Rowena didn't know how long she sat there, cradling and comforting her child. She was hyper aware of all of the men in the room, and her instincts were sharpened to the point of supernatural sensitivity. If anyone moved even a fraction of an inch in any direction, she saw it. When Fergus had calmed down and stopped crying, she got herself up from the disgustingly filthy floor. She decided to feed him and then hope with all her might that he would fall into sleep. She walked off, not looking at any of the others in the room.
She walked down the hall a few feet, and then touched four different bricks in a star shaped pattern. In a moment a door materialized that had been hidden before. Since the discovery of Fergus' spell shock, Rowena had been extremely busy. While her son was trying to take over hell once again, she had been busy preparing for the aftershock of the spell. She created a secret nursery for him to sleep in when he was in his infantile state of being. She had designed every aspect of the nursery herself, and it brought her joy unlike any other she had experienced. During her son's true period of infancy, she hadn't be able to give him more than a cot filled with straw. Now, she could give him everything that he had never had.
It was an oversized nursery, made in case her son happened to change back in a moment's notice. The crib was in one corner, leaning against a yellow wall, with a changing table in the other corner across the room, stacked full of diapers, pacifiers, and clean bottles. There was a shiny white rocking chair close to that, a brown toy chest near the crib, a tiny white bookshelf overflowing with books, a closet across the room, and adjacent to that was a dresser full of onesies and footie pajamas. Atop the bookshelf was a bottle warmer- the only electronic thing in the room aside from a convenient baby monitor. Much as she liked technology, she wanted this room to be a place away from all of that. She scarcely even brought her cell phone in here because it felt like such a sacred place.
Now, she filled a bottle with milk, put it in the warmer, and waited. When the bottle was done, she sat in the rocking chair, cradling Fergus in her arms and began singing to him about long lost times and touching the sky. She looked at him as he nursed, and saw his little eyes beginning to droop shut. She smiled and crooned to him, watching his head roll back, full and asleep.
Normally she would have laid him down in the crib immediately and let him sleep, but today she held onto him a little while longer. He was a reminder to her of what she had fought so hard to protect. That sweet little innocent face told her that she wasn't useless. She was more than just a powerful witch or a pretty face. She was a mother. And every time she looked at her son she was reminded that she had at least done one thing right in her life. She pressed her lips to the infant's forehead in a gentle kiss. She held him just a few more moments before laying him gently in the crib. His tiny fist moved slightly when she set him down, and he cooed quietly. Rowena froze, fearing she may have woken him, but he settled down quickly. Carefully, she crept out of the room and shut the door as softly as she could.
She decided she wasn't ready to face the judgmental faces of the Winchester brothers and their guard dog of an angel yet, so she went into the nearby bathroom to freshen up. She was going to try and take a shower when she noticed something gleaming overhead and made the mistake of looking toward it, which landed her face to face with her own reflection.
She longed for the days when mirrors hadn't existed, because the image standing before her was utterly horrific. Her eye was black and screwed shut. She had cuts and bruises all over her, and she was fairly sure that half of them covered her ribs and face. Her lips were swollen and her nose was bleeding a little. She raised her hand experimentally to her face. The woman in the mirror copied her. A feeling of revulsion rose up in her chest. She had never felt so ugly in all her life. She was just one man's punching bag.
It didn't matter that she was a witch now, or that she was mother to the king of hell. She was a coward. A powerless, idiotic coward. She could have stood up for herself. She could have taken Fergus and ran. But no. Instead she had made herself a victim. And After all those years of telling herself that if he ever came back things would be different. All that time she had been kidding herself. When it came to Angus things between them would never change. She would never be strong enough to do what needed to be done to him.
Abruptly, a flash of anger burned up all of her reason and better judgement, and she raised her fist and punched the mirror in the center. Dozens of images of herself stared back at her, and it was like she was looking at a dozen different versions of herself. Despite this, she couldn't help but smile. The mirror was shattered. So was she.
The bathroom door opened suddenly, making her whirl around and jump backward. She was about to yell at whoever it was to get the hell out of there and leave her alone when she caught sight of who it was.
There stood her son, fully recovered from his time as an infant and staring blankly at his battered mother.