady, I have some bookwork to do. Care to join me?" At that, he lifts the sleeping baby, in the carseat and walks down the hall to his office. After placing her seat on the floor near his desk, where he can keep an eye on her, Dean logs into his business software and starts to reconcile invoices.
He manages to work solidly for a half hour, before a tiny whimper escapes the bundled baby in her seat. Dean quickly saves his work, before leaning over and unsnapping the harness, lifting the baby from the seat and into his arms.
"Good afternoon, Miss Belle. Did you have a nice nap?" He asks, softly, watching the pink cheeked baby lift a mitten covered fist and anxiously wriggle back and forth, trying to suck on her hand.
"Looks like someone woke up hungry," He says. "Let's go see what we can do about that."
Dean walks into the living room and snags the diaper bag before backing into the kitchen, pulling the pocket doors shut behind him. At this point, the whimpering is rapidly dissolving into angry wails. Dean gently jiggles the arm holding the angry child while he rummages through the bag, quickly finding the insulated pouch inside. He draws the bottle of milk out and runs it under the tap until the warm water removes any chill. He swirls the bottle quickly to mix the milk, removing any separation, before testing the temperature on his wrist. Satisfied, he gently rubs the silicone nipple against the baby's lips and he smiles happily as she latches on.
After a few moments of intense sucking, the little girl opens her eyes, which until this point had either been angrily screwed shut or closed with sleep. For such a little person, she stares at him very solemnly. Her eyes are wide and the gray-blue color of most young babies. Dean watches her, enthralled with this tiny person. He can just see the wisps of dark golden hair beginning to appear on her head. There is even a trace of a dimple on one cheek. Dean can see a little bit of Sam around the shape of her eyes, but even at this young age, something about her face reminds him of Jess.
After Isabelle drink for another moment, Dean removes the bottle and lifts the baby to his shoulder. He rubs and pats her back gently until she belches loudly.
"You get that from your daddy." Dean chuckles softly. Then he takes the bottle and the baby out to the porch where he sits down in a patio chair and settles in comfortably.
Sam finds them there a while later. Dean can feel eyes on him and turns to see his brother watching him from the doorway.
"I forgot you were so good at this," Sam says quietly, leaning against the doorframe.
"Well, I had a lot of practice with you," Dean replies, looking away, out over the yard.
"That's not what I meant, Dean."
"I know what you meant Sam." Dean says, his voice low and controlled, but Sam can hear the edge creeping in.
Isabelle has fallen back to sleep. Dean rests her against his shoulder and rubs her back gently while she dozes.
"She's going to need her diaper changed soon," Dean says.
"It's ok to talk about it Dean. You don't have to shove it all away somewhere."
"Sam, I told you if you ever brought it up again I was going to break your nose. I wasn't kidding. Drop it."
"I'm just trying to help." Sam's tone and eyes are pleading.
"God, Sam, I know. I know you just want to help. But, I just can't." Dean stands up carefully, trying not to wake the sleeping baby.
Sam watches Dean walk back into the house and sighs heavily.