"Dean!" called Sam. No answer. Just a retreating figure down the docks. "Dean!" Sam repeated. Again, nothing.
Inside the ship, however, a cloud of dust rose after all of the jagged stones had clattered to the ground. Rowena had fallen backward because of her expenditure of magic to defend herself. The heels of her hands had scrapes because she thrust them out to catch herself and she sat upright feeling like she'd been hit by a bus.
The Fomori she'd stationed in the room were struggling to gather all of their broken limbs. One looked like the mast of a ship shattered by cannon fire and lay in two separate halves. One of the borrower witches lay lifeless, her head draining of blood because one of the rocks had collided with her temple.
"Madame?" said one of the first attendants on the scene, offering her his hand.
She slapped it away and stood up on her own, surveying the carnage before her.
"What are the damages?" Rowena snapped.
"Carman…is dead. Among others. The Fomori will regenerate but we'll have to find another base of operations," he gestured around, clutching his clipboard closer. A clipboard that he inexplicably managed to cling to throughout the battle.
Rowena looked at him like he reeked of absurdity. "Get me a list of the dead. We need to know how much of our army needs replacing. That was quite the stunt they pulled…" she mused. "A one-time deal but I can't deny that I'm impressed by her. I think it's time to move to the Great Oak." She noticed the way her attendant was staring at her like daisies were sprouting from her head rather than hair. "What?!" she demanded.
"Madame….your-your face," he stuttered trying to find anything with a reflective surface.
There was a silver platter laying on the ground, thrown from the long table that had been adorned with her magical baubles and instruments for witchcraft. He scampered to it and presented it to Rowena who snatched at it hungrily.
She looked at her otherwise unaffected face and froze. The spell had worked. The absorption of Balor's power had worked, better than she could've hoped. But, it came with the proof that Balor had borne himself. The third eye.
She screamed long and vicious like car tires skidding on a wet highway, careening towards its demise.
"But, this means that the spell was a success. You're the most powerful being in the country now,"
"What good is power when you don't have the face to sell it?! I was aiming for 'the fairest of them all', yeh daftie! Reassemble the alter!"
"In theory, you could deform every one of your followers, so that they are all equal under you," he suggested tentatively.
"And what kind of message would that send, hmm? Hello, follow Rowena you'll get a physical deformity out of the deal?" she snapped, turning from him and hanging her head in contemplation. "We go ahead with then next phase as planned, just accelerated. Double the number of covens in each state; book clubs, mommy and me classes, those paint bar fads soccer moms are losing it over. Just gather up women and create covens. Next we find the girl. She's strong but she can't get far on her own and pregnant," she ordered.
"How do you know?"
"Because I know how hard it is to be a woman, a mother. Doesn't matter if hundreds of years have passed…it's all the same," Rowena said with the slightest hint of regret and pain in her voice.
The attendant scuffled his shoes for a moment before speaking, trying to find the best way to word his query. "And…your eye?"
"A veil will have to do. Black. Spanish lace. That is your personal task, Godfrey, do not disappoint me," Rowena said icily.
Godfrey kept his face straight but the fear of Rowena he held onto to keep him on his toes seemed to be lacking a stereotypical gulp. He lingered for a moment longer and left. He walked from the room with grace and poise, refusing to show any weakness in front of Rowena, lest she chooses to replace him like she'd done with the last three.
It had worked for him so far because she seemed to respect his professionalism. Now, he had three things on his mind: covens, Spanish lace, and how Rowena was even more unpredictable than before, which made her that much more harrowing.
Dean Winchester knew what to do in the face of death. He'd go to a bar and order a whiskey neat and drown his sorrows in it, like a bee trapped in honey.
It was strange that in the face of life, he chose to do the same thing.
He sat at a bar, in some no name town in Pennsylvania staring at his glass of whiskey that he couldn't bring himself to drink. His throat was tight. It felt like anaphylactic shock. An allergic reaction to life. What was he supposed to do in the face of mewling, pooping, commitment-oriented, life?
They had escaped. Escaped with their lives, which was his primary concern. So he celebrated that victory.
He knew his quick departure had been caused by the residual effects of Rowena's potion but now it was too late to turn back so he took this opportunity to quickly compartmentalize all of the things he was thinking, that he thought he never would.
As far as he was concerned, Dean didn't think he was going to live past thirty, let alone actually live. Having children was living, wasn't it? That was normal, expected? But when had Dean ever really been able to manage the apple-pie life. He'd achieved some sort of middle ground with Kat, and look where it had gotten her.
Kat. His mind turned to her for a moment, trying to picture the bumps and bruises he'd counted on her person before he'd left. He couldn't do it, however, because all he saw were her eyes that fought to hold back tears and in his mind, they screamed betrayal. He knew she was safe with Sam because, he trusted his brother with his own life; which hers was now the equivalent of. Hers, and the baby's.
The baby. It was hard to think of. He wondered what his own father had done when confronted with the news. Dean had been there after all and known of his own conception before his own father even did. His mind began to spin. Thinking of his mother and father was like jumping to a different lifetime.
The question remained, could he handle this. Could, Dean Winchester persevere?
He left his whiskey undrunk at the bar and walked out the door.
Cas had placed his forefingers on Kat and Sam's forehead's and taken them directly to the mouth of the bunker. They went inside in a daze but as they passed the garage Kat said, "I need someone to take me to the drug store."
Sam checked his watch. 11:30. "I don't think they're open," he said awkwardly, not really sure how to handle himself in this situation.
"Are we above breaking into one?" Kat said sounding peeved.
"Why, are you ill? I can fix that," Cas said entirely too innocently as Sam turned away from Kat and made his eyes wide in disbelief. He mouthed, 'come on' and Cas suddenly realized.
"Oh…I…I, uh can check if you wish," he stammered.
Kat recoiled from him and scrunched her nose in distaste. "Ew. No. An angel pregnancy test is an invasion of privacy," she said walking away.
"It's not invasive. I just have to sense it," he called after her. Kat did not turn around. She didn't realize how fast she was walking away but Sam and Cas only had to wait a few seconds before starting in on the situation at hand.
"….can you? Sense it, I mean?" asked Sam tentatively.
Cas closed his eyes and focused intently for a moment. When he reopened them they held a glimmer of happiness. "Yes. There is a second heartbeat. The sound suggests…hope, or the semblance of it. It is… pure. She is most assuredly infected with Dean's seed," said Cas sweetly.
Sam had been moved, until the latter part of his sentence. Once Cas finished, he clamped his hands over his ears and said, "Agh! Gross Cas!" and walked away also, leaving Cas standing alone, clueless.
Dean had spent the entirety of the trip from Pennsylvania to Ohio organizing his thoughts. He was proud that he'd willed himself to go even further into his trip home but then a thought occurred to him.
He had no idea how to change a diaper and he was pretty sure Kat didn't either.
He immediately found a bar. Again, ordered a whiskey neat and proceeded to stare at it.
It's not like hunting was a paying gig. He couldn't simply hustle pool for enough money to pay for those diapers, and all that a family entails. How could Dean Winchester, care for others? Not in the sense that he'd punch through a wall to save them, or stop their bleeding with sutures made of dental floss. How could he lend all that he is and the parts of himself that Dean didn't even know yet to a small human who needed guidance? Needed someone, to lead by example and be secure and confident in their convictions in order to form his own? It would take all that Dean had, which meant he'd need to get to the root of who he was. That was something Dean had never attempted to do.
Who was he really? Did he even know how to be introspective? How could he be secure in himself enough to guide another person? He'd certainly fouled that experience up for Sam. But Sam had been old enough to make decisions for himself or scrape up money. Sam could've interacted with the world, and used those things to supplement what he'd seen from Dean. He was able to rely on himself above everything else. For anything, monetary or otherwise; this child couldn't.
It was becoming less a question about money for Dean and more one of character. His opinion of himself so low, that he couldn't remove any of the burdens that he uncovered; all he could do was add more on.
The dawn had brought about a new sense of urgency for Sam and Kat. Cas had returned briefly, to tell them he hadn't found Dean yet and to fix Sam's shattered wrist that they'd somehow overlooked before.
The local pharmacy opened at 6:00. Kat was there, promptly at 6:05. The trip had existed purely in silence, but Sam refused to let her go alone.
Everything felt wrong, but something told Kat that this was necessary, like a seriously messed up right of passage. She'd always been irregular so there was no other way to tell but a test. But somehow a test felt contrived, like this sort of thing should be felt.
Very few of those happy mothers found out they were to be so, by a power-mad witch dropping the bomb. So, Kat was already robbed of that experience, the least she could do was pee on a stick.
"What's it say?" Sam asked impatiently through the door.
Kat was in the bathroom at the bunker still sitting on the toilet, staring at a pink plus sign. She thought that maybe just the prospect had made her hyper-attuned to little things that could have been telltale signs. She thought that Rowena merely mentioning the possibility was enough to awaken some sort of protective instinct but, it may not have been true. Now that it was, and she sat there, slapped in the face with its incorruptibility, she wondered what in the hell to do next.
Was she allowed to be happy? Could this be the speed bump that changed her life completely. That's what people say children do. But was she ready for that commitment?
In a daze, she pulled up her pants, washed her hands and opened the door, startling Sam, who had leaned against the opposite wall.
"Positive," she said dryly. "Congratulations. You're an uncle," she finished. Kat clutched the test in her palm and walked past him, and Sam followed immediately falling in with her rhythm quickly.
"Kat, listen, he'll be back soon. You saw him back there something wasn't right," Sam desperately tried to plea his brother's case to her.
Kat looked back at him with eyes that held the aftermath of destruction and sighed, shutting the door to the room that had been hers when she first came there.
Once inside she looked around at her belongings that remained stoic like displays in a museum. A constant vigil of her old self that she hadn't regretted losing to Dean. She loved to do all of the same things, but now she did them with him, and he'd shown her new things to add. In the advent of this new creature, her idea of her own selfhood as she knew it was fading away. She'd have to become a new person, with very little time for the things that she loved.
It may have been selfish to think this way, but she wondered if she'd enjoy being a mother enough to shower the child with love, rather than resentment for all the things she'd sacrificed to devote herself to something entirely new; something that she was terrified of beginning.
Especially alone.
She rifled absentmindedly through a box of papers that had the ghosts of her brainchildren from when she was first introduced to his world. Like the world she'd already known had broken down into millions of facets and became more known. Like Dean had exposed her to the full power of the sun.
The notebook had scribbles about sluagh and she shuddered at the memory of her dream, but she remembered the night before they'd faced it when she placed her head on Dean's arm and he'd accepted it.
She looked down at her stomach which hadn't become evidence yet. She felt trapped by it, and what she knew she had to do.
She grabbed a slip of a steno pad that hadn't been fully written on. She crossed out the lettering at the top and began to write.
Outside, Sam walked away from the door, having absolutely no idea how to console her. He fished his phone out of his pocket, anger taking away some of his fingers dexterity.
The dial tone infuriated him. How dare it waste his time? This, this was important.
"Dean?" Sam said in response to the answering machine. "I am ashamed of you. What the hell, man? First you run off and then you don't answer? Well, I'm here, with Kat, and she's not doing great. I can't do anything for her, it's not my place. This is your job. Your responsibility," Sam paused for a moment to collect himself and reduce the harshness in his tone. "I know you feel like you've gotten saddled with a lot over the years. Maybe you feel like this will be like a repeat of the responsibility of watching out for me. Whatever it is, that's not true. This will be different. You'll never get to prove me wrong if you don't come back and try. Get your ass back here man," as Sam finished his rant, a teaspoon of desperation bled through.
He ran his hand through his hair and went to the kitchen, hoping that any food there wasn't moldy. He retreated, feeling guilty as ever, that he couldn't do anything for Kat but keep himself going.
It was hours later that she emerged from the room. Her eyes darted to either side of the hall and saw no one there. She crept slowly and went to Sam's room. She fixed the yellow, lined paper to his door with a small piece of tape.
The light bag she'd packed was fitted firmly over her shoulder and she stored her keys in her pocket so they wouldn't jingle and alert anyone to her presence; or imminent absence.
Dean had made it through Iowa and into Nebraska before his anxieties pulled him over again. Dean felt the redundancy of sitting at his fifth bar of the trip. He felt like a coward, especially because he had stopped twice in Indiana.
Again sat his whiskey. The amber liquid reminded him of the sun shining through Kat's iris's; which reminded him of the pain he'd seen reflected in them.
He was nauseous.
"Well…I'd say tonight isn't going as planned," said a comfortable voice from behind him.
"Eat me, Crowley," spat Dean, clasping his hand around his glass.
"Where's your Moose?" Crowley looked around apprehensively.
"Don't you want a little one on one time with your favorite Winchester?" Dean asked cockily, not meeting his eye.
"Stop with the bravado, we both know your balls are caught in an iron vice," The cajoling in Crowley's voice became more somber.
"And we both know you'd love to see that," Dean returned the false air of confidence.
"I know about Katherine."
"And you thought you'd drop by and give me a little advice on fatherhood?" Dean snapped, very tempted to take a sip of his drink when he heard the King of Hell referring to his unborn child. He realized, that he'd left the demon blade in the Impala and had only his gun for protection. In a tight spot, it wouldn't even delay Crowley because the bullets it was loaded with, were for killing witches. They lacked the distinct and beautiful etching of the Key of Solomon. Dean internally kicked himself for being essentially defenseless.
He looked around casually and saw glass salt and pepper shakers sitting six inches down from his bar stool, the remnants of another man's meal. He calculated how many seconds it would take to reach for it, break it, and use the contents.
"I'm here to gloat actually. If you had just given her to me when I asked you wouldn't have this problem. She wouldn't've been around to...tempt you," Crowley said with a sly smile. "Dean, I'm also here to warn you. This will be my last amicable visit I'm afraid. Some say that I have babied you because of an attachment. It's merely that you have been more beneficial to keep around than to dispose of. Whatever the reason, it has...expired."
"What changed? You get tired of getting your ass beat?" Dean coaxed, bile rising in his throat fed by fury. His muscles tensed.
"You are an honorable man Dean Winchester. It sickens me, but I can't deny it. This time around, you will be standing in my way. Your honor is what will keep you there. I will kill Katherine, pregnancy or not, to defeat the sludge-eating whore that is my mother."
Crowley spoke matter-of-factly. They sat like people who had been born enemies, but against all odds had found something redeemable in each other. But now, the tides had turned and they could not fight their oppositeness.
Dean looked at Crowley and expected his face to be smug, but saw only regret, and lifted his glass to toast him.
"So this is war then," Dean exhaled with wrathful diction.
"War," Crowley affirmed. As he spoke Dean lunged for the salt shaker, breaking it against the hard wood of the bar. The glass exploded and salt mingled with the shards. Dean was prepared to shove whatever was left in the jagged bottom half, down Crowley's throat but there was red smoke pouring out of the meat-suit.
Dean didn't care if anyone in the bar had seen, thankfully, there seemed to be no one. He slammed a twenty down on the bar and ran to the Impala.
The rest of his trip was fueled by urgency and the desire to do what he knew he should have all long. As he drove he turned on his phone to see twenty missed calls from Sam, and he pushed his foot down on the gas harder.
The small hill and the hidden door to the bunker appeared and Dean rounded the corner to the entrance to the garage.
Dean felt time passing but only measured it by each step he took closer to the door.
"Sam!" he called, "Kat!" Dean took the stairs two at a time. As he reached the bottom, Sam, still in his bloodstained clothes, came around the corner.
Sam's anger was palpable but Dean didn't understand the disconsolateness that lay underneath it.
"Where is she?" Dean asked.
"She's gone, Dean. She's been gone for two hours. I've been trying to track her but she disabled the GPS in her phone and her car," Sam explained evenly.
He tried not to let disappointment seep into his voice.
Alrighty, ladies and gents. There is going to be some dark subject matter and adult themes from here on out. I'm excited to get into the real meat of the story where we put their love to the test. As always, I am desperate for your feedback, thanks to those of you that did! Would any of you like to see more emotional/love stuff before I put Kat and Dean through the ringer? How is the pacing? Do you believe their story? Thanks always for reading! Until next time, -Kelly