There were a few days remaining before they planned to strike. Rowena had the enormous task of preparing several spells and potions to immobilize and execute Lucifer while still taking care of her son. Caring for him alone was enough of a task, but doing it while multitasking and tryng to get a few potions and spells exactly right was often overwhelming. She often found herself wondering how working mothers did it all. Trying to stretch herself between work and her family was utterly exhausting. And the lack of sleep and recurring nightmares weren't helping matters any, and she often felt like a walking corpse.
Mostly though, in those crucial days of planning, preparing, and progressing with her work, she tried to spend as much of her time as she could possibly spare with her son. Maybe it was the constant nightmares, or the sense of paranoia in the air, but Rowena was filled with a primal sense of foreboding. She found herself emitting an anxious aura, and cradled her son more tightly, as if she feared he would be taken from her soon. Some obscure sense told her that her time was limited with him, just as it had the first time she had been forced to kill herself to save him. That time her son had saved her, but she feared that the next time he wouldn't be able to. Or worse, that she wouldn't be able to rescue him once more.
It was a crisp evening in Lebanon, Kansas, but down in the bunker it was always perfect. Yet somehow, to Rowena, it seemed to be freezing. She guessed that it must be close to nine, but there was no clock in the room, so she couldn't tell. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing her hands on her thighs as she sighed quietly. She had put Fergus to bed an hour ago, and could hear his soft breathing. She was in her pajamas, make up removed, and about to go to bed herself, but something was keeping her awake. She always felt more anxiety when Fergus was out of her grasp. She had to keep him within her sight at all times. When he was out of her peripheral vision her whole body shook with panic. She had seriously debated taking him into bed with her for the night, but she didn't want to foster unnecessary insecurities in her child, even if this was only a temporary state of being for her son.
She could hear the Winchester brothers talking through the echoes through the hall, and figured Castiel must have been somewhere nearby. They had checked in on her progress periodically during the day, but when it came to the nights she was alone. She could have come out any time she wished, but she didn't want to be around them. They reminded her too much of her son and what she stood to lose.
She stood up, unable to endure the stillness. She ended up pacing around the room. The nightmares, new and old, flashed through her mind, along with Lucifer's earlier words to her. She felt her skin crawl at the memory of his voice.
"Where will you take him now to be the baby we both know he truly is? Well, take it from me: You'll never find another place again. Because this kingdom is mine. And I will always be able to find you."
Lucifer knew their secret. He could ruin absolutely everything that she had worked so hard to build. She was afraid of what he could do to the both of them. He could reveal their age play to the residents of hell and completely discredit her son as a ruler of hell. It could also ruin her reputation, but that was so far on the back burner on her mind. She feared for her son far more than she did for herself- it was a testament to how far she had come in the time they had been together. She wanted to talk to her son in his adult mindset and see what he thought of this, and what plans he might have to correct the situation. But she was in too deep to do that. To change him back and reveal what Lucifer had discovered was too much of a risk. It would be better if she kept it to herself for now.
She felt her frustration growing, making her heart beat faster and anger flow through her in a sort of mini adrenaline rush. She picked up a pillow from her guest bed and hit it against the mattress over and over again until her fury ebbed, and she was left with a hollow emptiness inside. She felt something wet on her cheek, and for a second wondered if the roof was leaking, before remembering that that was impossible. A second later she realized that she was crying. She sank back onto the bed, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed as quietly as she could so as to not wake her son. Her emotions swept her away, running past her at a hundred miles an hour, so fast that she couldn't name them. For about twenty minutes she gave into the sleeplessness, anxiety, anger, and terror, and let everything out.
Then, when she was completely out of feelings, she began to piece herself back together again. The doorway to feeling emotions, or feeling anything at all for that matter, was shut nice and tight. She fell backwards onto the bed, and stared up at the ceiling for just a few minutes. Then, she pulled the covers back from her bed and crawled underneath. Her gaze rested on her son for a moment, and she watched to make sure he was still breathing. When she could make out the rise and fall of his tiny chest, she calmed a little more. She sighed softly to herself, and shut her eyes in hopes of finally getting a good night's sleep.