As Rowena rocked back and forth, she tried to enjoy her time with her baby, but something kept nagging at her thoughts, a voice whispering unease into her mind. Angus had been taken care of now, and rightfully punished for his actions. That part was over and done with, and was in and of itself a huge weight off of her shoulders. But there was another part of him that was still lingering behind- his alliance with Lucifer.
Now that she had time to think it over, she couldn't really make sense of the idea. Why would Lucifer team up with a mortal? Did he hate her for sending him back to the cage? Certainly. But enough to ally himself with what he deemed his father's biggest mistake? It didn't make any sense. Their alliance had happened, but she couldn't figure out what Lucifer could have gained from it. Angus had no money, no worth, no soul to speak of. Why him? His ties with her could have made him a little desirable, but not enough for this.
Rowena felt a headache coming on as the stress began to seep in. Maybe she was thinking about this too much. The winchesters would make sure Lucifer got whatever he deserved. She had a much bigger problem to face. She had to figure out a way to stop the after effects of the spell on her boy. The severity of it was already extreme, and she wasn't sure how much more Fergus could take. She would have found a cure in a second if it was within her power, but Angus showing up had distracted her, and having a baby to care for took up what remained of her time. When he turned back she would begin a frantic search for a cure. She told herself that there had to be something that she could do to help and fix it. But there were seeds of doubt planted inside of her, and the fear that grew out of them had turned into fine winding tendrils that strangled her heart.
A part of her, one that she could not admit to having, told her that there might not be a cure for her son out there. There was a cure for the spell itself, but after effects were another story. There was no cure-all spell for that, though she desperately wished there to be. The residual effects from each specific spell had to be undone, and even then she wasn't certain about what she could do with it. She could try and extend the cycles of his normalcy. That in itself might not be too bad because she wasn't trying to reverse the old spell- she was just casting a new one. But the rest would be complete guesswork. And even then there was no guarantee that other residual effects from the spell would abate entirely. But she knew Fergus wouldn't blame her for this. He would tell her that he knew she had done the best she could and that it wasn't her fault that this happened to him, but she knew the truth.
If it weren't for her past, this spell would have never been cast in the first place. His words would only be for her benefit. He would try and exonerate her of her guilt. But what he wouldn't understand- no- what he couldn't understand was the depth of her guilt, not just over this but in general.
When she had first entertained the idea of having a relationship with her son, she had been ambivalent at best toward him. She didn't have any feelings about to speak of per se besides occasional irritation. But as they began to meet more and trust one another, she began to experience other feelings. Ones she knew that she could identify, but refused to name aloud for the sake of appearances. The more she felt a mother's love, the more she began to acknowledge it's counterpart- a mother's guilt.
As a witch there was no low hum of guilt when she did something terrible to a person. She just watched them burn and move on. Now that she realized that her actions had hurt someone that she actually cared about, it influenced her to react differently. Instead of being completely absent from her, guilt became a constant presence, looming over her and overshadowing her at every turn. There was guilt about leaving Fergus when he was a child, about missing the most pivotal years in his life, about being able to love Oskar and not the child who shared her DNA, about not meeting her grandson, and about not being smart enough to love him when she had the chance. That one trumped them all.
Just when she thought her guilt about one subject was gone she found that another new insight came to light, like a never ending stream of worries. She could stop the voices that murmured their constant regret when she was with her son and caring for him, but when she was alone at night deep in thought the emotion threatened to swallow her whole.
Realizing that at some point during her musings she had suddenly started rocking far too quickly and jerkily, she eased her pace back to a normal one as she watched her little one dream. She realized that this moment was one that was pure. There was no guilt or shame or anxiety tied to watching her son sleep. He was good and sweet and innocent. In her storm of emotions she had forgotten this simple fact and taken it for granted. She had been living in the world of her fears and not in the world of the present like she should have been. She resolved to try and change that and work on it with herself. For now though, she would simply enjoy herself.
The tender moment ended when about two hours later, Fergus' blue eyes snapped open and he let out a cry.