Chapter 9

Grace

The longer I stare at myself in the mirror, the more the panic starts to take hold. I used to have wrinkles. I know I did, but now, as I gaze, my face is that of a twenty-year-old. I don't even have to look at Dean to tell that he is inspecting me. I can hear his thoughts as they race through his head, knowing that he and The Mark are responsible for my reversal. I pull my shirt up and stare at my stomach and hips, almost convinced that I can see the sugar skull fade along with my bright white stretch marks from Everett and Glory. How can this be happening?

Cas, if you can hear me, now would be a good time to show up.

I glance to Serra, who, still annoyed, is watching me as well. She hasn't quite put together how upset I am. I walk past her, out of the bathroom and head back to the bed, sitting down with my head in my hands. "What's the big deal?" she says, following me out of the bathroom and standing in front of me. "You look better now than you ever did."

"Serra," I said, rubbing my face with my hands, "I can't outlive my kids."

"Oh fuck," she said, realization finally hitting her. "How…?"

Dean and I spoke in tandem, "The Mark."

I glanced at him, leaning my head to one side. "And the fifty-fifty thing." I stared at him, narrowing my eyes as I searched his face for the crow's feet I knew were there. It was one of the things I loved most about his face. When he smiled; a genuine smile, crow's feet crinkled at the corners of his green eyes. I stood, faster than Serra expected, and she took a step back, watching me head towards Dean. He watched me momentarily, his eyes searching my face for the purpose behind what I was looking for.

"What?" he finally asked quietly. "What's the matter?"

"Your lines are faded, too." I answered, staring up at him. I turned to Sam, whose eyes had similar crinkles when he grinned and saw that his were still etched where they should be. I looked back at my husband and shook my head. "Your skin is smoother. You look younger."

"No," Dean said, stepping around me, heading towards the mirror as well.

I could hear Serra and Sam's thoughts as well; What does this mean?

Are you doing it to each other?

How are you going to stop it?

What are you going to do?

I was shaking my head, trying to block out their panic as well as my own. I had a feeling that something like this could happen, but it seemed so far fetched and absurd, that it never occurred to me that it could be a reality. My mind went immediately to our future, watching Serra and Sam age, along with our children, and Dean and I would remain the same, stuck in the same bodies we had always been in. Lib, Glory and Everett would all move on and have kids of their own, and there we would be, looking the same age as our kids. Tears filled my eyes as I considered all over these possibilities in rapid succession and I tried to hold it together, but with the fresh batch of hormones from recently giving birth and once again breastfeeding, I was incapable of doing so.

Dean saw me break first, walking towards me and wrapping me in a hug before I gasped for air. Serra stepped away, still silent, allowing Dean to comfort me. Lindsey and Alana, who honestly, I had forgotten were even still in the room with us, nodded to Sam and disappeared out through the door. I could tell that Serra was unwilling to leave my side, but there was absolutely nothing that she could think of to say to me. She walked towards us, put a hand on my shoulder and took Sam's hand and left the room as well.

We stood in the middle of my delivery room, silently, for a long time. I couldn't even bring myself to lift my arms and return Dean's hug. The next thing I knew, I was shaking my head and speaking into his shoulder, "I cannot outlive our kids."

"I know," he said, his voice deep and soft. "We'll figure this out."

I nodded, tears still leaking down my face as one of the babies began to fuss. I hadn't learned their individual sounds yet, but I listened momentarily, trying to decide: Everett or Glory?

Releasing me from his hold, Dean stepped towards the crib, glancing at his newest children. "I haven't even had a chance to tell you that you did a good job," he said, smiling weakly. "I can't believe they're here."

I followed his line of sight as the fussing increased intensity and walked to where he stood next to the bassinet. Lifting his arm around my shoulders, we stared down at our son and daughter and I leaned my head on his shoulder. The fussy culprit was Glory, doing everything in her power to suck on her hand, but not quite achieving the connection on her own. I reached down and moved the swaddle away from her face so she could make contact with her chubby little fist and she settled down almost immediately. I turned my attention to Everett and stared down at him lovingly. He looked so much like Dean, it was astounding. I reached down to touch his face and the longer I kept contact, the more I could feel a tingle through my fingers and up my hand. It was a puzzling sensation; one that I recognized from touching The Mark on Dean's arm, though not nearly as intense. I pulled my hand away from his face and gazed at him, completely confused.

Dean could sense my unease and turned to look at me. "What?" he almost whispered.

"When I touched his face, my fingers tingle," I whispered back, "like when I touch The Mark."

Stepping away so he could turn completely, Dean stood in front of me with his eyes wide. "What does that mean?"

I closed my eyes and sighed. "I have no idea."